(The Chuckster walks into the bar at the Las Vegas Dirty Dice Hotel, a night after his “date” with the woman that Shaman set him up with. He walks in and takes a seat at the bar.)

Chuckster: I’ll have the usual Benny.
Berry the Bartender: Berry… the name’s Barry.

(Berry pours him a shot of Jack Daniel’s famous brand. The Chuckster swallows it down like it was water. Berry still stands in front of the man awaiting his request.)

Berry the Bartender: So how was your date?

(Berry says with a smirk and a snicker, as he pours another shot of JD upon the Chuckster’s signal.)

Chuckster: SHUT UP!

(The Chuckster says with a frown and a sneer, as he drinks another shot.)

Man: Hey man I know you… you’re that Chuckster guy right?

(The Chuckster turns to talk to the man on his left as Berry pours him another shot. The man has short blond spiky hair. He has a deep hazel green eyes and a beard. He’s very much so tanned, and fairly muscular.)

Chuckster: Yeah.

(He says as he pounds down another shot. Berry pours his fourth one.)

Man: Yeah I thought I recognized you… one of those wrestlers?
Chuckster: Yeah… as a matter of fact… I’m the WWA Heavyweight European Champion!

(The Chuckster takes another shot, and slaps the cup down.)

Berry the Bartender: Former!

(Berry says as he pours a fifth shot of Jack Daniels.)

Chuckster: Former… right.

(The Chuckster takes the fifth shot, and slaps the cup down. He’s looking a little funny.)

Man: Well… that’s because you’re a loser!
Chuckster: What? Billy… brewski… the norm!
Berry the Bartender: That’s Berry.

(Berry grabs a glass beer bottle of Killians and slams it down in front of the Chuckster, who promptly opens the top. And starts to drink some.)

Man: Yeah you heard me! You’re a loser!
Chuckster: What?

(The Chuckster starts to chug the drink down, stopping briefly just to reply to the man.)

Man: You’re a wrestler right?
Chuckster: Right.

(The Chuckster continues to chug the beer down.)

Man: You guys suck. All wrestlers are nonworking, overpaid, losers.

(The Chuckster finishes the beer off and slams it down. He looks at Berry.)

Chuckster: Another one… Bob.
Berry the Bartender: BERRY!

(Berry is again quick to reply.)

Man: Dude what the hell? You have some kind of drinking problem? You a drunkie? A loser drunkard? You had six shots of Jack and are already on your second beer. Chuckster: A drinking problem you say? I’d say… I’m a beer drinker with an ass whooping problem!

(He starts to slowly drink his beer. Leaving his fingers at the top of the bottle, so he won’t get it too warm.)

Man: Whatever man. All pro wrestling is fake!
Chuckster: No it’s not.
Man: You can’t tell me that you guys really throw punches and stuff!
Chuckster: Yeah I can.

(The Chuckster takes another sip.)

Man: I’ve seen it before. You guys stomp the ground when you throw punches.
Chuckster: Not Steven Murphy. I’m facing him this upcoming week! He’s vicious!

(The Chuckster slowly takes another sip, still holding the bottle at the top.)

Man: You’re all fake all of you. And you… you’re a loser on top of that.

(The Chuckster slams his beer down and looks over at the man. He sits there for a while thinking long and hard before speaking.)

Chuckster: Well you’re right… I am a loser! I’m the worst wrestler ever… hell I’m the worst fake person on the planet Earth… but you know what?
Man: What?
Chuckster: I’m one hell of a magician.
Man: Really?

(He takes another drink and slams the beer down.)

Chuckster: Really. Here wanna see a trick?
Man: Well sure I guess.

(The Chuckster takes a coin out, and shows the man. He does a couple of hand movements, and it disappears.)

Man: Wow man… where did it go?
Chuckster: Right here behind your ear.

(The Chuckster goes to reach behind the mans ear, suddenly he slams his head down hard upon the table, as he grabs a head full of hair.)

Chuckster: Now you listen here mother f*cker. Don’t make me kick you’re a$$... because if I have to get up… my beer will get cold! Don’t you ever!

(The Chuckster slams his head down hard again.)

*BOOM*

Chuckster: EVER…

(The Chuckster slams his head down hard again.)

*BOOM*

Chuckster: SAY…

(The Chuckster slams his head down hard again.)

*BOOM*

Chuckster: WRESTLING…

(He slams his head down harder.)

*BAM*

Chuckster: IS…

(He slams his head down harder.)

*BAM*

Chuckster: FAKE…

(He slams his head down even harder. The man begins to bleed.)

*BAM*

Chuckster: OR THAT…

(He slams his head down even harder. The man’s head still bleeding.)

*BAM*

Chuckster: I’M…

(He slams his head down even harder. The man’s head still bleeding sprays blood to and fro.)

*BAM*

Chuckster: A…

(He slams his head down still harder. Blood now flies everywhere.)

*BAM*

Chuckster: LOSER…

(The Chuckster looks the man eye to eye, while still grabbing what is left of his bloody face.)

Chuckster: PUNK!

(He tosses him off of the chair, and the man falls to the ground with a loud sickening slap. The Chuckster gets up to look at him to make sure he’s still breathing. After a while the Chuckster calmly walks back to his chair and takes a seat. He starts to wipe the blood off of him, and picks up his beer bottle and takes a long hard swig, before putting it down.)

Chuckster: AHHHHHHH! Still cold!