Once again the deep black hole of nothingness pulls it's existence of life from a beacon of light shining far off in the distance. Bringing itself before oneself again as the light projects a scene of pure serenity. Pure (In)sanity before thine very eyes, telepathically transmitted to the brain to mold thoughts that pull from dreams and/or the dark recesses of ones own imagination. SATAN! vision is pure SEEEEEEEERENITY! You know this to be true, as you live through the black hole that exists until the tunnel of bright lights bring you back to the world of here once again. You wander through the darkness in hours searching through it's blanket of black of what seems like sleep, but is nothing but a constant search for that light serenity, to project itself telepathically through the magic force that brings itself upon you here once again.

As you sit there,
and slowly close your eyes.
You take another deep breath,
and feel the wind pass through your body.
ME! be the one in your soul,
reflecting inner light.
Protect the one's that hold you,
cradle in your inner chiiiiiiiiiiiiild.
You need SEEEEEERENITY!
In SATAN! vision where you can hide.
This be SEEEEEEEEERENITY!
from those dark and lonely lives!

Where do we go when we just don't know and where do we re light the flame when it's cold? Here at SATAN! vision of course! We know what makes you laugh, cry, and even let loose a runny stream of wet diff down your leg. The normal lulling droll of life outside of this vision can only be explained as a hole full of lonely and shallow nothingness. The every day monotony of boring bullshit that I'd still take over a Robbie Bourbon promo any day, I mean talk about anti-serenity. You accuse the man of acting like a ring-around-the-rosie and then he answers by coming out here and singing a nursery rhyme. Puppets on a string I tell ya, puppets on a mother fuckin' string! Master! MASTER!

The light arrives and eventually the scene projects itself to this time and place that you see now. It is a very strange and peculiar scene that behest itself as the opening credits trail off deeply in the background. Not strange and peculiar in the ways that those two words would translate to any normal and every day type of person. I mean, this is a production of SATAN! vision after all, where c-diff anal rape is just as common as Arby Beef contemplating his mysterious past in one of his promos as if we care. But the goings on in this strange and peculiar scene is in the fact that the band GodSmack is playing in the background and it actually sounds good. The hit song Voodoo echos through the air, except it doesn't fucking suck like it normally does, it's in some kind of remix version that sounds way better. Like a Jamaican stoner doom heavy metal type of song. Suddenly from out of nowhere Unknown Soldier comes up from behind the band, grabs a microphone and starts to wail like he were Robert Plant back in the day.

Hum like the waters..... so faaaar away.
When I feel my trouser snake bites.
It's Ghost Tank I r-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-pe.
Never did I ever,
.....jack off again.
Cuz I don't remember if I came!

VoOoOoOoDoOoOoO! VoOoOoOoDoOoOoOoO! VoOoOoOoOoOoDoOoOoO!

Soldier lowers the mic and pulls up a mini custom made Voodoo doll to his lips that looks exactly like Ghost Tank. The doll is very intricately made and does in fact look like that giant blob of pathetic baby bitch goo known as Ghost Tank down to a tee. Fat ugly wrinkled resting bitch face smirk with bulging hairy muscles and balding receding hair line. Lookin' exactly like the seventy year old version of Russel Crowe playing The Gladiator. Soldier's tongue is split at the very end of it in the very middle, so that is takes on a very reptilian snake-esque type feel as it slithers between the area of the Ghost Tank voodoo doll's legs. Licking the area that would be considered Oswald Cobblepot's taint. We know the doll is authentic since on it's tag it was made in Jamaica and signed by 'Z'.

Doctor Louis D'ville now appears from over the shoulder of Unknown Soldier. Standing up high over the band GodSmack and directing the entire band like a maestro. He holds up a small wooden directors stick and proceeds to guide the band gracefully, actually making GodSmack not suck as much as Peter Gilmour does on Mia Dim's flesh log. The only known good joke ever made by Zeke the freak. Check the records, it's literally the only thing of substantial humor that piece of garbage has ever said. Soldier and Doc now get deeply involved in the Voodoo song and become entranced by the music, bobbing and swaying in complete unison and serenity with one another. That's what good tag teams do, they work in harmony together just like a pack of musicians working to produce a masterpiece of destruction, in now sound and on Wednesday night together in the ring with physical force. I mean if these two can make GodSmack sound good, just imagine what kind of frequency the two will be working together on when they go to Warfare this week.

They finish the song with a definitive drop that is so intense it almost blows your tits off. Like one of those DJ's in the club with all those big booty black bitches the beat just drops with a huge bang and the song finishes. Doc sweating like he were locked in a sauna wrapped in 666 straight jackets. After his final baton stretch down to finish the song he collapses, almost as if he just blew his entire load of manhood that has ever existed in side his testicles since puberty inside some hot skank. Pretty fucking intense GodSmack serenity fucked up voodoo type shit right there, folks. Soldier is so titillated and high strung after finishing the drop of that Voodoo beat he just starts kicking the shit out of the rest of the members of Godsmack right there on stage with no remorse or restraint. They are all shocked and awe stricken, but have no time to react as he's gone into super SATAN! psycho mode, something that not even Gilly Rage type of madness can ensue.

The demi-demon just goes on smashing guitars and drum sets over their heads and violently kicking them in the ribs while screaming in their face something about being lamer than emo music. The good doctor, being as well versed in his craft of mind over matter as he is. Injects himself with one of those epi-pens, the same one's Hillary's bodyguards use when she's about to have an epileptic seizure. Only super mega rich people like the Fearsome Foursome of the Fucking Future can afford such great technology this day and age. You've seen the increase in pricing for epi-pens is no joke, more Gloominati mumbo jumbo, but I digress.

Doc D'ville naturally comes completely out of his state of exhaustion and shock and runs over to the insane Unknown Soldier. Helping Godsmack break free of his severe beatings and escorting them to safety. Doc then holds Soldier in his arms and starts petting his head like a child and then hands him back the Ghost Tank voodoo doll. This pleases and calms Soldier. Soldier finds a specific location on the doll that he wanted to focus on, this time exposing the scar on his back that Unknown Soldier gave to him by hooking Tank on a meat hook. Soldier massages the wound with his dick, but Doctor quickly stops him knowing that Soldier's meth filled sadomasochistic dick can get hard at moments notice. He then hands Soldier three other intricately crafted voodoo dolls that represent an array of other XWF superstars. Soldier becomes more interested in these other dolls now and tosses away Ghost Tank's doll, I mean who wouldn't?

Unknown Soldier: "Hey Doc! The story of Robbie Bourbon's life!"

Soldier holds up the Robbie Bourbon signed and stamped with the 'Z' seal of approval voodoo doll, and then holds up another doll that looks exactly like Bearded War Pig. Soldier begins simulating anal sex with War Pig being the deliverer and Bourbon the backseat receiver of course. He then holds up a voodoo doll of himself, and goes through the same anal simulation towards the Bourbon doll's butthole that the War Pig doll gave to Bourbon's fat ass just previously. Jamming and thrusting the doll faster and faster. Doc even knows better than to stop him until he gets to the exact number of anal thrusts to 666. This takes some time, but after this process is finished he then proceeds to perform an Eiffel tower on the Bourbon doll simulating it with both the voodoo doll of himself and Bearded War Pig. It's at this point in time where Doctor D'ville stops him realizing that this promo needed to get some seriousness to it.

The stage lights from above where the band was performing suddenly ignite to reveal the scene to be an old abandoned grave yard. Where else would you hold a GodSmack voodoo concert ceremony type ordeal? It seems that their extremely vivaciously vicious godlike epic music has disturbed some of the graveyards residents. By residents, I of course mean the dead zombie bodies rising from the grave. Three graves in particular begin to exemplify signs of life existence beneath them as the dirt begins to shake and the zombie bodies of three former dead souls rise from the grave. Dead mummified dead corpses, walking upright aimlessly towards the bright stage lights like a pack of flies.

Unknown Soldier: "Holy shit this Lua Dust is fuckin' goooooooood! Thanks Z for hookin' a brotha up my man! Tonight's been a real trip, eh Doc?"

Doctor Louis D'ville: "Ay,' my friend."

Soldier starts glaring at the zombies as if he may recognize them, he turns to Doc to inquire if the two may know who these dead corpses might have been in life.

Unknown Soldier: "Holy shit Doc, is that voodoo zombie Robbie Bourbon?"


Doctor D'ville: "No, that's just John Wayne Gacy. Serial clown dressing killer. Raped and tortured teenage boys. They do bare an odd resemblance, however?"

Unknown Soldier: "Well, what about that one. I could have swore that one over there looked exactly like that pedophile XWF wrestler Pest!"


Doctor D'ville: "Ironically similar again, but no, that one is indeed Jefferey Dahmer, The Cannibal of Milwakee. It is ironically strange that they draw a coincidental resemblance."

Unknown Soldier: "Oh, and what about that third one over there. You going to tell me that's NOT Morbid Angel? Take a look at him!"


Doctor D'ville: "Strangely unique and disturbingly similar as well as the other two, but that voodoo zombie is actually Dennis Rader. Sexual sadist serial killer."

Unknown Soldier: "Well, what about that sign over there above their graves. 'Here lies The White Hand?' Is none of this ringing a bell to you?"

Doctor D'ville: "I feel like I once knew about a band of creepy goon pedophiles running around and ripping off Mexican Mafia propaganda already ripped off by Italian Mob propaganda, however, it doesn't seem like anything that would be worth paying attention to. What about you, drawing a blank?"

Unknown Soldier: "Yup, probably just a bunch of skipping around slapping each other on the ass with penis promise rings for their gay marriage ceremonies. I mean, their down with dick necklaces and little boys after all!"

Doctor D'ville: "Yeah, totally...."

Soldier stands over the wandering zombies on top of the stage, he whips out his demon dick and starts urinating on them beneath him. A burst of light takes off flailing away from view as Doc finishes his statement. Returning to the black void is inevitable and much more swift in it's coming then in previous junctures here in this vision. Leaving in a ludicrous light speed fashion out of sight and out of mind over the horizon and far, far away. Back now to darkness, awaiting hopefully sooner than later for SATAN! vision to return one day.


"Wow, I thought when I was going to at least stand up to this fat blob serial clown killer lookin' mother fucker of a man known as Robbie Bourbon he was going to at least take a few cracks at me by this time, but instead he's too busy crying about his loss to Bearded War Pig. I mean, even that sad little pathetic bitch Ghost Tank came at me already by this time last Warfare. I thought Robbie was some kind of shit talker, absent his ever ability to hold the Federweight title lately as something I have done. So I guess it would be more fitting to tear that giant asshole of his into an even larger one that you could fit the planet Jupiter inside! Oh wow, fat jokes.

But you saw those coming already I assume Robbie, as you prescribed in your Shakespearean diatribe you cut in your first promo this week. You notice how it dragged on forever and ever and made no sense at all too. I don't blame him I guess. The man's been losing matches here and there and everywhere for quite some time now so it must be easy to ramble on and on and on about them to the point where nobody is even listening anymore. At least that's how I felt after seeing his first promo. Kind of like the feeling you get when you watch a Shakespearean play ironically.

No matter how you can try to sugar coat or re word your excuses for your loss to Bearded War Pig, it doesn't alleviate the fact you are dog shit within the confines of the XWF ring. Oh look everyone, I'm the tough wrestler that takes the big losses but I always look good by being a hardcore dumb ass willing to take losses left and right for the good of the company. I lick my wounds and live to fight another day. Hip Hip Hoo-fucking-ray! Robbie! I got a news flash for ya, fuck wad, we already got one of those wrestlers in the XWF and his name is Peter Gilmour. So you better come up with a new gimmick, because your Jesse Ventura political agenda is nothing but an overplayed cliche that's worn out it's welcome years ago as well. You know what else you stole from Peter Gilmour? Maybe you didn't already notice that he and Donald Trump already went around the world killing all the fucking terrorists. You know what you've essentially done in Allepo?

You fucking idiot, the same thing that America has been doing since the Syrian War started. Bombing the fucking good arabs working for the Syrian government, the ones trying to help destroy ISIS with Russia. Robbie Bourbon, your president, killing good Muslims in the name of America for ISIS! For the fucking people of Allah. By the fucking people of Allah! So just keep patting yourself on the back for taking all those losses, you're right Robbie, every federation needs a fat blubbering buffoon to make a fool of himself and lose all the time. Congradulations, you're the fucking Mankind before he got his big shot of the XWF. Sad part is, that fat idiot got to make it to the top. You're so sad and pathetic we won't even give you the satisfaction of making a single run like Mankind did.

You scumbag frame artist American traitor piece of trash. But I guess that's the running joke now isn't it, huh Robbie? That you dug the tag team titles out of the trash and that's how you acquired them. I don't think so, you know what, in fact, I bet those tag titles found you and that fast food restaurant sandwich in a fucking dumpster and found you there. What the fuck else would someone do if they had a Robbie Bourbon and an Arby's Sandwich. Throw it in the fucking trash, that's what! You're certainly not going to eat that disgusting piece of puke sandwich. That's right, I bet those titles just fell upon you when you were passed out high on your Golden Corral food coma and you couldn't afford to pay your bill since you don't win any matches, and so they tossed you out into their trash compactor.

This guy wants to say that Doc and I signed up for this event just so that we could get a crack at him? Why would anyone be anxious to get their hands on this fat sweaty constant loser. What do I have to prove by beating Robbie 'Biggest Loser' Bourbon? Seriously? Did you see either of us respond when he called out looking for competition for a title he found in the trash? No, we didn't. In fact I created my own discussion to which Doc responded and we decided at that moment to become team mates. We simply signed up for the show and their we were, booked on the card and winning the entire tag team tournament. You see, you fat ignorant fuck, way before your dumpster diving self title stealing extravaganza, I had plans to become the tag team champion. I had been saying it practically since Peter told me to suck his dick after winning the Xtreme Title. A night that Robbie Bourbon also tried to obtain the title, but failed because, well, that's what he does. I always win like Trump and Charlie Sheen. Robbie always loses like the Buffalo Bills.

I just fucking win, bro. Something Xtreme bad ass champions like myself seem to always do. We are quite different in that aspect Mr. Bourbon. Me always winning, kicking out pin after pin after pin. Xtreme Champion for five months straight? You... losing to War Pig. Losing to Vinnie Lane... Losing to Chirs Chambers. You wanted to come at me one time a long time ago about how I'm not competing? Bitch please, I'm kicking out of pins left and right and making my way towards a THIRD briefcase? What the hell have you done lately? Beat pest! FUCKING PEST! Don't even start with me with any kind of argument for that win Robbie. Save yourself the fucking embarrassment of having the only thing to brag about is a win over pest.

Oh, but I guess that's the big conspiracy theory that I'm supposed to be oh so fucking concerned about is this 'Mystery Competitor' A guy that Robbie Bourbon admittedly didn't expect to even show up in his earlier promos, but then conveniently shows up collaborating with him later? Some communication you got going on their guys. Then this mystery wants to come at me about how Doc and I are not much of a 'team' working together. This mystery , you mean that one that was fighting Robbie Bourbon just a few weeks ago and now suddenly their a fucking tag team and it is going to be more in tune with one another then a team that blew through three tag matches last Warfare to become the number one contender to the tag titles? I really hope this mystery competitor is a combination of more than one person, so that he doesn't have to explain that little stupid blunder of his without simply passing the buck to his friend playing in his costume one night making a mistake about his character. He needs an excuse like that to excuse his idiocy. Did this moron not watch Doc and I win three matches in a row. Seems to me that little feat couldn't have been done if we weren't working together to take out a bunch of other teams in a big one night tournament.

I mean, unless this mystery is just going to openly admit that his big reveal is that he is Pest, then he might have some kind of argument that he was the former tag team champion. I mean, if he doesn't expect everyone to remember watching him reveal himself to be this guy a few weeks ago then I'm not really sure why he's playing this big 'mystery' card still. But no, this mystery has some kind of super secret shape shifting ability to change forms into all this different bullshit. Can anyone say Reeve Gordon? Can someone else say Contact the movie fucking sucked! That's why he likes to walk around like a superhero in the middle of the night with a giant question mark stapled to his forehead and his underwear shoved up over his head. Staring into space like batman waiting for cryptic messages to appear and for his parents to remember who the fuck he actually is. Well guess what mystery , it doesn't matter who the fuck you are because I'm the Unknown Soldier and we're team Doctor SATAN!

There's no possible big reveal that could match the caliber of those two names coming together to be the next tag champs. Your silly identity might be a fun little game you and Robbie liked to play a few weeks ago, but I'm not interested in guessing. I care nothing but for your name, I care but only for the taste of your blood as it slides down my throat while I'm fucking your mystery hole. I'm going to make it a big surprise this Warfare on what orifice I'm going to be fucking you in. It'll be a fun little game of ours. It'll be a 'mystery'.... ...."