“You know this goes against everything I believe in right?”

“Nigga don’t be a bitch, it’s just a little weed.”

“I heard it’s a gateway drug.”

“Yeah, it’s a gateway to you stopping being such a paranoid pussy. Let’s light this shit up.”


Samuels: “I don’t get it. They all look the same.”

Abe: “Of course they do. It’s the effect they have on you that makes them different. Look at this shit, I call this one PR Purp because you smoke this shit and you feel like you’re on a beach in the Caribbean, motorboating a mocha bitch who can’t pronounce the word ‘sheets.’

Samuels: “That’s pretty fucking specific. We’ll call that one a maybe. What about these two?”

Abe: “Oh, that one right there is Cookie Monster because you hit that shit and your eyes turn bigger than Tara Reid’s surgically fucked up nipples. The other one… Oh, that’s that Vinnie Lane shit right there.”

Samuels: “Why the fuck do you call it that?”

Abe: “You barely have to hit that shit and it makes you start whining and crying like a little girl.”

Samuels: “Makes sense. Let’s avoid that one.”


Samuels: “I feel...funny.”

Abe: “Oh shit! Usually you don’t get high the first time. Maybe you like a pot rainman or some shit.”

Samuels: “You ever wonder if what we’re doing is right man? Like...I only joined the XWF to get my name out there, help me with the votes. But now, I’m making fun of Asians and picking on crossdressing assholes who like to pretend they’re half as good as me.”

Abe: “Vinnie?”

Samuels: “Vinnie.”

Abe: “Man fuck that guy, he shops at Wal-Mart.”

Samuels: “I know. But even though he’s a classless, sub-human piece of flotsam, maybe I shouldn’t make fun of him? I mean, the guy is obviously a foot fetish away from getting caught rummaging through a shopping mall’s garbage and furiously masturbating to the smell of a fat lady’s disposable sock that just got jammed into an Ugg boot and coated with foot sweat and dead bunyan skin. Maybe he needs a break?”

Abe: “The kind of guy that would make you sit through 6 minutes of him and that bitch with the Adam’s apple trudging through Wal-Mart before delivering a halfass promo that isn’t even vaguely insulting, needs to get ass put in-check as often as possible.”

Samuels: “I guess you’re right. I just feel like there’s so many unanswered questions right now. Like what would Peter be like if he spent less time shoveling trans fats and cholesterol down his gullet and more time trying to reach a 4th grade comprehension level?”

Abe: “That’s one that’ll keep us all guessing.”

Samuels: “Us. We. And what the fuck are we man? Are we really all just flesh covered sacks of meat, wandering around trying to find a purpose that will forever elude us? Forging relationships that provide us with merely a fleeting, and frankly unfulfilling, sense of camaraderie? Who’s to say that we even have free will? What if we’re merely figments of the imaginations of some pimple-faced higher powers who lounge around all day plotting our every move and word? Hell, it’s like we don’t even exist once the cameras stop rolling on us.”


Abe: “I need to throw you a rope right now because you just went way too goddamn deep.”


Samuels: “Ah who the fuck am I kidding? It would take a fucking genius to script this shit.”

Abe: “Amen brother. But we ain’t got time to be focusing on this shit. You got them trios belts to win, you need to focus on whipping that ass come Wednesday.”

Samuels: “What’s there to focus on? Morbid’s a has-been, Vinnie’s a never-was, and that manchild Gilmour shouldn’t be allowed to walk to that ring without holding an adult’s hand and a helmet to protect all that water that’s collected in that stupid fucking skull of his. The only thing I’m worried about is if that special brand of that Vinnie has is contagious. Hey, do you think if I knock Vinnie out and he falls face down that Morbid will turn his hindquarters into his own personal cockwarmer?”

Abe: “Who’s to say he’s not already? There’s gotta be a reason Vinnie wanted to give him a title in the first place right? That seems like a plausible trade doesn’t it? Morbid gets a title, Vinnie gets stuffed like Gilmour at a humble pie buffet.”

Samuels: “Whatever the case may be, these three jokers are in for a rude awakening. The three of us have accomplished more combined than these ingrates could dream of in even the wettest of their dreams. Theo Pryce has made his living outsmarting and embarrassing guys that are much higher on the totem pole than these guys. I may have called Madison out myself a time or two back in the day, but that was solely because he is a man I consider worthy of a challenge. What these two guys are going to do in that ring would be down right arousing to a weaker minded man. Even money says Vinnie is going to be sporting his 3 inch wood once he starts getting his ass kicked. And me? Well, I’m not in the business of self promotion but if Morbid wants to think that I’m the weak link of my team then he can be my guest. It’ll just make it all the more hilarious when he gets a colonoscopy from by big ol’ Texas boot.”

Abe: “He might like that shit, the nigga drink his own cum.”

Samuels: “What?”

Abe: “Yeah, that last promo he released where he was flaunting his shit like Jessica Simpson in a Carl’s Jr commercial, he said he drank his own cum.”

Samuels: “Do I even need to make fun of him for that?”

Abe: “Don’t think there’s really any point, ‘the sex god’ can talk about eating pasta and drinking cum all he wants for all I care. That shit ain’t even worth mentioning.”

Samuels: “HE EATS PASTA!?”


Samuels: “What kind of eats pasta? Where are we, Italy? Why not drink some wine and suck some dick too? Jesus Christ almighty, what the hell are we getting ourselves into? Might be a wise idea to tell Madison and Theo to keep their cheeks clenched while we’re in there, I don’t trust this giant, pasta eating to keep things on the level. If I hear him humming the fucking banjo song from Deliverance I’m out of there, the titles are all fine and dandy but I’m not getting a steroid dick in the ol’ evacuator for them. Can you imagine how veiny that thing is? It probably looks like a week-old breakfast sausage covered in maggots. Combine that with the pus-filled herpes pockets that are surely covering Vinnie’s dick and these guys might actually be slightly terrifying. Thank God useless ol’ Gilly brings them back a notch or three.”

Abe: “Keep that hole secured bruh. You get that man cum in your ass and you might shit out something that looks like Vinnie’s Wal-Mart bitch.”

Samuels: Certainly wouldn’t want that, would be? I might force feed myself a fistful cyanide if that fucking moron wants to start hanging around me.

Abe: “Would you shove the whole fist in your mouth?”

Samuels: “Don’t even get me started on that shit. I’m hungry, let’s get the hell out of here. I know a pretty fucking good pizza place. It’s right next to a police station so there’s no Mexicans. You drive, I want to try some of this Cookie Monster stuff.”


Abe: “Watch that shit man! That motherfucker is loaded!”

Samuels: “What the fuck do you carry a gun around for? You’re not exactly in the streets.”

Abe: “Nigga gotta have his gun, you know what I’m saying? Where the hell this pizza place at?”

Fairchild: “Pizza?”

A dazed Fairchild pops up in the back seat and grabs Abe’s shoulder. Abe screams and recoils, causing Samuels to scream in turn. A single loud blast is heard and Fairchild’s head snaps backwards as the window behind her shatters, the remaining shards covered in glass. Samuels and Abe look back at the motionless Fairchild and then at each other, mouths agape.

Samuels: “IT JUST WENT OFF!”

Abe: “NIGGA! YOU KILLED HER!”

1X - GOAT.