The things I do for my craft. My art. My life.

It's not enough that I've had to go through the past several years knowing that I wasn't the best in the business, but now I had sought out advice... and, yes, TRAINING... from the very man I've made it my business to make suffer for lo these many months.

I guess it was my turn.

And this is how it went down...
------
(The camera shows Mal Somers sitting in a metal folding chair, flanked by Agents Barr and Rooney and facing an empty workout ring. He calls
out in no particular direction.)

Somers: Hey, you're the one who asked for this. Now come on out, we haven't got all day.

(A response, in no uncertain terms, comes from an off-screen Tracer Bullet.)

Bullet: Forget it! There's no chance I'm letting this get on film!

Somers: You don't even know what I'm going to have you do yet.

Bullet: Even though I am a tad worried about the training regimen, that's not what I'm referring to.

Somers: Then what?

Bullet: I'm surprised you even need to ask...

(A click is heard, followed by a squeak, and the camera pans over to see the detective standing in a doorway... wearing a Santa Claus suit.
Everyone but Mal and Tracer bust up laughing, which makes it very difficult for Tyler to hold the camera steady.)

Bullet: What the hell is up with this? Christmas was over a week ago!

Somers: Oh, that. Actually, it's because Christmas is over that you're wearing that. It was a lot cheaper than regular workout clothes, you know.

Bullet: So I look like a failed competitor's gimmick... because you're a cheap bastard?

Somers: Pretty much, yeah.

(Tracer shrugs.)

Bullet: Better than paying for new ones myself.

Somers: Then I guess I'm not the only cheap bastard around here.

Bullet: Apparently. So, what's first?

Somers: Well, I'm glad you asked.

(He gets to his feet and starts looking around the room.)

Somers: Now where did I put that drink?

(Agents Barr and Rooney shrug, and then Mal spots a glass full of a yellow concoction sitting on the window sill.)

Somers: Ah, there it is!

(He retrieves it as Tracer looks increasingly nervous. Somers returns and thrusts the drink in his direction. Tracer looks at the drink,
then at Mal.)

Bullet: What is that... smell?

(Bullet begins gagging, as do the Agents. Somers holds it out for Tracer again, accidentally spilling some on his Santa suit.)

Somers: Whoops, sorry. What smell?

(He holds the drink to his nose.)

Somers: Oh gross! *cough cough* Yuck!

Bullet: What have you done?

Somers: Well, I was training for our training, and I watched Rocky. He drank that drink full of raw eggs and I thought it may be a good idea for you to, you know, drink that instead of bourbon and crawdaddies or whatever it is you people eat.

Bullet: "You people"?!

(Tracer is still sniffing the air.)

Bullet: May I ask when you concocted that little affront to the senses?

Somers: Hmmm, let me think... well, I'm not sure of the exact day. I know it was after the last Meltdown... before Christmas... hmmm, I'm
not sure.

(Bullet shakes his head, grabbing the Santa suit, ready to rip it off himself and give up altogether.)

Bullet: Why am I doing this?

Somers: That would be because Harley has never beaten me in the WWA before, whereas I've beaten him for the WWA Rookie Title at Birthday Bash 2002 and the WWA Intercontinental Title at Rage in the Cage 2004.

Bullet: Ah yes, that's it. What's next?

Somers: Patience, grasshopper....

(Bullet rolls his eyes as Somers rummages around in a large cooler bag. He pulls out two large blocks of ice and a candle and grins.)

Bullet: Huh?

Somers: Okay, the first thing was a little bit of a joke, but this is where I am turning deadly serious. Heh, I just made another joke.

Bullet: I must have missed it.

Somers: Harley used to be known as Dave Deadly, back when he was sort of interesting in the EWA. Then I just said "deadly serious"! Hah!

Bullet: Yeah, whatever, listen...

(Mal interrupts and turns to the agents.)

Somers: You see, apparently he was called "Dave Deadly" due to his excessive flatulence. All he ate on the road was eggs, cabbage, and baked beans for days at a time.

Bullet: ... okay, can we just get back to the...

Somers: ...yep, in a sec. He was so poor back in those days, he used to fart in his pocket to make a cent! That was one guy you did not want to get piledriven by, if you catch my drift. In fact, you wouldn't want to catch his drift either, if you know what I mean.

Bullet: Mal! Mal!!

Somers: I mean, his finishing move involved him sticking your head between his legs... and he called it the Deadly Bomb! You do the math!

Bullet: ENOUGH ALREADY! WHAT IS THE NEXT TRAINING DRILL!?

(Somers looks at the large blocks of ice, which have now melted away.)

Somers: D'oh! I was going to teach you patience by getting you to do the splits on the two blocks of ice, whilst burning the candle in
between!

Bullet: That doesn't even make sense.

Somers: I'm sure I saw it in some Asian martial arts movie...

Bullet: Look, I listened to you rant about Harley just now, would that count as being patient?

Somers: Hmmm... I guess so!

Bullet: Good. What's next?

Somers: Oh hey, I've got it!

Bullet: Got what?

Somers: It was actually an Asian porno I saw the candles and ice and splits in. So we can forget about that.

Agent Rooney: Porno?

Somers: Yeah, uh... I walked in on Rookie watching it... naughty little belt!

Bullet: Do you think maybe he was watching it for the garter bel... wait, what am I saying?

(Agent Barr makes his way over.)

Barr: Gentlemen, can we get back to the task at hand? I'm sure the taxpayers of America watching this show would be none too pleased to
see us standing around watching you guys waste time.

Bullet: Actually, you'd be surprised what the American public enjoy watching. But we should get back to business anyway.

Somers: Fine then. The main thing with Harley is his bulk. He is one big monkey.

Bullet: So he's big. Big guys don't scare me. Considering I've never been to prison, anyway.

(Somers nods somberly.)

Somers: Nice way to rub it in. Anyhoo, I have devised a training regime that is so awesome, it will blow your pea sized mind.

(He turns around and points at a side door.)

Somers: Release the Harley-Clone!

(Tracer raises his eyebrows.)

Bullet: Harley... clone?

(He then closes his eyes and begins chanting in a mantra-like fashion.)

Bullet: Please don't be a midget, please don't be a midget...

(After a few moments, the door bursts open and a large Kelvinator on a red cart is pushed into the room. The camera picks up a cut-out of
Harley's sneering face from the WWA Magazine taped to the fridge door. The Kelvinator rolls across the floor, losing momentum as it heads
towards Tracer Bullet. Upon opening his eyes, Tracer sees the appliance slowly bearing down on him as it... rolls to a stop several feet away.)

Bullet: Um... boo?

(Tracer crosses his arms looking annoyed with the fridge, then at Somers.)

Bullet: Is that all you've got?

(Suddenly the fridge door bursts open and out jumps... a midget! Dressed like a minature Harley, the midget headbutts Tracer in the groin, before climbing back into the fridge. Somers nods and pushes the fridge away, back out the door, as Bullet stands on one knee, breathing heavily.)

Somers: Ouch, right in Santa's sack.

Bullet: You idiot.

Somers: You see, the thing with Harley is that he always has a trick up his sleeve. And he usually has his little henchmen do his work for
him. So you have to be on your toes.

Bullet: *cough* Well, I'm on my knees right now, thanks to you.

Somers: Exactly, and there is nothing that our illustrious Chimp would like more, than have you on your knees, right down in front of him, begging for mercy!

(Tracer wobbles to his feet, still coughing a little.)

Bullet: And I'll be damned if I'm going to subjugate myself to anyone. Not you, not Harley, not Warr... and especially not that little flea you hid in the icebox.

Somers: That's the spirit!

Bullet: And speaking of spirits...

(Tracer reaches into his Santa coat and pulls out a flask. Unscrewing the lid, he takes a nip and offers the container to Somers, who declines.)

Somers: Uh, no thanks. You should be drinking glasses of raw eggs anyways. It will help to combat Harleys stench. As for me, I do weird
things when I've been drinking. Some people say I go a bit wacky.

Bullet: More than normal?

Somers: You've lost me there.

(Bullet waves this off.)

Bullet: Never mind. Is that all for today?

Somers: Almost. One other area that needs honing prior to facing Harley is the mental side of things.

Bullet: You're kidding, right? "Harley" and "mental" aren't two words I usually think of in correlation to one another.

Somers: I know Dave is not the smartest smartie in the packet, but you can never be too sure. He did screw me out of the Title after all.

Bullet (under breath): And we all know just how hard it is to outsmart you...

Somers: So, before our next meeting, I'd like to give you a riddle. I want you to remember it, digest it, think about it, and then tell me
what you think the answer is at our next session. Then I can tell you how close you were to being correct.

Bullet: Fine, shoot.

(Mal points a finger at Tracer.)

Bullet: BANG!

(Bullet just looks at him blankly.)

Somers: Shoot? Bang?

(And continues to do so.)

Somers: Okay, fine... close your eyes, and focus.

(Bullet complies.)

Somers: "The beginning of eternity
The end of time and space
The beginning of every end,
And the end of every place." What am I?

(Mal looks smugly confident that this riddle is sufficiently perplexing.)

Somers: Okay, I'll leave you with....

Bullet: The letter E!

Somers: Huh?

Bullet: Thats the answer, E. Though why you didn't put it on the roof...

Somers: How'd you... how... what?

(Bullet points to his temple showing his smarts.)

Bullet: If there's one area in which I've always had it over you, it's brains.

Somers: Fine then, I've got another. Close your eyes and focus.

(Tracer does it again, along with an exasperated sigh.)

Bullet: All right, but I'm sure it will just be another...

(Before he can finish his sentence, the midget Harley clone runs out and headbutts Tracer in the bullets once again. And again, as is the
natural reaction to such a thing, Tracer falls to his knees and starts screaming at the diminutive man.)

Bullet: You little bastard! I'll get you for this!

(Then he points at the midget.)

Bullet: And you too!

Somers: Well, I'd say we're done for the day.

(And the camera cuts off amid laughter all around at the detective's expense.)
------
It was an interesting training session, to say the least. Midgets in refrigerators, outdated holiday costumes... is that the same kind of
thing Chance and Venny go through? And if so, should we form a support group?

No matter. My biggest concern is that the wee one may have temporarily waylaid my other pet project...