We open inside a factory setting. Huge machines whirring, assembly lines singing the sweet, sweet song of capitalist excess. Most of the process seems to be mechanized, robot arms dipping two and fro over the conveyor belt, putting the finishing touches on an as yet unseen product. As the view opens up a bit more we see signs in Russian, one of which had the number two crossed off and replaced with a zero. Workplace accidents no doubt.

Madison Dyson and Trump campaign manager Kellyanne Conway walk into the shot, preceded by a middle aged man with graying hair and the kind of flannel and slacks get-up that would suggest someone in a management position but still not too high up the food chain.

So what you think ladies, is good?

Kellyanne takes one last cursory look about, it's hard to tell if she's unimpressed or just her usual skeletal resting bitch face. However, it's Madison who cuts in.

Well Sergei, I'm not exactly an expert at plant management, but I've gotta say that concept is brilliant.

Sergei reaches towards one of the conveyor belts and plucks a flesh colored...item?....off of it.

Da! Donald Trump brand “Grab Em by the Pussy's” already sell like, how you say, the HOT CAKES. Very popular with MAGA crowd.

With a clearer view of the item, we see now that it is, in fact, a fleshy replica of a woman's ass and vagina. Complete with an anatomically correct vaginal opening. Sergei picks up a box off the floor. It has one of the replica pussy's in it, but the packaging bears The Donald's orange colored visage shooting a thumb's up just underneath text that reads “Trump Brand Grab Em By The Pussy's!” and below that “Not for the politically correct!” Kellyanne speaks up.

I think it was perfectly natural for the Trump brand to extend into the sex toy market, and we've heard nothing but positive things from our supporters, aside from a couple isolated incidences of penile chemical burns. The operation looks good Sergei, I will be sure to give the president a glowing report.

Sergei grins wide, but then a burst of Russian sounds over the radio on his hip. He brings the radio up to his mouth and a heated exchange in Russian transpires. Sergei nervously looks at Kellyanne.

Is something wrong?

Oh no! Everything very, VERY good! But, ah, if you ladies will excuse me a moment?

He shoots a glance up at the workplace accidents sign and allows a nervous laugh to escape. Kellyanne nods to bid him goodbye and he takes off in a hurry. Kellyanne then turns to Madison.

Bitch.

Ooooh, you've been holding that one in for a minute. So what's a part-time lich queen like you doing in a place like this? I thought you were, you know, important?

I still serve a vital role in the administration, for your information. A fact that clearly still sticks in your craw. Maybe it would be healthier for you to just accept that I got the job and you didn't and move on?

Yeah, checking out Don's pussy factory, I'm sure your just indispensable lately.

Kellyanne snorts derisively.

Just what the fuck are you doing here anyway?!

Madison shrugs and points at the camera.

Promo.

Kellyanne looks incredulous.

You came all the way out here for a wrestling promo?

Some of us actually care about our craft. Now beat feet you aging huckster, this camera guy gets paid hourly.

Madison pushes Kellyanne out of the shot. Kellyanne can be heard shouting “Fine, I was leaving anyway!” just off camera but Madison ignores her.

Madison claps her hands together and smiles in a sinister fashion.

Look at these two dead bitches.

She chuckles.

Ya know, it's like slipping on a familiar old glove. Or falling into the bucket seat of your favorite car. A warm fuzzy feeling that starts in the belly and rises to the heart. The feeling I get every single time I'm staring into the camera in a brand new promotion and fixing to eviscerate some dumb bitch who just said a whole bunch of impossibly stupid shit. But we'll hold off on Jenny Myst for a sec and start with Eza...hold up a sec....

She looks like she's struggling to read something off screen.

Eza-rh-wha...?

She reaches up and grabs a cue card from off screen. It just has Ezariaha's name printed on it. Madison reads it carefully.

Eziarrhea? Is that like some kosher form of diarrhea?

Madison shrugs and tosses the cue card back off camera in the direction of the camera guy.

Look bitch, it's to my understanding that you're the one who actually requested to fight me. And I know you're probably still in that part of the bad decision making process where you don't realize how bad you fucked up yet but GRRRRRRRLLLL, you fucked UP!

Okay, okay....I'll bite. It at least looks like you have some training. But aside from that you pretty much define the term “basic bitch” in ways that only Jenny Myst can supercede. More on that later.

You're in your 30's and have the face of a 12 year old. Your boyfriend belongs on a list. You should probably clear his browser history every once in a while because I'm sure he's too dumb to do it.

The internet told me your real name is Jessalyn, which is a name that is SO born of the trailer park it has it's own hour to itself on the Jerry Springer show. Which also tells me a lot about why you chose the ring name you did and picked alt-rock regurgitation like “Flyleaf” to be your theme song. You're just dying to be some special unique indy rock girl snowflake and only succeeding at coming across as some bullshit soulless corporate rock-lite. You're that song they play on the radio like 100 times a day that's barely passable as music and really only loved by brain dead tweens who sniff glue and can't seem to stay out of Hot Topic.

But then again, YOUR END IS NIGH! That's also your deal, right? So maybe you've got a shot of goth tart mixed in with all that faux pretentious mediocrity? That's like the whole “liquid shits”package right there.

I don't know. Why don't you cut some bland promo where you throw up some devil horns and call me a sell-out while you tie a rubber band around your boyfriend's man bun. That is if the feds haven't caught up with him yet. **she cringes** Face. Of. A. Twelve. Year. Old. Holy Christ, how any guy could fuck that and not have his dick shrivel out of shame I have no idea.

Some more shouting in Russian is heard from off camera, but Madison ignores it. She eyes the camera like she's about to devour it. An apex predator stalking it's prey.

And then there was one. Jenny Myst. Jenny....Jenny....sweet, simple Jenny. Where do we begin?

What kind of weapon's grade stupid does someone have to possess to think their career is on the rise after losing their first big match since dropping off as some has-been's valet? You window licking real doll, YOU LOST THAT MATCH! You chased Roxy for how long (??) and talked shit about her endlessly and got your ass kicked in grand style and somehow you think that is your golden ticket to becoming women's champion?

She looks incredulous.

Like, do you need someone to tie your shoes for you in the morning? Jesus tap dancing Christ! If I were Roxy I would be LIVID that you have the ignorant glassy eyed audacity to lay any kind of fucking claim to a women's championship after LOSING in such a spectacular fashion. Although I must say, this....?

Madison pulls out her phone and plays a Youtube clip of Jenny screaming after getting covered in grease during the match at High Stakes.

I mean, any time I feel down I just go right to this and all my worries just melt away! I will never pay for Xanax ever again. Utterly amazing. Five stars.

She plays Jenny's agonized scream again, laughs, and returns her phone to her pocket.

Here's some more alternate reality shit from the Jenny Myst playbook, apparently I'm “greener than her”. Holy fuck, I wish somebody had told me that when I was....ya know....winning titles before she had even had her first menses. I've won championships across four different promotions, which even if you do try the whole “nobodys ever heard of those places” tack it's still a hell of a lot more than you've ever done. I've busted my ass for 10 years in this business. I have repeatedly fought and beaten a 7 foot mongoloid Amazonian. I hung with legit domestic terrorists. I've tamed and housebroken a schizophrenic murderous cretin like the Engineer to the point that he obeys my every whim without question (love ya sweety!).

So I ask you, Jenny Myst, what in each progressive layer of the seven hells could I possibly have to fear from you? DO NOT DODGE THIS QUESTION GIRL. Why should I fear you? You, who up until recently was nothing but arm candy to a man whose star is falling faster than your panties the moment someone from Brazzers turns on a web cam? You, who LOST THE MATCH THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE YOUR BIG BREAK? You who honestly and without a shred of irony said you would outperform us in this match because you watched your boyfriend wrestle for 8 months.

Why? Why should I fear you? The question, bitch. Answer it.

Madison pulls out the Trump Brand pussy. She holds it up to the camera.

And now we bring it all together. The reason I flew all the way out here to use a Russian rubber pussy factory as the backdrop to this promo.

Madison brings the pussy closer to the camera.

This is all you are Jenny Myst.

Even closer now. Jesus Christ, the thing even has a clitoris. That is some high quality wank support.

Behind all your assertions to the contrary, you will always and forever be nothing but a vapid, thoughtless fuck hole. You want people to take you seriously but still you slather on make-up like some kind of dime store Pennywise, mewl about how much a “girl loves foreplay”, and can't wait to play up the fact that you're 100 pounds like being anorexic is some kind of trump card in this match. Get the fuck outta here. Even your theme music says it all, “Sex Metal Barbie?” right?

Your a toy. A poseable fuck doll with pretensions of some day being a real girl. You are only serviceable as an orifice and High Stakes wasn't some kind of refutation of that, but PROOF of it. You failed. You failed at winning when it counts. Hell, the only fall you managed to win was the Bra and Panties fall, the most sexualized stipulation of the entire match! Is it sinking in yet you cum locker?

Madison takes hold of the pussy lips and uses them to pantomime speaking as Jenny Myst.

“I'm Jenny Myst. Take me seriously as I cut a promo about how evil I am while wearing pink boy shorts and clown make-up. Nope, my promo's are totally not written by a sex starved forever virgin with his dick in his hand, that's for sure!

She abruptly drops the rubber pussy to the floor.

And do you know what the best part is? Deep down inside, you KNOW you're nothing but a washed up sex object. You are the phrase “She doth protest too much” taken to the nth degree. All of these hollow attempts at trying to rebrand yourself as some badass bitch is nothing but an overdue sense of shame finally trickling into that unused gray matter. But you're too dumb to realize that nobody is buying what your selling.

The XWF women's championship is MINE. Full stop. And if you are the biggest thing I have to fear in this division, then I stand to hold onto that for a very, very long time.

Behind Madison, the pussy making conveyor belt starts to pour blood. It dribbles off the machinery and onto the floor behind her, pooling at her feet. The rubber pussy's start coming out looking increasingly irregular and misshapen.

Blood? Sweat? Tears? Bitch, you're making me WET. You have no idea of what you speak. At Warfare, I'm doing more than just making sure you don't get up for the 10 count. I'm going to make sure you're too terrified to stand up ever again.

Smoke starts to billow out of the machinery now and the whole process grinds to a halt. However one last pussy has been produced, but this one has a man's decapitated head sticking right out of the crotch. Who the hell needs OSHA anyway? With one last sardonic smirk, Madison steps out of camera range, leaving nothing but the sight of gore and sex toys in her wake.