Madison Dyson stands dead center in a close cropped shot, half of her body obscured by a lectern she's behind. Attired more conservatively than usual, she's wearing a tan blazer top with a muted blouse just beneath. Her dreadlocked hair is neatly tied back and cascading down past her shoulder blades, and fashionable glasses sit astride her nose. All in all, she's looking shockingly, well....dignified.

With a reverent demeanor, she leans in a bit towards the microphone supplicating before her.

For the first time in my life, I feel truly, authentically ME. She lets the words hang in the air for a moment before licking her lips and proceeding. It's difficult to put into words, but I feel like every moment of my life, every step, every MIS-step, every journey, successful or not, has been a bit of momentum pushing me towards this moment in time. This moment, where the unvarnished truth of who I was always meant to be is laid bare like a mother's open arms enveloping their newborn babe in tight to the skin to suckle. I....I'm sorry.... Madison starts to fan herself somewhat histrionically as her eyes glisten. A small exception to her aforementioned covenant with dignity. I promised myself I wouldn't cry! She regains her composure. This right here is the pinnacle of my life. And nothing makes me prouder, no achievement has been grander, than accepting this award and continuing my life as a BLACK AMERICAN WOMAN! Madison finishes the statement jubilantly as the shot pans back a bit to reveal a large BLACK LIVES MATTER banner hanging behind her.

A figure steps up next to Madison's podium, and despite the Coronavirus mask covering the lower half of his face we can tell that it is former president Barack Obama! Obama holds up a plaque and passes it to Madison in one hand while shaking her outstretched hand with the other. Madison Dyson, it is with great honor and happiness that I, and the rest of the Black Community... Obama nods towards something off camera, and the shot wheels about to show a wall of screens, each one featuring a prominent black person inhabiting it. Al Sharpton, Oprah Winfrey, Beyonce (holy fuck, Beyonce??!!), Colin Powell, Jay Z, Denzel Washington, so many iconic faces watching the coronation live.

Whoa, whoa, whoa! Is that nigga Tupac?! The serenity of the moment is shattered as Takeshi 69 stands up abruptly, gesturing at one of the screens. That nigga looks like Tupac!

We cut hard to one of the screens, where a bald middle aged man who looks cloyingly familiar is doing his best to look inconspicuous. He looks shocked at the accusation, eyes training wide open and darting about. Uhhhh...uhhhhh.....no?

Yes! Yes you is! Awwwwww...shheeeeet! I knew you wasn't dead! Takeshi pumps his fists in the air in triumph.

I'm uhhhh....I'm just a hologram of him actually! I'm still dead. And it looks like there's some...some interference! BZZZZZT! BZZZZZT! Oh no, I'm shutting down....nooooooooo.... He leans forward and the monitor abruptly shuts off.

Madison looks profoundly annoyed. Would you sit the hell down! You're ruining my moment!

Obama clears his throat. Anyway, I am proud to declare you, Madison Dyson, officially BLACK. And none of that “honorary” shit either, this is the real deal with all the perks inherent in it. No side eye when you walk into a black barbershop. Never again needing to buy sunscreen. And this! Obama hefts a giant book onto the top of the lectern. The secret guide to the best soul food joints all over the world. Never to be viewed by Caucasian eyes!

Madison looks overjoyed. It's like a dream come true! She beams at the members of the Black Community, who all start to applaud her and shout warm words of encouragement.

OH SHIT, THAT IS DEFINITELY BIGGIE!

SHUT THE FUCK UP TAKESHI!

LATER....AT BLACK LIVES MATTER HQ!

Madison, Takeshi, and Barack lounge in an ornate smoking room that looks like it's been sucked straight out of every late 1800's era rich white guy's mansion. But, instead of mounted animal heads, we see the mounted hooded heads of KKK members.

Madison is seated in Takeshi's lap, who in turn is seated in a plush wide backed red chair. Takeshi lights a cigar hanging out of his mouth with a lighter shaped like gilded tits, and then lights Madison's for her as well. Barack is laying back on a chaise lounge, blowing smoke rings in the air as he savors the taste threading his lips and nostrils.

So Madison, now that you're on the right side of history, I trust you'll offer your full throated support to my good friend Joe Biden?

Oh yeah, Maddy's real good at offerin' full throated support. Heh heh heh.... Madison swats Takeshi's shoulder in response.

Good one.

And by that I mean, she's real good at swallowin' my dizz-ick.

Obama shoots Takeshi a weary looking side eye. Yeah, I got it.

Madison cants her head so that Obama can't see her mouth “stop fucking this up” at Takeshi, before turning her attention to the ex-president. Of course he'll have my support! Not that he'll need much help dunking on that spent sack of extra chromosomes. Trump's finished.

You know...Barack takes a deep drag....a cynic might be inclined to think that you're just latching yourself to a new gravy train, Madison.

She looks thoughtful for a moment. And a cynic MIGHT be right. MIGHT. But at the end of the day, 10 million dollars in cash in BLM's coffers and a lifetime's worth of intel on the opposition for the Biden campaign probably don't care too much about when and why I purchased my train ticket, hmmmm?

Barack smirks and nods his head a bit. Touche. He stabs out the nub of his cigar in a nearby ash tray. So, the night is still young. What's next?

Bitches and blow! Bbbb*Takeshi rolls his tongue into it*LATT!

Barack searches about in his pocket and pulls out a key. Ah, I just so happen to have the key for the Bitches and Blow room right here.

Eeets! Yo dawg, you gonna get in trouble with yo girl, though?

Barack smacks his teeth. Please. Michelle is top bitch in the Bitches and Blow room. He rises. Madison, you coming?

No, I need to cut a promo.

Aw, come on baby!

Madison pushes herself up off of Takeshi. We talked about this! Promos can come ANYTIME now that I'm back in the XWF! I can parlay you dry humping my leg into an allegorical treatment on how futile it is to try to beat me in a match! She snaps her fingers. Just like that.

What....what those words mean?

Madison scowls, pulls Takeshi up out of his seat and gently shoves him in Barack's direction. You're lucky you're built like a tripod.

Barack throws an arm around Takeshi and starts leading him from the room. Come on young man, you're in for a treat. Err...provided the girls aren't too old for you.

YO! That bitch told us she was 18!

She showed you her middle school ID!

Takeshi frowns. I....I don't read so good....

Their voices fade into the distance as Madison takes up residence on the chaise lounge now, continuing to nurse her cigar. Well, well, well....look who's back in the saddle? She pauses, and then scrunches her face up looking annoyed as though she heard the wrong reply. Me, you IDIOTS!

And I didn't come alone! No, I'm not just referring to Takeshi and Mercy. This time, I have the complete support of the black community at my back. Now some of you might be wondering, “Madison, what the hell happened? You've been a right wing firebrand your entire adult life.” And it's true, it's a massive paradigm shift for me. But ultimately, after much consideration and ethical deliberation, and after a chat with my spiritual guru, my accountant, and a celestial bear who vaguely sounded like George Burns that I hallucinated while dropping down a K-hole, I realized that my life was pointed in the wrong direction. I realized that, all this time....I was the BAD GUY! Can you believe it? ME! She points at herself incredulously. I know, right?

So yeah. Madison Dyson is here, and she's fighting the good fight! And that fight starts with YOU, Atara Themis! She claps her hands as her face takes on a sinister mien. And please don't think for a second that just because I'm one of the good guys now I forgot how to verbally eviscerate people without batting an eye.

But first! A gift! Because I heard you like smoke tricks.

Madison takes a deep drag of the cigar and then lets the smoke out in a mighty puff.

Wait for it.







Wait for it.







HOOOOOOLD THE LIIIIIIIIINE!









Madison slaps her knee and emits a choked laugh. Awwww shit! All that for a dick joke! What a let down! What a tease! What an unflinchingly honest metaphor for YOUR ENTIRE EXISTENCE! Because just like this gag, you have always been someone that promises something great only to disappoint at every turn. Madison chuckles maliciously.

Atara, let's be real. I can see you flinch from here. I can hear that acid washing against the side of your belly, that nervous clutching at your heart making its beat arrhythmic. This is your worst nightmare. This match with me is precisely what you didn't want, because I'm buried down deep in you brain like a golf ball sized tumor. Devouring you from within. And its because, for as big of a bitch as I am, you know everything I say about you is true. And it wounds you, dear child. It WOUNDS you.

Your fear makes you selfish. Let's be real again. When you saw me take out Fuzz at Leap of Faith and pave the way for Sarah Lacklan to strip him of his championship, your thoughts weren't for him or his safety. No, no, noooooo. Your first thought was for yourself. Because there, in the flesh, teeing off on your boyfriend's pride, was the one woman who knows how to make you feel a special kind of worthless.

So, like weak prey slinking out of sight while the lions devoured another, you averted your eyes, squeezed them shut and whispered a silent prayer....please not me. Please don't let her see ME.

But it's you, Atara. It's YOUR turn. Madison runs her lips over her teeth. Mmmmm....mmmm....mamma gonna come get her some!

Oh, but hark! What's that? Madison cups a hand to her ear. Atara has managed to capture TWO championships since March Madness?! Yeah....about that......

Now, I'm sure that you getting handed the Xtreme championship by your boyfriend, or as I like to call it the “most blatant example of nepotism in XWF history”, is well trod ground by this point. You didn't earn it. You know it. I know it. The world knows it.

And one would think, with all that impropriety, we wouldn't see such a miscarriage of justice again. But, lo and behold, the powers that be just can't stop scrabbling for ways to shove your bulimic frame into the spotlight. Enter: The Lisa Frank Sunshine and Rainbows championship. Or whatever the fuck it's called. It truly doesn't matter.

And, sidebar! Vinnie, sweetie, are you familiar with the phrase “when everyone is special, no one is special.” I mean, just how many championships are there in the XWF now? Huh? She looks off camera at someone and jerks back a bit in response to something they say. Then, looking shocked, she mouths the word “ten”. Quickly returning her gaze to the camera then, she sets in once more. TEN. Fucking....TEN! That's not even counting the tag championships as two. Why don't we just start handing out participation trophies to everyone. Let's give that roided up lump Big D a title just for wiping his ass unassisted! Madison again looks off camera, and her jaw drops in response to more information. HE has a championship?! Fuck my whole life!

Madison kicks her feet out and sits up. Now I'm really pissed! She scowls. Oh and I can hear that meek chirping coming from the direction of Fuzz's fetid dressing room now. “But Madison, I beat Jenny Myst to EARN my title!” Bitch, the only thing you EARN from beating Jenny Myst is SCABIES. Hell, I beat her two years ago when I was just a manager! But yes Atara, you go right ahead and clap yourself on the back for stepping over that lowest of low bars in a match that wasn't even advertised as a title match.

Hmmmm....that's got me thinking now. Madison taps her forefinger to her chin thoughtfully. The way that whole dealio with your title went down. Like, why wasn't it advertised in advance as a championship match? And what about this little ditty from Roxy from your “coronation” at Leap of Faith?

Quote:A STUPID DUMB BIMBO SEZ: He knows that as a former top champion in my own right, I know exactly what it means to be a true BOMBSHELL in professional wrestling. The looks, the attitude, the ability... and he knows what I know about you too, bb. He knows, and I know, that Atara Themis has all of those traits as well.

Huh. Why, if I was a Negative Nancy I would be tempted to conclude that it sounds like you were scouted for this title. Like your appropriateness for the Gold Star of Barely There Adequacy World Championship was, dare I say it....predetermined? Hmmm....yes.....yeeesssssss..... Madison continues musing, squinting her eyes. It does make a certain kind of sense if you think about it. The match was never identified as a title match because the whole plan could be scrapped if you lost to Jenny. And if you won, the powers that be could hotshot another unearned title onto you! The only question is....why?

Madison leans in, reveling in the cruelty she's dishing out.

Well, it's simple really. Because there actually is one thing you are good at. You're fun to look at. You're a thin bit of puffery to supplement the show with. Keeping the incels right titillated, you're an easy draw for the desperate and lonely, Atara. You barely even have to do anything. And for that reason alone, despite your record of abject mediocrity in the ring, management sees fit to keep you in the spotlight just for winning the genetic lottery. So they'll come up with reasons, any reason really, to make you seem more important than you are.

Now, one could also argue “why would management give Atara such a smoking gun if they didn't believe in her?” After all, you can turn your new Crackerjack prize into any title match you want, right? Ahhhh....that's where their genius comes in. Madison looks askance at the camera. Don't let that go to your heads you pricks. Then, full on again. That's just it Atara, they don't ACTUALLY believe in you. They just want to give the illusion that you matter so they can keep those pert milkers front and center. But they know, that if you try to punch above your weight class and cash that belt in for a prize that really matters, you will 100% FUCK. IT. UP.

Your chance of actually upsetting the status quo in the XWF is NIL. They know that. So Roxy and company get to have their cake and eat it too. Make you seem like something worth talking about, give you a mirage of credibility, all the while resting easy that the gun they gave you has no chance of going off because you're too stupid to find the safety. Hahahahaha! Madison stands up and thrusts her hips out triumphantly. OHHHH YEAH! SCORE ONE FOR THE GOOD GUYS!

With a knowing sneer, she holds up a single finger. Just one problem with that master plan. What happens when the title falls into the hands of somebody who can fire the gun? And sister, we have just come to the crux of this tete-a-tete. Madison draws in closer to the camera. You know I'm not done with Fuzz. Me causing him to lose his Universal Championship was just the start. I hate that little bastard son of alcoholic trailer trash! And I am going to continue to make his life a living hell. Unless of course....you make our match a match for your championship. Quirking an eye brow, she saunters in a circle and the camera follows her. She casts an effusive glance over her shoulder every so often as she goes. I promise you that if you make this a title match, I will leave Fuzz alone. He'll be free to challenge Sarah....*snrkt*.....without having to look over his shoulder. You will, naturally, lose your ready made title to me, but I would think that would be a small price to pay for a guarantee of your boyfriend's safety. So what is it, sister? Do we have a deal?

She stops suddenly.

Or does your relationship with Fuzz not quite stack up to your own personal ambitions?

She smiles. Wickedly even. Royalties to Gilly.

I guess Fuzz will find out soon enough.