Big Ian Salt
· Character Development Promo
· Jan 2, 2026
Nothing's Fine, I'm Torn
Why hello there, fine folks.
It's me.
No sir, no ma'am, this ain't Reality — though based on times gone by, I do understand the confusion. Be that as it may, I'm happier than a dog with a brand new fire hydrant to clear things up for you.
My name is Mythos.
Reality is my cousin, twice removed — and a real prickly sort of cactus, if you catch my drift.
The difference in me and my cousin might best be illustrated with an example, such as this:
Reality is concerned with the bagel you're eating.
I, on the other hand, am a tad more concerned with the bagel that Zeus was going to eat until a mortal stole it, whereby Zeus punished said mortal by stapling his balls to the top of his cranium.
You feel me, friend?
Maybe I'm not the feller you need if you want the dry facts and figures.
But if you want that wet myth?
I'm your Huckleberry.
Speaking of Huckleberry, Mr. Finn too falls under my domain. As does Tom Sawyer. Rip Van Winkle. Pecos Bill. Odin. Hades. Saturn. Even Rocky Balboa, and Rick Moranis.
And the subject of this particular account? Well, he is an entity not at all unlike them.
He's a tall tale. A myth.
And his name is Big John Pepper.
Now, depending on where you were born or who you spent time with, Big John Pepper is a myth you may not have heard of before today. Truth is, he was likely cooked up by one of Appalachia's first and finest meth heads. The idea of Big John Pepper was born in a Waffle House parking lot at 3 a.m. on a Tuesday in July. It was a simple idea, to be sure. A man who was larger than life, and believed in three things: Freedom, Strength, and Our Gorgeous U.S. National Parks.
His legend took off as quickly as it began. Some said he fought ninjas in South Dakota and sent several into the sun with an airplane spin. Others say he was born in his park ranger outfit, and that's why it clings so tightly to his form.
Truth is, while your children were watching Frozen on a flat screen tv before brushing their teeth and going to bed, white trash children with mountain dew mouth and no internet were bringing Big John Pepper to life in their imaginations.
So what's so special about Big John Pepper?
Well… unlike Odin, or Zeus, or Old Man River…
Big John Pepper appeared.
In the flesh.
Why?
Well… what's the fun in that, friend?
I'll just say this.
Big John Pepper has a problem.
A serious problem.
And while he may run headfirst into a murder of ninjas on a sunny, South Dakotan morning?
He runs away from problems, all the same.
🌞 🌈 ⛈️
“History is a truth that becomes an illusion. Mythology is an illusion that becomes reality.” - Jean Cocteau🌞 🌈 ⛈️
Ever cuss at God?
I mean, ever really tear into Him, blame Him for some terrible atrocity, or even a personal tragedy?
Fred Dick has. Many, many times.
Basically every time he has ever had any issues at all.
So, you know, at least thrice daily.
And he fully intended on doing so again shortly after he awoke in the Dick Family RV.
He had established a nice, little post-retirement routine for himself. Earlier in the month, he'd sent Toddrick and Miguel on a dumpster diving expedition, and they’d returned with a fascinating find:
A French press.
Fred found it very satisfying to press the French press. It seemed to relieve the tension in his shoulders. And the coffee WAS better from a French press, you couldn't tell him it wasn't.
This particular morning started the same as the others. Fred French pressed himself some coffee, poured it in a Cecilworth Muggington, took himself a sip, had himself a big, long exhale, and looked up at the ceiling.
There, he saw it.
A massive dent in the roof of the RV.
“WHAT THE FUG???” He shouted, awakening STRONK TWO in the process, who never cried, but just screamed the word “MEAT” over and over again.
“God damn it, Fred!” Randi shouted from the bed. “You woke up the baby!”
“I didn't wake up that damn baby,” Fred insisted. “Jesus God damn CHRIST woke up that damn baby. And I tell ya what, I have half a mind to go outside and give him a piece of my mothafuggin’ mind!”
Randi continued, “If you go outside to talk to God you better pray for a damn ticket to Heaven, cause you ain't getting in on merit!”
“Hush, vixen! Don't you be interferin’ on my bidness with the Lort. That's MAN bidness, which you wouldn't understand.” Fred spat as he went outside to cuss God the fug out, and ask God for a ticket to Heaven.
“Stupid bitch,” Randi shouted as Fred slammed the door behind him.
“You did it this time, Jesus!!!” Fred screamed. “You dented my roof in you—”
Suddenly, Fred gasped, and stopped right in the middle of his spiel. Normally, this would only happen if he took a clean shot to the nuts. However, in this specific case, he only stopped because he looked up at the roof of the RV.
Lying atop the RV was a massive figure. What was he? Seven stories tall? How much did he weigh? Two grand canyons? He was larger than life itself, and in a very svelte park ranger uniform.
The figure seemed to be dead asleep in the middle of a brisk, December morning.
Had it been a normal man, Fred would've killed him, buried the body, and got high as fuck all before brunch.
But Fred instantly knew this was no normal man.
When Fred was a child with mountain dew mouth and no internet to speak of, this was a man who had been brought to life in his imagination and the imaginations of all his white trash friends.
“Big John Pepper!” Fred shouted. “What the heck're yew doin’ up there on top of my RV?”
The figure stirred, as if caught in the act of something embarrassing. He quickly stood, ran a massive paw like a comb through his eternally perfect, blonde mustache.
“Good Morning!” He shouted, and hit Fred with a series of these: 🤙 🤙 🤙 🤙 🤙
“Apologies for any distress I may have caused you,” the figure continued. “I uh… I'm not sure how I wound up here.”
“Don't even worry about it, Big John Pepper!” Fred shouted in an elated way. “Why don't you hop down from that roof? We gon' have some breakfast here in a bit. Would you like some?”
“No thank you!” He said with a smile.
“What about some coffee?”
“No thank you!” He said with a smile.
“You sure, Big John?” Fred asked, and then emphasized: “It's French pressed.”
“No thank y—" Big John hesitated. "...French pressed, you say?”
“Yup!”
He admitted, “I like pressing the French press.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“May I press it?”
Fred thought about it. He had never intended on allowing anyone other than himself to press the French press. But, this is a living legend, after all. A once in a lifetime encounter.
Begrudgingly, and with a smile, Fred said, “Sure.”
🌞 🌈 ⛈️
When Randi Dick heard that Fred had invited the legend known as Big John Pepper for coffee and breakfast, she set about creating one of her finest smorgasbords of all time. Sausage. Eggs. Pancakes. Oatmeal. Grits. Biscuits. Gravy. Bacon.
And Big John Pepper, once he pressed that French press and had himself some coffee, he just couldn't be so rude as to turn town breakfast.
He ate all of it.
Every last bite.
No one else had an opportunity to eat. It was there, spread across the bar-style counter dividing the kitchenette from the living area of the RV, in one second. And gone the very next.
“He Kirby'd the whole breakfast!” Toddrick complained.
“Toddrick you SHUT THE FUGGUP and DON'T FUGGIN TALG when BIG JOHN PEPPER is our guest for breakfast,” Fred said, scowling. “Matter of fact, now you ain't gettin’ no lunch and if you keep on actin’ selfish, you won't be havin’ no dinner neither!”
He turned to Big John Pepper, “Sorry about that, Big John.”
“All bueno.” 🤙
“Oh lordy, we need some music, don't we Fred?” Randi said, happy as a peach to have Big John Pepper in her house and just trying to make the moment happier.
“What is music?” Big John Pepper asked.
Upon asking it, the room fell silent. First, at the notion that Big John Pepper didn't know what music was. Then, at the implication that he had never heard music. Finally, at the realization that there's no way to describe it.
“Big John,” Randi said. “You mean to tell me that you've never heard music?”
“I don't even know who Music is,” Big John Pepper replied sheepishly.
Randi looked at Fred. Fred sighed, nodded. “Get the turntable out.”
At this moment, Big John Pepper began seeing things he'd never seen before. A turntable. A record, with a beautiful woman's face on the album sleeve. A baby with bigger muscles than most grown men.
STRONK TWO crawled up Big John Pepper's leg, who smiled down at him like a sunshine.
“Hey there, sport!”
“MEAT!” STRONK TWO replied as he curled onto Big John's lap like a cat.
“Don't even give that boy nary a bite of meat, Big John,” Fred said. “He's eatin’ me outta house and home.”
Big John Pepper snuck STRONK TWO some bacon anyway.
STRONK TWO purred.
“This right here?” Randi said, as she set the needle on the record. “This is my favorite song.”
“What is a song?” Big John Pepper asked.
“It's a piece of music.”
Big John Pepper nodded, pretending to understand.
But then, the jingle-jangly guitar of the song began its strumming. And Big John Pepper had never heard a guitar. Much less, a beautiful voice.
I thought I saw a man brought to life
He was warm, he came around like he was dignified
He showed me what it was to cry
Big John was immediately overwhelmed. Music was… well, it was the most incredible thing he'd ever heard.Soon, cradling STRONK TWO in his arms, Big John Pepper's feet were moving on their own. So were his hips. Rhythmically. Dare I say, even sensually.
Well you couldn't be that man that I adored
You don't seem to know, or seem to care what your heart is for
I don't know him anymore
Fred and Randi looked at each other as Big John Pepper sashayed and twirled around the room, smiles on their faces.But as Big John began to hear the music, I mean, really hear the music, the song's beauty was rivaled only by its pain.
There's nothin' where he used to lie
Our conversation has run dry
That's what's goin' on
Nothing's fine, I'm torn
The poor narrator of this… “song,” as they call it, had been tragically misled.😢
I'm all out of faith, this is how I feel
I'm cold and I am shamed
Lying naked on the floor
Illusion never changed
Into something real
I'm wide awake and I can see the perfect sky is torn
You're a little late
I'm already torn
By the end of the chorus, Big John Pepper had gently sat STRONK TWO on the floor, curled himself into a ball, and began weeping.Immediately, it was evident that Big John Pepper cried literal buckets of water.
Randi was going to need a mop.
As the song carried on, so did Big John Pepper. He began violently choking on his sobs, and at times, would just cry out, “IT'S TOO BEAUTIFUL!!! IT'S TOO BEAUTIFUL!!!”
When the song concluded, and Big John Pepper was left lying in a literal puddle of his own tears, Randi said, “It's okay, Big John.”
“Okay?” Big John Pepper said, offended. “OKAY!?”
“Yeah,” Randi said. “It's fine.”
“It's not okay. It's not fine,” He replied. “Actually, it's the single greatest thing that has ever existed.”
Randi smiled big and proud. Fred scoffed.
“Wait until you hear Lynyrd Skynyrd,” Fred said.
“That song is called ‘Torn,’ Big John. And it's my favorite song ever,” Randi said.
Big John Pepper didn't profess to know much about anything that wasn't related to surviving encounters with monsters or enjoying our Gorgeous U.S. National Parks, but he did know one thing with absolute certainty.
Through teary eyes, Big John smiled at Randi, and said, “It's my favorite song, too.”
🌞 🌈 ⛈️
Well hello there, it's me again.
Your friendly neighbor, Mythos.
Bet you wish you could remember what it felt like the first time you heard music.
Bet you wish you could forget what it felt like the first time you felt like Natalie Imbruglia in her hit song, “Torn,” as well.
Big John Pepper was lucky on the former. He would cherish this memory of hearing music for the first time until the end of his days.
But on the latter, he's just like you and me.
Even Big John Pepper wished he could forget about being torn.
Maybe then, he could stop running.
Regardless, Fred Dick had invited Big John Pepper to stay with them on top of the roof of their RV for just as long a spell as he wished.
After a couple of weeks went by, Fred made him an offer. An offer to be represented by Fred as a prize fighter of some kind. This appealed to Big John Pepper because he was interested in contests of strength and mettle, as tall tales often are.
He deliberately for maybe five seconds, before deciding ultimately that he had enjoyed his time with the Dick Family, they helped him keep his mind off of [THAT THING], and so why not?
Fred told him of this seemingly magical world of feuds and stables and contracts and championship belts. A world of friends becoming enemies, enemies becoming even more bigger enemies, and even more bigger enemies becoming your biggest enemies.
“That wouldn't happen to us, would it?” Big John Pepper had asked.
“I'd never betray a client,” Fred replied, lying through his teeth though, to his credit, he may have believed the lie when he said it. “Swear on my mama's grave.”
Big John Pepper signed some paperwork Randi drew up from the internet.
He hoped he signed up for more than just a prize fighting gig, though.
He liked this family a lot.
When Fred told Big John Pepper about ring entrances, and how important they were, and how in many ways they sold the wrestler to the fans as much as the matches themselves, Big John Pepper felt very excited. The mystical aspects of it. The pageantry of it all.
His heart fluttered wildly in his breast.
He had already picked out his entrance music.
🌞 🌈 ⛈️
“Alright, smart ass,” Toddrick said, pacing around the interior of the teepee that Fred allowed he and Miguel to build in the back yard. They'd actually done a bang up job on it, to be fair. Even a couple of dipshits, one of whom being over 50% metal, were capable of figure out something practically difficult thanks to YouTube.
Big John Pepper sat criss-cross-applesauce in the teepee as Toddrick and Miguel tried to give him some science.
“Did you hear me, Big John? I called you a SMART ASS.”
“Affirmative,” Big John Pepper said. “Loud and clear. I object to the notion that I am an ass, but I felt interrupting you would only play to the notion that I'm an ass, rather than the gentleman I am. Though, I did enjoy that you called me ‘smart.’ That's an underutilized compliment that makes everybody feel good, Big or small.” 🤙
“...Riiiiiiiiiiiiigh…t,” Toddrick said. “Here's what I'm gonna do, Big John. I'm gonna get on my hands and knees and fucking BEG you to stop saying stupid shit like that.”
Big John Pepper frowned like an angry sunshine.
Miguel stepped in to ease the tension.
“Here you go, Big John,” Miguel said, handing him a stack of sticky notes and a pen. “You may want to take some notes.”
“REVIVAL!” Toddrick said, clapping his hands together. “Puerto Rico. Your first match is against Crash Jackson. This guy loves two things: Dirty hoes with purple hair, and hot dogs.”
Big John began taking notes.
“He's a high flyer. Short ass compared to you. Featherweight compared to you. Likes to be a fucking show off, if you ask me. Wants the crowd to suck him off — wants the crowd to SUCK ON HIS JOHNSON.”
Big John continued taking notes.
“But you're gonna make sure the crowd DOESN'T suck on his Johnson. You're gonna make sure the crowd sucks on — YOUR JOHNSON.”
“I don't think anyone should be sucking on my Johnson without my consent,” Big John Pepper replied.
Toddrick got on his hands and knees. “Please," He said. "Please stop saying stupid fucking shit. Please, please, Big John, for the love of all that's holy, stop saying stupid fucking god damn shit like that stupid shit you just said, PLEASE!”
☀️ 😡 🔥 😤
“Woah woah woah,” Miguel said. “Relax. Let's all calm down. Big John, any questions about how you should approach your match?”
“No questions, Miguel,” Big John said.
“You sure? We are kinda experts on match strategy. Led Fred to the semi-finals of the Almassy Tournament thanks to our acumen.”
“No questions, Miguel,” Big John said again, yawning this time.
“Mind if I take a look at your notes?” Miguel asked.
Big John Pepper handed Miguel the stack of sticky notes. Miguel examined it, thoroughly, before asking, “What the heck is this? It's beautiful but… I'm not sure it's wrestling notes.”
Big John beamed proudly, and said, “I drew a hot dog launching into outerspace.” 🤙