I stand on my balcony, eyes directed outward on the early morning sky, cigarette resting between my lips as I use a gold zippo to ignite its tip. In front of me; resting on the 5 and a half inch railing, there's a cup of coffee and my cellphone, which is recording. Taking a drag from my cigarette, I pocket my lighter and pick up my phone. Its camera directed fully at me now, I exhale a cloud of smoke and smile.


"Sebastian Duke, good morning. How are you? I'm doing fucking great on this absolutely, frigid morning. Fuck. It's like twenty degrees out or some shit. Why the fuck am I standing on the balcony? Oh well, cause I'm smoking and since I have a baby, I can't smoke inside. Seeing that my son is only an infant, lighting up a cigarette, would be completely asinine. Still, that glorious addiction to nicotine calls to me and as such, I am a slave to it. Answering it's beckoned call, even when it's twenty fucking degrees out. A variable arctic tundra! I swear there's ice forming in my cup of coffee. Why did I even bring that shit with me, out here? I'm not going to drink frozen coffee and freeze myself even more. Why am I even awake at this hour?"


"Oh well, that's an easy one. My son - Arkin, woke me up and it was my turn to check on him. I swear, that baby actually times his shits, for when it's my turn. If it were Abigail, checking on him, he'd merely be making a fuss to get her attention, so he could do something adorable, like pop his head from beneath his blanket and give a mischievous grin or make some sort of baby cooing noise as he proceeds to attempt to tell her about a dream he had. Did you know babies speak their own language? It's true. My father made me aware of that one day. Apparently, he can understand it. You know Azrael though, that strange piece of information probably doesn't surprise you, one bit, now does it? Nah. Probably not. You've probably witnessed him do even crazier shit than that."


"Anyways, I was woken from my slumber to address a massive shit crisis... and I mean, fucking... MASSIVE! My son is only a couple of months old and he takes bigger dumps than I do! It's uncanny. It really, really is an atypical feat of astronomical proportions. Then of course, he instantly falls back to sleep, after I tend to his very large, fecal problem and now, I can't sleep. So my body's solution to this conundrum, is to remind me that since I am awake, I might as well be smoking and what goes hand in hand with a cigarette in the morning... coffee."


"Glorious caffeine. Ensuring that there's a zero percent chance of sleep for me, anytime in my near future. It's cool. I'm used to barely getting any sleep. Got up close to this time, every day when I went to work and even though I'm currently my own boss, working as a freelance accountant and financial consultant, and I don't necessarily need to wake up at the crack of dawn, here I am... awake. It's bizarre but at least, I'm used to it. So why complain, moan and bitch about it."


"You know, I bet you're a guy, that's used to getting barely any sleep too. You seem like a man that rises with the sun. Then again, you used to run a fucking cult, right? You more than likely had to wake up early, in order to do chores and make sure that all of your followers were awake and doing their routine, everyday jobs. Wasn't Griffin MacAlister, a member of your organization at one point? That's crazy. I met that guy, he didn't seem like the type that would join a cult. Living weapon? Yeah. Sure. Okay. I'll give him that. Mechanic? Alright. I know that's true cause I've been to his auto repair shop. But a Kool-Aid drinking, robe wearing, chanting and incense lighting, member of a cult? I don't know, I can't envision it."


"Peter Gilmour. Now that guy I can picture joining your society. Cause he's a fucking that can be easily manipulated. I don't have to tell you that though. You roped him into joining your cult. You probably promised him that it would change his life and make all his wildest dreams come true and he just ate that garbage up like it was a tray of On-Cor chicken parmesan. Right? Yeah. He did. Now it's years later, he's not even a member of your group anymore and he's still waiting on you to deliver good on your word. Still waiting on bated breath, eager and hopeful. Excited to see you, when you come lurching into a room, like some kind of Frankenstein's monster. Towering over folks, like the giant, gargoyle that you are. Shouldn't you be out on a ledge somewhere?"


"In all seriousness, I gotta ask you some questions that have been plaguing my thoughts, since I first seen you, stalking the halls of the XWF like some kind of real life, Universal Studios monster. When did you decide to dress almost exclusively, in vinyl? Was it before the eyeliner became a thing? Or was the eyeliner the product of wearing that stuff? Also, after you started using eyeliner, did you buy it or did you send one of your minions off to CVS or some shit, in order to pick it up for you? Or wait, do you prefer to shop at like Ulta, for your cosmetic needs?"


"Now you've got a kid too, correct? Yeah, you do. He's a turd by the way. Sorry. It's true though. You know it too. I seen what he did to you. Put you in handcuffs and had his own band of creepy followers, drag you away. Tell me... how the fuck did you not smack the shit out of that kid? When he was standing over you, with that cocky, shit eating grin, looking like a total douche nozzle. How did you not stand up and backhand him into reality to remind him who he was talking down to?


"You're Sebastian fuckin' Duke! Sure you wear vinyl and put on eyeliner but you were a... wait, what were you again? Besides being a creepy weirdo that had moments of deep reflection, by a lake, on camera and leader of an all male organization that lived in some freaky, druid style compound, in the middle of nowhere. Yeah, I know you were a wrestler but you didn't really accomplish that much in your time with the XWF. You site winning the NK title and you held that for what? Three seconds? Before Luca Arzegotti took it for a total of four seconds? Didn't Azrael wind up winning that title and go on to rename it the Television title? Yeah, he did. He won that shit with one arm too, didn't he? Then he baited you into a match and took your US title. Beat you and buried you alive. Still with just one arm! He was like a full foot shorter than you at the time too."


"Damn dude. No wonder you got punked out by your whiny, sniveling, brat. You a bitch. You're all pomp and circumstance. There's nothing real or substantial about you. Nothing note worthy or fear inducing. You're like the old wizard, in the Wizard of Oz. All smoke and mirrors. Grandiose deceptions and trickery. You even wear a fucking cape! Like a magician! And your father raised rabbits. Sure. He had some lame excuse, like he was doing it for Nathaniel Adolph Zachary Idenhaus but I can see through that thinly veiled, lie. He was really doing it for his cape wearing, magician of a son. So you could pull them out of top hats and such. Like a total douchebag."


"You know, I can see where your son gets his douche-like tendencies from now. Chip off the ol' block, huh? Apple of his pappa's eye? Pride and joy, for the king of lame? Gah. No wonder you didn't smack the crap outta him, when he was talking to you like a bitch ass, fucking chump. That was a proud moment for you, wasn't it? I bet you went and had a good cry about it too. Cause you were so taken aback and in awe, by your son living, fully up to your standards. That's really pathetic man. Like beyond words pathetic. And yes, I am judging you. Hardcore, shake my head and laugh, judging you."


"Hey... is your boyfriend Theo Pryce, going to fly you to the arena for our match on Warfare, in his helicopter? Not that there's anything wrong with that. Being a blatant, raging homosexual. My brother Ezra is into dudes. Still, you really manage to make being a gay man, just seem that much more queer. Really make it sparkle and stand out. Mostly because you're wearing all vinyl and have eyeliner on, whilst sporting a cape. Wait a second... hold up, isn't Theo Pryce, also your brother? Now that's just gross dude. Fucking your own brother. That's sick man. Like for real, that's some immoral, fucking incest type stuff. That's what you should be ashamed of, you disgusting, wannabe Lurch from the Addams family. Damn. I think that realization just made me throw up a little in my mouth. Fuckin' gross."


"Weird question. Does John Madison also get in on the action when you're having moments of intimacy with Theo or do you guys have different set days for that? Like is Theo every Monday, Wednesday and Friday? Then Madison is like Tuesday and Thursday? Leaving the weekends free for Shane ? Or how does that work?"


"Wait. No. Nevermind. Don't tell me. I don't wanna know that shit. You on the other hand are more than likely popping major wood, over simply thinking about your romantic trysts, with the members of the Black Circle jerk. I bet that creep Nathaniel got involved in those shenanigans too. Making him a hypocrite but then again, that's not exactly a huge surprise. Hitler was a fucking joke, he may as well goose step right along in the footsteps of the former fuhrer. He has plans of being the next one, right? Hah! What a load of fucking crap. My father would never let that fucking get away with that malarkey. Well, he wouldn't let Nate dog get away with that kind of tomfoolery, if he wasn't trapped inside the mind of a woman. Waiting on some sort of trigger to get his memory back. All because Maxwell Maximus, had to abduct and kill him, so my father had to take steps to ensure his survival, while also leading Maxwell to believe that his diabolical plan was a success. That he really is gone for good."


"Sound confusing and convoluted as fuck? Yeah, it does and thinking about it, really gives me a major headache. Why can't anything that my father does be simple? Why does everything have to play out like we're all characters in some science fiction, fantasy based television drama? Or players in a fictional, role playing game, on the internet? Come to think of it, there's a lot of folks in the XWF that seem to do that. Yourself included. Along with all your pals, that were once metaphorical, puzzle pieces, in the Black Circle. Weird. What am I talking about? Even my own existence, seems to have taken on strange twists and circumstances. Bizarre coincidences and peculiar turns of events, that usually wind up happening at the same instant that an XWF camera imp, decides to turn on his camera and record. It's almost like the two things are connected."


"Awww.... but that's just crazy to think that, right? I sound like some sorta conspiracy nut or Mastermind, rambling insane theories and deluded perceptions, pertaining to what's going on in the world around me. Next thing you know, I'll start spurting nonsense about some make believe deadline and your speed at producing videos... or general lack of addressing me in promos, like that matters and there's a time limit on that stuff. I'll bring up that you're being slow and late to catch the bus. Talk about how your on the back foot, while I'm on the front foot. Whatever that means. Mastermind said that shit to me and to this very day, I still don't know what he was ranting and raving about. Do you? You both have been employed with this wrestling federation, way longer than me, maybe it's like a side effect from working here. After a while, you just lose your fucking mind and start talking, like you don't have your faculties."


"Maybe, there's some kind of neurotoxin, that gets released when we wrestle and after awhile, we totally lose our shit and start babbling like mentally defunct morons. Look at Peter Gilmour. He's been wrestling with the XWF for a hundred years. I bet he was a certified genius, back when he began his career here. With multiple degrees and a ph.d, in something impressive like nuclear biology. Sort of like the front man of the band, Offspring. Now look at him. He's a baboon. An inept loser, stumbling around the halls of the main XWF building, muttering to himself and ordering people to suck his dick. Telling people that his husband Maria Brink is a woman, when she clearly isn't a female."


"I seen that dude straight up shaving his face with an electric razor, while he was in line for a churro. He paid the guy behind the counter, took a bite of his fried treat and then scratched his nuts. One of them popped out from under his mini skirt. I couldn't look away, it was like watching some terrible accident or automobile wreck. The man's legs were so harry it looked almost like he was wearing a pair of fur tights. And this is the fella that Peter insists is a lady. Okay. Sure. Whatever you say, Mr. Gilmour."


"See? This is the absurd, out of this world, insanity that I'm talking about. It's like Peter's mind is utterly gone and he's been cursed to live in some sorta fairy tale land. Shroud in denial and wrapped up in nonsensical, make believe, horse shit. Is this what happens to you, after you work with the XWF for awhile? You're just slowly overtaken by delusions and insanity? Kinda like the 'Nothing' sweeping over the land of Fantasia? That's a Neverending Story reference for you, in case you were curious. Although, who am I kidding? You knew that. You more than likely love, your fairy tale style, movies and television shows. Like Game of Thrones, The Shannara Chronicles, Enter The Badlands, Stardust, Chronicles of Narnia and Lord of the Rings, type stuff. You base your whole existence practically exuding that shit. You wear a cape for fuck's sake. Your son used to run around wearing a crown, like a jackass living in the era of kings and queens. Like this was Medieval Times: Dinner and Tournament. Except I haven't gotten my big ass turkey leg yet and the wench who serves the mead is nowhere to be found."


I knock a long stem of ash from my cigarette and take a drag before flicking it off my balcony. With an annoyed huff, I roll my eyes and then look directly into the camera.


"You see that shit? I got so involved talking to you, I barely smoked my cigarette. I didn't even really touch base on our match. Not as much as I should have anyway. Eh. Fuck it. This will have to suffice your need for hearing me talk. I gotta get off this balcony. I'm freezing my royal Rastafarian na-nas off! I'll hit you up later homie and bring up some other, more important, match related stuff. Cool? Wait. Why am I asking? I don't care if you're cool with what I do or not. Christ. I'm freezing. As you can see, I'm only in a t-shirt too. The cold is obviously getting the best of me. Anyhow, you take care... daisy dukes."


"Till next time."


"Peace out nigga."





With that, I stop recording and proceed to send my video, off to the XWF.