Open scene...

I'm in a dark room talking shit to you idiots. I'm sitting on a metal folding chair. My knuckles are bruised all over from me getting drunk and beating the shit out of my ex-wife. It’s just another night of fun for John Madison. I bruised her face, and then I held a Glock down her throat. Hah, does that sound familiar? Of course it does because you watched me do the same thing to Lexi Sheckler two weeks ago. I took her pretty face and added my own finishing touch to it. I made her into my vision of a lovely, trophy house wife. Pretty hair, cute face, and bruises all over. Bruises that serve as a reminder to me as to how good I am at fucking up the world around me. Some of you will probably tell me, "Oh John, those are just two defenseless little girls." No shit! But you're all just defenseless little girls for John Madison. I lure all of you into my van; my big blue van with the letters XWF painted across it. Then I have my way with you; I have fun. And then when I'm done playing, I bring out the guillotine and I watch your heads roll out the back of my van!


My light blue v-neck has blood on it; it's either my blood or the blood from Jane Madison. That's how I practice bashing in Mister Mystery's skull. I find someone who fights like a cunt, and I beat their skull in. Mister Mystery has nothing on John Madison. Bring the mask, the Donathan crusade /~\, and the briefcase Mystery. I want you to. I want you to have to to use that precious briefcase of yours on me after you realize that you just aren't man enough to bring down little ol' me. It will be just like when Sid Feder wasn't man enough to stop me from having my way with Flo. I actually wonder if you'll have the balls to take your beating twice in one night at the hands of John Madison. Hell, why not write out this story properly and make it three times? I'm up for it, Mystery. Are you? How about after you're done cashing in all you've got, I march up to Shane D. 's office, and twist his arm until he gives you another briefcase? I'll do it if I have to Mystery. I will torture Shane into giving you a third briefcase just so I can impale you anus-first onto a fucking ring post.


My jeans are old and worn as shit from all the ass kicking I do on Saturday nights. They're smelling like piss and liquor as well because I'm just a drunken fuck who can't seem to piss into anything that doesn't look like Mark Flynn's belt. Hey CM Punk, imagine your shitty father coming home after a night of heavy drinking and beating you senseless. That's what my pants smell like right now; rage and drunkenness. How can clothes smell like rage and piss? I'm John Madison; I pull off shit that you wouldn't believe. I'll piss my pants right here and have 3X (Flo Feder, Flo Feder, Flo Feder) the promo you're capable of putting out on your best day. Welcome to the federation Mr. Big Time Superstar. The only thing I'm wondering is how big of a piece of shit do you have to be to go from WWE legend to XWF shit bag. Did you forget you were straight edge and pop positive on a drug test, or did you just fall down the pecking order?


My loafers are worn down with holes in all parts. Scratches cover the top of the shoe; these shoes are shit. It's a lot like the wear and tear which is getting to Mark Flynn. I see it all over his face, the pain that he has to endure. No, not physical pain. Flynn hasn't felt physical pain in months. It's the pain of a champion who's without motivation because he hasn't had a legitimate challenge in months. Right now he's a shark that's plopped into a puddle which is drying up as each week passes. Wednesday Warfare is the most pathetic puddle of a show I've ever seen. I'm glad I only spent one night there. Why would anyone bother with that show? You're a weak piece of shit for tolerating it, Mark. You're just laying there in that puddle, depriving yourself of life, waiting to die. And now you're ready to roll back into the ocean? Hah! You're easy prey for me, Mark. Go crawl back into Wallace's puddle.


My cheap, knockoff Rolex reads 3:00 because it's still broken from when I swam across the Pacific Ocean after being thrown into the Bay in Singapore. How many of you can say that you've pulled off such a feat? I have eye witnesses who saw me paddle across the deep blue. It took four Nazi helicopters to convince me that the Pacific wasn't worth my time. The thing about it is that this Gauntlet doesn't even come close to my voyage. This gauntlet is much lower than that. This gauntlet is like me wading through a fuckin' kiddie pool. A shallow pool which consists of children like Ann Thraxx, Unknown Soldier, and Ron Wilkins who can do nothing but look up at me. These little shitheads-in-training are sitting in two feet of their own urine, knee to knee, while John Madison steps right over them. I'm stepping all over their little heads with the filthy soles of my shoes. You little twats shouldn't even bother putting on your floaties. You all should stay in the shallow end where Mark Flynn is sure to keep you company. Hey Mark, have you taught the friggin' Monolith how to kick his feet yet? Hey Crane, remember when I stole your briefcase and beat you over the head with it?

That's the type of shit that I do around here for fun. I steal something from one of you twat stains, and I take it to the next level. Sid Feder carried Peter Gilmour to tag team gold? Please. I threw Ben Crane up a ladder and had him defeat Sid Feder who was never seen again. I used Crane to humiliate Sid Feder, and at the time, Sid Feder was the master at humiliating people. Remember that night, Crane? Remember when we teamed up, and you got your big win over '3X Better?' Remember when I humiliated you right after that happened? What a fun night that was.

I humiliate you people like it's a form of art.


So why is John Madison sitting in a dark room all by himself?

The truth is, John is always in a dark room by himself. Ah sure, you'll see him associate with the group known as The Black Circle, but The Black Circle is just John's property. The Black Circle is a machine that Shane D. crafted in his basement right before he handed the remote-control to John Madison. And ever since then, John has been destroying everything in his path with that machine. John is controlling that machine better than Shane ever could. Shane knows it, Duke knows it, NAZI knows it, Luca Arzegotti better know it. Why else would Shane sit back and watch John tear through everything in his path? Because when it comes to destruction, John gets shit done. All Shane has to do is sit John in a dark room and hand him the controls. Shane is more relaxed than he's ever been even when he's getting mauled by Mister Mystery at ringside. He's having a blast getting beaten up and watching John Madison turn his company into the biggest, most chaotic horror show to ever appear on a television network.

Shane's job is easy. Let John have his fun, and watch the money flow into his pockets.

The XWF roster seems to collectively have this belief that I'm Shane 's lapdog, or whatever other form of the word "lapdog" you want to use to try to hurt my feelings. I believe Unknown Soldier and Donathan Sade go the "puppet" route when it comes to insulting me. And it's funny because at the same time they're calling themselves lapdogs/puppets and they don't even realize it.

I'll explain.

Who do you think is barking at Shane every night?

Me-- The Black Circle's "lapdog!"

Who do you think is responsible for putting you people through hell every Saturday night?

Me-- The Black Circle's "lapdog!"

See how that works? All of you take orders and you go after championships because Johnny and The Black Circle tell you to.

Oh I thought I was done ripping Soldier's dick off, but I can't help myself.

Unknown Soldier of all people is going to come at me with calling me "repetitive."

So apparently I am too repetitive and over-simplistic.

This... This coming from a guy who always seems to be hyped up over his Blood Lust which no one has ever taken seriously. This coming from a guy who's always talking about blood and vodka, and goats and meth. Oh, so hilarious! What's next, hippos and heroin? Face it Soldier; your little jokes are just as repetitive and simplistic as mine. I actually find it hilarious that you would take such a simplistic stance against me. How can someone who does the exact same moves and the exact same entrance every week call me repetitive? Nothing against pro wrestlers, but they are the most repetitive fucks I've ever known. Humanity as a whole is repetitive! What a shitty insult to lay on somebody.

Catch a flight, take drugs, cut the same promo as last week-- rinse, repeat. Repetition.

Unknown Soldier’s argument against me is so weak and flawed. You know what's even funnier? He actually called me a puppet! Hahaha. Again, this is coming from a guy who takes orders from Donathan Sade. Don't you dare act like you don't, you silly cunt rag. Donathan is your puppet master and you have the audacity to accuse me of bearing strings? I call the shots, Soldier. I tell The Black Circle what needs to be done, and they follow my every word. If they don't, then they end up like Lexi Sheckler. The difference between you and me is that you're serving Donathan, while I'm making The Black Circle my bitch. I don't have pull? You idiot. Did my errand boy, Sebastian Duke, drop you on your head too hard? Did you not see how easily I pulled myself out of the six on six match after I ordered The Black Circle slaves to beat down Crimson Cobra in his apartment? To top it all off, I even made myself the enforcer of the damn match.

You like the taste of my piss? It's salty? Oh wow, you really are degrading into Cyren. You're even using his lines now? For a second, I didn't think it was humanly possible to become more worthless and . Please keep this up, Soldier. I'm having a blast ripping you apart on your bullshit.

Try again, Soldier. You're not even close to fazing me. Maybe Donathan can coach you some more.

Puppet!



Sunlight floods into the room as a familiar, pasty white face walks into the room. It's Nathaniel Adolph Zachary Idenhaud, and he's smoking a cigarette like a typical kraut.



"Madison, it's time to leave."


"Holy shit Adolph, you startled me!"


"I'm tired of waiting, and you've spent enough time in the dark building, John."


"Fuck you, I'm staying!"


"What? Why?"


"I"m just kidding man. Let's get out of here before I start talking about Flo again."


"Alright then..."


John Madison follows NAZI out of the abandoned building. They walk out into the parking lot where the fire red Mustang is waiting for them. John Madison does a cartwheel on his way to the car before opening it. John seems to have really taken those "repetitive" and "over simplistic" comments made by Unknown Soldier very seriously!


"What are you doing?"


"I can't say for sure. It happened so quickly."


NAZI shakes his head at John Madison's bizarre behavior. Madison seats himself in the car as NAZI revs the engine. He peels off and takes the Mustang back on the road.


Several minutes later...


We're on the Interstate heading east. Just like before, NAZI is driving, John Madison is riding shotgun, and Flo is riding trunk.


"Adolph, why are we heading east?"


"Because we're going to Connecticut."


"Connecticut? What the fuck is in Connecticut? Did you set me up a meeting with Vince McMahon or something?"


"No. We're meeting Sebastian Duke at his compound."


"Sebastian Duke's place? What the fuck! I don't want to go to... what is it? The Compound? Ugh. Why are we driving across the country to meet with Sebastian Duke of all people? What's next, are we going to fly to Italy to meet Arzegotti's family?"


"It's important that you two get on the same page. This Sunday will be the first time you two have teamed together."


"No shit but that doesn't mean I have to stay at his compound. Are you kidding me? I would rather eat the asphalt beneath us than stay at Sebastian Duke's compound."


At that moment, John Madison makes a move and opens the passenger door of the speeding car. He tries to roll out, but NAZI grabs Madison by the shoulder just as his nose came inches from touching the repetitive, over-simplistic road. He pulls Madison back into his seat, buckles him in, and locks his door.


"It won't be that bad John. Just settle down!"


"I just don't see why any of this is necessary. Just send him an over-simplistic text message that says:

'Hey man bring the asmo canes on sunday lol'

"


"No. Just trust me, we need to do this."


John Madison kicks the dashboard as NAZI begins to pick up speed.


"Adolph, this isn't the fucking Autobahn. Watch your speed."


"I just need to get somewhere quickly so that we can kill that woman in the trunk and dump her body."


"What? NO!"


John Madison lunges at the wheel and tries to take control of the vehicle from NAZI. They go back and forth over the wheel with each other as the Mustang swerves across the road. The reckless nature of the driving alerts one of the patrol officers on duty. The patrol car activates its light bar as it pursues the Madmobile.


"It's the cops! Das ist Zie Polizei! Nein! Nein! Nein!"


NAZI tries to ignore John Madison who is freaking out repetitively with the "NEIN!" outbursts. NAZI contemplates his next move. He could probably ditch the cop, but he also might get involved in a high speed chase complete with News coverage and helicopters. But wait-- NAZI has a supply of Nazi helicopters in his garage. Bah, it still isn't worth the risk. NAZI pulls over on the side of the road as the patrol officer initiates the traffic stop.


"Adolph, don't say anything about the bitch we have in the trunk."


"Right John because I was really thinking about saying 'hey officer, my idiot friend here abducted some random woman at a funeral.'"


"Well that would have been a dick move, Adolph. Some friend you are..."


NAZI shakes his head as he presses his hand to his temple. Before the officer makes it to the driver's side, John Madison takes a quick swig out of his whiskey bottle.


"Just say nothing, John. Nothing at all."


"Good evening gentlemen."


John Madison can't resist...


"Help! Officer, this Nazi is holding me and my girlfriend hostage!"


NAZI is speechless! He looks over at Madison and throws up his hands as if to say "what the fuck?" But before he can say anything, the police officer has already switched into brutality mode and is dragging NAZI out of the car by his arm. This cop isn't fucking around today; he's going Rodney King on the fuhrer's pasty white ass. NAZI puts up a struggle as the two grapple with each other on the pavement. NAZI can be heard screaming out at the officer and/or John Madison in German.

The police officer finally gets NAZI rolled over onto his stomach. He has an arm bar locked as he tries to put NAZI in handcuffs.

He manages to cuff one hand...

He goes to cuff the other...

But then...

POP!


To be continued...