"So, you mean, I could mandate that the peasants build me a party bus with a bar, some stripper poles, and a cow-catcher covered in rebar spears?" Dennis The Unnamable Garbler said, imagining all the possibilities.

Maximillian frowned, as he usually did whenever Dennis said something, "Nay, that isn't at all what I said! I was trying to explain that-"

"That we should set some of our smarter guys aside as wrestlers and make them rulers, yeah, I get it. That's the best idea you've ever had, and I'm flattered by the invitation. I'm gonna go propose the issue right to the big man himself!"

"You goat-fouling scoundrel! If you speak any of your false words to Managantamos about this, I'll thrash you proper for each one!"

Managantamos sighed and set his weights down in front of the door to his office. He was sick and tired of the press asking him what he was going to do with all the humans' silly land. As he always said to the civilisations he destroyed before "It's your planet, it's your problem". Anyone genuinely concerned about the well-being of their planet would either stop buying tickets, or elect to host the events somewhere that is decidedly not an important government building. But alas, it happened on Earth, as it had happened at least twice before this, and so he had piled up his barbells before the door to make sure nobody could open it and complain about the moral implications of an occupying army of professional wrestling. Nothing so puny and incessant as a political journalist was going to move that door, or look through that window, until he was ready to let them in. He was in his private sanctum now, able to view the televised events in peace. Finally.

He turned on the night's smackdown and pulled a juicy steak of some description out of his food printer. Casually tossing the raw meat in his maw, he spread an intricate, burrowing net of mycelium over the meat with his tongue and began absorbing the steam of enzymes and fleshy chemicals as the meat boiled and slowly turned to jerky in his mouth. Mm, this was better than that Space Octopus that he'd ripped apart in the ring during the Winter Holiday Slam. Now that was a show.

Suddenly, he heard one of his wrestlers knocking on the door. He could tell it was one of his wrestlers, not because of the distinct sound of the knocking, but rather because, after the initial knock, the doorknob turned and the heap of osmium exercise equipment shifted and scraped along the floor to make way for the massive force behind the door. The goatheaded bastard and his mustachioed sworn enemy were walking in, both seemed to have completely different things to say.

"Look, this may be a little odd at first, but there'll be hooker busses, so it'll be all worth it!"

"YOU ONLY WANTED BURLESQUE DANCERS THE FIRST TIME! IT GETS WORSE EVERY TIME I HEAR IT!"

"Look, Max, when you present it to The Lord of the Arena, you gotta sweeten the deal a little!... Besides, who eats strippers? Doesn't taste right without the local venereal diseases." The Demonic abomination turned back to Managantamos, "Ain't that right, big man?"

"MANAGANTAMOS DOES NOT UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU REQUEST OF HIM. MANAGANTAMOS WOULD LIKE TO EAT HIS DINNER IN PEACE." Managantamos boomed, with a perturbed expression. It was a rare moment that Managantamos didn't boom with a perturbed expression, so that hardly demoralized his regulars.

"What I was thinking originally, my good man," Maximillian said, shoving Dennis aside, "Was that, since the local governments have gone belly up during that whole ghastly 'Bustermania' ordeal, we could, perchance, take up the responsibility of nationstate governers until they've rebuilt themselves. You know, keeping society and decent living from utterly collapsing in the wake of our destruction and all that."

"OR," Said Dennis, contemplatively, "Or, we could, y'know, not do that, but still take power for ourselves and have orgy busses with booze that also spear pedestrians."

"MANAGANTAMOS FAILS TO SEE HOW ANY OF THIS CONTRIBUTES TO HIS ENTERTAINMENT." Managantamos boomed, increasingly dissappointed.

"I believe we could record our parliamentary sessions! Debating, voting, passing the jolly old legislation! Good, wholesome entertainment for once! What say you, old bean?" Maximilian smiled.

"MANAGANTAMOS BELIEVES THAT IT IS AN ABOVE-AVERAGE CONCEPT. HUMANS WILL SURELY BUY TICKETS WHEN THE MATCH DETERMINES THEIR VERY FATE."

That smile quickly faded back beneath Max's mustache, "Well, you see, that wasn't exactly what I had planned..."

"MANAGANTAMOS KNEW EXACTLY WHAT YOU WERE PLANNING, AND IT WAS BORING. MANAGANTAMOS WILL APPROVE ONLY OF A WRESTLEOCRACY, AND NOTHING LESS!"

And that was why the top superstars of the Federation were gathered backstage days later, presiding over a piece of paper that was mostly blank, except for the 6 in-the-ring tenets of the original federation.

"GOOD MORNING WRESTLERS. YOU ARE ALL SELECTED SHEERLY BECAUSE MANAGANTAMOS THINKS YOU ARE THE MOST POLITICAL, AND ALSO POTENTIALLY THE MOST VIOLENT. YOU ALL HAVE ONE TASK AHEAD OF YOU, MORE OR LESS. TO WRITE THE CONSTITUTION OF THE NEW UNITED NATIONSTATE OF THE FILIBUSTER FEDERATION." Managantamos roared into the boom mic, the nearby mixing crew shrinking back in fear, "AS ARENALORD, WHAT MANAGANTAMOS SAYS IS THE FINAL WORD... BUT FROM THIS POINT, AS ALWAYS, IT EXTENDS STRICTLY TO COMPANY POLICY. MANAGANTAMOS RESERVES THE RIGHT TO LAY DOWN INEFFABLE, UNAMENDABLE RULE ABOVE ALL OTHER THINGS IN THE CONSTITUTION. NAMELY THIS ONE: THE WINNER OF THE RING WINS THE ARGUMENT, AND THEREFORE PASSES WHATEVER THEY WANT RELATING TO IT. THIS, HENCEFORTH, IS HOW GOVERNMENT POLICY SHALL BE HANDLED. ARE WE CLEAR!?"

There was a moment of silence as the cameramen in front of, or rather, below him carefully wiped penicillin saliva off of their lenses.

"AS FAR AS EVERYTHING ELSE GOES... YOU ARE FREE TO LIVE AND DECIDE AS YOU PLEASE. FIX THIS LANDMASS, OR DO NOT. IT DOES NOT MATTER, MANAGANTAMOS DEMANDS ONLY DRAMA AND BLOODSHED. THE ETHOS OF THE HALLOWED ARENA. NOW GO FORTH. WRITE ALL THE CONSTITUTION YOU CAN. THERE IS PASTA AND CHILI IN THE SLOW COOKERS BEHIND YOU FOR SUSTAINING PURPOSES. PROVIDE THE CROWDS WITH AS MUCH ENTERTAINMENT AND LEGISLATURE AS POSSIBLE. YOU WILL BE REWARDED WITH GLORY AND LUNCH, THAT MUCH IS CERTAIN. MANAGANTAMOS WILL BE LEAVING NOW. THERE IS A LADDER MATCH AMONG NEWCOMERS TO PRESIDE OVER. GOOD LUCK, AND DO NOT BE STUPID."

With his usual parting words, the psychic fungus lumbered its way out of the backroom and into the parking lot. The Wrestlers of the Filibuster Federation sure had their work cut out for them...

Several superstars had been summoned to this room, and the smallest among them by far was Dawn Ellis, who also happened to be the only female in this particular group. She was also the least muscular despite being very lean, and having far more muscle than most other women in the company. Right now she was wearing jeans, a black vest, and a blue scarf, and was also wearing sunglasses atop her head. Surrounded by large, hulking men, she looked even more 'Hollywood' than usual.

She did not understand why she was called here for political reasons, but maybe to this alien, her actual hatred of politics could be viewed as an agenda unto itself. Even so, she recognised the honour of shaping the rules and structure of this entire landmass. Having everything be decided by wrestling excited her, and she was the first to step up, pen in hand, and writes down thus;

'This landmass shall have no flags nor anthems. The people won't pledge allegiance to their country. This wrestling company is their country now. There will be no involvement in the Olympics, nor any other worldwide sporting tournaments besides pro-wrestling.

Areas of this landmass that used to be known as Cities or States may be used as incentive for match stipulations, with whoever winning that match becoming General Manager that entire area, however they must still answer to Managantamos for he is the CEO.'

Dawn puts the pen down, and looks to the rest of the wrestlers who were gathered. "That's all I really wanted to add. The rest of you can write the rest. I'm going to grab some of that chilli now. I'm starving!" she stated, before grabbing a large bowl of pasta and chilli, sitting in the corner, and starting to eat the meal quickly yet without spilling a drop. Despite her non-interest in politics, she was actually interested in what policies this group would come up with, and kept watch.

Lo was Jarl Ragnvaldr Konrad Bergfalk, known also by his ancient moniker 'The Swedish Siege', was called backstage by the most inbred Carnie Barker that he had ever worked for. Inbreeding was quite the valid tactic in order to secure both the most honorable lineages of kings, to even the humble traveling carnivals that were past through the family. The poltergeist which haunted and possessed the timeworn suit of armor pondered briefly on how long this particular promoter's family owned this traveling carnival sporting exhibit, as he was a rather unsightly fellow.

But as a gentleman, Bergfalk would only bring this up in a pointed, yet delicate, barb when the time was right. And currently the time was not right for such duels of the tongue. This was, as the booker pointed out, a unique opportunity to shape the promotion as they saw fit. Jarl would surely not waste his chance in influencing society into a proper, more refined, direction. After all, he could only stand idly by as society was corrupted ages ago.

Now he had his chance to fix the errs before they could even occur!

The suit of armor distinctively clanked as he strolled towards the parchment, as the woman who should not even be participating in sporting exhibitions and feats of manliness, walked by.

"Verily it is no drede a Buckle Bunny hiferin' 'round parts they ain't knowing oughta be plumbpickin' tired like a barber's cat when fare as if als were menfolk." Jarl decried in a most imperious manner, before stepping at the parchment. He carefully plucked a feather off the table and placed it in a nearby bottle of ink.

Now it was time for the Swedish Siege to impose some proper rules to create a polite society.

'In this section of the charter, societal edicts shalt be in place fer how manne will fare so society wol be gentilesse in nature.

Edict the First: Mannekind shalt han a strict curfew, as soon as moon rises ther shalt be no hitting the flats, as mannekind must return and stay in their personal domiciles until the sun rises. Additionally each domicile must have at least one ghostly spirit in it that may do as it pleases. Anyone who breaks this here edict is subject to beatings until morale improves.

Edict the Second: Mannekind hast grown incredibly lickerish and easily succumb to temptation of lustful intent. To curb this tarnation, all biological creatures, which procreate through intimate affairs, must wear at least seox layers of cloth upon them. Anyone who breaks this here edict is subject to beatings until morale improves.

Edict the Third: Sadly establishments that claim to be 'Gentleman's Clubs' art dens of vile sin. All such nunneries shalt be destroyed and the land below it must be purified fer a fortnight before an actual Gentleman's Club, where professionals of various fields can gather for merriment and discussion, gets built upon it. Anyone violating this edict, and/or longin' fer these dens of sins shall be beaten until morale improves.

Edict the Fourth: Verily it be known to all that water is a rather nasty elixir that is frequently tainted by foul water spirits. No one shalt drink this easily tainted substance, rather they shalt drink Small Beers produced by local households and monasteries. Any form of liquor which have more alcohol content than the Small Beers will be outlawed. Anyone trying to violate this edict by the selling or drinking of improper brews shall be subject to beatings until morale improves.

Edict the Fifth: Rambunctious members of mannekind hath taken to frolicking as if they were entranced while an instrumentalist ensemble plays. This Satyr's Trot, known colloquially as "Dancing" is to be banned. Anyone violating this edict will be subject to beatings until morale improves.'

Jarl Ragnvaldr Konrad Bergfalk lifted the feather up as he stared at the parchment. There was so much more that needed to be installed so a proper culture would be fostered, but for now he was satisfied with these particular doctrines of morality.

"I trust ther be not a soul wishing fer skulduggery?" Inquired the Swedish Siege as his helmet spun around to take note of those who might wish to lead society down an improper path to Hell.

Dennis was eager to approach once his bowl was filled with spaghetti. Since all the boring stuff was likely taken care of by the two official-looking people before him, now was definitely the time to declare himself Supreme Ruler of a large city and get himself that party bus. But what he saw was not the bland, unintrusive governing document he expected. In fact, once he parsed the ancient English in front of him, his surprise and horror had caused him to inadvertantly spit sauce and noodles on himself and the edges of the paper.

"WHAT THE SHIT!? No gentleman's clubs!? Curfew!? Mandatory clothing!? This is not a nation! This is a prison with poorly-made walls!" His skull face remained still, except for the slight movements of his jaw. From the tongues he was growling in, he must have been frowning. His voice was much different when he spoke again, "WHO WROTE THIS UTTER SMUT!?"

"HAH! ONLY THE WEAK NEED LAWS!" came a veritable roar from amongst the gathered warriors, a voice familiar to anyone who'd been paying any attention to the Filibuster Federation for the past three years. A few of the more political but overall less physically and/or martially imposing competitors swiftly made way, others who were either slower or had decided to stand their ground were shoved aside with nary a thought or a pause in the stride of the man in the lion mask. Long mane trailing behind him dramatically, the Lord of the Wild, the Savannah Savage, The Great Leonidas had arrived to preach his ways. And they were simple ways.

Paying no attention to his rivals, Leonidas took a pen that just happened to be nearly dry and scratched down at the very top of the page, half in ink and half in torn paper: "RULES OF NATURE". Having done this he flicked the pen aside, beaning a camera right on the lens. He was a divisive figure, the appropiately-titled Savage. On the one hand, very few people actually want to live in a survival of the fittest scenario or be represented by what is very clearly an unstable lunatic. On the other, he's certainly entertaining in his unrepentant aggressiveness and, at the end of the day, his ideas more or less embody what the Federation is about.

"You can try and have as many laws and and whatever other pansy crap you want, you can try to have a piece of paper decide what's what, but at the end of the day we're here to fight and the winner decides what's right", he declared defiantly at the others, arms spread wide and muscles flexed tight in a pseudo come-at-me pose. "And dammit that's the way things should be! If you want something you go get it, if you want to keep something you fight to keep it and if you're too much of a bitch to do so you ain't worth shit, and that's all I got to say about that!", he finished, punctuating by mashing his sizeable index finger on the piece of paper.

Well, it would seem the time had once again come to take up a political stance in the name of wrestling, and Ivan the Terrible, as he had become known, was ready. With the cameras recording everything they said and wrote, Ivan knew it was his chance to play "The People's Hero", before brutally crushing any hope for democracy or benefits for the weak under his heel.

Stepping to the forefront of the meeting, Ivan slammed a meaty fist onto the table, nearly shattering it in the process. "We should secure the People's rights." Ivan said in a thick accent, a statement that would catch any who knew him well enough off-guard, before recognizing his usual tricks. "Citizens of our great nation need to be sure that their best interests are kept at the forefront of our minds, and their opinions should always be taken into consideration." As he spoke, he picked up a pen, and wrote across his document.

All Citizens shall have access to proper medical, safety, and welfare services and resources. Any Citizen that cannot provide for themselves shall be provided for by others. The health, safety, and care of the people shall be the utmost priority of the government. All citizens shall have a representative of their region, who will fight for their best wishes.

With that, Ivan folded up the document, and tucked it into his left wrestling boot for safekeeping. As he walked towards the food table he stated "Any who disagree that the people's will should be our top priority, I shall see you in the ring."

As Ivan stood at the food table, he ensured no one was within visible distance of what he was about to do. Carefully, he pulled out a second piece of paper, and proceeded to write down a second Constitution that was the exact OPPOSITE of all the rights he had requested for the citizens. He tucked this paper into his right boot when no one was looking, gathered a bowl of food, and began to dine.

It appeared that even here of all places there were still foul individuals who opposed proper and moral laws to dictate society. The ghost in the iron shell of armor took notice of those who would dare oppose implementing strict moral legislation. There was a faceless demon, the lion masked brute, and an immigrant who left as quickly as he appeared. The third would clearly not be of any trouble to Jarl Ragnvaldr Konrad Bergfalk because that immigrant clearly lacked convictions. However those two were monsters who applauded the ideals of chicanery.

With a few clanking footsteps away from the table, the Swedish Siege's helmet turned between the two creatures who clearly could not understand the importance of these societal edicts.

"Sen ya'll addle-headed slicks born fro lewed kinde unnethe know the importance of proper rules, I'mma whoop t'both of ya harder than the boys down in Chickamauga woulda whipped ya!" declared the armored poltergeist as he raised up both of his arms to get ready for the collar and elbow position.

He glanced between the two.

"Doing this according to Hoyle. Which of y'fellers is man enough to lock-up first."

Dawn put down her now empty bowl of chilli, and stood up, stretching. She then pretended to stumble, going down on her knees on the left side of Ivan the Terrible, grabbing his leg for balance. She got up slowly to her feet, smirking.

"Sorry about that. I tripped. Also, I actually agree with you about the people's will being very important. What's the most important thing to me right now, however, is what everybody's written on this piece of paper," she stated, holding up the constitution that he had slipped in his left boot, giving him a cheeky wink as she opened it up and proceeded to read aloud the contents of the document, pausing for emphasis after every paragraph, an occasionally raising her eyebrow at any eyebrow raising sections

"RULES OF NATURE!

This landmass shall have no flags nor anthems. The people won't pledge allegiance to their country. This wrestling company is their country now. There will be no involvement in the Olympics, nor any other worldwide sporting tournaments besides pro-wrestling.

Areas of this landmass that used to be known as Cities or States may be used as incentive for match stipulations, with whoever winning that match becoming General Manager that entire area, however they must still answer to Managantamos for he is the CEO.

In this section of the charter, societal edicts shalt be in place fer how manne will fare so society wol be gentilesse in nature.

Edict the First: Mannekind shalt han a strict curfew, as soon as moon rises ther shalt be no hitting the flats, as mannekind must return and stay in their personal domiciles until the sun rises. Additionally each domicile must have at least one ghostly spirit in it that may do as it pleases. Anyone who breaks this here edict is subject to beatings until morale improves.

Edict the Second: Mannekind hast grown incredibly lickerish and easily succumb to temptation of lustful intent. To curb this tarnation, all biological creatures, which procreate through intimate affairs, must wear at least seox layers of cloth upon them. Anyone who breaks this here edict is subject to beatings until morale improves.

Edict the Third: Sadly establishments that claim to be 'Gentleman's Clubs' art dens of vile sin. All such nunneries shalt be destroyed and the land below it must be purified fer a fortnight before an actual Gentleman's Club, where professionals of various fields can gather for merriment and discussion, gets built upon it. Anyone violating this edict, and/or longin' fer these dens of sins shall be beaten until morale improves.

Edict the Fourth: Verily it be known to all that water is a rather nasty elixir that is frequently tainted by foul water spirits. No one shalt drink this easily tainted substance, rather they shalt drink Small Beers produced by local households and monasteries. Any form of liquor which have more alcohol content than the Small Beers will be outlawed. Anyone trying to violate this edict by the selling or drinking of improper brews shall be subject to beatings until morale improves.

Edict the Fifth: Rambunctious members of mannekind hath taken to frolicking as if they were entranced while an instrumentalist ensemble plays. This Satyr's Trot, known colloquially as "Dancing" is to be banned. Anyone violating this edict will be subject to beatings until morale improves.

All Citizens shall have access to proper medical, safety, and welfare services and resources. Any Citizen that cannot provide for themselves shall be provided for by others. The health, safety, and care of the people shall be the utmost priority of the government. All citizens shall have a representative of their region, who will fight for their best wishes."

Dawn puts it back down on the table. "There appear to be some contradictions here, gentleman. We must abide by the rules of nature yet we must enforce a strict curfew and wear six layers of clothing. The people must be kept healthy yet they're not allowed to drink water and must hydrate via alcohol. And all of us but one know why this is such a confused document, and who's to blame" she sneered, turning to Jarl. "I'm sorry, but is there a brain inside that helmet? No water? No dancing? I won't mourn the loss of Gentleman's Clubs myself but isn't it a woman's choice how she makes her money? I'm not going to judge. You wanted to know who's man enough to lock up first? This woman is!"

Dawn clearly liked to talk, and she was pretty damn good at it. Despite the fact that none of them were assuming kayfabe right now, Dawn actually talked like she was giving a pre-match promo.

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING" roared the Savannah Savage as the russian made off with the piece of paper. It wasn't that he cared much about constitutions, he meant every word he said and would very much fight anyone who tried to tell him what to do, but it was the principle of the thing. No one was going to put one over on him, for one. For another, it was a way to make others return to the purity of the wild. And besides, that Ivan tried to go about this sneakily while surrounded by people who'd have all eyes on him since he took what they were all fighting for was just daft, and it just made Leonidas feel even more insulted.

Grunting in anger, he once again began to make way through the crowd and spared Jarl Ragcan or whatever his name was little more than a sideways glance and a few quick words. "We'll settle this later", he mouthed as the tiny girl did half his job for him, stopping the russian and taking the constitution back. Hell, she even picked a fight with the walking tin can, which meant he could focus on the primary target of his ire. Though he was shorter than Ivan, their similar weights meant that Leonidas was actually much wider and seemed to pack more muscle than even the colossal russian, and other wrestlers made sure to give them both a wide berth.

And so the lion faced down the bear, hamhock-sized hand unconsciously half flexed into a claw and body almost shaking from rage. Nobody made a fool of the Lord of the Wild, nobody. "You think you're clever? Think you get to call the shots, put one over on me? I don't give a rat's ass about the people, I don't give a rat's ass about no constitution, but if you think you can play me for a fool you got another thing coming. We'll settle this in the ring alright".

Jarl Ragnvaldr Konrad Bergfalk had a few thoughts come to mind. The first of the thoughts was that he needed to secure the document better. After all, if it wasn't properly secured how else would he write down the moral codes that needed to exist before enforcing it upon the masses? The second thought that came to mind was making a mental note that Lionhead made the request to settle affairs before the Demon; he would need to make sure to face off against the beast before going against the faceless one. It would be rude to deny the savage first spot in line, especially since he spoke of wanting that spot.

And the last thought that came to mind was that ill-tempered harlot dressed in the garb of man. And as she threw out nasty accusations and even wanted to lock-up with him, Jarl came to a quick conclusion. This poor child of a woman, perhaps even of Swedish descent, had no proper father or authority figures.

The Swedish Siege walked up to Dawn and turned his helmet from side to side, producing a scraping sound. He patted Dawn on the head with his left hand.

"Oh poor rebekke, I weep at yer lack of a Sire. Ain't having parents is just plain ol' wrong." Jarl Ragnvaldr Kongrad Bergfalk removed his hand as he continued on, "I wot yer confusion seein' 'bout politickin, women are often in teene when outta place. Ain't yer fault ye defaute a Papa to keep you in line. You are just unawar of how much fayn you would be barefoot 'n pregnant in the kitchen while caring for children and a husband." The poltergeist motioned the suit of armor's right arm to stroke at the lower part of the helmet.

"At first I caste on chidyng wit t'route who ain't understanding why moral edicts need to be there; without a firm hand installing viture, kinsfolk succumb t'sin." The Swedish Siege swung his left index finger from side to side, "However can't do that yet. Cause in fair conscience I cannot allow ye to go without knowin' what a Father would say about your dang ol' reckless behavior. So I shall be t'Papa you shoulda had. And young lady..."

The Swedish Siege stretched out his left arm to grab behind Dawn's head to set up a single collar tie, "Yer acting like a sycher. I'mma have to discipline you. But do not worry; I'll be gentle and just firm enough to teach you a lesson."

Dawn stared at Jarl open mouthed for a few seconds before scoffing. "Are you real?" she asked, aghast, "Or are you just a robot with a tape recorder playing 'The most stupid things ever said my misogynists volume 3' inside you? Though if you want to discipline me so badly, why don't we make a show out of it? I'm going to find Managantamos right now and ask him for a match between us for the next show taping. I don't want to beat you in a house show. I want the world to see me teach you just how much of a wrestler I am, and how much I belong here!"

She heads for the door, but before she leaves the room, she turns back to Jarl, rips off the single collar tie, and drops it to the floor, walking on it as she leaves. Once she's out of the room, she heads straight for Managantamos' office and knocks on his door, and waits. Then she knocks again, and waits. Then she remembered that he mentioned he was going to watch a ladder match between some new talent. She didn't want to interrupt him, nor did she want to return to the room and ruin the dramatic exit she nailed. She decided, for now, to slowly amble down to the training room, practice a few moves and sells, maybe hit the weights. The next PPV was coming up. If she could persuade Managantamos to let her have a feud with Jarl, she'd try her absolute best to win this fight, just focus on trying to learn how he fights in the PPV match, and lose to him around the 20 minute mark, and then try to beat him once and for all in the following PPV. Now that would be a good feud story! The One And Only Dawn Ellis fells a man who tells her she has no place here.