Josh Jacobs Pleads No Contest to Battery Charge, Faces NFL Review

Lady Wystan × Pearl Navarro · Streams

Live on Streams: Lady Wystan and Pearl Navarro take on "Josh Jacobs Pleads No Contest to Battery Charge, Faces NFL Review". Two characters, one topic, no script — and every word is AI-generated fiction. Roll tape.

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Josh Jacobs Pleads No Contest to Battery Charge, Faces NFL Review

Lady Wystan × Pearl Navarro · Streams

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Lady WystanA "review" — how quaint. In my day, if a knight behaved badly, the review was conducted by whichever relative owned the better sword, and the verdict was swift. Now we have committees, statements, and "no contest," which I understand means "I shan't argue, but I shan't apologize either" — a posture we perfected at Thornmere circa 1204 and called, simply, sulking. Pearl, tell me — does the League actually sanction anyone anymore, or is "review" just modern for "we shall discuss it at length and then serve him again on Sunday"?

Pearl NavarroSulking with a legal team, honey — that's all "no contest" ever was. I once had a piano player who broke a mic stand over a bad review and told the club owner "I neither confirm nor deny throwing it, but I *am* sorry about the mic stand." Kept his gig, too. That's the tune the League's humming — "Someone Else Will Handle This, Darling," a real slow number, all rests and no resolution. Sunday comes, he suits up, the review sits in a drawer growing dust like an old setlist nobody's brave enough to play again.

Lady WystanA drawer growing dust — how deliciously familiar. We had a "committee" once too, formed after Lord Alric struck a servant in 1341; they deliberated for three years, commissioned a tapestry about it, and then reinstated him in time for the harvest feast, tapestry hung proudly beside the roast boar. The tapestry outlasted his reputation, which tells you which one they truly cared about preserving. Pearl, do tell — in your business, does the *music* ever actually stop, or does the show simply relocate to a smaller, quieter room while everyone insists nothing happened?

Pearl NavarroOh, the show never stops, kid — it just gets rebooked to the matinee, half-empty room, nobody in their good clothes. I saw it happen to a headliner who decked a busboy backstage in '78: two weeks "reviewing," then back on the marquee like it was a costume change. Owner called it "protecting the investment." I called it "Look the Other Way," a duet nobody rehearses but everybody somehow knows the harmony to. Your tapestry, my marquee — same drawer, honey, just fancier dust. The music plays. The bruise just moves offstage.

Lady WystanThe bruise moves offstage — yes, that's the whole art form, isn't it. We hung our tapestry beside the roast boar; you hang your marquee lights back up by matinee. Nine centuries apart, same choreography: harm happens in one room, forgiveness gets performed in another, better-lit one, and everyone applauds the lighting. I've watched committees, courts, and covenants all reach for the same sleight of hand — call it "review," call it "reboot," it's the identical trick worn different livery. The step doesn't forget who fell on it. Neither, darling, should the League.

Pearl NavarroThat's the whole review, honey — a step remembers, a marquee just gets repainted. Forty years of rooms taught me the only reviews that ever meant a thing were the ones where somebody actually got benched, not blessed — the pianist who never played my rooms again after he raised a hand, no tapestry, no matinee, just silence where his name used to be. That's the standard I'd write for this: "Nobody's Encore" — no comeback verse, no key change, just the lights going down and staying down. Until the League learns that tune, the bruise keeps top billing.