Welcome to Gaia! ::

Oh, it's music to my ears, oh man
How can I describe the way I ******** great, man
Okay, let me see
How could I begin?

The opening sounds of Eminem's Bagpipes Over Baghdad fill the empty arena. The lights darken as the classic song takes a twist, clipping as the first verse of the song repeats itself faster and faster. A pulsing 808 bass builds, this wasn't your mothers Bagpipes Over Baghdad, it was the Jersey Club remix. Airhorns blare as a saw blade synth cuts in over the repeating, pitched up lyrics while the lights flash. Completely silent is the EEW arena aside from this, it is almost as if we are about to watch a Better Than You. match where both competitors are Better Than You. That is, until the piped in crowd noise track kicks in and the curtains to the ramp fly open, revealing a pimped out golf cart zooming down the stage.

Let me tell you about this golf cart. Hydraulic system. Spinner rims. Ice cream paint job. It was a golf cart the likes of which few ever had or would see again. Hanging out the passenger side of the golf cart is the world's famous Tik Toker, DJ Killa Kyle. He's wearing a pair of Moncler ski goggles keeping his doorag in place. Down his chest hangs an assortment of gold chains that dangle over the front straps of the Amiri brand overalls, several sizes too large. Leaning out the side of the motorized cart, he throws up the C's, which for those of the uninitiated represented his set, squad and brethren of the Eight Trey Crips. Unlike before, there was no one in the arena to question about whether he was really about that life.

Driving the cart is someone that we've never seen before. A lovely, curvaceous form clad in a Navy blue burqa with vector patterns from head to toe. Most of her body obscured, one could faintly see strands of blonde hair highlighted blue and red emerging from beneath her veil. Strapped to her back was a caddy bag with an assortments of nine irons, putters, wedges and woods. One hand gripping on the wheel as the two pull up to ringside, the other hands grips onto a microphone raising it to her mouth speaking what was obviously the accent of a white girl from New Jersey trying to approximate Arab American dialect:

The modest woman gulps as she pulls up to the ring side, putting the breaks on the golf cart, her eyes trying to avert the gaze of Big Bubba Tub. Kyle slips out the passenger side, his side eyeing Rosario as the pair leaned close to eachother the mysterious woman leaning in to peck the Tik Toker on the cheek. Naturally, this would lead to rampant speculation on social media. Was she his main b***h? Side hoe? Or simply a caddy with benefits? Whatever it may be, a graphic on the screen popped up to indicate that DJ Killa Kyle is currently trending on Twitter among other key metrics.

Using his athleticism to jump from the floor to the apron, he leans with his arms over the ropes, flashing a needlessly complicated gang sign at the hard camera as his valet remains at ringside, clearly knowing her place in this world. Jumping up and performing a front flip into the ring, the young man grips at his Moncler goggles and throws them off as the lights in the arena come on and the piped in cheers die down. Eyes no longer shielded by the tint, he can now see that the entire arena is completely empty. Jerking his head back, a look of incredulity on his face, nose crinkling at the odor of his opponent, the Brooklyn Playboy lets out a loud--



Feeling terribly, unbelievably small time, his cries of anguish can be heard in the back of the arena by the diligent janitor Carlos who was raising several children and sending any money he had after that back to his family in Guatemala. Turning around, gagging a little bit at the sight and odor of his rival, the aggrieved gangsta could supra-sensually feel the damage to his metrics as he turns his back on the competition gripping onto the top rope screaming at his valet beads of spit flying from his mouth--

LIV shrugs her shoulders, pretending that she didn't speak English or understand a word of what the angry young man said. Narrowing her eyes, she brandishes one of the clubs using it to gesture behind DJ Killa Kyle, warning him to keep his eye on the ball. Instead, DJ Killa Kyle begins reiterating verbatim what he just said seconds ago word for word, enunciating clearly the pronunciation of each syllable as while the referee prepares to ring the bell..

Everyone knows that a donut in the hand is worth two in the bush, but not everyone knows that a donut to the back of the head is or can be cause for serious alarm. The shot connects with the cranium of DJ Killa Kyle, snapping his head forward and flinging his body over the top rope sending him cratering towards his valet on the floor who easily sidesteps the Tik Toker. Taking a full on face bump on the thinly padded concrete, the rookie immediately springs up to his feet, walking around in little circles dazed before falling down again on his face.

LIV leans over, grabbing the young man under his arm to start helping him back up to his feet. Once he makes it to his feet, DJ Killa Kyle lashes out in impotent rage shoving his manager/caddy for the night onto her a** turning and pointing a finger at the poor young lady as various golf clubs go tumbling out of her satchel:

"Don't you break my concentration BIYOTCH!!!! I GOT THIS."

Checking his nose for blood, he scowls looking back into the ring narrowing his eyes at Bubba Tubbs and Rosario. Turning his wrist limp, he begins to crip walk around the ring, but it wasn't the same crip walk that he normally did, it was more of a slow, psychological and predatory crip walk. The kind that a g'd up lion would do while stalking a gazelle. Clearly over the last few matches the rapper/teen celebrity had gained a measure of veteran savvy. As he zones out the ring, LIV grumbles gripping onto a nine iron as she pulls herself up. Swag stepping up the steps onto the apron, he leans against the ropes the back of his head still throbbing from the shot as he screams at the referee:


Referring to Rosario, the red faced suburban thug knew that it was EEW rules and the ref had no reason to do so, but was more or less leaning on his clout and status in the world to lobby the relatively low status male, as he wanted at least an illusory sense of protection for the proceedings. Despite his hard street life, Kyle understood the importance of norms in the international rules based order as the only thing separating noble men such as himself from beasts like Bubba Tubs.

DJ Killa Kyle stands on the apron, springing from side to side amping himself up as he locks his vision on Bubba Tubbs across the ring. He was right where he wanted him, standing there as though waiting for the rookie to attempt a complex, high risk move. Looking from side to side, still behaving as though performing in a fully packed arena, he claps his hands over his head in a rhythmic manner trying to get everyone engaged. Carlos and a few security guards clap their hands as Killa Kyle stomps his feet on the apron, really milking the moment.

LIV stands on the the outside of the ring, perplexed by the extent to which her client was telegraphing his next move. This goes on for about fifteen seconds. Gripping the nine iron, she crouches against the apron and steps, peering over them to keep Rosario in her line of sight.

Shaking the ropes a little, DJ Killa Kyle finally springs onto the top rope but unbeknownst to him, the microplastics in the bottled water he drank before coming out to the ring had interfered with his neurological capabilities. As soon as he reaches standing position on the cables, his legs wobble and he tumbles off the top rope back down to the apron just barely catching himself to prevent a costly spill to the outside.



Regaining his balance, the Tik Toker knew this is probably something that would be edited out in post. Getting his feet back from under him on the apron, he looks back in the ring, making sure that his opponent was still standing stationary to catch him and not moving out of the way after his excessive pantomiming. Taking a deep breath, palms sweaty, he stomps his feet on the apron again, clapping his hands over his head trying to recreate the vibe. It was very difficult for him to perform in this kind of setting. After another ten to fifteen seconds of build up, he leaps to the top rope once again this time fighting his equilibrium and soaring towards the middle of the ring for an attempted diving brain chop to the skull of Bubba Tubbs!

LIV remained outside of the ring, kneeling with the nine iron in her hands watching Rosario from around the corner of the ring. Slowly rising up, she steps gingerly around the ring post with no fans to warn Tubb's manager of the oncoming ambush she moved steadily raising the club over her head in preparation to strike! At that exact moment, DJ Killa Kyle comes spiraling over the top rope doing a 450 degree flip and splatting face first on the ground.

SLAT!!

Landing right between the two non-competitors and blowing his valet's spot, LIV gasps knowing that she had been had, freezing in place like a deer in the headlights with the weapon held over her head. She holds in that pose for a few moments due to her feminine lack of reaction time before snapping to. Trying to hide the club behind her back now, her eyes meet Rosario, she holds her hands up defensively slowly backing off as the Tik Toker clumsily tries scrambling his way up to his feet with help of the apron.

DJ Killa Kyle rises to the challenge. Nipping up off the ground with virtually no damage done to him from falling out of the ring he begins crossing his hand between his legs, spinning from side to side and beginning to drop back down to the ground as the bucket of donuts sails past his head nailing LIV square in the mush. Pow. The oppressed woman falls to the ground tossing up the weapon as Kyle snatches the golf club from the middle of the air all before the bucket can hit the ground.

In a split second, holding the club, he swings it up in the air angling the the head of the club through the holes of each donut which slide easily along the shaft in a perfect stack. Twirling the golfclub behind his back, over his head, he swings hard at Rosario not close enough to hit him with the club, the lubed up donuts slide with the momentum of the swing off of the tip with a loud pop, the treats hurtling towards the leader of Fist Class with lethal velocity.

In the midst of all the chaos LIV crawls under the ring, wishing she were back home in the Mecca, New Jersey. DJ Killa Kyle, meanwhile, stands at ringside whirling and twirling the golf club around his head showing off his skills. Posing with the weapon like a samurai, he turns around and is completely obliterated by the Bubba Tubbs punch. The club flies into the crowd as the Tik Toker takes a full on standing shooting star press bump off the punch hitting the ground and flopping around like a fish out of water.

Rolling over onto his back, his nose leaks like a faucet as he reaches trying to stop the bleeding while his feet kick around on the floor. Trying to push his hands off the ground, they slip in blood and he plants face first on the floor again. His heart pounding faster, he thrashes around panicking that within only a few seconds of taking the shot the only thing he could see in his immediate vicinity was blood. Getting a call on his walkee talkey immediately, the janitor at the top of the floor rushes towards the elevator knowing that he would have to get to the ring fairly quickly.

Fluids were accumulating at an unprecedented rate as DJ Killa Kyle is sent tumbling back first against the guard rail. Rolling around on the floor in his own viscosity, the DJ Killa Kyle stans watching on his live stream were without a doubt traumatized. Meanwhile, under the ring LIV speaks in hushed tones into a cell phone.

"Ounga! Hit the lights!!

Way back in the production parking lot, the sound of crashing and screaming can be heard as Michael Tarver chucks one of the production assistants onto the cold concrete. Opening the door to the vehicle, David Otunga eases in all of the technicians paralyzed in fear as the Lawyer makes a beeline towards the light switchboard or whatever the hell it is. I'm not the one that gets paid to do it so it shouldn't be my responsibility to describe how it works. Unable to figure it out himself, rather than wasting time to look for the right button the former Mr. Hudson simply dumps his coffee thermos all over the console quickly backing away from it and huddling as if it were about to explode.