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KENTUCKY · (06-30-2026)

Beaverlick, Kentucky

The small town’s rowdy honky tonk, the Boot Scoot, is alive on a Friday night.

Decked out in preparation for America’s 250th birthday, the greatest Fourth of July since the original, the bar is hopping with locals. The beer is flowing and the jukebox is turned up to eleven with Hank Junior and Toby Keith blasting so loud you could feel the long oak bar vibrating under your fingers.

At a table in the corner, the XWF’s own Kentucky “Tuck” Taggart is sitting alone, one of his massive hands pressed palm down on the tabletop with his fingers spread. In his other hand? The switchblade his paw handed down to him. Tuck stabs the tip of the knife into the wooden table in between each of his fingers, moving quicker as he works his way through.

“Wow, nice! I was great at that in college!”

A younger man says a little too loud, doing his best to impress the young lady he’s brought with him to the bar. The pair look out of place, dressed in nice clothes. Business suit for the man and a cocktail dress for the woman. Everyone else in the room being in jeans and flannels, after all.

The younger man bumps the table Tuck is seated at when he leans in to get a closer look, and it causes Tuck to nip the side of one of his thick fingers with the blade. Tuck doesn’t flinch, though, he just stops and looks up at the man.

“Help ya?”

Tuck growls while a drop of blood leaks from his fingertip.

“Oh, oops! Looks like you missed… babe, in college, I would have been able to go TWICE that fast…”

The girl giggles as the man leans even further over the table.

“Tough luck, hombre! Twenty bucks says I can outdo you.”

The man pulls a wallet from his jacket pocket and peels out a crisp Andrew Jackson, laying it on the table in front of Tuck with a slap. Tuck nods and lifts the switchblade to hand over to the man.

Instead, though, Tuck yanks the man’s necktie down and drives the blade through it, through the twenty, and into the table before popping up to his feet and kicking his chair backwards into the wall with a crash. Tuck sneers.

“I got a better bet for ya, ya Limp-wristed Louisville Libtard. Twenty bucks? That buys you ONE.”

“H-h-hey! What the… one what?”

The man stammers as he tries to pry the switchblade out of the table with no luck.

“I’ll get security, Todd!”

The man's no-longer-giggling date says as she scurries off toward the bar.

“Todd, huh? Well Todd… you get ONE swing at ol’ Kentucky. Open hand. You put me down, you get your tab covered the rest of the night. But I’m still standing? I get one shot on you AND I get that twenty. Bet?”

Todd looks unsure.

“Just one? Even if I lose, you only get to slap me once?”

“That’s all, bubba. Just a little slap. You game? Or should we let your ol’ lady over there know she got duped into datin’ one of them transgenders?”

Todd gapes, but looking over his shoulder he sees his girl staring at him and waiting for him to make up his mind.

“Uh… sure. Fine. I accept.”

“Good.”

Tuck pulls the knife out of the table and lets Todd stand up straight. Todd takes off his jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his button down shirt. Tuck stands still as Todd swings a slap at his face… and grazes his beard with a handful of limp fingers.

The bar lets out a collective groan as Todd’s girl turns away and starts chatting with another guy at the bar.

“Listen, you won, keep the money there’s no need to-”

!!!SWAT!!!!

Tuck’s cast iron skillet of a right hand hits Todd’s cheek with the sound of a 1980’s phone book hitting the floor.

Todd’s head bounces first off the table and then off of the chair next to it as he collapses from the blow, and Tuck snatches the twenty off the table. Tuck turns to the bar and bellows.

“LEXINGTON KY TAGGART! GIT OVER HERE!”

“One sec, pa!”

The blonde bartender says, handing over a pair of pitchers to a group of rednecks at the corner of the bar. She turns around and heads over.

“Can you please just call me Lexi at work? These roughnecks don’t need to know my whole government name.”

“Fuck ‘em. What’re they gonna do? I’ll send their noses to the backs of their heads they lay a finger on my baby girl.”

“What do you need?”

Tuck hands Lexi the twenty.

“Change for the juke. And buy Todd’s girlie a beer on me.”

Lexi takes the bill and rolls her eyes.

“She’s gonna want a White Claw.”

“Whatever.”

A bit later, Tuck is sitting on the side of his bed in his BVDs smoking a Marlboro as the young lady from the bar storms out of his room, covering up her naked body with the cocktail dress she wore crumpled into a ball in her hands.

“Fucking JERK!”

She shouts as she heads for the door. Tuck grabs the red bottom pumps from his floor and chucks them one at a time towards her.

“Don’t forget your stripper shoes, bitch!”

The door slams as Tuck drags on his smoke, then lays back against his pillow.

“Wasn’t my fault I hit the wrong damn hole.”

He flicks the cherry of his cig into an ashtray by his side.

“Ketucky Taggart handles business. Just because I blowed out a knee against Marigold don’t mean I ain’t ready to put a motherfucker to sleep on Anarchy. And this Anarchy? I gots TWO motherfuckers. El Lady, the Bitch Luchador, and Solomon Cuck. Listen boys, I hope y’all got a good ear doctor. Them eardrums are fittina get busted. I warned y’all, don’t forget.”

He turns out the light.

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