Over the years I've learned that a lot of different people are going to call you a lot of different things. Some of them will be flattering, and most of them won't be. No matter what they call you, good or bad; don't take it to heart. Don't get offended. Don't let your blood get hot. Let it roll off your back. Just smile at them and keep your head down. Keep moving.

I'm generally good at this.

Generally.

RAVEN: She said I was a bad father. Fuck her.

Big Shanks voice booms around me in the car, the wireless connection from my phone to my speakers gifting him with the voice of god.

SHANK: OK, relax for a second. Did you misunderstand her? How exactly did she word it?

RAVEN: "You're a bad father, James". Pretty hard to misinterpret that one, I think.

SHANK: Damn. That's cold.

I glance down at my GPS screen, then up at the road as I roll through an intersection and search for the right side street to turn onto. Phoenix, Arizona. I hate this city. Maybe because it's a shit hole, maybe because my ex moved here and dragged my son with her. I prefer to think it's a little of column A, a little of column B. Right now though, I hate it for secret column C; impossible navigation.

SHANK: What did you say before that? Did you piss her off? Was she lashing out?

RAVEN: Since when do you look at this sort of stuff rationally? You're supposed to blindly follow my lead no matter how misguided it may be, remember? She called me a bad father, Dustin. Fuck her.

SHANK: You did. That's what has you so riled up in the first place.

RAVEN: Helping or hurting?

I swing a quick right turn, and accelerate down the empty street as I scan house numbers. It must be on the next block. I feel my stomach tying into knots. I taste battery acid as the bile rises in the back of my throat.

I'm nervous.

I'm a man that gets into a ring in front of thousands of people, and fights monsters in my underwear... but I'm legitimately nervous to see my ex wife. I guess this is what the average American castrated male feels like on a daily basis, huh? Sucks to be you guys.

SHANK: Look; you're a great dad. We both know that, your son knows it, and I'm sure Mia does too. People say shitty things. People suck. She's the mother of your child, man... you can't make her an enemy. You've been saying for weeks you needed to get out there and see him, and she made it happen. Don't fault her too much on how she did it.

I roll the rental car into an open spot in front of the house and shift it into park.

RAVEN: Goddamn you for being right.

SHANK: As usual.

RAVEN: I thought we'd insult her together or something. You never liked her.

SHANK: She was OK, but I like you. As much as I love roasting someone behind their back, it's not what's best for you right now.

RAVEN: God you're gay. I'm here. I'll talk to you when I'm on the way back to Toronto.

SHANK: Peace, bitch.

I switch off the engine and slide the keys into my jeans, taking a deep breath and bracing myself for whatever might be coming next. I stare at the house for a what feels like an eternity. The paint on the siding is chipped, and the lawn badly needs to be cut. The small fence on the side of the yard has a few snapped planks, and a small basement window has been broken out in the driveway. Apparently she hasn't vagina-clutched anyone that can do anything useful yet.

Good.

I open the door and slide out of the car, slamming it shut behind me as I make my way up to the house. My leather shoes squeak slightly on the asphalt, and I look down at them as I step up the curb and make my way across the sidewalk and onto the lawn. I don't look up until I hear a screen door slam.

MIA: I thought you were going to be here at 5?

I look up, and see my ex wife standing on the porch as if appeared by some sort of cunt magic. She still looks good. She's put on a couple of pounds since retiring from the XWF, but in all the right places. Her hair is cut short and dyed black and blonde, her sharp eyes peering at me from across the yard. I glance at my watch.

RAVEN: It's 5:17.

MIA: Right, and you said 5.

RAVEN: You realize I just flew here from another country, rented a car, and drove through a city that I don't know? On no notice?

MIA: I'm just saying that you said you were going to be here at 5. Also, it's not my fault that you don't visit enough to know the city. We've lived here for 5 years, James.

I don't say anything. There's no point in engaging here.

RAVEN: It's nice to see you too, Mia.

MIA: Shut up, James. We both know you're not happy to see me. No need to play nice.

I'm not arguing that one either. We stand in awkward silence.

RAVEN: Sooo... are you gonna go get him? Is he ready? Can I come inside?

MIA: Get him? He's not going anywhere, James.

RAVEN: What the fuck are you talking about?

MIA: I didn't ask you to come here, you just decided you were going to. He can't go anywhere with you, he's got a busy week.

I feel my jaw muscles tightening, my fists clenching so tightly the nails cut bloody crescents into my palms. I take a deep breath through the nose, and let out my next sentence in an even and measured tone.

RAVEN: I just flew here from Toronto, Mia, and I did it because you said I didn't see him enough and that I was a bad father. You knew I was coming. At 5. What do you mean "he has a busy week"?

MIA: I- I panicked when you said you were coming, you were so adamant and it didn't seem like I could stop you-

RAVEN: You called me a bad father, Mia, you told me I was neglecting my son. What was I supposed to do? What do you mean "he has a busy week"?

MIA: I didn't mean to say that. That wasn't why I called. I just got angry, and-

RAVEN: What do you mean "he has a busy week"?

MIA: ... we're moving.

That knocks the wind out of me. More so than anything Jim Caedus hit me with on Savage last week. It's not so much the moving itself that bothers me, it's the attached strings that I'm worried about hearing. I open my mouth to speak, but my lips just flounder like a fish. I gasp deeply and try again.

RAVEN: Excuse me?

MIA: We're moving. This week. I was calling to tell you, and we... got... sidetracked.

RAVEN: Right. So. New job? Or have you just been saving up all the money I've been sending to buy the dream house eventually? Was that the point of your call? Do you need someone to co-sign or some shit?

I mean that mostly as a joke. She doesn't take it as one.

MIA: Actually, no. I'm good thanks. We're moving in with someone.

Well, would you look at that; the attached strings I was so worried about.

RAVEN: You're joking, right? You're moving my son in with some other guy? Fuck that. Nope. Not happening. Nuh-uh.

MIA: It's not your decisio-

RAVEN: Heeeeeellllllll noooooooooooooo!!!

MIA: SHUT THE FUCK UP, JAMES! He's my son too, not just yours, and I'm not just moving us in with "some guy". He's a surgeon. He's amazing with Tyler and-

RAVEN: He's been hanging out with my son, and you didn't fucking tell me?! What the hell are you thinking, Mia?! FUCK! Who gives a shit that he's a surgeon! Fuck him all you want to, but I don't want some scalpel jockey around my son!

MIA: It's happening James, you don't run our lives anymore.

Before I can say anything the screen door swings open and startles us both. Tyler runs out onto the porch and down the stairs, throwing his arms around me. I'm not ready for it. He's bigger than the last time I saw him. It's only been a few months, but I guess at 6 that can mean a lot. His hair is longer, curling around his ears and bouncing as he jumps up and down excitedly. My heart aches. I missed him. Maybe Mia had a point. Maybe I was neglecting him.

Maybe I have been a bad father.

TYLER: Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!

RAVEN: What's up buddy?! It's good to see you!

Mia turns to make her way back into the house. She looks back over her shoulder at me.

MIA: I'll give you two some time. We'll talk later.

I try and swallow the lump in my throat but I can't say anything, so I just nod to her in response. She disappears through the screen door and I look down at Tyler again.

RAVEN: Sorry I haven't been able to visit much lately, bud.

TYLER: It's OK. Mom told me you went back to the XWF! That's so cool! I still have the old DVD's you gave me from when I was a baby and you wrestled there.

RAVEN: Oh yeah? You still watch them?

TYLER: Sometimes. Mom doesn't let me watch wrestling much. She says I'm too young. Sometimes we watch the old matches with both of you though, it's awesome!

RAVEN: Well I'll talk to mom, maybe she'll let you watch some of the matches I'm in now. That way when I can't visit, you can still see me.

TYLER: YEAH! One time I slept over at Billy's house, and we watched the XWF! You know who my favorite is?

I shrug my shoulders, secretly hoping he says me. Call me sappy, but I want my kid to admire me. Half the parents these days have kids that don't even like them.

TYLER: Thaddeus Duke! He's the best! Nobody can beat him!

Are you kidding me?

Sometimes you really need a break, and life just refuses to fucking give you one.

Well shit, if it isn't Thaddeus Duke; High Stakes' runner up to the runner up, the XWF's most popular star without hair on his balls, and apparently my sons favorite wrestler. Thaddy, let's get one thing straight, right off the bat... I don't owe you anything.

You can go ahead and post a dozen promos before our match on Saturday, and if I choose not to respond until the absolute last possible second... you can fucking deal with it. Remind me, where in my contract does it say I'm obligated to turn my attention to Savage before Warfare is even on the air? Where have I ever been offered incentives to get the ball rolling early and do your work for you? I refuse to apologize for having real shit on my plate, while you frolic around cupping the New York Yankees balls and getting some pelvis to rump training in batting practice.

Fuck the evil empire by the way. I hope George Steinbrenner rots in hell.

You're lucky I'm even here, Thaddeus. My return has been the biggest since you were in middle school, my promos are the highest rated nearly every week, my merch sales are through the roof, and everyone from the fans in their living rooms to the child standing across the ring from me LOVES me... you admitted it yourself. I operate on my own schedule, not yours, and when I take the time to speak you'll all drop whatever you're doing and listen.

Because you're a punk kid with entitlement issues, and I'm a Legend.

That's how this works.

I get it, you don't like that you're not my first priority. You don't like that instead of just responding to someone calling you a "faggot" you might actually have to go and do some research to come up with anything interesting to say... Ooor you can regurgitate the same shit everyone else has said about me for two months, rehash the same generic insults that you use for all of your opponents, and call it "hot fire" when it gets its first like on Youtube.

Clearly you went with option two.

You want to critique my quality of competition, or question my win totals? At least I'm doing work. I have six wins in two months, you have nine wins in a year! You beat Gabe Reno, and Michael Graves sure... but you lost your only previous title to Broken Oswald Sephatis, dude. Don't laugh at me because I gave Barney Green a receipt for the cheap shot HE took at ME, or because I had an axe to grind with Gilmour. At least I handled business against the retard brigade and moved on to the real contenders.

Doctor Louis D'Ville... I beat him. How did you fare when you faced him last winter Thaddeus? Chris Chaos... I beat him too. I saw your match against him in March. Tough break, you'll get 'em next time. You don't beat the guys that come close to my caliber, Duke. You're not going to beat me either. Maybe when you get your big boy strength, or when you learn to take bites of the roster that you can actually swallow. For now, prepare yourself for a valuable learning experience from a man whose boots you'd wash if he'd let you.

This isn't old school vs. new school. Don't flatter yourself. You're hardly the best of this new generation, you haven't earned the right to carry their flag. I already beat those better than you and the debate is settled, this just in; new school loses.

This isn't a generational clash, it's just me and you for a title I barely want. Rest easy knowing that after Saturday at least one of my then-96 wins will have been over someone as legitimate as yourself, and watch in fandom as I climb to 100. Hell, I might get there before you get to 10, and make Dolly Waters hold up your belt while I "Paige" her but that's getting ahead of things.

I'll send you a snapchat if I do.

Time to wrap up. Don't get your panties all twisted if you don't hear from me for a few hours. I'll be back eventually, I assure you. I'll do this properly, since I know you're a big fan.

Fear the Raven, Thaddeus... Forevermore.