CBWL 069

 Scene: Hotel – Saturday, June 21, 2026

Tony and Butterbean stood in front of the vending machines down the hall from the room. The hallway was quiet. Tony had a cigarette behind his ear and was staring at the options like he couldn’t decide what he wanted. Butterbean was just standing there, big arms crossed over his chest, not really looking at anything.

Tony finally glanced over at him.

Tony Soprano: “Alright. What’s up with you?”

Butterbean didn’t answer right away. He just kept staring at the floor.

Tony Soprano: “You been quiet since we left the room. You barely said two words the whole ride over here. So what’s the problem?”

Butterbean shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His voice came out low and heavy.

Butterbean: “…I don’t know, Tone. This shit’s getting kinda crazy.”

Tony turned his head slowly to look at him.

Butterbean: “I mean… the nurse. What they did to her. Cutting her up like that. Putting pieces of her in Sterling and then using the rest on Wendy. I thought we was just supposed to get the guy out the hospital. I didn’t know we was gonna be doing all this other shit.”

Tony’s jaw tightened.

Tony Soprano: (sharp) “What the fuck are you talking about? You were there. You helped. You stood in that room the whole time. Now you’re gonna act like you didn’t know what was going on?”

Butterbean didn’t back down, but he also didn’t raise his voice.

Butterbean: “I know what I did. I’m just sayin’… this is getting heavy, man. Real heavy. I ain’t scared of a lot of shit, but this… this feels different.”

Tony’s face started to harden. He took a step closer, voice dropping.

Tony Soprano: “You better not be saying what I think you’re saying right now.”

Butterbean looked at him but stayed quiet.

Tony caught himself. He took a breath, rubbed his face with one hand, and exhaled. When he spoke again, his tone was lower, but still firm.

Tony Soprano: “Look… I get it. This shit got ugly. But we’re almost done. The circuit is almost over. We got through the go-home show last night, even with all that bullshit that happened. The PPV is tomorrow. After that, we’re clear. You hear me?”

Butterbean didn’t say anything.

Tony Soprano: “You better not quit on me now, Bean. Not after everything we already did. We’re this close. Just get through tomorrow night with me and then you can take a vacation or whatever the fuck you wanna do. Disappear for a little while. But not right now. Not when we’re this close to the finish line.”

He looked Butterbean dead in the eye.

Tony Soprano: “You understand what I’m saying to you?”

Butterbean was quiet for a few seconds before finally giving a slow nod.

Butterbean: “…Yeah. I hear you.”

Tony studied him for another moment, then nodded and turned back toward the vending machine.

Tony Soprano: (quieter) “Good. Now pick something to eat. I’m fucking starving.”

Butterbean was quiet for a few seconds after Tony told him to pick something to eat. He kept staring at the vending machine like he wasn’t really seeing it.

Then he spoke.

Butterbean: “…I wanna meet the guys from The Bing.”

Tony didn’t even look at him at first. He just kept studying the snacks behind the glass.

Tony Soprano: “What?”

Butterbean: “The guys from The Bing. I wanna meet ‘em.”

Tony finally turned his head, playing it off like he didn’t know what Butterbean was talking about.

Tony Soprano: “What guys?”

Butterbean looked at him.

Butterbean: “Silvio. Christopher. Paulie. Big Pussy. Furio. Them guys.”

Tony let out a short laugh and shook his head, trying to brush it off.

Tony Soprano: “Come on, Bean. What are you, twelve years old? You sound like a fuckin’ fan. Those guys ain’t coming out here.”

Butterbean didn’t laugh. He just kept looking at Tony, his face serious.

Butterbean: “I’m not playin’, Tone. I been doin’ a lot for you. For Cowboy. For Elena. I been keepin’ my mouth shut, doin’ what I’m told… even when the shit got real ugly. I just wanna meet ‘em. That’s it.”

Tony studied him for a second. He could tell Butterbean wasn’t buying the brush-off this time. His tone shifted — still casual, but a little more careful now.

Tony Soprano: “Look… those guys don’t really travel for this kind of thing. You know how it is. They stay close to home.”

Butterbean didn’t say anything. He just kept staring at Tony, waiting.

Tony sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

Tony Soprano: “…But maybe. Maybe a couple of ‘em will come out for the PPV tomorrow night. I can make a couple calls. See who’s around.”

Butterbean’s face lit up a little. It wasn’t much, but it was the most animated he’d looked all morning.

Butterbean: “Yeah?”

Tony Soprano: “Yeah. I’m not promising nothing, but… I’ll see what I can do. Maybe Silvio. Maybe Paulie. We’ll see.”

Butterbean nodded, a small, almost childlike smile forming on his face.

Butterbean: “Alright… alright, cool. That’d be good, Tone. Real good.”

Tony watched him for a second, then turned back to the vending machine and put in some money.

Tony Soprano: (under his breath) “…Jesus Christ.”

He hit the button and waited for his snack to drop, while Butterbean stood there looking noticeably lighter than he did a few minutes ago.

Tony looked around to make sure nobody was nearby, then stepped in closer to Butterbean. His voice dropped low.

Tony Soprano: “Alright… I’m gonna level with you. The reason I can’t bring the guys from The Bing out here right now… it’s ‘cause of this Wendy situation.”

Butterbean stayed quiet, listening.

Tony Soprano: “I’ve been fucking her. And I don’t need them knowing that shit. You know how it is with those guys. They find out I’ve been sticking my dick in some old, washed-up Black bitch? They’ll never let me hear the end of it. I’m talking about real fucking stigma. Not just ‘Tony’s fucking around.’ I’m talking about Tony’s out here fucking niggers now. That’s how they’ll see it. And I don’t need that smoke. Not from them.”

Butterbean shifted uncomfortably but didn’t interrupt.

Tony Soprano: “Look, I ain’t no saint. I’ve done a lot of shit. But this? This is different. I got a wife at home. I got a reputation. And now this bitch is about to get even faker — big fake tits, fat ass, the whole bimbo package. And I’ll be honest with you… I might actually leave Carmella for this Black bitch once she’s all done up. That’s how far gone I am right now.”

He shook his head, almost like he was disgusted with himself.

Tony Soprano: “So yeah. I’m not trying to mix those worlds. I don’t need Silvio, Paulie, or any of them seeing me like this — running around with some old Black whore I’m turning into a full-blown bimbo. That shit stays between us. You understand?”

Butterbean nodded slowly.

Butterbean: “…Yeah. I get it, Tone.”

Tony studied him for a second, then continued, his tone a little more measured.

Tony Soprano: “But I’ll see what I can do. Maybe I can get one or two of them out here for the PPV. I’ll make some calls. Just… don’t say nothing about this Wendy shit to anybody. Not even them. Especially not them.”

Butterbean nodded again.

Butterbean: “I won’t say nothing.”

Tony’s phone started ringing. He pulled it out, saw Cowboy’s name, and answered.

Tony Soprano: (into the phone) “Yeah… I’m on my way.”

He hung up and looked back at Butterbean.

Tony Soprano: “That was Cowboy. He needs me in the booking meeting. I gotta go. Keep your head up. Go back to the room and make sure those doctors are doing what they’re supposed to be doing. When they’re finished with her, you call me. Got it?”

Butterbean: “Yeah… I got it.”

Tony gave him a quick pat on the shoulder.

Tony Soprano: “Good. I’ll see what I can do about the guys.”

He turned and started walking down the hallway, already lighting a cigarette as he went.

Butterbean stood there for a moment, then slowly started heading back toward the room.

Butterbean walked slowly back down the hallway, hands shoved in his pockets, still replaying everything Tony had just told him. He didn’t like any of this shit — the nurse, the organs, Wendy getting cut up — but he kept telling himself it would be over soon. Just get through the PPV tomorrow and maybe he could actually take a break like Tony said.

He reached the hotel room door, pulled out the key card Tony had given him earlier, and swiped it.

The door clicked open.

Butterbean stepped inside and immediately stopped.

The room was dimly lit, with the two beds pushed together to make one big work area. Wendy was completely naked and laid out on her back across both beds. She was under anesthesia, her eyes taped shut, a breathing tube in her mouth. Her chest was already cut open — both breasts had been removed and were sitting on a metal tray beside the bed, bloody and discarded. Dr. Ted Eisenberg was currently working on inserting large, round implants into her chest while Conrad Murray was marking up and cutting into her ass and hips, prepping the area to graft in the harvested fat and tissue from the nurse.

Blood and medical waste were on the sheets. The cooler that had been sitting on the floor earlier was now open, with pieces of the nurse’s tissue laid out on sterile cloths.

Butterbean stood in the doorway for a second, frozen.

Conrad glanced up briefly from what he was doing, barely reacting to Butterbean walking in.

Conrad Murray: (calmly, focused on his work) “Close the door.”

Butterbean slowly stepped inside and shut the door behind him. He didn’t say anything. He just stood there, staring at Wendy’s body — her chest wide open, her ass cut into and being reshaped, the two doctors working on her like she was a piece of meat on a table.

Dr. Ted Eisenberg didn’t even look up.

Dr. Ted Eisenberg: “She’s under. We started about twenty minutes ago. Should be another couple hours at least.”

Butterbean didn’t answer. He just kept staring.

Wendy’s body twitched slightly from the work being done on her, but she stayed unconscious.

Butterbean slowly walked over to the same chair he’d been sitting in earlier and sat down without a word, his eyes still locked on what was happening in front of him.

Butterbean sat in the corner, silent, watching.

Conrad Murray and Dr. Ted Eisenberg worked with an almost giddy energy, talking over each other like two kids showing off a new toy.

Dr. Ted Eisenberg: (grinning as he adjusted the massive implants in Wendy’s chest) “Look at the size of these things. 1400cc each. She’s gonna look ridiculous. These tits are gonna sit high and round like two fucking balloons. No sag, no movement, just straight-up porn star fake. She’s gonna look like a goddamn cartoon character.”

Conrad Murray: (working on her ass, injecting fat) “And this ass is gonna be even worse. I’m packing as much of that nurse’s fat into her as I can. She’s gonna have a huge, shelf ass. Like two basketballs glued to her back. When she walks, it’s gonna jiggle like crazy. And these hips — I’m widening them out too. She’s gonna have that exaggerated bimbo shape. Tiny waist, huge tits, huge ass. A real-life fuck doll.”

Dr. Ted Eisenberg laughed under his breath as he sutured Wendy’s chest.

Dr. Ted Eisenberg: “Her face is next. We’re gonna give her those big, puffy, cock-sucking lips. I’m talking duck lips. The kind that make her look like she’s permanently ready to slobber on a dick. And we’re filling her cheeks too — she’s gonna have that permanent ‘just got fucked’ face. And I’m gonna do her nose small and upturned. Classic bimbo nose. She’s gonna look so fucking stupid.”

Conrad Murray: (excited) “And the skin. We’re lightening her up a few shades. Not fully white, but that light-skin, high-yellow bimbo look. She’s gonna look like one of those Instagram thots that got way too much work done. And once we’re finished with her lips and face, she’s not even gonna be able to make normal expressions anymore. She’s gonna have that permanent ‘dumb and horny’ look.”

Dr. Ted Eisenberg glanced over at Wendy’s unconscious face and smirked.

Dr. Ted Eisenberg: “By the time we’re done, she’s not gonna look like Wendy Williams anymore. She’s gonna look like some cheap, over-the-top black barbie bimbo. Huge fake tits, fat fake ass, dick-sucking lips, and a brain that’s clearly not working right. She’s gonna look like a living sex toy. A black fuck doll.”

Conrad Murray: (laughing softly) “Exactly. She wanted to be a star again? This is how. She’s gonna look so fake and stupid that people won’t even be able to take her seriously. That’s the only lane left for her now.”

They kept working, both of them clearly enjoying themselves as they described every grotesque detail of what they were turning her into.

Butterbean stayed quiet in the corner, just watching.

The two doctors worked for another two hours straight, focused and methodical despite the grotesque nature of what they were doing. By the time they finally stepped back, Wendy was completely transformed.

Her chest was now absurdly large — two massive, round, perfectly symmetrical implants that sat high and unnaturally on her frame, giving her an exaggerated, cartoonish silhouette. Her ass had been completely rebuilt with the harvested fat, now huge, round, and protruding in a way that looked almost fake even before the swelling. Her hips were wider, her waist cinched in dramatically, and her lips had been inflated to a ridiculous, permanent pout.

Her face had been altered significantly — cheeks fuller, nose smaller and upturned, and her overall expression now carried a vacant, overdone bimbo quality even while unconscious.

Conrad Murray and Dr. Ted Eisenberg stood back, looking at their work with something close to pride.

Dr. Ted Eisenberg: (smirking) “She looks fucking ridiculous.”

Conrad Murray: “Yeah… but it worked. It’s exactly what we were going for. She’s gonna look like a total black bimbo sex doll once the swelling goes down.”

Dr. Ted Eisenberg nodded, wiping his hands.

Dr. Ted Eisenberg: “Give it a few hours. The swelling’s gonna make her look even more botched right now, but once it settles… she’s gonna be exactly what they wanted. A living, breathing blow-up doll.”

Conrad glanced over at the monitors, then at Wendy’s unconscious body.

Conrad Murray: “We’ll keep her under for a little while longer. Let the swelling start to go down before we wake her up. No point in her seeing herself like this right now anyway.”

The two doctors began cleaning up their tools in relative silence, occasionally glancing back at Wendy’s heavily altered body with quiet satisfaction.

Butterbean stayed in the corner, arms crossed, watching everything without saying a word.

The room settled into a strange, uneasy quiet as they waited for the swelling to go down.

Fade out.

CBWL 068

Atlanta, Georgia

The Hotel – Saturday, June 21, 2026 – 10:12 a.m.

Butterbean sat in the corner of the dimly lit hotel room, shirtless, his massive frame crammed into a cheap chair. His red boxing gloves rested on the floor beside him. He hadn’t slept. He’d been in this same spot since they got back from Charlotte early that morning, guarding Sterling like Tony told him to.

Sterling Marlin was laid out on one of the beds, hooked up to portable monitors and an IV. He was still unconscious, but breathing on his own. His skin looked worse than it did before last night’s show.

Conrad Murray was at the small desk near the window, calmly cleaning his surgical tools. The cooler sitting on the floor next to him was still half-full.

Butterbean stared at it for a long time before finally speaking.

Butterbean: “…She’s really dead, huh?”

Conrad didn’t even look up from what he was doing.

Conrad Murray: “She was never going to leave this room alive. You knew that.”

Butterbean shifted in the chair, the cheap wood creaking under his weight. He glanced over at Sterling on the bed, then back at Conrad.

Butterbean: “Tony said we were just supposed to get Sterling out. He didn’t say nothing about… all that other shit you did to her.”

Conrad finally glanced over at him, calm as ever.

Conrad Murray: “Tony doesn’t give the orders when it comes to this. Elena does. And Elena wanted Sterling stabilized by any means necessary. I did what needed to be done.”

Butterbean was quiet for a few seconds. He rubbed his knuckles, which were still bruised and swollen from the night before.

Butterbean: “…Cowboy know about any of this?”

Conrad went back to cleaning his tools without missing a beat.

Conrad Murray: “Who do you think authorized this? You know the rules — nobody can have bigger tits than Mariska. Cowboy made the exemption.”

Butterbean didn’t respond. He just leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared at the floor. The low, steady beeping of Sterling’s monitors filled the silence.

After a moment, Conrad spoke again, still focused on his tools.

Conrad Murray: “Tony should be here soon with Wendy. Once she gets here, we’ll get started. She needs to be ready for tomorrow night.”

Butterbean kept staring at the floor, his leg bouncing slightly.

Butterbean: (low) “…Yeah.”

He didn’t say anything else. He just stayed in the chair, waiting.

Butterbean sat in the chair, staring at nothing. The only sounds in the room were the steady beeping of Sterling’s monitors and Conrad quietly moving his tools around on the desk.

Butterbean’s leg had stopped bouncing. His eyes were still open, but he wasn’t really looking at anything in front of him anymore.

His mind started drifting.

---

He was twelve years old again, sitting on the front steps of his mom’s shitty apartment in Queens. His hands were wrapped in old, dirty athletic tape. His lip was split from getting jumped by three older kids the day before. He remembered sitting there with a black eye, telling himself that one day nobody would ever fuck with him again.

He remembered his first real fight at fifteen — some dirty smoker in the back of a bar in Long Island. He knocked the guy out in the second round and felt something click in his head. People actually looked at him different after that. For the first time in his life, he felt like somebody.

By nineteen he was fighting in small shows up and down the East Coast. He wasn’t the most technical guy, but he was big, mean, and he didn’t go down easy. He started getting noticed by the wrong kind of people — guys who liked having a big, dumb, loyal heavyweight around who could break shit when they needed it broken.

He remembered the first time he met one of Tony’s guys. The guy told him if he kept his mouth shut and did what he was told, maybe one day he could get made. That word stuck with him for years.

Made.

He wanted that more than anything. He didn’t care about the money as much as he cared about the respect. He wanted to walk into a room and have people move out the way. He wanted to stop being the fat kid who got picked on and start being the guy nobody fucked with.

He remembered sitting in the back of a car one night after beating the shit out of some guy who owed money, blood still on his knuckles, thinking to himself:

This is it. This is how I get in. This is how I stop being nothing.

---

Butterbean blinked slowly, coming back to the hotel room.

He looked down at his bruised knuckles, then over at Sterling on the bed. Then at the cooler sitting on the floor.

He rubbed his face with one big hand and let out a low breath.

Butterbean: (quiet, to himself) “…Fuckin’ made, huh?”

Conrad glanced over at him but didn’t say anything.

Butterbean leaned back in the chair, the wood creaking under his weight. He stared at the wall, his mind still half in the past.

He thought about how far he’d come from those amateur fights… and how the fuck he ended up here — sitting in a hotel room while a doctor cleaned tools that were used to cut up a nurse and put pieces of her into other people.

He didn’t say anything else out loud.

He just kept waiting for Tony to show up with Wendy.

The room stayed quiet for another minute. Butterbean was still leaning back in the chair, staring at the wall, lost in his own head.

Conrad Murray finished wiping down one of his scalpels and placed it neatly on a clean towel. Without looking over, he spoke in that same calm, clinical tone he always used.

Conrad Murray: “You used to fight with a guy named Richie Santoro as your cutman, right? Back in the mid-90s?”

Butterbean slowly turned his head toward him.

Butterbean: “…Yeah. How the fuck you know that?”

Conrad gave a small shrug, still focused on his tools.

Conrad Murray: “I knew Richie. Worked on a few fighters back then. He used to talk about you. Said you were a mean son of a bitch but you had no quit in you. Said you’d fight through anything.”

Butterbean didn’t answer right away. He just kept staring at Conrad.

Butterbean: “Richie’s dead. Died in ’03.”

Conrad Murray: “I heard. Heart attack, wasn’t it?”

Butterbean nodded slowly.

Butterbean: “Yeah.”

Conrad finally looked over at him, calm as ever.

Conrad Murray: “He always said you were gonna make it somewhere. Said you had that dog in you. That you’d do whatever it took.” He paused for a second, then added, “Guess he was right.”

Butterbean shifted in the chair, the wood creaking again under his weight. He rubbed his bruised knuckles and looked down at them.

Butterbean: “Yeah… well. ‘Whatever it took’ looks a little different now than it did back then.”

Conrad went back to organizing his instruments like they were having a normal conversation.

Conrad Murray: “Most things do.”

He picked up another tool and started wiping it down.

Conrad Murray: “Tony should be here soon. Once Wendy gets here, we’ll get started on her. Shouldn’t take too long if everything goes smooth.”

Butterbean didn’t respond. He just kept staring at his hands, his mind somewhere between 1996 and right now.

The low beeping of Sterling’s monitors filled the silence again.

There was a knock at the door.

Butterbean stood up, grabbed one of his gloves off the floor, and walked over. He checked the peephole, then unlocked the door and opened it.

Tony Soprano stepped inside first, looking tired and annoyed like always. Behind him was Dr. Ted Eisenberg, carrying a black medical bag. Wendy trailed in last, still wearing the oversized hoodie and sweatpants, looking half-asleep and confused.

Tony shut the door behind them and locked it.

Tony Soprano: “Conrad. Ted.”

He gave them both a short nod, then looked over at Butterbean and Sterling on the bed.

Tony Soprano: “How’s he doing?”

Conrad Murray: (calmly) “Stable for now. The drugs we gave him last night got him through the show, but he’s gonna need more soon if we want to keep him upright.”

Tony nodded, then looked at Wendy, who was standing near the wall looking around the room like she wasn’t sure where she was.

Tony Soprano: (to Wendy) “Go sit on the bed. The empty one.”

Wendy didn’t argue. She walked over slowly and sat down on the edge of the second bed, staring at the floor.

Dr. Ted Eisenberg set his bag down on the desk and looked over at the cooler.

Dr. Ted Eisenberg: “Is that everything we took from her?”

Conrad Murray: “Yeah. Breasts and ass tissue are prepped and ready. Everything else we used on him.” He nodded toward Sterling.

Tony lit a cigarette and looked between the two doctors.

Tony Soprano: “How long is this gonna take?”

Dr. Ted Eisenberg: “Couple hours, tops. We’ll do the breasts first, then the ass. Should be clean if everything goes right.”

Tony took a drag and exhaled, then looked over at Butterbean, who was still standing near the door with his glove in his hand.

Tony Soprano: “You good?”

Butterbean: (quiet) “Yeah… I’m good.”

Tony studied him for a second like he could tell something was off, but he didn’t push it.

Tony Soprano: “Alright. Conrad, Ted — get set up. Sooner we get this done, the better.”

He looked over at Wendy again.

Tony Soprano: “And you… stay still and don’t ask no fuckin’ questions. Got it?”

Wendy nodded slowly without looking up.

Conrad and Dr. Ted Eisenberg started setting up their tools while Tony walked over to the window and pulled the curtains tighter.

Butterbean sat back down in his chair in the corner, strapping his glove back on even though there was nothing to fight. He kept his eyes on the floor, the low beeping of Sterling’s monitors mixing with the sound of metal tools being laid out on the desk.

Conrad Murray: “Alright. Get naked.”

Wendy blinked, confused.

Wendy Williams: “…What?”

Dr. Ted Eisenberg: (already pulling gloves on) “You heard him. Take your clothes off. We don’t have all day.”

Wendy stood up slowly, her hands shaking a little as she pulled the oversized hoodie over her head. She was 59 years old, 5'7", and 175 pounds — thick in the middle, with heavy breasts that sagged from age and weight, a soft stomach, wide hips, and thick thighs. Her skin had lost some of its elasticity, and there were visible signs of wear on her body.

She stood there awkwardly in just her underwear for a moment before Conrad gestured impatiently.

Conrad Murray: “All of it. Bra and panties too.”

Wendy hesitated, clearly humiliated, but slowly unhooked her bra and stepped out of her panties. She stood completely naked in front of the two doctors, arms trying to cover herself.

Dr. Ted Eisenberg looked her up and down with zero warmth.

Dr. Ted Eisenberg: “Jesus. Look at this. Tits are already sagging down to her stomach. Stomach’s soft as fuck. Ass is flat and wide. Thighs are thick and dimpled. And that pussy? Jesus Christ. We’re gonna have to completely rebuild this bitch.”

Conrad Murray: (circling her slowly) “We’re turning you into a living blow-up doll, Wendy. Black Barbie bimbo. Huge fake tits, tiny waist, fat ass, dick-sucking lips, the whole package. By the time we’re done, you’re not even gonna look like the same person.”

Wendy’s face twisted, her voice shaky.

Wendy Williams: “…I don’t want this. This is… this is too much. I’m not some fucking doll—”

Conrad Murray: (cutting her off, cold) “You’re the backstage interviewer for CBWL. Do you have any idea how many women would kill for that spot? You should be on your knees thanking us for even giving you this chance. Most girls your age are washed up and forgotten. You still have a shot… but only if you stop being this sad, confused, fat old bitch and let us turn you into something useful.”

Dr. Ted Eisenberg: “Exactly. The only way you’re ever gonna be a star again is if you’re a full-blown bimbo. Big fake tits, fat ass, cock-sucking lips, and a brain that’s only good for looking pretty and spreading your legs. That’s the lane now.”

Wendy looked between the two of them, clearly humiliated and overwhelmed. Her eyes were glassy, her Alzheimer’s making it hard for her to fully process what was happening.

She opened her mouth to protest again… but then something shifted in her expression.

Wendy Williams: (voice low at first, then growing aggressive) “…Then do it.”

Both doctors looked at her.

Wendy Williams: (louder, almost angry) “Turn me into a fucking black sex doll. I don’t care anymore. If that’s what it takes, then fucking do it. Make my tits huge. Make my ass fat. Fix my face. Fix everything. I want to look like a goddamn blow-up doll. I want people to look at me and only think about fucking me. Do it.”

She stood there naked, breathing hard, eyes locked on them.

Wendy Williams: “Make me into a black bimbo sex doll. Right fucking now.”

The two doctors looked at each other for a brief second before turning their full attention back to Wendy, who was still standing there naked and vulnerable.

Conrad Murray: “Look at you. 59 years old, 175 pounds, and you still walk around like you’re something special. You’re not. You’re fat. Your stomach hangs, your thighs rub together, your ass is wide and flat, and those tits? They’re already sagging down like two old water balloons. You look like a washed-up, middle-aged Black woman who let herself go.”

Dr. Ted Eisenberg: (coldly) “And let’s not even talk about your face. The wrinkles, the sagging skin, the tired eyes. You look old. You look used up. And on top of all that, you’re not even sharp anymore. Everyone knows you’ve got Alzheimer’s. You’re fat and stupid now. That’s a bad combination, Wendy.”

Wendy’s face twisted. She tried to cover herself with her arms, but her hands were shaking.

Wendy Williams: (voice cracking) “…Stop it. Just… stop talking like that.”

Conrad Murray: “Why? You need to hear it. You came in here thinking you still had some dignity left. You don’t. You’re a confused, fat, fading old bitch who’s only still relevant because we’re willing to turn you into something fuckable. Without us, you’re nothing.”

Dr. Ted Eisenberg: “Exactly. Right now you’re just a sad, overweight, middle-aged woman with a broken brain. That’s it. That’s all you are.”

Wendy’s breathing started getting heavier. Her eyes darted around the room like she was trying to make sense of what was happening, but her mind was slipping. The humiliation, the clinical way they were picking her apart, and her Alzheimer’s mixing everything together finally broke her.

Tears started streaming down her face.

Wendy Williams: (voice rising, desperate) “Fix me… Fix me!”

She took a shaky step forward, completely naked, crying harder now.

Wendy Williams: (louder, almost childlike) “Fix me! Please! I don’t wanna be like this! I don’t wanna be fat and stupid and old! Fix me! Fix me!”

She was fully breaking down now, her voice cracking as she repeated it over and over.

Wendy Williams: (crying harder) “Fix me! I’ll do whatever you want! Just fix me! Please! I don’t wanna look like this anymore! Fix me! Fix me! Fix me!”

She stood there sobbing, arms wrapped around herself, repeating the same desperate plea while the two doctors watched her without a hint of sympathy.

Conrad Murray: (calmly) “…Alright. We’ll fix you.”

He picked up a marker and started drawing lines on her body.

Conrad Murray: “But you’re gonna have to be a good girl and stay still while we do it.”

Wendy kept crying, but she nodded quickly, like a broken child.

Wendy Williams: (through tears) “Okay… okay… just fix me…”

The two doctors didn’t waste any time.

Conrad picked up a black felt marker while Dr. Ted Eisenberg moved behind Wendy. Conrad started roughly marking up her body — big, crude circles around her sagging breasts, lines under her stomach, arrows pointing at her wide hips and flat ass.

Wendy flinched and let out a high-pitched yelp every time the marker touched her skin.

Wendy Williams: (squirming) “Ah! That tickles—! Stop— wait—!”

But she didn’t pull away. She just stood there, naked and twitching while they marked her up like livestock.

After a minute, something in her snapped. Her breathing got faster and her eyes went glassy. The combination of humiliation, confusion, and her Alzheimer’s sent her spiraling into a desperate, unfiltered rant.

Wendy Williams: (voice rising, frantic) “Okay— okay, listen— I need big fake tits. Like stupid big. Like porn star big. I want them sitting up high and round and fake-looking, not these old saggy things I got now. And I want a tiny waist. Like, cartoon tiny. I don’t care if you gotta cut my ribs out or whatever the fuck you gotta do. And I need a huge ass. Fat, round, fake-looking ass. I want it to look like I got two basketballs glued to my back. And my lips— make them huge. Like those stupid blow-up doll lips. I want them so big I can barely talk right. And my nose— make it smaller and upturned, like a bimbo nose. And my cheeks— fill them up so I always look like I’m sucking dick. And my eyes— make them look bigger and dumber. I want that vacant, stupid look.”

She was breathing hard now, talking faster and faster, completely unaware of how desperate and pathetic she sounded.

Wendy Williams: (droning on) “And I want my skin lighter. Like, light-skin bimbo light. And I want long, fake-looking hair. And I want my voice to sound higher and dumber after. And I want my pussy tighter. And my asshole bleached. And I want my thighs smaller but my ass still huge. And I want these old stretch marks gone. And I want my stomach flat and tight. And I want my arms skinny. And I want my neck longer. And I want my jaw softer. And I want to look cheap. I want to look cheap. I want people to look at me and think ‘that bitch paid to look like a whore.’ That’s what I want. I want to look like a stupid, fake, black bimbo sex doll. I don’t care how much it costs or how fake it looks. Just make me look stupid and fuckable. That’s all I want. Just make me—”

SMACK.

Dr. Ted Eisenberg suddenly slapped her ass hard — a loud, sharp crack that echoed in the room.

Wendy Williams: (screaming) “AH—!!”

She jumped and grabbed her ass, eyes wide with shock and pain. For a moment she just stood there, breathing heavily, the reality of the situation crashing into her confused mind.

Before she could say anything else, Conrad stepped forward and quickly stuck a syringe into her arm.

Conrad Murray: (calmly) “Enough talking.”

Wendy’s eyes immediately started to glaze over as the anesthesia hit her system. Her body began to sway.

Conrad Murray: “Time to put you under.”

Wendy’s knees buckled slightly as the drugs took hold. Her last mumbled words came out slurred and pathetic.

Wendy Williams: (barely conscious) “…fix me… make me… a doll…”

She went limp as Conrad and Dr. Ted caught her and laid her onto the bed.

Conrad looked down at her unconscious body and picked the marker back up.

Conrad Murray: “Let’s get to work.”

CBWL 067

CBWL – The Morning After Cowboy Watts’ Office – Atlanta, Georgia Saturday, June 21, 2026 – 9:47 a.m.

The office was thick with cigarette smoke. Cowboy Watts sat behind the desk in the same clothes from the night before, tie gone, top buttons open, looking like he hadn’t slept. Jim Ross sat across from him, cowboy hat on the desk, a half-empty cup of coffee in his hand.

Cowboy stared at the muted TV that was playing clips from last night’s riot on a loop. He finally killed it with the remote and tossed it onto a pile of papers.

Cowboy Watts: “Two people dead, JR. Two. One got trampled in the concourse during the rush. The other had some kind of medical thing in the middle of it all. Building’s already talking lawsuits. Atlanta PD’s been calling since six this morning. And we’re supposed to run a PPV in Atlanta tomorrow night.”

He lit a cigarette and took a long drag.

Cowboy Watts: “Tell me what the fuck happened out there last night. And don’t sugarcoat it.”

Jim Ross leaned back in his chair and let out a slow breath.

Jim Ross: “It started with Emma. She went way further than what was called. The original plan was for her to choke Nicki, rip the tubes out of Sterling, dump him, and then wheel Nicki out on the gurney. The stairs spot wasn’t supposed to happen on camera like that. She decided to keep going. And when she started ranting about Palestine and privilege while she had Nicki choked out… that wasn’t in the script. That was all her.”

Cowboy exhaled smoke through his nose.

Cowboy Watts: “I told them to sell it like murder. I didn’t tell them to make it look like an actual goddamn murder.”

Jim Ross: “Well they sold it. The building bought it. The second she dumped Sterling on the floor, people started moving. By the time she threw that gurney down the stairs, half the lower bowl was already trying to get over the barricades. Security got overrun fast. I heard glass breaking somewhere in the concourse. It turned into a full-on riot before Taylor even went after Emma in the parking garage.”

Cowboy rubbed his face with one hand.

Cowboy Watts: “What about Sterling? How bad is he really?”

Jim Ross: “Bad. The kid’s been in rough shape since the original incident. Whatever they did to him during that hospital extraction last week didn’t help. And last night on camera… that wasn’t all smoke and mirrors. He’s not faking how fucked up he is right now. If we keep pushing him like Elena wants, there’s a real chance he doesn’t make it.”

Cowboy was quiet for a few seconds, just smoking.

Cowboy Watts: “Emma?”

Jim Ross: “Gone before anybody could grab her. Nicki’s in the hospital. Banged up pretty bad from the stairs. And that nurse Tony grabbed during the extraction last week? Still missing. Word’s already starting to spread backstage about what happened during that hospital run. People are talking.”

Cowboy crushed his cigarette out and immediately lit another one.

Cowboy Watts: “So let me get this straight. We ran a go-home show in Charlotte last night that turned into a goddamn riot with two dead fans, our top heel looked like she actually tried to murder two people on live TV, and now we’ve got a missing nurse, a doctor who might be cutting people up in hotel rooms, and a PPV in Atlanta tomorrow that half the building might not even let us run.”

He looked across the desk at Jim Ross.

Cowboy Watts: “JR… what the fuck do we do now?”

CBWL – The Morning After Cowboy Watts’ Office – Atlanta, Georgia Saturday, June 21, 2026 – 9:58 a.m.

The door opened again. Arnold Palmer walked in first, followed by Bill Parcells. Both looked like they’d been up all night.

Cowboy nodded toward the empty chairs.

Cowboy Watts: “Sit. I want to hear what the fuck else was going on in that building last night that I didn’t see.”

Arnold Palmer dropped into a chair and rubbed his face. Bill Parcells stayed standing for a second before sitting on the arm of the couch.

Arnold Palmer: (Talent Relations) “From my side… the Mila vs Pam match went exactly how it was supposed to. Mila went out there and beat the shit out of her, then hit that long-ass promo about Jim. That part worked. The boys were saying it felt real nasty. But after that, once the Emma stuff started happening later in the night, a lot of the talent got real quiet. A few of them were asking me if we were actually trying to get the building shut down.”

He glanced at Cowboy.

Arnold Palmer: “Also… the hospital extraction from last week is already blowing back. Some of the developmental guys saw what went down when they pulled Sterling out. They’re talking. Not loud yet, but it’s moving.”

Bill Parcells leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

Bill Parcells: (Agent) “From the agent side… Kristen vs Boxxy was a mess even before Anya walked out. Boxxy was nervous as hell and kept looking for Anya the whole match. When Anya finally left, Boxxy looked completely lost. We had to calm her down backstage after. She was crying in the hallway saying she didn’t know what she did wrong.”

He shook his head.

Bill Parcells: “Jennette vs Florence was ugly as fuck, just like it was supposed to be. But after Mariska came out and booked the Eat My Shit match… Florence looked like she wanted to throw up. She kept asking me if it was a real stipulation or if we were just fucking with her. I told her it was real. She didn’t say anything after that. Just sat there staring at the floor.”

Arnold Palmer spoke up again.

Arnold Palmer: “The Taylor segment was going fine until it wasn’t. She was dancing, the crowd was into it, everything was light for a minute. Then we cut to the Emma attack and the whole building changed. I had two agents near the barricades tell me they saw people starting to climb before Emma even threw the gurney. By the time Taylor went to the parking garage, half the lower bowl was already moving.”

Bill Parcells nodded.

Bill Parcells: “And backstage… once the riot started, we had to pull a lot of the boys away from the curtain area. Some of them wanted to go out there and see what was happening. We had to physically stop a couple of them. It got tense.”

Cowboy sat in silence for a moment, smoking.

Cowboy Watts: “So while Emma was out there turning the show into a goddamn crime scene, the rest of the card was just… happening in the background like normal.”

He looked at both men.

Cowboy Watts: “Anything else I need to know?”

Arnold Palmer and Bill Parcells exchanged a look.

Arnold Palmer: “Yeah… one more thing. After everything settled down, a few of the girls were asking about Wendy. Nobody’s seen her since she had that breakdown on camera during the Florence segment. And the nurse that got taken during the hospital extraction last week? Still no sign of her. People are starting to notice she’s missing.”

The room went quiet again.

Cowboy slowly crushed out his cigarette.

Cowboy Watts: “Jesus Christ…”

He looked over at Jim Ross, then back at the two men.

Jim Ross looked over at Bill Parcells.

Jim Ross: “Bill, get out there and squash that rumor right now. The one about the nurse’s organs and Wendy. I don’t care how you do it — lie, bullshit, whatever you gotta say. Just get it dead before it spreads any further.”

Bill Parcells nodded and stood up.

Bill Parcells: “On it.”

He gave a quick look to Cowboy and left the room without another word.

Jim Ross then turned to Arnold Palmer.

Jim Ross: “Arnold, round up all the agents. We’re having a full booking meeting after lunch. Tell them to be here by one.”

Arnold Palmer: “Got it.”

Arnold stood up, gave Cowboy a short nod, and followed Bill out, closing the door behind him.

The office went quiet for a moment. Cowboy leaned back in his chair and lit another cigarette. Jim Ross rubbed his eyes, then reached for his phone.

Jim Ross: “Jesus Christ… what a fucking mess.”

Cowboy exhaled smoke toward the ceiling.

Cowboy Watts: “Yeah.”

There was a short pause. Jim Ross scrolled on his phone for a second before speaking again, his tone shifting.

Jim Ross: “You see that Alabama game last night?”

Cowboy let out a tired chuckle and shook his head.

Cowboy Watts: “Yeah. They looked like shit in the first half. I don’t know what the fuck Saban’s doing with that offense right now.”

Jim Ross: “They still found a way to win though. Typical.”

Cowboy smirked a little.

Cowboy Watts: “Some things never change.”

Jim Ross kept scrolling on his phone.

Jim Ross: “You feel like eating? I’m about to put in an Uber Eats order. I’m starving.”

Cowboy Watts: “Yeah, go ahead. Get me whatever. I don’t care.”

Jim Ross nodded and started tapping on his phone while Cowboy took another slow drag off his cigarette, both of them letting the heavy shit sit in silence for a minute while they talked about something normal.

The scene fades out on the two of them sitting there, the weight of last night still hanging in the room, but the immediate storm paused for just a little while.

CBWL 066

The Jim Cornette Experience

June 22, 2026

Jim Cornette: (already fired up) Brian, I have been in this business for over forty years. I have seen some of the dumbest, most ridiculous, most dangerous things you could possibly imagine. But what I saw last night from these goddamn idiots in CBWL… I don’t even have the words for it yet. And believe me, I’m gonna find ‘em.

Brian Last: Well Jim, before we even get into the show itself, let’s just acknowledge what happened. Two people are dead. There was an actual riot inside the building. Police had to use tear gas. And this all happened during a wrestling show.

Jim Cornette: (loud) During a wrestling show! Not after! Not outside in the parking lot after everybody went home! During the goddamn show! These people are running around doing angles where they’re throwing women down the stairs and ripping old men off life support, and then they act surprised when the crowd loses their fucking minds and people get killed! What the hell did they think was gonna happen?!

Brian Last: It’s one of the worst things I’ve ever seen come out of a wrestling event, and that’s saying something.

Jim Cornette: Brian, I’ve seen riots. I’ve seen fans throw chairs. I’ve seen buildings damn near come apart. But I have never seen a wrestling company do an angle so stupid, so reckless, and so goddamn dangerous that it directly caused two people to die inside the building while the show was still going on. This ain’t wrestling anymore. This is a goddamn public safety hazard with wrestling tights on.

Brian Last: Well, we’re gonna go through this thing segment by segment, because there’s a lot to unpack here. From what I understand, it was another no-ring show—

Jim Cornette: (interrupting) Of course it was! Why would they have a ring when they can just throw people on some plywood and call it a show?! These idiots couldn’t book a ring if their lives depended on it!

Brian Last: (chuckling) Alright, well let’s start from the top then. We’ll go through it piece by piece and see just how bad this thing really was.

Jim Cornette: Oh, it’s bad, Brian. It’s real bad. And I’m just getting warmed up.

Brian Last: Alright, let’s start from the top. The show opens with Mariska Hargitay coming out on the plywood — because of course there’s no ring again — and she cuts a promo addressing the fans’ frustration about not having a ring for the second week in a row. Then she shifts into talking about Sterling Marlin and how he’s still recovering from his injuries. She teases some big announcement about him at the PPV on Sunday.

Jim Cornette: (already annoyed) Oh for Christ’s sake. First of all, these idiots still don’t have a ring. They’re out here doing a wrestling show on some goddamn plywood they threw on the floor like they’re setting up for a backyard barbecue. And Mariska comes out in a purple dress like she’s going to a cocktail party instead of running a wrestling show. What the hell is this?

Brian Last: She does address the no-ring situation right away. She tells the crowd she knows they’re frustrated.

Jim Cornette: (loud) Well no shit they’re frustrated, Brian! They paid to see a wrestling show and these morons keep telling them “sorry, the ring’s in the shop” like it’s a goddamn car! This is the second week in a row! At what point do you just admit you don’t have a ring and stop insulting everybody’s intelligence?

Brian Last: Then she moves into talking about Sterling Marlin. She says he’s still recovering, he’s been through surgeries, he’s in bad shape, but he still wants to be there. And she teases that there’s gonna be a major announcement at the PPV about his future with the company.

Jim Cornette: Oh, here we go with the soap opera bullshit. She’s out there acting like this is some dramatic Lifetime movie instead of a wrestling show. “Sterling’s been through so much… he’s a hardworking man…” Give me a break! This is the same company that had a guy get thrown down the stairs and another one ripped off life support later in the night, and now they’re out here pretending they give a damn about this poor bastard’s health? It’s all a work until it’s not!

Brian Last: The commentary team was interesting here too. Freddie was trying to be professional, Chelsea Handler was being her usual bitchy self, and Sofia Vergara was doing her slow, broken English thing.

Jim Cornette: (disgusted) Sofia Vergara sounds like she’s reading the script off a teleprompter while she’s half-asleep. And Chelsea Handler — Jesus Christ, that woman’s got the personality of a chainsaw. Every time she opens her mouth I want to reach through the screen and slap her. This ain’t wrestling commentary, this is three people who clearly don’t give a damn about what they’re watching.

Brian Last: Overall, it was a pretty serious opening from Mariska. She tried to make it feel important.

Jim Cornette: It felt like a bunch of bullshit, Brian. These people have spent weeks doing the most disgusting, violent, over-the-top angles you can imagine, and now they want to come out here and act all serious and respectful about some poor bastard who’s laid up in a hospital bed? Give me a fucking break. This company couldn’t be sincere if their lives depended on it.

Brian Last: Up next we go backstage where Wendy Williams is interviewing Pam Beesly. And Jim… this was rough.

Jim Cornette: (already laughing sarcastically) Oh, I can’t wait to hear this. Wendy Williams doing a wrestling interview. This oughta be good.

Brian Last: Wendy comes out looking completely lost. She doesn’t seem to know who Pam is or why she’s there. She keeps calling her “the girl from the paper company” and asking her what she’s doing in wrestling. It’s very awkward. Pam tries to explain that she’s here because she wants to stand up for herself and prove she’s not soft, but Wendy just keeps talking over her and going off on tangents.

Jim Cornette: (loud) This is a goddamn embarrassment! What the hell is Wendy Williams even doing there?! She looks like somebody’s drunk aunt who wandered into the wrong room at a family reunion! She’s asking Pam if she’s nervous, telling her “these girls are crazy,” and then ends the interview by saying “just don’t die out there.” What kind of professional wrestling interview is that?!

Brian Last: It was really bad. Wendy seemed completely checked out. She wasn’t even listening to Pam’s answers half the time.

Jim Cornette: Of course she wasn’t listening! She doesn’t know what the fuck she’s doing! This woman used to have her own talk show and now she’s out here doing wrestling interviews like she’s reading off cue cards she can’t even see! And poor Pam Beesly is standing there trying to look serious and tough while this idiot is asking her if she’s gonna beat people up or not. It’s insulting to everybody involved!

Brian Last: The commentary team didn’t help either. Chelsea Handler was roasting Pam the whole time, saying she looked like she should be answering phones instead of wrestling. Sofia Vergara was doing her usual slow, horny-sounding commentary.

Jim Cornette: (disgusted) Chelsea Handler is just a miserable bitch who hates everything and everybody. And Sofia Vergara sounds like she’s halfway through a bottle of wine and trying to remember her lines. Between the three of them, they sounded like they were watching a show they didn’t even want to be at.

Brian Last: Overall, it was just a really bad, unprofessional backstage segment. It didn’t make Pam look good, and it made Wendy look completely out of place.

Jim Cornette: It made the whole company look like a joke, Brian! You’ve got a confused old talk show host doing interviews, a bunch of celebrities who don’t know what they’re doing, and a commentary team that sounds like they’re being held hostage. This ain’t wrestling. This is community theater with worse production values!

Brian Last: Alright, well let’s keep moving. Up next is Mila Kunis attacking Pam Beesly on the plywood…

Brian Last: Up next, we get Mila Kunis jumping Pam Beesly from the crowd and beating her up on the plywood. Then Mila grabs a microphone and cuts a long, vicious promo about how she slept with Jim from The Office and how Pam strung him along for years. It got pretty personal and nasty.

Jim Cornette: (already annoyed) Oh here we go with this bullshit. So now we’re doing The Office fanfiction in the middle of a wrestling match? These people have completely lost the plot.

Brian Last: Mila dominates Pam physically first, then she starts talking about how she fucked Jim, how she told Roy about the kiss, how Pam was indecisive and using Jim, all that stuff. She really lays into her character-wise. Then she superkicks her and pins her while she’s out cold.

Jim Cornette: (loud) This is the kind of shit that makes me sick about modern wrestling! These idiots think that if they just take some TV show from twenty years ago and turn it into a personal shoot promo, that makes it “edgy” and “real.” It’s not real, it’s fucking stupid! Why are we bringing up Jim and Pam and Roy in a wrestling ring?! This ain’t wrestling, this is some nerd writing fanfiction and calling it a match!

Brian Last: It was really mean-spirited. She didn’t just say it once — she kept going and going, digging into Pam’s character and making her look pathetic.

Jim Cornette: And that’s the problem! These people think the more personal and nasty they get, the better the angle is. Newsflash — it ain’t! It’s lazy! Instead of building up a wrestling story, they just take some old sitcom drama and turn it into a personal attack. And then they have Mila superkick her while she’s already knocked out like she’s putting the finishing touches on a goddamn execution. It’s disgusting.

Brian Last: The commentary didn’t help. Freddie sounded uncomfortable, Chelsea Handler was laughing and encouraging it, and Sofia Vergara was doing her usual slow, dumb commentary.

Jim Cornette: (mocking) “Ay, Mila is being so mean…” Jesus Christ, Sofia sounds like she’s reading her lines off a menu. And Chelsea Handler — that miserable bitch is probably the only one who actually enjoyed this garbage because it gave her something to be snarky about. The whole thing was a mess.

Brian Last: It was definitely one of the more memorable segments of the night, for better or worse.

Jim Cornette: It was memorable because it was so goddamn stupid! These people have no idea how to tell a wrestling story anymore. They think if they just make everything as mean and personal as possible, that makes it good. It doesn’t. It makes it look like a bunch of marks who watched too much reality TV and thought that’s what wrestling should be.

Brian Last: Jim, before we move on… have you ever actually watched The Office?

Jim Cornette: (scoffs) Have I ever watched The Office? Brian, I’ve seen enough of that show to know it’s a bunch of goddamn idiots standing around an office making faces at the camera like they’re in some kind of fucking documentary. I don’t need to watch the whole series to know it’s not something that belongs in a wrestling ring!

Brian Last: So you’re familiar with the characters then? Jim, Pam, Roy…

Jim Cornette: (loud) Of course I know who they are! Everybody and their goddamn mother knows who Jim and Pam are! That’s the problem! These wrestling bookers are so lazy that instead of coming up with their own storylines, they just steal characters from some old TV show and turn it into a personal shoot promo. “Oh, Mila fucked Jim and Pam was stringing him along!” Who gives a shit?! This ain’t The Office, this is supposed to be a wrestling show!

Brian Last: So you don’t think it worked as an angle?

Jim Cornette: It worked as an angle if your goal is to make wrestling look even more ridiculous than it already does! These people think that if they just take some pop culture reference and make it nasty and personal, that makes it good wrestling. It doesn’t! It makes it look like a bunch of marks who don’t know how to tell a real story, so they just rip off something everybody’s already seen on Netflix!

Brian Last: Fair enough. You’re clearly not a fan.

Jim Cornette: I’m not a fan of turning wrestling into bad fanfiction, no. If I wanted to watch The Office, I’d watch The Office. I don’t need to see it butchered in a wrestling ring by a bunch of people who think being mean is the same thing as being good at this business.

Brian Last: Alright, well let’s move on before you have a stroke. Up next is Kristen Bell vs Boxxy…

Brian Last: Up next is Kristen Bell taking on Boxxy, with Anya Taylor-Joy in Boxxy’s corner. Kristen stalls a lot, talks some shit, and then the match turns into a sloppy, ugly brawl on the plywood. The big story here is that Anya eventually just walks off and abandons Boxxy while the crowd boos her out of the building. Kristen wins with a fluke pin.

Jim Cornette: (already disgusted) Oh wonderful. Another sloppy match on some goddamn plywood. These people couldn’t have a decent wrestling match if their lives depended on it. And now we’ve got Anya Taylor-Joy just standing there with her arms crossed like she doesn’t even want to be there, and then she just walks off? What the hell was that supposed to be?

Brian Last: It was pretty clear she didn’t want to be involved. Boxxy kept calling for her help during the match and Anya just ignored her until she finally left. The crowd turned on her hard.

Jim Cornette: (loud) Of course they turned on her! She looked like she was being forced to be there at gunpoint! These people keep doing these stupid, half-assed “partner abandons their teammate” stories like it’s some kind of revolutionary idea. It’s not! It’s lazy booking! And the match itself was a goddamn mess. Two untrained women swinging and grabbing on some plywood like they’re in a bar fight. This ain’t wrestling!

Brian Last: Kristen did look a little better than Boxxy, at least timing-wise. She won with a fluke after Boxxy almost had her in trouble.

Jim Cornette: A fluke win in a fluke match on some fluke plywood. Who gives a shit? The whole thing was pointless. The only thing that came out of it was that Boxxy looked even more pathetic than before, and Anya looked like she couldn’t care less. And Kristen Bell winning a sloppy match with a lucky pin isn’t exactly building her up as some kind of killer.

Brian Last: The commentary was pretty standard at this point. Freddie was trying to call it straight, Chelsea was being mean, and Sofia was doing her usual thing.

Jim Cornette: (mocking Sofia’s accent) “Ay, Boxxy is calling for help but Anya is not helping…” Jesus Christ, every time that woman opens her mouth I lose brain cells. And Chelsea Handler sounds like she’s actively trying to make everyone watching feel worse about themselves. This commentary team is a disaster.

Brian Last: Overall it was another rough, ugly match that didn’t do much except make Boxxy look even more alone and pathetic.

Jim Cornette: It was a waste of time, Brian. Another sloppy brawl on plywood with a lazy “partner walks out” angle that we’ve seen a thousand times before. These people have no idea what they’re doing.

Brian Last: Alright, next we go to this hospital segment with Nicki Minaj and Sterling Marlin. Nicki’s sitting with him while he’s unconscious in the bed, gives him this emotional speech, and then starts grinding on him in a lapdance. Meanwhile, Emma Watson is standing in the doorway watching with this creepy smile on her face. It was… strange.

Jim Cornette: (disgusted) Strange? Brian, that was fucking weird. What the hell was that? You’ve got this woman giving a lapdance to a guy who’s laid up in a hospital bed, tubes coming out of him, and she’s talking about “real men” and “fighting through adversity” while she’s dry-humping him? And then they cut to Emma Watson just standing there in the shadows like some kind of goddamn horror movie villain? What is this shit?

Brian Last: It was definitely unsettling. Especially the way Emma was just watching with that smile. It felt like they were trying to make her look unhinged already.

Jim Cornette: (loud) Unhinged? She looked like she was about to pull out a knife and start carving her name into the wall! This ain’t wrestling, this is some weird, creepy, low-budget soap opera bullshit. And what was Nicki even doing there? Giving this big emotional speech while she’s bouncing on a unconscious man’s lap? These people have completely lost their minds.

Brian Last: It did feel like they were trying to set something up with Emma, though. That shot of her just standing there smiling while all this was going on was pretty eerie.

Jim Cornette: It was creepy as hell, I’ll give ‘em that. But it was also just stupid. Why are we doing hospital lapdance segments in a wrestling show? And why is Emma Watson lurking around like she’s about to go full psycho? These angles are getting so convoluted and weird that I can’t even keep track of what the hell is supposed to be happening anymore.

Brian Last: It was definitely one of the stranger parts of the night.

Jim Cornette: It was one of the dumber parts of the night, that’s what it was. These people think if they just keep throwing weird, dark, uncomfortable shit at the wall, eventually something’s gonna stick. Well, nothing’s sticking, Brian. It’s all just sliding off because it’s so goddamn stupid.

Brian Last: We come back from that weird hospital segment and go to Jennette McCurdy vs Florence Pugh on the dirty plywood. It was another ugly, stiff brawl. The ref even had to leave at one point because she was getting too many splinters in her hands. Florence wins with a roll-up after Jennette slips. Then after the match, Wendy comes out to interview Florence and immediately starts talking about how she’s been eating cheese and can’t shit. Mariska storms out, calls Florence out for not taking care of herself, and books her in an “Eat My Shit” match against Kristen Bell at the PPV. Wendy keeps piling on until she has some kind of breakdown on camera and has to be pulled off.

Jim Cornette: (already pissed) Jesus Christ, Brian. Another match on that filthy plywood where these two women are just beating the hell out of each other with no technique. And the ref has to leave because she’s getting splinters in her hands? What the fuck kind of wrestling show is this? They can’t even provide a goddamn ring, so now the referee is getting injured too?

Brian Last: It was rough. And then the post-match stuff got even weirder. Wendy starts going in on Florence about being constipated, Mariska comes out and punishes her by booking this “Eat My Shit” match, and then Wendy completely loses it on camera.

Jim Cornette: (loud) This is the kind of shit that makes me embarrassed to even be associated with this business! You’ve got one woman calling another woman out for not being able to take a shit, and then they book a match where the loser has to eat shit on pay-per-view. What the hell happened to wrestling? When did it become this disgusting, low-class garbage? And then Wendy Williams has a full-on mental breakdown on camera while all this is happening? These people are out of their goddamn minds!

Brian Last: It was uncomfortable to watch. Florence looked completely stunned, and Wendy went from laughing to choking to looking completely lost. They had to drag her off.

Jim Cornette: Good! Drag her off and drag this whole damn segment off with her. This isn’t edgy, this isn’t entertaining, this is just nasty for the sake of being nasty. These idiots think that if they keep pushing how gross and humiliating they can make everything, people will keep watching. Well I’ve got news for ‘em — this shit ain’t drawing anybody but sickos and morons.

Brian Last: It definitely felt like they were trying to double down on the humiliation stuff after last week.

Jim Cornette: They’re not doubling down, they’re digging their own grave. Every week they find a new way to make wrestling look even more ridiculous and disgusting than the week before. And the sad part is, they probably think they’re being creative.

Brian Last: Jim, I gotta ask you about this “Eat My Shit” match they announced. Mariska comes out and books Florence Pugh against Kristen Bell in a match where… apparently the loser has to eat shit. Have you ever heard of a stipulation like that before?

Jim Cornette: (loud, immediately disgusted) Have I ever heard of a fucking “Eat My Shit” match before? Brian, in all my years in this business — and I’ve seen some truly stupid, disgusting, low-class shit — I have never heard of a match where the loser has to eat actual shit. Never. Not in the territories, not in Japan, not in Mexico, nowhere. These goddamn idiots have officially run out of ideas.

Brian Last: So this is a new low, even for you?

Jim Cornette: It’s not even a low, it’s rock bottom with a shovel. They’re not even trying to hide how stupid this is. They built up this whole thing about Florence eating cheese and being constipated, and now they’re turning it into a match where she might have to eat shit on pay-per-view. What the fuck is wrong with these people? This ain’t wrestling. This is some sick fetish shit they’re trying to pass off as entertainment.

Brian Last: It felt like they were really leaning into the humiliation. Mariska came out and made it personal, and Wendy was out there laughing about it too.

Jim Cornette: (angry) Of course they made it personal! That’s all these modern-day marks know how to do. They can’t tell a wrestling story, so they just make everything as gross and humiliating as possible and call it “edgy.” Newsflash — it’s not edgy. It’s fucking embarrassing. And the fact that they’re doing it with Florence Pugh, who’s still relatively new, makes it even worse. They’re using her as a punching bag for this disgusting garbage.

Brian Last: You think this kind of thing can actually draw?

Jim Cornette: It might draw some sick bastards who get off on this kind of shit, but it ain’t drawing normal wrestling fans. This is the kind of stuff that makes people change the channel and never come back. And the worst part is, these idiots probably think they’re being creative. They’re not. They’re just proving how far this business has fallen.

Brian Last: Yeah, it was pretty rough.

Jim Cornette: Rough? Brian, it was fucking revolting. And we’re supposed to believe this is going to be on pay-per-view? Jesus Christ, what a joke.

Brian Last: After that whole mess with Florence and the “Eat My Shit” match, we go backstage where Mariska is talking to Taylor Swift. Mariska tells her that Wendy’s situation is gonna change at the PPV, but makes it clear that’s not the big announcement she teased earlier. She also mentions they’re doing an Escape the Stall rematch with the iCarlys against Boxxy and Anya. Then Taylor comes out to the ring.

Jim Cornette: (already annoyed) Oh good, more backstage soap opera bullshit. These people can’t go five minutes without having two characters stand around and explain the plot to each other like we’re watching a goddamn CW show.

Brian Last: Taylor comes out and cuts a promo. She thanks the crowd, then gets serious and talks about Sterling Marlin again. She says what happened to him wasn’t right and thanks Nicki Minaj for being there for him. Then she says, “I’ll take over for you later.” The crowd pops at that. After that, she randomly asks if everybody wants to see her shake her ass to the Cha-Cha Slide and starts dancing in the ring.

Jim Cornette: (loud) Are you fucking kidding me?! So we go from one woman being told she’s gonna have to eat shit on pay-per-view, straight into Taylor Swift giving a heartfelt speech about Sterling Marlin, and then she just starts dancing like she’s at a goddamn concert?! What the hell is wrong with these people?! Pick a tone and stick with it!

Brian Last: Yeah, it was jarring. She went from being serious about Sterling to suddenly wanting to do the Cha-Cha Slide. And there was this weird energy in the crowd because she teased that Sterling might actually be there.

Jim Cornette: Of course there was weird energy! These idiots have spent the whole night doing dark, disgusting, over-the-top angles, and then they expect the crowd to just flip a switch and start clapping along while Taylor shakes her ass? It doesn’t work like that! And what the hell was that line about “I’ll take over for you later”? These people can’t even do a simple promo without turning it into some weird, convoluted tease.

Brian Last: The crowd did pop when she started dancing though. They seemed into it.

Jim Cornette: (scoffs) Of course they popped. After everything else they’d sat through tonight, they were probably just happy to see something that didn’t involve someone getting thrown down the stairs or being told they’re gonna eat shit. But that doesn’t make it good. It just makes it the least offensive thing on the show so far.

Brian Last: Right after she starts dancing, they put up a graphic that says “UP NEXT: Taylor Swift vs Miranda Cosgrove.” Then it cuts to black and goes backstage…

Jim Cornette: (already dreading it) Oh boy. Here we go. I can already tell this is about to get even dumber.

Brian Last: So Taylor’s dancing to the Cha-Cha Slide, the crowd is into it, and then they put up that graphic for Taylor vs Miranda Cosgrove. Right as she’s hitting the big finish of the dance, the show cuts to black and goes backstage. Emma Watson storms in and attacks Nicki Minaj out of nowhere. She chokes her with some straps, goes on this long rant, then rips all the tubes and wires off Sterling and dumps him on the floor. After that, she straps Nicki to a gurney and throws her down the stairs. It looked really rough — the gurney went down more flights than it was probably supposed to.

Jim Cornette: (already heated) Are you fucking kidding me?! So we go from Taylor Swift dancing and having fun with the crowd, straight into Emma Watson trying to murder two people on live television?! What the hell is wrong with these goddamn idiots?! This isn’t edgy, this isn’t shocking, this is just stupid and dangerous!

Brian Last: It got really dark, really fast. Emma chokes Nicki, rips Sterling off life support, dumps him on the floor, and then throws Nicki down the stairs on that gurney. And it looked like it went wrong — it bounced down an extra flight.

Jim Cornette: (loud) Of course it looked like it went wrong! Because these morons have no idea what they’re doing! You’ve got a woman attacking an unconscious man and then throwing another woman down concrete stairs like she’s disposing of a body, and they expect us to just sit there and treat this like normal wrestling entertainment? This is the kind of shit that makes people turn the channel and never come back!

Brian Last: The commentary team completely lost it during this. Freddie sounded like he was having a panic attack, Chelsea was screaming, and even Sofia sounded upset. You could hear Cowboy Watts in the background telling them to sell it like murder.

Jim Cornette: (disgusted) Because that’s exactly what it looked like — a goddamn murder attempt! And these idiots are sitting there encouraging the announcers to sell it like it’s real? What the fuck is wrong with these people?! This isn’t wrestling anymore. This is some sick, twisted bullshit that has no business being on television.

Brian Last: The crowd reacted really strongly too. People were trying to get backstage. It turned into chaos.

Jim Cornette: Of course it turned into chaos! These dumb bastards spent weeks doing the most violent, over-the-top, disgusting angles they could think of, and then they act surprised when the crowd actually believes it and tries to do something about it. This is what happens when you push things too far and blur the line between work and shoot until nobody knows what the hell is real anymore.

Brian Last: Yeah… this one got out of hand fast.

Jim Cornette: It got out of hand because these people have no self-control and no common sense. They keep thinking “bigger, darker, more extreme” is the answer to everything, and now they’ve got a goddamn riot on their hands. This is a disaster, Brian. A complete and total disaster.

Brian Last: We come back from commercial and go backstage where Taylor Swift, Wendy Williams, and Mariska are with Sterling, who’s now on the floor after Emma dumped him. Taylor’s crying, Wendy looks confused and upset, and Mariska tells Taylor that if she can find Emma before she leaves the building, she has full permission to do whatever she needs to do — no repercussions. Taylor takes off running.

Jim Cornette: (already pissed) Oh, so now we’re just openly encouraging people to go commit violence backstage? This is a wrestling show, not The Purge! What the fuck is wrong with these people?!

Brian Last: Taylor runs out to the parking garage looking for Emma but misses her. Instead, she finds Miranda Cosgrove standing by Sterling’s vandalized truck. It looks like Miranda was helping Emma get away. Taylor attacks her and beats the shit out of her — slamming her head into the concrete — then leaves her laid out next to the truck and runs back inside.

Jim Cornette: (loud) So now we’ve got Taylor Swift beating the hell out of Miranda Cosgrove in a parking garage like it’s some kind of street fight? These people have completely lost the plot! This isn’t wrestling, this is some low-budget crime drama bullshit!

Brian Last: And while all this is happening, the arena is in complete chaos. Fire alarms are going off, fans are rushing the barricades, security is struggling to keep control. The show ends on a shot of Sterling’s destroyed truck with Miranda unconscious next to it, while everything is falling apart in the background.

Jim Cornette: (disgusted) This is a goddamn disaster. These idiots spent the entire night doing the most violent, over-the-top, dangerous angles they could think of, and then they act surprised when the building turns into a riot zone. Two people are dead because of this shit! And instead of pulling the plug or trying to calm things down, they just kept going until the whole thing exploded in their faces.

Brian Last: It really did feel like it got completely out of control by the end.

Jim Cornette: Of course it got out of control! These people have been pushing the line further and further every single week, and now they’ve crossed it. You can’t do angles where people are getting thrown down stairs and ripped off life support and then expect the crowd to just sit there and clap like it’s normal. This is what happens when you treat wrestling like it’s some kind of sick reality show instead of a goddamn athletic contest.

Brian Last: Yeah… this one’s going to be talked about for a long time, and not in a good way.

Jim Cornette: It should be talked about as one of the biggest fuck-ups in wrestling history. These goddamn idiots have no idea what they’re doing, and now people are dead because of it. This ain’t wrestling anymore. This is a public safety hazard with wrestling tights on.

Brian Last: Jim, going back real quick — when Taylor was out there during her promo, she said she was gonna “take over for Nicki later” when it came to Sterling. What do you think she meant by that?

Jim Cornette: (scoffs) Well, she’s gonna have to now, ain’t she?! After what Emma did to Nicki, somebody’s gonna have to step up, because Nicki’s probably in a goddamn hospital bed herself after getting thrown down those stairs!

Brian Last: Yeah, that line aged like milk in about twenty minutes.

Jim Cornette: These people write this shit and don’t even think two steps ahead. Taylor says she’s gonna take over for Nicki with Sterling, then twenty minutes later Emma damn near kills both of them. Now Taylor’s probably gotta play nurse while this poor bastard is laid up half-dead. It’s all so goddamn convoluted.

Brian Last: Speaking of Sterling… how bad do you think he actually is? Because on the show they made it seem like he was hurt, but after everything we saw — especially him getting dumped on the floor — I don’t know how much of that was a work.

Jim Cornette: Brian, that man is old as hell and he’s already been through the wringer. Even before whatever “car crash” they’re blaming this on, he’s not exactly in his prime. Then you’ve got Emma ripping him off life support and throwing him on the goddamn floor like a sack of potatoes? Whether that was a work or a shoot, that shit ain’t good for a man his age with the injuries he’s supposed to already have.

Brian Last: My sources are telling me it’s not a work. They’re saying Sterling is legitimately comatose right now. Like, this isn’t just storyline injuries. They’re saying what happened in that hospital extraction was real — Butterbean went in there swinging on people, Tony took a nurse hostage, and they basically kidnapped Sterling out of there. And now he’s in really bad shape.

Jim Cornette: (loud) Of course he’s in bad shape! These idiots have been dragging this poor bastard around like a prop for weeks while he’s half-dead, and now we’re finding out they actually pulled him out of a hospital against medical advice and roughed up half the staff while they were at it? This ain’t wrestling, this is criminal activity with wrestling camera angles!

Brian Last: It reminds me of some of those old territory riots back in the day, where things would get so heated that fans would actually try to get to the heels. But even then, I don’t remember anything this bad.

Jim Cornette: This is worse than territory riots, Brian. Back then, at least the violence was usually contained to the ring or right after the show. These idiots are doing angles so reckless that people are dying during the show. And for what? So Emma Watson can look like a psycho? So they can do some weird political rant in the middle of it? This whole thing has gone completely off the rails.

Brian Last: Between the riot, the deaths, Sterling’s condition, and everything else… this company might be in real trouble.

Jim Cornette: They should be in trouble. They’ve been playing with fire for weeks and now the whole building is burning down around them. Two people are dead, the crowd turned into a mob, and they’ve got a man who’s supposedly in a coma because they couldn’t stop themselves from doing the most dangerous, stupid shit they could think of. This ain’t just bad booking anymore. This is a goddamn liability.

Brian Last: Yeah… this one’s bad.

Jim Cornette: It’s worse than bad. It’s embarrassing. And I don’t know how they come back from it.

Brian Last: Jim, going back to what happened in Charlotte… if something like this had gone down back in the Mid-South days — a full-on riot with deaths in the crowd during the show — what would the response have been the next week? How would the promotion have handled it?

Jim Cornette: (immediately) They would’ve come down on that shit like a hammer. Especially if Bill Watts was running the show. Watts didn’t play around with that kind of mess. If something like that happened in Mid-South, the next show would’ve been locked down with extra police, extra security, and Watts himself would’ve come out at the start of the night and addressed it directly. He would’ve made it very clear that that kind of shit wasn’t gonna fly in his territory.

Brian Last: So they wouldn’t have just ignored it or tried to lean into it?

Jim Cornette: Hell no. Watts ran a tight ship. If fans got out of control to the point where people got hurt or killed, he would’ve made an example out of it. He wouldn’t have just let it slide and kept doing the same stupid angles the next week. And the building and the cops would’ve been all over it too. Back then, if something that serious happened at one of your shows, you had to answer for it.

Brian Last: It’s wild to think about, because the same Cowboy Watts who ran Mid-South like that… is the same guy running CBWL right now.

Jim Cornette: (loud, almost laughing in disbelief) That’s the craziest part! This is the same son of a bitch who used to run one of the toughest, most no-nonsense territories in the country, and now he’s in charge of this goddamn shitshow?! What happened to him?! Back in the day, if one of his boys did something this stupid and reckless, Watts would’ve kicked their ass himself. Now he’s sitting on top of a company that’s doing angles so dangerous that people are dying in the building, and it looks like he’s just letting it happen!

Brian Last: Do you think he’s lost control of it?

Jim Cornette: Either he’s lost control, or he’s decided he doesn’t give a damn anymore. Because the Cowboy Watts I knew back in Mid-South wouldn’t have stood for this. He would’ve shut this shit down weeks ago. Instead, we’ve got two people dead, a riot, and this company still trying to figure out if they’re even gonna run on Sunday. It’s embarrassing.

Brian Last: Yeah… it’s a completely different world now.

Jim Cornette: It’s not even the same business anymore. Back then, even when things got wild, there were still lines you didn’t cross. These idiots are crossing every line they can find, and now people are dead because of it. And the guy who used to be one of the strictest bookers in the business is sitting at the top of it all. It’s mind-blowing.

Brian Last: Jim, real quick before we wrap up — has there ever been anything like a crush in the stands at a wrestling show before? Like people getting trampled?

Jim Cornette: Not that I can remember. I’ve seen fans rush the ring, I’ve seen chairs thrown, I’ve seen buildings damn near come apart… but I don’t recall a situation where people were getting crushed to death in the stands during a wrestling show. That’s more like soccer hooligan shit or a concert gone wrong. Wrestling crowds could get rowdy as hell, but usually the violence stayed around ringside or right after the show ended. What happened in Charlotte was on a whole different level.

Brian Last: Speaking of rowdy crowds… you used to carry that tennis racket around back in the day, right?

Jim Cornette: (laughs) Damn right I did. Back when I was managing, if some of those rednecks got too close or started acting stupid, I’d beat their asses with that tennis racket. I wasn’t trying to fistfight these guys — I had a weapon, and I used it. A lot of those old territories, if you didn’t stand your ground, the fans would walk all over you. So yeah, that racket came in real handy more times than I can count.

Brian Last: Going back to the show real quick… Mariska came out in that purple strapless dress for her opening promo. What’d you think of that?

Jim Cornette: (scoffs) She looked like she was going to a goddamn cocktail party, not running a wrestling show. And let’s be honest here — we all know what’s going on. Cowboy’s out here parading his mistress around like it’s some kind of inside joke. He likes showing her off to everybody else while pretending nobody knows they’re fucking. It’s the oldest move in the book for guys like that. “Look at my hot young GM while my wife’s at home.” It’s pathetic.

Brian Last: Yeah, that whole dynamic feels pretty obvious at this point.

Jim Cornette: It’s embarrassing. But that’s the least of this company’s problems right now.

Brian Last: Speaking of problems… what do you think happens on Sunday? Are they even gonna be able to run this PPV?

Jim Cornette: I don’t know how they do it, Brian. They’ve got two people dead, a riot, a building that got torn up, and now the whole world is watching them. Even if they’re allowed to run, how do you promote a show after something like this? “Come see the follow-up to the riot where two people got killed!” It’s insane. And that’s not even counting all the other bullshit they’ve got going on behind the scenes with Sterling and everything else.

Brian Last: It feels like they’re in way over their heads.

Jim Cornette: They’ve been in over their heads for weeks. They just finally ran out of room to keep pretending everything was under control. This whole thing is a disaster, and I don’t see how they dig themselves out of it.

Brian Last: Yeah… that’s gonna do it for this week’s show. We’ll be back next time with more on this mess.

Jim Cornette: God help us all if they actually try to run on Sunday.