The Turnbuckle Brigade
Regulation CF: Testing the Waters / Type: Revenue Share / Raise: $25,000-$50,000 / Min. Investment: $100.00 / Est. Launch: Feb 2026
Logline: When the Axis Powers begin searching for a relic that could turn the tide of World War II, General Eisenhower recruits the four greatest professional wrestlers in the world to form a top-secret unit codenamed The Turnbuckle Brigade.
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The Turnbuckle Bridge is an entertainment concept created by Jason Baldwin and currently in development at The Macguffin Company.
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Proposed Terms of the Offering
The summary below highlights current proposed terms of the Offering. Terms are subject to change and will be set forth the offering statement.
Type of Security: Revenue Share. (How it works: Basically, your investment is a loan which we pay back to you over time from the revenue generated by the franchise, until we return to you the entire amount, multiplied by the Payment Multiple.)
Min. Investment Amount: $100 (increments of $100)
Anticipated Offering Amount: $25,000 minimum / $50,000 maximum
Revenue Share %: 20% of net revenue.
Payment Multiple: 3x. For every $10 invested, we repay a total of $30 (i.e., the amount invested multiplied by the Payment Multiple). Macguffin makes annual installment payments on this amount from the Revenue %. So in this case, Investors receive $0.20 of every $1 of net revenue generated by this franchise during the year, until the full $30 is returned.
Payment Deadline/Maturity Date: None
Use of Proceeds: Macguffin Co. will deploy proceeds toward the implementation of the initial phases of a multimedia franchise development strategy. Initial plans are outlined below, but subject change prior to Offering launch.
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RSVP to reserve an invitation to invest in the future revenue of this franchise. We’ll send you a link to the intermediary platform hosting the Offering, where you can access the offering statement for the franchise once the Offering is launched.
Note: This a solicitation of interest (“Testing the Waters”) for the securities related to this franchise. No money or other consideration is being solicited, and if sent in response, will not be accepted. No offer to buy the securities can be accepted and no part of the purchase price can be received until an offering statement covering the securities is filed and only through an intermediary’s platform. A person’s indication of interest involves no obligation or commitment of any kind.
RSVP to reserve an invitation for this Offering and access the investment portal.
Pilot/Storyboard >>>
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CONCEPT: It’s 1943 and the Nazis are on the hunt for a legendary Norse relic that would give its wearer unstoppable power and turn the tide of World War II. Fearing certain doom, General Dwight D. Eisenhower recruits five professional wrestlers to find it first. But it won’t be easy. The Nazi squad, led by the sinister Dr. Metallgesicht, ruthless officer who will stop at nothing to succeed. “The All American” Frank Zill, The Borneo Wildman, “Drillbit” Dottie Betts, Breathtaking Benjamin Bradley and El Aquila de la Muerte are codenamed The Turnbuckle Brigade and they’re out to save the world, one suplex at a time.
TONE:
A mature comedy in the same vein as Adult Swim shows like Venture Bros., Metalocalypse and Rick and Morty combined with period action and adventure movies like the Indiana Jones series. The Turnbuckle Brigade is set in a world where larger than life characters in the squared circle become real-life heroes.
RING THE BELL
It’s 1943 and Professional Wrestler “The All American” Frank Zill is headed to the wrestling ring for the biggest match of his career. He’s set to win the world championship from his longtime rival “Breathtaking” Benjamin Bradley. However, the agreed upon finish changes when another wrestler, The Borneo Wildman interferes and costs Zill his promised victory. The screwjob was masterminded by the territory’s promoter himself, all without Zill’s knowledge. Bradley escapes with the title as the fans work themselves up into a near riot. Zill quits the promotion, vowing never to set foot in a wrestling ring again.
Later, Zill wallows in his misery at Sherri’s diner. Two men suddenly join him at his table. They introduce themselves as Sergeants Haverchuck and Smith. They’re there on behalf of US Military and want to recruit him for a mission of critical importance. Zill, still bitter about a deferment that prevented him from enlisting as well as the night’s events, rejects their offer and storms out.
TAG TEAM
Haverchuck and Smith aren’t about to take no for an answer. They kidnap Zill and whisk him away to an undisclosed location, alongside The Borneo Wildman and Breathtaking Benjamin Bradley — the very men who double-crossed him just hours ago!
Haverchuck and Smith tell the soldiers about Hitler’s ongoing search for fabled Megingjörð, the mythological belt worn by the Norse God Thor. Legend has it that the belt grants its wearer supernatural strength, speed and agility, Hitler wants his scientists to replicate it, creating an unstoppable army of Nazi Super Soldiers. The belt is hidden near an ancient fortress in Norway and Hitler’s top scientist, the sinister Dr. Metallgeischt is leading the search. Zill, Wildman and Bradley have been chosen to find the belt before the Nazis. Together, they’ll be known as The Turbuckle Brigade.
The entire story is met with skepticism and laughter.
“A fortress? Thor’s belt? A gamed named Dr. Metalface,” Wilman says. “Even if this is true, who in their right mind would hand pick a bunch of dumb pro-wrestlers to go on this mission?
Eisenhower steps from the shadows and implores the men to serve their country. He explains that pro wrestlers make ideal special forces soldier. Just look at what they do out in that ring every night, the athletic process and the ability to take a beating and shrug it off. The Wildman and Bradley agree to the mission while Zill says thanks but no thanks and leaves.
Frank arrives home and the hour is late, ruminating on his career and family’s history of service, particularly in World War One. He’s startled by a knock on the door and discovers it’s the Borneo Wildman. Before Frank can slam the door in his face, his elderly mother intervenes and forces the men to talk it out. The Wildman pleads with Zill, asking him to reconsider. Doesn’t he want to matter? The team could really use the All-American, and if things keep going the way they have been, the whole country is going to need him too.
WORLD TOUR
As the team prepares to depart the next morning, Zill surprises everyone when he arrives and joins them. The group is told they have one stop to make before they head overseas: a carnival in Florida where they’ll meet the final members of the team.
The group is led through the midway to a match already in progress: a Mexican wrestler known as El Aguila de la Muerte, dispatches his foe with a series of high-flying acrobatic moves. Exactly the type of skills a special mission force would need. Later, they watch an overconfident carnival-goer accept a challenge to win $10 if he can last one minute with a female wrestler known as “Drillbit” Dottie Betts.
“Get back in the kitchen,” he bellows. The crowd responds with laughter.
Dottie violently snaps his arm in less than 30 seconds. That’s the type of raw fury that would have the Nazis running scared.
ANCHORS AWAY
The team bonds as they cross the Atlantic aboard the HMS Hunter. They learn more about one another: Wildman is a student of Sun Tzu, Zill Jewish mother suffers from dementia, Aguila idolizes a Japanese wrestler known as Eien No Tokage, Bradley is actually straight and Dottie has a fake leg and glass eye. They also participate in a series of combat training exercises. Skeptical troops step up to spar with the “fake” pro wrestlers, only to discover their fighting abilities aren’t an act.
At the same time, a German U-Boat cruises beneath the waves. It’s commanded by Dr. Metallgeischt along with his Leiter and gas mask-wearing private guard, the Eisen Verfolger. They’re headed to Oscarborg Fortress in Norway. Thor’s Belt will soon be theirs.
Operation Weserübung has begun. The German Air Force approaches the edge of Oslo and drop bomb after bomb on the unsuspecting Scandanavians below.
ENTRANCE MUSIC
In the morning, the HMS Hunter is anchored offshore as a landing craft speeds The Turnbuckle Brigade and their Infantry escorts across to the island. They disembark at the bottom of a fortified hill leading up to Oscarsborg Fortress.
They hit the deck as Nazis in the Fortress unload with heavy artillery. Zill and Wildman are pinned behind a fortification. Bradley, Dottie, and Aguila dive for cover. Haverchuck calls for cover fire while his men try to ascend, telling the wrestlers to stay put.
Ever the tactician, Wildman has a plan. He stages a wrestling match with Zill, confusing and distracting the Germans. The Infantry climb the hill undetected, sneaking into the Fortress, and take out the Nazis.
The Brigade and the Infantry make it to Oscarborg fortress fortify themselves inside. Smith is in a bad way after taking a bullet to the leg. And then a telegraph operator relays some bad news to Haverchuck — Norway has fallen.
“To hell with this, we’ll go to Oslo and take the city back.”
He orders the Brigade to stay put.
“But what about the mission?” Wildman asks.
“Eisenhower is a lunatic. This is war, not some fake wrestling.”
As the Infantry moves out, Zill asks to come along. This is his chance to be a real soldier. Haverchuck agrees and Zill doesn’t look back as he joins the soldiers in the landing craft. It speeds away into the distance.
HEEL TURN
Later, Haverchuck leads the Infantry down a logging road. Zill takes up the rear with Smith, helping him walk.
Suddenly, they’re caught in an ambush. Haverchuck takes a bullet in the shoulder. and the rest of his soldiers are wiped out. Zill sets down Smith and leaps onto the road, spraying cover fire and grabbing Haverchuck. He freezes when a rifle is aimed at his head, looking back he sees the creepy stare of the Eisen Verfolger.
“Hold your fire,” a raspy German voice says from the shadows.
Metallgeischt steps forward mocking Haverchuck when Zill spots Smith making a move. He distracts Metallgeischt and the gas masks with a wrestling promo as Smith to gets into position. Instead, Smith shoots Haverchuck in the head. Stunned, Zill is escorted into the back of the truck. Smith looks at him with a shrug.
MID-MATCH ACTION
Holed up inside the fortress, The Turnbuckle Brigade are down by one. Talk turns to the mission.
“What if Haverchuck is right,” Dottie mutters. Wildman isn’t so sure.
“If the whole Belt thing is nothing, then why are the Nazis here?”
Aguila finds a map of the Fortress in a drawer, covered in red Xs and full of German writing. They’ve got nothing else to do, so they decide to go have a look.
At the first X, they find the ground disturbed. Dottie, unfazed by the danger, digs at the top of the mound and, sure enough, reveals a pack of dynamite. The whole area is rigged to blow. They follow the wire back to the Fortress and locate the trigger.
But before they can go any further, they hear a distant motor coming from the sea. Through binoculars, Wildman sees Zill and Smith aboard a landing craft. He soon spots the pistol Smith holds up at Zill. He scans the boat, revealing the Eisen Verfolger and Dr. Metallgeischt.
All eyes turn to Wildman for the game plan. Thinking fast, his gaze lands on the title belt around Bradley’s waist and the plan suddenly comes together. Time to rescue the All-American A-hole.
NEW GIMMICK
Making their entrance through the portcullis, Smith still has Zill at gunpoint. They scan the area. Metallgeischt instructs Smith to take Zill into the dungeons while his troops follow him through the main gateway.
When they enter, Metallgeischt and his men stop. A chair slowly turns to reveal Aguila still wearing his mask and full Nazi gear.
“Did you really think the Führer would only send one Sicherheitsdienst on such an important mission?”
Aguila introduces himself as Adler von Helmut along with Wildman as one of Mussolini’s feared Blackshirts and Dottie, his sassy French concubine. Out of sight, Bradley perches on the roof, listening in with the trigger to the explosives in hand.
Just when it sounds like Metallgeischt might be on to them, he gives Aguila a massive hug. Aguila explains that Metallgeischt is too late — they’ve already found Thor’s Belt. Aguila tells him not to worry. He is happy to give the good Doctor all the credit and allow him to take it back to Hitler. Metallgeischt asks if he can see the merchandise. Wildman opens a lockbox to reveal Bradley’s championship belt.
UNDER THE RING
Meanwhile, Smith leads Zill at gunpoint down into the stone-walled dungeons and waves him into a cell. Zill tries to understand how Smith could betray them, betray his country. Smith tells him it’s all about money. He’s not some Nazi spy or sympathizer, he’s just an ordinary guy looking for a score. Smith slams the cell door and locks it, his gun still aimed at Zill.On the roof, Bradley breathes a sigh of relief, until he hears Metallgeischt finally call their bluff. The Eisen Verfolger aim their weapons. Metallgeischt spits on the title and throws it to the ground in the ultimate sign of disrespect.
“You stupid wrestlers thought they could outsmart me?”
Bradley hits the trigger and the Fortress rumbles as explosions shake its foundation.
Below, Smith staggers from the explosions. He drops the keys and falls back towards the cell. Zill reaches out and grabs Smith in a headlock through the bars. They struggle, both kicking for the keys.Above, Metallgeischt and his troops steady themselves, but before they can open fire, Dottie drops a smoke bomb and the room goes white. Wildman tackles a guardsman. Metallgeischt catches Dottie around the waist. She bites at his hand while Bradley comes sailing through the window and kicks him away.
Aguila hits the Leiter’s gun from his hands and unloads with lefts and rights, but his every strike is blocked.
Who is this guy?
The Leiter pauses, allowing Aguila to take the advantage. He joins Wildman, Dottie and Bradley as they escape. A trooper aims at Aguila as they go, but the Leiter pushes away the gun, causing him to shoot the roof.
REUNION
The Turnbuckle Brigade arrive to find Zill choking out Smith. Zill warns Smith is a traitor. Smith shouts back that Zill’s lost it. Wildman picks up the gun and aims it directly at Zill — he owes them an apology.
“Now? Are you serious?” Zill is aghast.
He apologizes and Wildman, satisfied, turns the gun on Smith. Bradley unlocks the cell while Smith negotiates with Wildman to put the gun down. Wildman hesitates, but before he decides what to do, the ceiling collapses and the floor suddenly gives way. The Turnbuckle Brigade plunge into darkness.
Metallgeischt, the Leiter, and the soldiers watch the dungeon entrance and parts of the outer wall crash down. As the dust settles, Smith crawls from the rubble. The Brigade are dead — he saw them fall through the floor. Metallgeischt is furious. That means they fell into a tunnel that leads to the belt.
“I don’t care about your problems or your imaginary belt. I did my part. Now give me my money,” Smith says.
Metallgeischt takes Smith’s head in both hands, lifts him from the ground and crushes his skull with his patented Iron Curtain Claw. He doesn’t let go until Smith stops struggling, tossing his limp body aside like a ragdoll. Metallgeischt orders his men to find another way into the tunnels.
“We must stop the Turnbuckle Brigade!”
CAGE MATCH
The Brigade lick their wounds, deciding which way to go, but when Wildman takes the lead, Zill rounds on him. An argument builds and Wildman airs his long list of justified grievances. Before Zill can retort, Aguila sees a light flickering not far away. The light turns out to be from a sconce. Somebody, or something, is down here. They hear rushing water not far off and follow it to its source.
The tunnel opens to reveal a large cavern where crystal waters cascade down a large rock face into a pool. A wall displays a mural of giant women aiming their spears and arrows at a pack of beasts and monsters.
At the center of the pool is a small rocky island and a large stone chest encrusted with jewels. They wade through the water and circle the chest. Together, as a team, they slide the heavy stone lid aside and cough as ancient dust hits them in the face. When it settles, they all stare in wonder at a glorious golden belt.
Suddenly, Zill wordlessly raises his hands. When the others see why, they follow suit. The Brigade find themselves suddenly surrounded by an army of women, bowstrings at the ready.
TRIPLE THREAT MATCH
During his search, a frustrated Metallgeischt notices a patch of cracked Earth under Smith’s corpse. His blood has run beneath a rock, dripping somewhere beneath the soil. Putting his ear to the ground, Metallgeischt can hear running water not far below. He gestures to the Leiter to have his men set the charges here.
As the team try to talk their way out of captivity, they are silenced by Reginleif, leader of The Eyes of Thunder. She reveals that the women are the reincarnated souls of the Valkyries sent to protect the belt on behalf of Odin himself. The Brigade is trespassing, a crime punishable by death. They’re on trial.
Allowed their last words, Zill, Wildman, Dottie, and Aguila begin talking over one another. They tell Reginleif about Dr. Metallgeischt and the War. They aren’t trying to steal the belt, they’re trying to protect it. The Eyes laugh at that.
“If these Nazis are foolish enough to come calling, they will meet the same grisly fate you are about to,” Reginleif says.
The waterfall above the pool explodes as Metallgeischt and his troops rappel to the island. After a classic, overly dramatic bad guy monologue, he reaches into the chest and is shocked to once again find Bradley’s championship belt. Bradley wriggles free from his bonds, grabs an axe and cuts his teammates free. Metallgeischt orders the soldiers to attack. Reginleif instructs the Eyes of Thunder to do the same.
It’s a three-way dance for ages — Nazi jerks vs butt-kicking Valkyries vs The Turnbuckle Brigade!
During the fight, the Leiter of the Eisen Verfolger screams for El Aguila de la Muerte. He turns to see the Leiter remove his gas mask, revealing an aged Japanese man covered in dragon tattoos. It’s Eien no Tokage! The two go at it in the main event to end all main events. Just as Tokage is about to send Aguila flying into the bottomless pit beneath the mural, Aguila executes a spinning headscissors that sends both tumbling over the edge.
The Eyes of Thunder are bested and Metallgeischt and his troops escape with the belt. Only the Brigade can go after him. With the Megingjörð, Metallgeischt and the Nazis will be unstoppable.
“Well, actually…”
Reginleif reveals the Megingjörð that Metallgeischt took is a fake. She shows them the real deal, a dull comparison to the golden forgery. She explains the forgery exists for an occasion such as this. Still, the Nazis must be stopped. She gives them the real belt, asking that they use its power to stop him.
But how can they catch up to him? Metallgeischt has a vehicle, and besides, they’re on an island and Metallgeischt already has a boat. The tunnels don’t connect to the mainland from beneath the water. Reginleif gives them a suspicious smile.
TITLE CHASE
Dawn breaks as Dr. Metallgeischt and his three remaining troops emerge from underground where a military truck awaits. He gets in, and two of the soldiers follow on motorcycles, while the other drives the truck.
They round a curve and pass a boarded-up entryway. With a crash, four white horses smash through the planks, driven by a chariot. Zill, Wildman, Bradley, and Dottie are all at the reins.
Metallgeischt spots the chariot. He pulls a Luger from his belt and fires a shot that nearly takes Zill’s ear off. Spotting a fork in the road, he orders the motorcycles ahead and signals an order.
The Brigade watch as the bikes go left and the truck turns right. Dottie and Bradley mount the two lead horses. She pulls out a sword taken from the Valkyires and cuts their mounts free. Dottie and Bradley turn left after the motorbikes while Zill and Wildman stay right and tail the truck.
Distracted Metallgeischt unintentionally causes the truck to slam into a tree and it flips in the air. Metallgeischt is thrown from the vehicle, while the truck comes crashing down on top of the driver.
Dottie and Bradley attempt stop the motorcycles, hitting the drivers with a combination of graceful and brutal wrestling moves. Dottie disables one bike, but Bradley isn’t as successful, falling from his horse and breaking his coccyx.
The remaining soldier looks back to gloat, not realizing he’s approaching a small fishing village. He returns his attention to the road, only to be clotheslined by an actual clothesline. His motorbike rockets off in the distance as he crashes to the ground.
THE MAIN EVENT
Zill and Wildman slow the chariot to a stop and approach the wreckage. Metallgeischt crawls out across the road looking for the counterfeit belt. Zill is holding it. He and Wildman toy with Metallgeischt, allowing him to seize the forgery and gloat. They goad him on, urging him to put on the belt and show them its power. Metallgeischt wraps it around his waist.
Nothing happens.
Zill and Wildman reveal it’s a fake. One of them is wearing the real thing — but who?
Metallgeischt strips down to an undershirt and military trousers. Zill and Wildman charge and they fight, two-on-one. Zill and Wildman perform classic tag team wrestling moves, but they underestimate their opponent. He’s a heel! He throws dirt in Zill’s eyes, tackling Wildman and unloading on him with a ground and pound.
“This one doesn’t have the Megingjörð, he’s too weak,” Metallgeischt growls.
He turns an icy glare at Zill.
Meanwhile, Dottie catches up to Bradley and they turn at the sound of a scream. Frightened villagers, all of them women and children, peer through windows and doors. The final soldier is on his feet and he tears off his gas mask in a rage.
Dottie approaches, ready to rumble, and the soldier begins belittling her just like the Big Guy did at the carnival.
“Yeah, I’m “just a woman,” but I’m a wrestler dammit, and I’m going to kick your ass.”
They exchange blows in a violent exchange as the villagers look on in horror. A cheap shot sends Dottie reeling. The soldier takes the advantage, pulling her up in a headlock, trying to choke her out. Dottie laughs like a maniac.
The soldier turns to see the women in the village no longer frightened. They circle, armed with gardening tools and rolling pins. He warns them to stay back or he’ll snap Dottie’s neck. Dottie slips away, leaving him standing there with her wig in his hands. She turns to him at the front of the pack of women and leads the charge as they rush him.
Bradley looks up to see Dottie headed his way, bald and covered in blood, as the villagers tear the man apart in the distance. Dottie pats his head. She’s proud of him, and she’s also made a decision. She’s going to turn him straight. Bradley tries to argue, for real, he’s not gay, but she won’t hear of it. She bends down and kisses him.
GO HOME
Wildman still recovers from his beatdown while Zill and Metallgeischt go toe-to-toe in the middle of the road.
“Guess what,” Zill groans. “We lied. This is no “real” Megingjörð.”
Infuriated, Metallgeist clutches Zill’s head as he did Smith’s, putting him in the vice-like grip of the Iron Curtain Claw. Despite his immense pain, all Zill can do is smile.
“Didn’t you see my last match? I didn’t win. They never gave me the belt.”
Metallgeischt turns to see Wildman standing as he straps on the real Megingjörð. His eyes radiate as his body is fueled with God-like power, thunder roaring in the skies. Wildman screams, running forward at lightning speed, he gores Metallgeischt off Zill and straight through a massive tree trunk. Wildman tosses him back onto the road.
Zill puts Metallgeischt into his finishing move, the 4th of July Leglock. Wildman, still raging with power, runs and leaps off the tree stump. He comes down as if in slow motion and hits Metallgeischt with a devastating Borneo Super Splash. Zill releases Metallgeischt as he gasps for air.
Wildman removes the belt and holds it out to Zill, offering him a turn. Zill hesitates a moment too long, allowing Metallgeischt to reach up and snatch it. He spins to his feet, holding up the Megingjörð,like he’s just won a championship.
He is about to wrap it around his waist when Aguila comes sailing down with a missile dropkick from the trees above. Metallgeischt stumbles forward, dropping the Megingjörð, and Wildman and Zill deliver a vicious double clothesline. It flips him upside down and he lands headfirst with a sickening crunch.
Zill and Wildman reunite with Aguila, elated to see him alive and well. He motions to a military truck the Nazis left abandoned on the beach. Sitting in the driver’s seat is Tokage. Aguila saved them both from the fall, catching the cliff on the way down. They were able to climb their way up.
At the sound of hoofbeats, they turn to see Dottie riding one of the horses, her head bare and her entire body covered in Carrie levels of gore. Bradley is draped across the other horse on his back with his legs in the air. Dottie checks out Metallgeischt. He’s breathing, but he sure isn’t moving. Just for good measure, Dottie gives him a thunderous stomp to the crotch and they leave him for the crows.
As the team head towards Tokage waiting in the truck, Wildman stops Zill. Once more he hands out the Megingjörð. Zill takes it, looks it over, and lays it on Wildman’s shoulder. It’s not his thing. He slaps Wildman on the back and they head for the truck.
SMART MARKS
The Eyes of Thunder stand like angels, donned in robs and holding candles. Wildman presents Reginleif with both versions of the Megingjörð.
“No one on either side of the war should have this much power,” he says.
Reginleif places the fake Megingjörð back into the chest as the Eyes of Thunder all bow to the Turnbuckle Brigade.
The Turnbuckle Brigade exit Oscarsborg Fortress for the final time, Dottie leading Zill and Wildman carrying Bradley on a makeshift stretcher, his broken butt in the air. In the distance two Royal Navy helicopters are inbound to pick them up.
Tokage stops Aguila and holds out his mask, telling him ge’s earned it back. Aguila pulls the mask down over his face. From a pocket he removes Tokage’s mask and holds it out, but the veteran refuses, saying it’s Aguila’s now. Tokage and Aguila bow to one another, and with a final look to the approaching helicopters, Tokage vanishes into the forest.
HALL OF FAME
A locker door opens and an inside mirror once again reveals “The All-American” Frank Zill, only this one truly is a soldier. Wildman’s reflection joins him in the mirror, putting on the last of his face paint. He closes the locker door, grabs Old Glory, and turns. He’s ready for his moment.
The ring announcer tells the fans about the injury that forced “Breathtaking” Benjamin Bradley to vacate his title. Tonight, the top contenders will go one-on-one for the All-Star World-Wide Wrestling Championship.
The crowd pops as Zill waves the American flag and boo at the Borneo Wildman hoisting his tribal staff.
From the curtain, Bradley sits in a wheelchair wearing a body cast from the waist down. Dottie sits on his lap, Aguila telling them to take it easy as they viciously make out.
Zill and Wildman trade spots, putting on a legendary show. When Wildman asks if Zill is ready to take it home, they see the promoter whispering to the ref. It’s another screwjob, just like last time. Wildman apologize. He whips Zill off the ropes and hits him with a high knee before diving off the opposite ropes and coming down with a thunderous Borneo Super Splash.
In the locker room, Dottie, Aguila, and Bradley surround Wildman in celebration of his victory, the title belt held on his shoulder. They pause when Zill enters, fearing an outburst, but he shakes his head and smiles, stepping forward to give Wildman a hug.
Their celebration is cut short with a knock at the door. They turn to see a pair of suits not unlike Haverchuck and Smith, holding a top secret dossier. The Turnbuckle Brigade turn to them, ready — where to now?
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CHAPTER 1Frank “The All American” Zill hit the curtain like a bullet and the world came alive. Hot white spotlights painted the catwalk red, white, and blue. Bass from the cheap sound system hammered through his boots and up his spine. If it had a flag or an eagle on it, someone in this crowd was wearing it. Zill’s trunks had both. He raised a fist and the noise went atomic.
Frank flexed. Veins bulged like vines on an oak. He took a slow lap, milking every step. Kids threw up hands covered in marker tattoos. Grandfathers in hunting caps hollered “Go get him, Zill!” Someone’s mother showed more of her midriff than Zill wanted to see. He slapped every palm, winked, signed a poster with somebody’s Parker Vacumatic. There were signs: THE ALL-AMERICAN IS MY PRESIDENT, BRADLEY SUCKS EGGS, ZILL’S GONNA KILL!
In the second row, right up front, his own mother - or perhaps an actor from the local theater, who’s to say? - sat upright with both feet planted and both eyes cloudy but locked onto the ring. Ingrid Zill, or not, age uncertain, wore a blue homburg hat over her wispy hair at a 45-degree tilt. Frank thought she even looked a little like his actual mother, God rest her soul.
Frank climbed the ring steps, pausing for maximum effect as the metal clanged. Every movement was a statement: THIS IS YOUR HERO. He pointed to the rafters, then to his own heart, then made a show of scanning the crowd until he “found” his “mother”. She waved, sat even more upright. For a second, Frank’s mask slipped. He smiled, real and soft. Then the smile turned granite.
Across the ring, perfectly relaxed, “Breathtaking” Benjamin Bradley leaned on the ropes. His hair caught the light like a shampoo advertisement in the glossies. McCalls, maybe. Even from thirty feet, you could count every abdominal muscle between the edges of his loosened robe. The championship belt gleamed on his shoulder, freshly polished, looking heavy. Bradley cupped a hand to his mouth and mock-gasped at Frank, then blew a kiss to the nearest camera. The crowd booed on cue. They loved it.
The referee checked their boots and tape-wrapped hands. “Let’s keep it clean, fellas,” he muttered, not looking up. Bradley finger-gunned the ref and licked his teeth. Frank gave a curt nod, already scanning for the timekeeper’s table. The bell rang, one sharp slap of steel on steel. No warmup, no handshake. Bradley came straight at him, all speed and white teeth.
First lockup was textbook: Bradley with a headlock, grinding his knuckles just below Frank’s ear. “Big crowd, farm boy,” Bradley said, just loud enough for Frank and the first row. “Don’t piss yourself.” Frank grunted, yanked Bradley’s wrist, and twisted out, landing a stiff forearm to the lower back. Bradley yelped theatrically, sold the hit by slapping his thigh for extra noise.
They circled. Bradley went for a single-leg takedown, faked, and slapped Frank in the face. “Oops,” he said. The slap echoed. Frank’s cheek stung. From the crowd, a six-year-old screamed, “KILL HIM FRANK!” Frank obliged. He bulled forward, scooped Bradley up, and planted him center-mat with a spinebuster. The ring boards groaned.
But Bradley popped right back up, arms wide. “Is that all you got?” He pirouetted, beckoned the crowd to boo, then pointed to Frank’s mother with a wink. “Sorry, Ingrid!!” he shouted. Ingrid blinked, all innocence and confusion. The crowd cheered and booed in rapid succession, and it was hard to tell the difference.
The match settled into a rhythm. Frank took a pounding—chops to the chest, flying knees, even a low blow the ref “didn’t see.” Bradley taunted him after every move. “You want a shot at this?” He kissed the faceplate of the title. “Keep dreaming.” Frank sold everything, face twisted in agony, crawling to the ropes with every escape.
At one point, Bradley locked in a Boston Crab, really leaning into the torque. “How about now, hero? Gonna tap?” he asked. Frank writhed around and raised a palm, but didn’t bring it down.
The referee dropped to a knee, leaned in: “You good, Zill?”
Frank spit blood on the mat. “Don’t ask again.”
Bradley relished the crowd’s fury. Fed off of it like a Sunday buffet. He strutted, did pushups, even paused to sign a program mid-match. When Frank staggered to his feet, Bradley ran the ropes and leveled him with a dropkick, heel catching Frank right in the jaw. For a moment the lights spun.
From somewhere in the stands, a chant started: “ZILL! ZILL! ZILL!” It built, uneven but growing. Frank listened. Even with his head ringing, he could pick out the desperation in their voices. They needed a comeback. He could deliver. He would. But not yet. Bradley had to look unstoppable first.
Bradley yanked Frank up by the ears, whispered, “Time for the tour, baby.” He hoisted Frank onto his shoulder and paraded him to each side of the ring, showing off the limp “All American” like a freshly bagged deer. The audience seethed. When Bradley reached Ingrid’s side, he pantomimed a deep bow and dropped Frank at her feet, then pretended to cry. Ingrid rose a little from her chair, lips moving without sound. Any halfway decent lip readers in the crowd would have blushed.
Frank’s face was mashed against the canvas. He tasted old sweat, disinfectant. Through the haze, he spotted the timekeeper’s table—blue jacket, thick glasses, big gold stopwatch. Frank blinked three times, as rehearsed. The timekeeper nodded, just barely.
Bradley pulled Frank up and slapped his back for show. “Back to work, soldier!” It was Frank’s cue. Bradley whipped Frank into the turnbuckle. Frank hit hard, slumped. Bradley sprinted, vaulting knee ready to finish it. But Frank sidestepped at the last second. Bradley hit the buckle and whiplashed backward, stunned.
Frank stepped into him, fired off three quick right hands, each landing with a wet thud. The crowd hit another gear. Bradley flailed, took a wild swing. Frank ducked and hooked him for a suplex—lift, hang, plant. The mat shuddered. Bradley arched in pain, clutching his lower back.
Frank popped up, face split by blood and a wide, animal grin. He pointed straight at Ingrid. “THIS ONE’S FOR YOU, MA!” She stood, and the crowd roared on her behalf. Frank flexed for the cameras, oak vines bulging. He ignored Bradley while he played to the crowd. Bradely stood up behind him and stumbled around, then gathered himself and whipped Frank into the turnbuckle, showboating with a handspring before charging. Frank timed it, got his boot up, and caught Bradley flush in the mouth. Bradley staggered, clutching his face. Zill shook out his arms, then lunged with three closed-fist punches, each one landing like a nail gun. He Irish-whipped Bradley into the ropes, met him mid-mat with a textbook dropkick.
Bradley sold the hit like a pro, flipping end over end. “ZILL! ZILL! ZILL!!” the chant rolled in from the crowd. Zill didn’t smile. He didn’t have the energy.
Time for the finisher.
Frank pointed skyward—a dumb, theatrical gesture, but it got the crowd going every time. He yanked Bradley up by the hair, set him for the 4th of July Leglock, and scanned the crowd with a half smile a thumbs up. He was about to lock it in when a blur exploded from the corner of his eye. Then Zill saw only war paint, teeth, and a glint of metal.
What the fuck? This wasn’t in the plan.
Elston Fowler—The Borneo Wildman—hit the ring in three bounds, sweat and body hair and rage incarnate. He wore only a loincloth and stripes of blue paint. The folding chair in his hands was legit, the edge already dented.
“What are you-”
The Wildman brought the chair down across Zill’s back, full force, and the sound was sickening—a deep, meaty THUNK, like hitting a side of beef with a sledgehammer. Pain lanced through Frank’s spine and detonated behind his eyes. He dropped instantly, face smashing the mat, arms limp.
The crowd’s gasp was a physical thing, a shockwave. First silence, then a rolling bellow. Someone up front screamed “FUCK YOU!” and threw a hot dog.
Wildman didn’t let up. He circled Frank, bellowing and beating his chest, chair held aloft. He spat something in a language no one recognized, then tossed the chair aside. It landed next to Frank’s head, close enough to smell the cold metal. Bradley, catching his breath, stared wide-eyed for a moment, then grinned so wide the ref winced.
Bradley dragged Frank’s barely-conscious body to the center of the ring. He didn’t even bother with a finisher. Just draped himself over Frank’s chest and hooked a single leg, smirking at the front row. The ref dropped and counted, his voice hoarse.
“One—”
Zill’s ear filled with the mat. He tasted copper. He tried to move, but nothing listened.
“Two—”
Bradley hissed, “Stay down, Frankie. This is your sendoff.”
“Three.”
The bell rang, and the crowd erupted—not in applause, but in pure, primal rage. Programs, popcorn, cups, anything within reach was up in the air and into the ring. A beer hit the ref in the thigh. Bradley yanked the title belt from the timekeeper and sprinted up the ramp, Wildman on his heels, both of them ducking a hailstorm of garbage. For a split second, Bradley turned and blew a kiss to the cameras. Wildman howled.
Frank lay on the mat, staring at the ring lights. Blood trickled from his hairline. For the first time in his career, he thought about not getting up.
Then he heard it: “Get up, Frank!” A single voice cut through the chaos. His fake mother’s. She was on her feet now, still playing her part..
Frank pushed himself upright, managed to kneel. He blinked and found the promoter at ringside—fat, sweating, eyes darting everywhere but at Frank. Coward.
Frank tore off his wristbands and threw them into the stands. He spat blood on the mat. “Fuck!” he muttered, not loud, but loud enough it hurt his head. The front row went silent, just for a second.
He limped out of the ring, climbing down sideways, his whole body shuddering. He made his way up the ramp, past Ingrid without a word, past the kid with the poster he signed, who now looked scared, past men who wanted to slap his back in solidarity but drew their hands away at the sight of his face. When he hit the curtain, the sound cut out—just dead air, then the buzz of cheap fluorescent lights.
Backstage was empty, except for the janitor mopping up the trail of blood. Somewhere, he heard Bradley’s laughter, bright and clean, echoing off the concrete. Frank squeezed his fists until the knuckles whitened.
He wanted an explanation. He’d get one, but he already knew what it was. So first he was going to smoke a cigarette in the shower and then go get a steak.
He pressed a towel to his bleeding head and limped out into the night.
What a shitshow.
“Saving the world - one suplex at a time.”
Pitch Deck >>>
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When you invest in a character franchise with Macguffin Co, you’re investing in a share of the future royalties generated by the licensing of the intellectual property, at the terms detailed in the Prospectus for each franchise.
Investing in character franchises is an opportunity to be involved in the first phases of a creative process, bringing character concepts to life, and enabling the commercialization that creates royalties for the creators and investors.
Like any start-up business, early investors receive access to an investment at its very beginning stage, when potential returns are greatest. But investing in our franchises involves risk, and you may lose 100% of your investment. If you can’t afford to lose your investment, don’t invest.
In the case of Macguffin Co., investing in our characters is meant to affordable, with minimum investments as low as $10, and accessible to anyone over the age of 18, regardless of investor accreditation status.
Our goal is to create characters that can be enjoyed for generations and allow investors of any size budgets to build a portfolio in an entertaining and hopefully profitable investment class, and to build a community of long term investors who help bring these characters life for children of all ages.
Investments are offered in accordance with the Securities and Exchange Act of 1933, managed via an FINRA registered intermediary, and conducted in full compliance with all SEC regulations.
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The Macguffin Co. business model is meant to make investing in characters accessible to everyone, but that doesnt mean it’s everyone’s cup of tea. Investing in characters is speculative. While speculative investments can offer the potential for high returns, they also come with a high level of risk. It is important to understand that the value of these assets can fluctuate significantly and there is a possibility of losing some or all of your investment. If you can’t afford to lose your investment, don’t invest.
The possibility of returns relies on the strength of the underlying concept, the execution of the idea, and Macguffin’s ability to license the intellectual property rights to media partners, and the ensuing success of the products created in the marketplace. None of which is a sure thing.
It is crucial to carefully consider the risks before making any investment decisions.
At Macguffin Co., we’re looking for long-terms investors interested in engaging with the creative process, building a portfolio of characters, and staying involved as we bring new characters to the world. If that sounds like you, we’d love for you to join us. If not, this might not be the platform for you.
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1-3 illustrated, full-color, 32-page children’s picture books.
1 chapter book, with vignette illustrations, 10,000 words.
1 ten-minute, animated short film pilot.
“Beyond the campy romp, this is a deeper story about facing personal demons, choosing right over fortune, and the value of family against greed and evil, all set to a thrilling adventure to save historical and battle Nazis.”
Backstory >>>
Meet the Macguffins >>>
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The Turnbuckle Brigade
Copyright 2025
Jason Baldwin/Macguffin Co.
A troop of monkeys recreates the Complete Works of Shakespeare, but can they tackle the Best of Simon & Garfunkel before creative differences tear them apart?