The scene opens in Miami, Florida. We're in the brand spanking new apartment of Tony Santos and Shannon (her last name not to be mentioned out of privacy concerns and the eventual onslaught of nasally, overweight 20-somethings in Undertaker t-shirts looking to steal her away from her wretched boyfriend). Blank, white walls surround Tony, as framed pictures, along with other items, remain in taped up boxes scattered along the floor of the large apartment. Tony can be seen sitting on a loveseat pressed against a wall in the center portion of the room. Laptop on his lap and headphones over his ears, the glow of Tony's computer screen illuminates Tony's face, showcasing his sharp jawlines and impending spider veins on his nose in a decade or two.

Tony sits, quietly reading the New York Times. Yes, Tony can be a learned fellow at times. Usually between the hours of 2 and 3 in the morning after a sudden booze-fueled awakening, but nonetheless, these moments exist. The article in question? An Op-Ed in the Saturday Times entitled, "Delaware, Den of Thieves?," which deals with the issue of the State of Delaware and its loose and free "traditions" of incorporating any type of company willing to pay a fee, and willing to govern them with incredibly lackadaisical regulations. Tony, reading this piece, begins to argue with his computer.

Santos: Oh, give me a fucking break. Delaware, a "haven" for financial crime and terrorist financing? Please, you worry about a state that lets Dink and Doink's Motor Supply launder money from their podunk drug operation in the mid-Atlantic while the rest of us adults worry about the real blinds that cover the shady dealings of folks in African and Middle Eastern nations, you fucks! You can whine about how America is shitting the bed when it comes to these crimes, while, when looking at the bigger picture, these are god damn petty fucking crimes at worst, and at best just a way for companies to hide some fucking sketchball overseas investment income... petty, first world motherfucking crime when we look at the blatant, insufferable shits overseas who don't even put up the facade of good governance, and instead welcome, with fucking open arms, terrorist outlets and global scam artists to fuck with not just our country, but the rest of the developed world and bend us over for our proverbial ass fucking and eventual annihilation...

Tony, his face beating red as beads of sweat begin to stream down his face, breathes heavily, without words as he takes a moment to let his anger simmer.

Santos: But yes, John Cassara, please, please tell me about how dastardly and horrible Delaware is while the Afghan government gives a nice, big ol' bear hug to the Pakistani Taliban in their effort to terrorize Pakistan and thus increase their influence and legitimacy in the region, all while endorsing the murder of innocent civilians. Fuck you, Cassara!

Tony angrily slams his palm down on the left mouse button as the pointer on the screen hovers over the red X in the top right corner, closing the browser.

Santos: It's time for some god damn music.

Tony moves his mouse over to Rhapsody, that lovely streaming music service that he uses almost religiously to listen to music from the days of yore (a/k/a, early 2000s emo music... good taste, Mr. Santos has). Scrolling through his library, he clicks on a classic...



Tony lets his head fall back on to his couch as he closes his eyes, letting the sweet tunes of the Grateful Dead flow through his ears. Bopping his left and right, Tony allows the music to flow through his body like, well, a good hit of cocaine. Tony mouths the lyrics as his hair brushes the wall behind him.

Santos: Driving that train, high on cocaine, Casey Jones is ready, watch your speed...

Tony repeats those three words.

Santos: Watch your speed...

Just then, the music stops.

Santos: What the hell?

A loud screech pierces his headphones, forcing Tony to catapult his headphones from his ears to the other end of the room. Then, his computer screen turns to black. Tony squints at his monitor, wondering what's just happened. Cranking his head forward, he looks to see if his computer is completely fried, or if this is some strange screen...



That appears!

Santos: Sweet mother of god! What the fucking...

Tony, nearing a heart attack, can barely utter those final few words when this appears on his screen...



Tony kicks his computer screen as he finds himself, his entire body perched on his couch, confused as to what the hell is happening in front of him. Just then...

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Tony stares wide-eyed at his computer as it promptly shuts down and turns itself back on in five seconds flat. Suddenly, windows begin popping up at a torrid pace (because he didn't get a Mac...)


Tsk tsk

Family photos, pornography, Doom (?), music videos, Minesweeper (??), and other assorted files make their way to the forefront of Tony's computer screen, only to find themselves displaced by some other random portion of his computer. However, something begins to make its way consistently...

Santos: Wait, what, why....









Santos: Haifa Wehbe? Of Lebanese singing fame? The actor in increasingly shitty second-rate, D-list films that look like they were produced by Indonesian child slaves? What... are you... doing on my computer scr...

Tony stops and considers what is happening in front of him. The bleeps and bloops. The computer trickery. The recurring image of a woman who looks oddly similar to his tag team partner in Round Three of Lethal Lottery. It clicks.

Santos: EGYPTIAN SNOW PHARAOH!!!!!!!!!!

Suddenly, Tony feels a sharp pain in his esophagus and he starts coughing violently.

Santos: Oh... *cough* god damn it... *cough cough cough* what is happen... *bleep bloop bleep bloop*

Santos: Why am i bleeping and blooping???

The scene fades to black.

Bleep bloop bloop...

September 2013 and May 2019 Star of the Month
1x Hart Champion
1x Television Champion
1x Xtreme Champion