We open on a bird's eye view of the star of this tale, Mr. Kaleidoscope, known also by his current alias Dick Gayson. Seriously, that's the name on his driver's license, on his "birth certificate", his passport, everything. The camera slowly zooms in on his face as he lays flat on his back, eyes wide open, pupils like silver dollars. Cocaine stains the rim of his right nostril as well as the tip of his nose. His hair's a wild mess, strewn across his sweat stained forehead, sticking straight up in the air, thrown this way, that way, and the other way as he shoves his palms into the floor and shoves off the ground to give himself enough momentum to get up to his feet. Or so he thought. Actually, all he accomplishes is shoving himself forward, landing on his knees only to fall forward, about ready to collide face first with the unforgiving carpet floor. Until, instinctively, impulsively, his hands shoot out and stop his descent.

Woman: Impressive.

Viewers who are both astute listeners and familiar with the challenge Mr. Kaleidoscope issued days ago can easily recognize that voice as the woman who said "perversion" from off-screen in the aforementioned challenge, however this is our first look at her, as she stands a few feet from our star, leaning against the closet door, clapping sarcastically. Her long chestnut locks are as disheveled as his, scattered across her tan skin. Half-dressed in what has to be the skimpiest lingerie ever, of all time, she makes her way over to the kneeling Mr. Kaleidoscope, reaching down and helping him up to his feet.

Mr. Kaleidoscope: Plan on sayin' more than one word at a time when the cameras are on?

She looks towards the camera and smiles, an expression that quickly vanishes as the camera zooms in on her breasts more and more.

Woman: Maybe.

Mr. Kaleidoscope: Don't mind him, first time he's seen a woman I'm guessing.

Behind the camera, the cameraman's face is redder than a republican tomato. The woman giggles, covering her mouth with her hand, when the sound of door opening can be heard from downstairs. The two look at each other for a second, before coming to a conclusion. Eddie Crow, Mr. Kaleidoscope's publicist and roommate.

Eddie was a man of unusual tastes, not unlike Mr. Kaleidoscope himself, part of the reason the two could stand to work with each other as long as they have. Two unapologetic hedonists, it was no surprise that they were fast friends.

Eddie Crow (stomping up the stairs): Duuuuuuuude, is Izzy here? You'll never guess what

He comes to a stop right outside the doorway leading into Mr. Kaleidoscope's bedroom, where this unfolding scene is taking place. The camera turns to catch a glimpse of him in all his glory; a tall, wiry, heavily tattooed white man, hair fashioned into wildly colored dreadlocks, teeth blinged out, iced to the max, wearing a dirty white wifebeater, with a fresh red stain on the front, and jeans that are three sizes too big for him.

Eddie Crow: Oh shit dude are you two about to make a movie? Yo can I get in on this?

He looks closer at the cameraman, leaning in and squinting through his sunglasses.

Eddie Crow: These the XWF guys?

Both Mr. Kaleidoscope and the woman, presumably the aforementioned Izzy nod slowly, almost in sync.

Eddie Crow: Sheeeeeeeeeeeeeeit! I didn't know that was today!

Mr. Kaleidoscope (facepalming): You set this sesh up!

Eddie Crow (turning around and heading back downstairs): Don't mean I remember it! Keep these dudes busy for a bit, I gotta clean some shit up.

Mr. Kaleidoscope looks at the camera and nods his head.

Mr. Kaleidoscope: Yeah, he's gotta go clean some shit up.

The Cameraman: I think they got that one.

Mr. Kaleidoscope: Hey! This is my promo time, stop trying to get yourself over cameraman!

The cameraman mumbles something under his breath and nods his head. Mr. Kaleidoscope looks down at his wrist, clearly still feeling the effects of his latest drug binge. He taps his wrist with his other hand, a frustrated look on his face.

Mr. Kaleidoscope: Hey, what time is Sayors supposed to

Steve Sayors (from downstairs): WHAT THE FUCK?

Eddie Crow: Dude I told you not to freak out. Not cool.

Mr. Kaleidoscope shakes his head, letting it fall into his hand before making his way downstairs, followed by Izzy and the cameraman.

One flight of stairs a couple of turns later, he's standing in the lavish living room that was previously featured in his original challenge, staring down at the ottoman, which Eddie Crow has expertly used to prop up the mutilated corpse of a blonde woman. Vomit crusts up in the corners of Steve Sayors' mouth, his head turned away from the source of tension in the room.

Eddie's showing the body off, anxious at the lack of positive response from anyone else in the room.

Mr. Kaleidoscope looks about ready to blow a gasket.

Mr. Kaleidoscope: Tell me Eddie, why is there a dead skank on my ottoman?

Izzy: Maybe she isn't a skank, ever think of that?

Mr. Kaleidoscope: Did she willingly sleep with you?

Eddie nods.

Izzy: Point recanted.

Eddie Crow: I was fuckin' this girl right? She tells me she likes being choked so I think what the hell, why not and so I'm chokin' her and she doesn't tell me I'm doing it too hard or anything and she just *blows raspberry*.

Mr. Kaleidoscope: If that's all that happened, then what the fuck is up with her looking like she's been run through a knife factory?

Eddie Crow: Wanted to make it look like that serial killer, then as I was going to get rid of her I remembered you're in tight with those cannibals up in the mountains. Thought you could get them to take care of it.

Mr. Kaleidoscope: Just because I got cousins up there don't mean I'm in tight with them but that was your plan? Just sell this corpse to them to deal with? They get their own food, they don't buy it, especially not lookin' like that (gestures to the body).

Mr. Kaleidoscope groans loudly, pacing back and forth.

Mr. Kaleidoscope: What about a name? Did you catch her name before you fucked her to death?

Eddie Crow: Yeah. Melissa. Melissa Domangez.

Mr. Kaleidoscope (eyes wide): Melissa Dominguez? As in daughter of Marcos Dominguez? Oh fucking great! Just fucking great, you fucking

Mr. Kaleidoscope tackles Eddie to the ground, pinning him to the floor and wrapping one hand around his throat.

Mr. Kaleidsocope: I ought to choke you to death and see how you like it, you FUCKING IDIOT!

Eddie's eyes bulge almost out of his skull as he struggles to breathe, clawing desperately at Mr. Kaleidoscope's arm. He responds by pressing his hand deeper into his idiot friend's throat, before a backwards glance at the cameraman reveals to him a bigger crisis; the camera's still rolling. He pushes himself up off the ground and stomps over to the cameraman.

Mr. Kaleidoscope: ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?

Meanwhile, Sayors sitting on the ground, rocking back and forth.

Steve Sayors (muttering to himself): Just one interview where things don't go to hell, is that so much to ask? Why do you hate me God?

A proverbial light bulb flickers to life above Mr. Kaleidoscope's head and he stops dead in his tracks.

Mr. Kaleidoscope: Okay, I got an idea. A whole lotta damage control but first turn that fucking camera off.

The scene fades to black.

---

Mr. Kaleidoscope: Here I am.

Those fans of the XWF who know who I am and what I'm about and are still celebrating, this one's for you. Those of you watching who have no idea who this fucking guy is, well don't worry. On Monday night, you're gonna figure out why your buddy who's been trashed out of his mind since Thursday is so excited.

Now, I walked into the XWF a veteran of this sport with more years spent in that ring than some of these young lions have been on this earth. And of course, I figured putting that out there would direct all the hungry up and comers right at me, ready to sink their teeth into a "washed up old timer," but it seems these "young lions" aren't as hungry as I thought. No, the lot of them are lazy, fat cattle just waiting to be killed and if I got to open up the slaughterhouse, so be it. The only wrestler with the testicular fortitude to accept my open challenge was Thunderbolt XYZ, my opponent this Madn-- wait no. He isn't.

Instead, my opponent is a dick.

Literally.

The dick of Peter Gilmour, to be exact.

Is the first time I've had to beat a dick? Hell no and it won't be the last either but wrestling one? Well I don't think I've ever done that, at least in a match. How do you even prepare for something like that?

Especially in a table match.

But there's the beauty of the whole thing. I'm fighting a literal penis. A penis I'm guessing without arms or legs or a way to actually fight me. So, what do I need to do prepare? Just live my life like nothing's happening on Monday? Alright, I was planning on doing that anyway but it's kind of odd to basically get confirmation that I don't need to change a thing from the bookers but hey, I'll take it.

So, what to talk about if I don't need to really address the match?

There's always Maverick.

The Hart Champion who's afraid of, coincidentally enough, tables. I guess any fear I might've had about him attacking me during my debut has been washed away, seeing as he's too much of a pussy to stand up and face his fears head on. Instead he runs from challenges issued by inanimate objects and plays it off like he didn't just pussy out.

I'm a broken record at this point but goddamn if that isn't the saddest thing I've ever heard. A champion, a fucking champion is scared to fight an inanimate object! What's wrong Mav, afraid you'd lose?

Tell ya what, seeing as you're afraid to fight the Table, why don't ya fight me? You don't even have to put that title of yours on the line if you don't want to if that'll sweeten the deal. I just to want to get my hands on you and show you how pussies like you get treated by the real men in this business, which the XWF seems to be sorely lacking.

Again, you're welcome guys. I'm here to turn these boys to men, these girls to women, to kick unholy amounts of ass and look fan-fuckin'-tastic doing it.

These are the end times for piece of shit cowards like Maverick.

These are the end times for beta, limp dicked pussies like Ghost Tank.

These are the end times for everyone who doesn't got that tiger's blood running through their veins 24/7.

Don't say you weren't warned.