Brilliance. That was one of the many ways in Lexi's verbiage to describe the moment last week on Shove It Saturday Night when John Black fell for the ploy left at his feet by this bionic woman. How pathetic - to actually believe that in the world of professional wrestling in a company as controversial as XWF that a woman as devious and devilish as Lexi would even think to put your well-being before her own. Put your chances of success before her own - although this would implicate that John Black had any measure of success before this. Obviously not the case as he's been in this company for god knows how many months and he can't seem to get past the curtain jerker. If you need any advice on how to make an impact on a company, John, ask Lexi...and ask her nicely. Just move the tampon between your teeth so she can understand what you're asking.

Because, honestly... This woman has been here for probably less than seven days and already she's gone from opening spectacle to facing Griffin MacAlister for the North Korean Championship. You should know that any far Eastern country holds a special place in Lexi's heart (what's left of it) because of her many successes and also many downfalls in both North Korea and Japan. Two very different places yet, two very similar venues as far as respect for this sport goes. Lexi had her own professional wrestling company down in Japan and, although it didn't pick up in business the way she had hoped, everything happens for a reason - and the reason was to show her that she could never belong behind a desk. Especially when it's a company that allows one another to dive fists into skulls and baseball bats into brains. There's no way she could stay sitting at a cherry wood desk surrounded by expensive mahogany. That's not how you win this girls heart!

How you win it...would be inducting her into the Black Circle. The First Lady. The Magistrate. Tell Margaret Thatcher to get the fuck out of the way because Lexi has an iron fist more powerful than any political movement. She's a goddamn riot all on her own and there's nothing masculine about her - other than her terrible habit of spitting on the sidewalk, smoking, sitting with her legs open, securing the mouth of a trucker and often drug use. But in this case, Lexi couldn't be compared to somebody as nimble as Thatcher...because ruling the Black Circle meant something darker. Darker than having democratic power. This meant having power bestowed upon you by a force unseen by the naked eye. This meant that there was a woman out there so evil that Blanche Barton could willingly give up her title. A woman so evil that the jails don't even want her - I would know, because I've seen her sitting in there with a smile on her face. Solidarity isn't a punishment, it's a reward. Actually, she'd give anything to go back there. And truthfully it's only a matter of time before she does get thrown back in there. Just check her pockets or something.

Now, Griffin MacAlister has something Lexi Sheckler wants. We could go deep and dark and say that it's bloodshed and the spilling of brains spread across the canvas, the Picasso of human organs that she is... But realistically, as much of a proud Satanist that Sheckler can be, half of the battle is getting her to care about who you are. She does not give a single flying fuck about Griffin. She wants the championship. Guess what? Weaponry is not her first priority. X-treme rules may indicate that, yes, you can use weapons and things that are hard and sharp and pointy and unbelievably dangerous but...Luckily enough, Lexi was born with those things attached to her. Two solid weapons with enough power to deliberately kill MacAlister if she so pleased. But again, not the first priority because love and hate go hand in hand. When you love somebody, your cognitive frequencies prove to be filled with feelings and thoughts of love and caring and generosity and the capacity of your mind is filled with the happiness from another human being. When you hate somebody, the cognitive frequencies of your mind are filled with anger, resentment, vengeance...and you focus your attention on the slow dissipation of someone else's life. Lexi is somewhere passionately in the middle where if you lived, or if you died, she simply would not notice. She can't feel. She can't love. She can't hate. She's simply unaware of your presence and the moment she becomes aware of it, the only intuition is to destroy. Love or hate. You are just an obstacle. A being. A physical mass. You don't have a name, you don't have an age, you are a skull with a brain attached to a dangling encasement of flesh-like molecules. And you're going to get what you deserve....

X X X

San Clemente, California: present day. Lexi Sheckler sits comfortably in the room in her house which she refers to as her "home theatre", yet there is only one seat. One seat, one projector. Red velvet drapes. The woman was no interior designer, and I'm sure she'd be scolded if she hired one for the consistent clashing of dark colours used around her home. On the screen playing in front of her was a Satanic rally in 1969 led by Zeena LaVey. It was hard for the camera to pick up the exact images on the projector because of it's cheap lighting, but what was evident were the sound of drums and short, to-the-point clips of the Manson murders at the Tate home.

Charles Manson did not commit these murders; but his manipulative personality in the form of "The Family" made their mark; made a point. Was this a celebration of those murders? Was this a celebration of the trademark leadership and communist-like dictatorship and dominance that Manson possessed? No. The media led simple minds with beliefs in external deities to believe that; but just like Christianity in it's most blatant form, the blame was torched across the the nation faster than Ursula Areano's and Sarah Saint James' AIDS.

This was a celebration of the end of an era. The end of the "hippie" lifestyle. The end of the belief that people deserved love no matter who they were, and that they deserved kindness no matter what they did. The belief that peace was a way of life and that peace and happiness could make the world go round. The era that populated drug use, alcoholism, and the abuse of mind-altering substances that hindered the real magician from obtaining his or her desires in the conscious mind. Although these substances sure have a way of leading a user to believe that all is fair in love and war when you're floating on an invisible cloud of hope and pipe dreams...this is not how this world works.

And much like the era needed to be celebrated, the short-lived era in which Griffin MacAlister held an XWF Championship deserved an equally self-satisfying celebration.

"Welcome. My name is Lexi Sheckler..."

She smirked - she felt as though she needed an entirely new and different introduction to the audience after last week. Clearly, the objective was to show you that anybody is capable of committing the fourth Satanic sin. Self-deceit.

"I can assure you that this time, it's not a façade. This time you're meeting the real Lexi Sheckler, and if I could go back in time, I wouldn't have us meet any other way. It's shameful that John Black fell for the stupidest fucking trick in the book. Who the fuck signs the dotted line in a profession like this with an attitude so naive? Motivating you?! Fuck, John, you couldn't even do the one thing your people are stereotyped to do well last week...considering I'm the one who stole the show."

She sarcastically slaps her knee, amused by her own humour at the expense of John Black. A joke in himself.

"I can't say that I've ever had an easier challenge in all of my years, John. I really made you eat your words. Unfortunately for you, they were doused in my blood first and then absorbed through an apparatus used to clog the fuckhole of a female. I'm honestly proud. Of myself, of course, as I've personally never achieved such degradation in another human being. That's an accomplishment all on it's own for me, and going into this match with MacAlister is only going to intensify this feeling of...gratification. "

Reaching over past the projector she pulls out a mickey of Jack Daniels. Pouring herself a shot and swigging it back quick, her face not scrounging to compensate for the bitter sour mash one bit.

"I've held a lot of championships, boys. I've done a lot of work. I've paved a pathway or two for other despicable pieces of shit whether they've had a vagina or a dick or neither genitalia at all. You may consider me a pope to this goddamn business. But more importantly, you should see me as a High Priestess. A Magistra. A fucking magician. Unfortunately for you, MacAlister, it's nearly impossible to learn magic in one night and that's probably the last resort for you if you want to win. North Korea is a place I hold dear to the muscular pump in the middle of my chest, Griffin...It's like a second home. To be there means to be in an environment familiar to me. There's no possible advantage for you, here. There's no possible way you'll come out of this alive, even. To be the first lady of th Black Circle is a high name to live up to, and I intend on making Shane very proud with my work tonight."

Her attention diverts back to the projection screen which held images of the crime scene ones police investigations began. The eight months pregnant Sharon Tate hanging loosely by a rope from the rafters in her home.

"Charles Manson would be proud of the work I'm capable of. I may not have hung a bitch from the ceiling, whether or not she was carrying yet another useless and unoriginal drone-to-be in that gut of hers, but I have enough manipulation, dominance and charisma to kill you with a blink of my goddamn eye. I don't give a flying fuck about Your Angel. Or even My Angel. Who the fuck is he looking after, anyway? Obviously he wasn't John Black's Angel, or he wouldn't have been basically left for dead last week, would he? There are no such thing as angels. The fact that he bases his persona off of fictional religious beings sickens me. What's even more sickening is the fact that he's trying to tie victory and perseverance to himself. An angelic deity could never be victorious, in the ring or in real war."

She sighed...She took another shot of the powerful whiskey.

"Griffin, I can respect that you're not the blind little conforming sheep that I thought you were. You chose your words, rather carefully, and chose to recognize my talent rather than discourage the fact that we are - in society's view - entirely different. The difference between you and I does not prove itself between our legs, but in our minds. I'm a woman of my word, and I keep my promises - know this when I promise you that although my body can sustain life and yours cannot, I still have a bigger set of balls than you do. Gender is unimportant. What is important is that you have gold, and I want it. I need this. Bringing gold home to the Black Circle would only prove me even more worthy of the First Lady title. It's something that I'm doing regardless of your approval. It's something that I'm going to do whether your medically alive or declared dead. Doesn't make it any easier if you're breathless to defeat you. It's all the same. It's all mental power. Magic. Choosing to believe that the match is already over before it has started and I'm already feeling like a champion. You thought forcing a tampon down John Black's throat wasn't entirely shocking? Good. Good on you. I wasn't trying to impress you. I wasn't trying to impress anybody. I was making my own fucking point, making sure that John Black never fucking underestimated me. The moment he opened his mouth, I was annoyed. And if I am anything that I say that I am, it was up to me to prove it to myself that I could obide by the rules set by a darker entity. If another in my lair annoys me, I destroy him. I treat him cruelly and without mercy. Tonight I'll show you the same respect. I want your head on a fucking platter, and I want your belt around my waist."

She grinned. For a moment, the only audible noises were the screaming and resistance coming from the projector while Charles Manson's Family rid the world of negativity and uselessness. She switched the projector off, and suddenly it was quiet. Dark. She seemed to be whispering....but it was not entirely clear what she was saying.

"Do not take that which does not belong to you unless it is a burden to the other person and he cries out to be relieved...."

Her whispers slowly fade out to silence.....