“Well hello there, my name is John Samuels.”

“I’m here on behalf of the ASPCA, talking to you about the most helpless of God’s creatures.”

“They need our help.”

The scene opens to John Samuels seated on the stoop of a nondescript building in a generic big city. His hand slowly brushes the collar of a small and restless Shiba Inu, the look on it’s face seemingly screaming “pls no.” The skin on the dogs head nearly rips off with each stroke of its fur, which Samuels is completely oblivious to. As the dog attempts to get up and leave, Samuels quickly places his forearm on the back of it’s neck and pushes it down against his thigh, holding it in place.

Samuels: “Feisty little feller we got here, huh? This little guy’s name is Troca, and he’s an inbred, severely young pup whose owners never gave him the chance to grow up in a happy home. The cigarette burns, missing teeth and stab wounds show just what kind of hell this poor guy has gone through. It’s utterly sickening to me that there are people out there cruel enough to harm such a poor pitiful creature. That’s why I say it’s time to stand up! And do for these creatures what they cannot do for themselves--euthanize them.”

The dog begins to shake under the pressure of Samuels’ forearm, whimpers quietly and then stops moving.

Samuels: “God bless you, you poor little fella. You never stood a chance.”


Samuels: “You see, folks, it has come to our attention that there’s all sorts of nasty critters running the streets of our fair country, and we just can’t keep feeding and housing them. I suppose you can liken all these rascals to those burrito eatin,’ border jumpers down south but that’s a story for a different time. These vermin are polluting our streets, they’re eating our dogs and impregnating our… Son of a bitch, there we go on those Mexicans again. Look here, let me level with you: I don’t really give two shits about animals. If I see an armadillo crossing the road, you better believe I’ll speed up and try to pop that thing like a white-head on Eli James’ unwashed asscheeks. The only thing animals are good for is bacon and antlers to hang above the fireplace.”


Samuels: “So I’m sure you can guess why I was particularly disturbed to find that my next opponent was this oddity. I mean, look at this thing. It looks like a bad photoshop mashup of a video game character and an internet joke. Have you heard it talk? It only has a slightly better grasp on the English language than Zak Misery. This, ladies and gentlemen, is the ugly side of man’s egotistical ‘ventures’ in science. We’ve tried to play God and we created a cretin that looks like the inside of Sid Feder’s Depends the morning after taco night at the nursing home. How the Hell did this thing even get made, you may ask. And that, is a great question. I’m not bioengineer or science nerd, but my best guess is that during one of the rare occasions that Alexandra Callaway didn’t have a human penis attached to her tonsils, she found herself lonely. And in her lonely, dick-crazed state, she smeared peanut butter all around her stink factory and sought the attention of the only man who doesn’t view her solely as the crusty tubesock that’s stuffed under their bed--her dog. And when that poor, abused animal came into contact with her pus-filled puss pimples, the mutt begin to change. It grew. It somehow gained the intelligence of a mentally challenged toddler. It mutated. It became a giant, disgusting cunt--similar to Callaway’s, just slightly less fur covered and immensely more talented inside a wrestling ring.


Samuels: Sorry folks, I’m just very passionate about ending the suffering of these poor, majestic creatures. That being said, I’m going to take it upon myself this Monday to put down this misshapen, unintelligible beast. For it’s own good. What kind of life can this poor pussmutant even have? Certainly not one of any substance. I see this creature and I just feel an overwhelming sadness, because inside the eyes of that failed science project I see fear, I see sadness, and I see an improperly formed excuse for a lifeform who is just begging to be put out of it’s misery.


Samuels: “Hell no, I ain’t touchin’ no cemetery dirt. Ain’t you ever seen a horror movie?

Fairchild: “This is your fault. In what fucked-up world do you think it’s okay to kill a dog for the purposes of a wrestling promo?”

Samuels: “It was an accident!”

Fairchild: “You beat it to death with a shoe.”

Samuels: “Well what’s done is done. No use crying over spilled dog brains. Now would you throw the damn thing in the hole so we can get out of here? This place is creeping me out, I feel like we’re going to run into Unknown Soldier digging up his next sex toy.”

Fairchild grabs the bloody bag at Samuels’ feet and drags it into the hole, she then helps herself out as Samuels looks at his shoe.

Samuels: “I think there’s brain on it. Remind me to get a new pair of these.”


Fairchild: “You’ve seen the size of this thing you’re fighting, right? It’s a fucking giant.”

Samuels: “I’m a fucking giant. This thing is a pile of elephant shit on legs. You think I’m afraid of this abomination?

Fairchild: “Maybe that’s not the most terrible thing in the world.”

Samuels: “Maybe you should just bury this fucking thing at let me worry about beating this critter on Monday night. It’s what I do. I don’t lose.”

1X - GOAT.