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**Vincent Lane** · **11-10-2014, 05:20 PM** "Loverboy" speaks to John Madison. -->

Dear Mister Madison…

I don’t think you’ve ever really had the pleasure of being introduced to me directly. What’s up, dude? I’m Vinnie Lane – the Loverboy. The man of your dreams, I’m willing to bet.

The thing is, dude, I can’t have you coming after my boy Peter as hard as you have been, man. That’s my teammate. My compadre. You’re sitting there in your little office drinking goblets of gimlet, or some other fancy French

bullshit, and talking down to one of the biggest stars in your business like you have a leg to stand on. What gives, dude?

Ever since I’ve been in the XWF, I’ve watched you and your daddy Shane shit all over Peter at every opportunity you get. Hell, just a few weeks ago Shane literally made it so Peter would be force fed heaps of his scat, like he was some sort of fucking joke. My question to you is, dude – who the hell are you?

No, no, I don’t want to hear about who you were, dude. I want to know who you are now. Don’t try and hype yourself up with stories from yesteryear, talking about the gold ol’ days when you were king of the XWF. That’s got nothing to do with who you are today, dude, and nothing at all to do with our match on Wednesday, regardless of what that figurehead of a Universal Champion, Theo Pryce, says to the contrary.

All I see when I look at you, Madison, is a fat, out of shape pencil pusher with a fuck ugly harelip. It seems to me that the doctors could have done us all a favor when they were putting your palate back together by just jamming a scalpel into your brain stem and giving your mother what she probably wanted all along – a partial birth abortion.

Seriously, man, I’ve seen babies who died of SIDS with a brighter future than what you’ve got lined up this week. Why is that, you’re probably lisping to yourself right now? Well, just think about it. I’m in my prime. I’m the hottest up and coming megastar the XWF has had in it since… well, since ever, man. From day one I’ve been taking the delicate little sensibilities of the old timers and alleged champions here and smashing them under my custom made silver boots. In that same time frame you’ve… um… huh. You’ve done exactly jack shit, haven’t you?

Nah man, all you’ve done since I walked in the door is rush backstage to make sure Shane gets his pre-show blumpkin on time every week. That’s the legacy of John Madison that’s supposed to frighten anyone? Especially myself, Peter and Morbid Angel? Please, Maddy, you’re embarrassing yourself even more than normal.

What I want you to do, Maddy, is watch really closely tonight on Monday Madness. Watch the main event, the match that everyone’s tuning in to see, that’s putting all the asses in the seats. Watch me, Maddy. Watch me and watch what I do when you roll some has-been past his prime into the same ring as me. Watch while I kick Griffin MacAlister’s toothless mouth from corner to corner until I damn well feel like stopping. You see, you’ve made yourself a tactical error by focusing on your mancrush Peter and the ways he broke your fucking heart by not being your pocket pussy like Theo is. The way you’re choosing to ignore the bigger threats to your personal safety in this match, for one.

The thing is, man, regardless of how many wasps Peter spit at you, or whatever the hell you were trying to say when you tried waxing all poetic the other day, Gilly actually respects you. I don’t know why, but he does. Even though you treat him like garbage along with the rest of the management here in the XWF, Peter still somehow looks at you like you’re someone worth more than just the pair of shit filled tighty whities with skinny legs holding them up that you are. Maybe it’s from the title shot you gave him, I dunno, but you and I both know that was nothing more than another joke to you. You’d have found some way to screw him out of that shot just like a few weeks ago when the triple threat match was thrown out. Oh, are you going to claim ignorance on that one? Say it was out of your control? Come on, man, that kind of shit might fool

like Dimallisher into thinking you’re a saint, but it doesn’t fly here.

You know nothing like that happens on your show without you clearing it first.

Yeah, we all saw what your partner, Enigma, tried to pull there that night. That night that you claim you arranged for Pete to receive his 12/7 briefcase, by having another one of your cock wranglers, Eli James, hand it off to him for you. That same night, once again, Theo Pryce, the cheap trick that he is, dressed up in his drugstore ninja costume and tried to cash in for the title.

Just like he would do a few weeks later against Eli himself.

You want to sit there and try to convince me that getting Pryce’s womanly hands on that title wasn’t the plan from the beginning, Madison? I’m about as likely to believe that as I am to believe that you don’t floss your teeth every night with Shane

’s hairless dick. We know you do. Fuck, man, you admitted you suck the man off for favors. Why the hell would you say that in public, dude? You think it’s something to be proud of, the way you let your boss bruise up your fartbox every night?

BUT I DIGRESS…

You and your little troupe of lackeys and goons have had your clutches around the throat of the Universal Championship long enough, man. You rewrote the history books to pretend that Shades didn’t catch you all off guard and snatch it away from Eli, and then when you finally realized what a lame duck champion he really was you found a way to get it in the hands of your favorite fleshflute player, Theo.

How many reacharounds did he give you in exchange for that title, Maddy? Did you have to focus on not blowing your load the second he touched you, or did you have enough practice and self-control to just think about baseball for two or three minutes?

Look man, I know you like to look at pictures of yourself, I can tell from your shitty fuckin’ promos. So, I went ahead and found one and prettied it up to give you a glimpse of what you’ll look like after Warfare this week… ready?

Damn, dude. That looks like a bad time. Either you just “walked into a door” again like you told the cops you did after they showed up investigating a domestic dispute at Shane’s house, or you definitely got the shit kicked out of you by the three baddest motherfuckers in the XWF – the reigning and forever Trios Champions, the monsters of rock n’ roll, Peter Gilmour, Morbid Angel, and, my personal favorite, “Loverboy” Vinnie Lane.

That’s the way it’s going to go down on Wednesday, Mads. BUT – since my partner Peter seems so dead set on respecting you – I’m gonna give you an option. Maybe it’s the same option you tried to give Petey yourself, dude. Maybe you should just switch teams permanently just like you did after your first kiss with a grown man back in middle school band class.

The other option is that you just stay out of the way and let me take care of Theo, for a second time. As much as you and Shane and all the rest of you front office white collar fucksacks want to hold me down, not even you guys will be able to keep me away from getting my shot at the Uni once I’ve beaten the reigning champ for a second time.

I know it’s your plan as a group to protect Theo. I know you and Samuels will race each other to take the dive for your team in order for Theo to say he wasn’t pinned again, but I’m telling you, it’s the wrong choice. The right choice is you keeping your distance and letting it pay out naturally. Because if you don’t? If you don’t, then the only choice you’ll have left is whether you want to be knocked out or tapped out.

Choose wisely, Madison. You’ve got about 48 hours left to make up your mind, or I’m gonna make it up for you.

Watch your step, dude.

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