Mister Mystery shoved me into the Bay. I did not swim to shore. Instead, I will swim across the Pacific Ocean until I reach the West Coast. From there, I will make my way to Ireland for Shove It Saturday Night.

I'm paddling my feet away from the shoreline as the rest of my bodies lies on a big piece of wood. I have no interest in wandering the streets of Singapore. I want to swim.

It’s around 9:45 PM according to the Rolex around my wrist. Actually, that is what time it was when Mister Mystery dumped me into the Bay. You see, the watch has read 9:45 for about twenty minutes now as I float down the Singapore Strait. They told me this watch was waterproof, but that's not the case. What kind of cheap shit is this?

Mister Mystery cost me my knockoff Rolex. Damn him. It doesn’t matter. I’ll just sleep on this floating object and wait for the sun to rise. I just heard a splash off in the distance. It sounds like someone just got shoved into the Bay. I think I know who it was…

Sunday, February 24, 2013

I wake up to the rays of sunlight being cast down into my face. It must be morning time now. I don’t know where I am at. I am just letting the water carry me wherever. After all, this is exactly what I wanted to happen. I wanted to be laying here on this shoddy, makeshift raft floating across the ocean with no land in sight. I’m riding the waves on my man-sized board. My clothing is now dry, along with all of the blood I lost at the hands of Mister Mystery. It was a small price to pay for a week of luxury. That’s what being on Shove-It every Saturday is all about. It’s about putting yourself through all of these inconceivable scenarios. If Mister Mystery was standing—err—floating next to me right now, I would thank him.

In a way, I do feel as though Mister Mystery is floating with me.

Hmm.

Are you out there right now, Mystery?



It’s getting late now as I’m coming up on the twenty fourth hour of my journey across the sea. Not a bad first day. I received a phone call from NAZI which woke me from my evening slumber. That’s right; I’m out here with a cell phone. You see, I knew Mister Mystery would throw me into the Bay. And being the genius that I am, I took the initiative of water proofing my cell phone with this here plastic bag. The same plastic bag which I am planning to piss in and drink out of later. My piss tastes wonderful.

Anyway, NAZI told me something about purifying the human race. I couldn’t keep up with that part because I was so out of it when he called. He then told me that we have a tag team match scheduled for next week against that Crimson group. Yeah, that one Crimson group; the fresh packaged block of mediocrity known as The Crimson Crest. A tag team which might as well be running around with an expiration date stamped on their foreheads. Those boys are just more cheese from the cheese factory that Wallace can feed to Rat Flynn. How long before these two morons start to rot in the back of the shelf along with Brett Rayne and Kevin Kasket? Oh boy, they main evented a show in which Mark Flynn and Angelus chose not to be a part of, and lost to Sebastian Duke.

Yeah, Sebastian Duke…

NAZI also told me that Mister Mystery was shoved into the Bay. Yeah, so that piece of shit is floating around somewhere just like I suspected.

Anyway, that’s all what NAZI told me. Sometimes I wonder if the guy ever thinks about anything other than genocide or his upcoming matches.

There’s not much light left. Soon, the sun will disappear and I’ll be gazing up at the stars. I’m getting pretty thirsty, so I think I’ll treat myself to a drink tonight. I’m just going to take this here plastic bag that I just pissed in, and slowly drink it under the stars.



I feel pretty shitty today. I think I had a nightmare— better yet, a CRIMSON nightmare-- that I was Crimson Cobra’s tag team partner. Holy shit, what an unbelievable nightmare that was. I think we even had matching ring gear. That has to be worse than losing to a team lead by Peter Gilmour. Shit, didn’t The Crimson Dong and John Black team up the other day as well? I think all of these scenarios are some serious career killers. Today’s tag division is a pretty scary place to be right now if your only options are teaming with Gilmour, Cobra, or John Black. Cobra is so terrible that I’ve actually shoved him into the same category as Peter Gilmour and John Black. I would rather team up with Adolf Hitler than with those three guys. I would rather form a trio team with The Crimson Dong and a potato.

I think this water is getting to me. To make matters worse, I’m all out of piss for me to drink. If Mister Mystery was right next to me, I would rip out his bladder, and drink from it like a canteen. He better hope that he doesn’t float in my direction, or I’ll make that happen!

I wish I could lay here, think back to that moment when blood was gushing out of my ears, and say that I feared for my life on Saturday. But the truth is I didn’t have a drop of fear in my body. Not a second passed where I thought Mister Mystery 17 31707 1 might actually take my life. Hell, if I wasn’t choking on blood, I would have told Shane not to give in to his proposal, just so we could watch Mister Mystery unhand me and admit that he wasn’t man enough to go through with his plan. He probably would have broken down in front of everyone like he did when I tackled his wife off the stage.

Mister Mystery didn’t break me. He only entertained me, and put me right where I wanted to be. Mister Mystery shoved me into the spotlight, just like I wanted.

I asked for this. Remember?

Let’s go back and take a look at what I said:

Quote:You go ahead and come after me, because I'll have the guillotine all set up and ready to go. You just do me one solid favor, and bring with you whatever is left of Flo!

Mystery fell for it hook, line and sinker. Boy, I wish that I could reel in fish out here as I easily as I reeled in Mister Mystery. He came, albeit empty handed, but he came. I am a little bit disappointed though. I instructed Mystery to, “bring whatever is left of Flo,” and he didn’t deliver! He just told me that she was dead.

Bitch, I know that she’s dead. I speared her off the fuckin’ stage you moron. She’s dead because when John Madison walks through that curtain, he gets shit done. Lives get taken when John puts on his work boots. And that night where I killed Flo Feder was no exception. If I had been in Mister Mystery shoes, and I went out on that float on Saturday, I would have ripped John Madison’s head off without hesitation. I don’t mean that figuratively. I would have literally dug my claws into my neck and ripped it off. Feder/Mystery/whatever he wants to call himself can’t do what I do though. He’d rather settle for some briefcase that we fill to the brim with bullshit because that's the kind of shit Feder goes for. Shane could declare an overflowing bag of shit as the top prize in the federation, and like Sid Feder would go for it.

Damn, I wish I could say that I’m surprised by how easy it is to catch fish in this federation, but I’m not. You literally just have to drop a hook in the water, and someone will eat it up.

Fish Feder. You’re no mystery, I reeled you in last week. And just like a fisherman, Mark Flynn literally tossed your ass back in the water. I suppose now you can swim away and reappear under a new coat of stripes, right?

How does my hook taste in that mouth of yours, Mystery Man? You know, as much as it hurt having you squeeze my head in that vice, I bet it doesn’t hurt nearly as bad as having Johnny’s rusty old hook digging into your cheek.

I’m in paradise right now. I’ve got this raft to carry me across the sea, the waves beneath me to comfort me, and the stars above me to keep me company. I’m in a state of Zen right now. It's so similar to my position in the XWF. I'm gliding over the waves with ease as Soldier, Feder, Flynn, Crimsons, and all the other waves carry me to my destination. And I'm the only thing lies between them and the stars that they try so hard to reach for.

I was looking forward to this all week from the moment that The Black Circle tagged such a ridiculous stipulation onto the card. And just like a typical shithead, our Mystery man did what The Black Circle told him to do. First, we drew him out. Second, we made him bargain with us. Then he put me in the Bay. It was one of the greatest moments of my wrestling career. I wonder what else I could have these shitheads do on Saturdays. I have so many ideas running through my head right now. Maybe next time I’ll have Feder throw me off the top of Mount Everest.

“Shove-It…Off the mountain.”

Mystery couldn’t do that to me. He doesn't have what it takes to kill me. No one does.



I wake up two days later, not aware of where I am.

There’s a helicopter hovering above me.

The blades of the chopper distort the sunlight beaming down onto me.

The sound is feint at first, like my ears are flooded with water. Maybe they are.

On the side of the helicopter, I’m able to make out a symbol.

It’s a black Nazi symbol painted over a red box on the front panel of the helicopter.

The Third Reich is here to save me when no one else would. I didn’t even realize today was Thursday. The Nazi helicopter sends down the Fuhrer’s finest rescue team. They lower the line which holds the Nazi rescuer. My savior wastes no time in lowering himself down to my location. He’s reaches his hand down, and pulls me up onto his shoulder. He uses his Nazi strength to hoist me up onto a stretcher.

We make our way up to the helicopter as the pilot observes us closely.

Once we reach the cargo area of the helicopter, I’m strapped down. My Nazi savior removes his safety helmet in order to reveal himself to me. The Nazi is NAZI. My tag partner just tagged himself in.

Friday, February 1, 2013

I’ve been told that I’m in a hotel somewhere in Ireland.

I’m in bed resting while an IV pumps fluids into my body. I almost died out there in the sea is what NAZI tells me. It must be the truth if I don’t even recall being conscious on Wednesday. NAZI tells me that I’ve wasted too much time with my little adventure.

We have a match in twenty four hours. I’m pretty exhausted, but I’ll manage.

Even in the condition that I’m in, I’ll be able to walk through that curtain, and put The Crimson Pests out of their misery in front of ten thousand drunken Irishmen.

NAZI places the TV remote on my nightstand, and walks out of the room. He tells me to get some rest, and goes out into the hallway. I hear yelling; a lot of yelling. It’s probably NAZI trying to cover for my foolishness. I suppose it was a foolish idea. It was foolish of me to think that I could swim across the Pacific Ocean to my next match which is in Ireland. I could have died out there in the sea because of my own actions. It’s scary to think that I almost did.

Mister Mystery doesn’t scare me.

Crimson Crest doesn’t scare me.

Unknown Soldier and his hit list doesn’t scare me.

The only person who scares John Madison is John Madison. I do shit that none of the aforementioned names could ever dream of doing.

I’ve won battle royals and X-treme Titles.

I beat fourteen other men in the war games match that contained some of the best in the industry.

I put an end to the promotional war that XWF was being dragged into.

I toppled all of the competition until they quit in a fit of rage. Names like Page, Tax, Tristan, Cross, and Scorpio are all gone because they couldn't handle losing to me every week.

I brought back The Black Circle and made it better than it’s ever been.

I turned Saturday nights into the freak show that they are today.

I gave Benjamin Crane a win over Sid Feder right before I speared Feder’s wife off of a fifteen foot high stage. I sent Feder into hiding.

I gave Lexi Sheckler the North Korean Title.

I’ve cut heads off.

I’m at the top of everyone’s hit list.

I am number one. Not Flynn. Not Sheckler. Not Jeff Hardy. Just me.

And what about The Crimson Crest? What’s The Crimson Crest famous for? Here’s my little reenactment of what The Crimson Crest is known for:

Cobra: “Bro, like, I’ll just keep jumping off this ladder like I'm a snake.”

Keep jumping off ladders, Cobra. Someone is bound to give a shit eventually, right?

Deadly: “Cool dude. I’ll go pull my little brother out of karate class to help us out against The Black Circle.”

Sure, Deadly. Bring in some more idiotic family members to help out you and your worthless tag partner. You guys are sure to have epic bouts with stars like John Black, Crimson Dong, and Peter Gilmour. Right?

Do I even know or care who Crimson Deadly is bringing with him, or how Crimson Cobra's training regiment goes? Not really.

I think I’ll just go back to sleep.

I imagine that Shane D. will be sending in Lexi Sheckler to help me masturbate. That's your champ.