The year is 2054. Amidst a backdrop of climate change and dwindling resources, a new regime takes hold in America, a regime that dictates that anyone over the age of 50 must justify their existence to the government or face punishment by DEATH.

In a desolate place, a sort of hope springs eternal. It’s BINGO night, and a gathering of seniors have braved the night and a government that sees no purpose in them to try to have an evening of fun and excitement.



But despite the levity of the evening, the room is quiet as a church mouse by necessity. For you see, such gathering of the elderly have been deemed illegal by the state. Thus, the seniors practice their game in complete silence, the only sound being the tumbling of the bingo balls.

A ball gets sucked up into the machine, and the announcer holds it up but says nothing, and a lightboard blinks B-7 just behind him. A grandmotherly woman wastes no time standing up and waving her bingo card about. BINGO, she mouths. But in her excitement she knocks her chair over. It clatters to the floor. Terrified, the seniors look on at each other, waiting for the inevitable.

And come it does.

They hear the sound of a door exploding inward via battering ram, and soon after armed stormtroopers hustle down the stairs and fan out into the room. The seniors tremble in terror as their commandant makes herself known.

Duh, it’s Madison. Whose body is slammin’ and doesn’t look a day over 30.

Well, well, well. What do we have here? An illegal Bingo operation. In the same week that I busted a covert knitting operation. Am I good or what? So tell me you old farts, who amongst you has appeared before a Justicar lately? Hmmm. How about you granny, what do you do with yourself? Why do you deserve to suck oxygen? She points her riding crop at a random old lady. The stormtroopers make her stand.

I….I knit booties for stray kittens…the old woman speaks.

Madison looks aghast. Take her out back and shoot her! And the rest of you…papers! Papers! Show me your papers and prepare to be judged!

The seniors, terrified and trembling, do as they are told.

But, as this occurs, the shot pans back…back…further back still. Until we leave the scene altogether and reappear to find…

Madison Dyson asleep at her desk. Beside her is a container of egg nog and a bottle of vodka.

Mmmmm….yeah you old fucks…line up and be judged…  Madison mumbles in her sleep. Then, with a start, she awakens and looks blurry eyed into the camera.

Whoa! Must have dozed off there.

Well, greetings XWF. Long time no see. I, of course, am Madison Dyson and if you think I’m going to sit here like some kind of ego deprived simp recounting my exploits for the benefit of the remedials in the back row you are sorely mistaken. Any of you plebes who don’t know me can get stuffed and wallow in your ignorance.

She smirks and starts pouring herself another drink.

So, I heard you guys are in the market for a new Anarchy champion. And I gotta say, that’s the smartest thing the XWF has done in a long time. You see, I’m not a big fan of old people. They stink, they contribute nothing, and they’re ugly. You can see where I’m going with this I trust?

*Cough* Centurion *Cough*

And this isn’t just some stock, hurr durr “Centurion is old” shtick. We’re all well aware that he’s 46 and that his dangling old man testicles can be slapped around his thigh like a tether ball. No, this is about the FUTURE. And how farts like Centurion aren’t going to help the XWF wade into it.

I mean, let’s call a spade a spade here people. The XWF isn’t doing so hot. The new hires have dried up and the bookers can barely put together a card. If it wasn’t for Dionysius and Bobby Bourbon we’d barely have an episode of Warfare, am I right? The promotion is circling the drain and it desperately needs something new.

Centurion? He’s old. And I don’t just mean in age. He’s old news. This fucker has been Anarchy champion three times. That’s like two more times than Thad Duke has had sex. And in all those times as champion, what excitement has he brought to the brand? What sort of dynamism have we seen? You know the answer already numbnuts, it’s NONE.

He brings NOTHING to the brand except the cloying smell of Old Spice and a miasma of prolonged mediocrity.

But me? Heh. How soon you forget that I’m XWF’s QUEEN. Despite the rumors you may have heard about other royalty crowned in the interim, I am still XWF’s most REGAL alumni. Which is an accolade Centurion can only lust over like he lusts over girls half his age. Seriously….RUBY? You dirty old fuckball!

Like me or hate me, I have never been Anarchy Champion. And when you’re honest with yourselves…I mean TRULY honest….when you take a look around at the other alternatives in this Centurion versus The World challenge, who do you think is going to be the one bringing the ingenuity? The creativity? THE JOIE DE VIVRE?! That’s right it’s Madison Dyson ya natty bitches. I mean it’s either that or two more months of this dusty old cooter before he loses it back to Edward or some shit.

And to everyone else in this thing? Trust me when I say I’ve got a kiss-the-curb stomp with each of your names on it.

Madison takes a MASSIVE glug of her drink.

Spread it on!