“Oh fuck. Ohhhhh fuck.”
“Harder! Harder!”
“I’m gonna… I’m gonna…”
“Yeah baby!”
“Tell me who your favorite wrestler is!”
“Chris Chaos!”
The scene opens to Samuels naked, choking on his own vomit. His arms flail and his face turns blue. Samuels flops down onto the bed as the naked woman frantically shakes his lifeless body.
The scene fades to black
“Welcome. To. HELL!”
“Where’s the fire and brimstone?”
The scene reopens to Samuels standing outside a brightly colored nightclub wearing a hideously pink AX3 t-shirt. He scowls at the sharply dressed doorman who shoots him occasional winks.
Doorman: “I like your shirt, sweety.”
Samuels looks down and immediately rips the shirt off. Underneath is the exact same tshirt. He rips that one of as well only to reveal underneath obnoxiously pink AX3 shirt.
Samuels: “What the fuck is this shit?”
Doorman: “It’s marvelous, that’s what it is! You’re gonna fit right in, dark meat. Why don’t you come inside?
He says with a wink
Samuels: “I ain’t coming in shit, you fucking freak.”
Doorman: “Suit yourself.”
Just then, a loudspeaker near the door begins to replay a Micheal Graves promo. Samuels covers his ears and screams in pain as his brain is assaulted by the piercing idiocy.
Doorman: “You sure you don’t want...inside?”
Samuels grunts and rushes past the man, into the door. Once inside, he’s met by a wall of foam and shirtless men with babyoil filled squirt guns. Samuels tries to push his way past as the men coat him in the clear liquid. He grimaces as the loud booming from the overhead music grows louder and louder. Finally pushing past the entrance, Samuels stumbles out into the middle of a crowded dance floor. Samuels recoils in disgust as the nearly naked men grind their bodies against eachother.
Samuels: “What the fuck is going here!? How’d I get to a fucking gay club!?”
The music stops. The dancing men all turn to Samuels and smile as they shuffle to either side of the dance floor, opening up a path in the middle of the baby oil and semen covered dance floor. At the end of the path stands a large podium; standing behind it is a tall man wearing sunglasses with long, blonde hair.
Man: “Club? Oh no, my son. This is…
He spreads his arms and deepens his voice
THE CHURCH OF CHAOS!”
Samuels: “Oh, fuck me.”
Man: “We save that until communion”
He says with a wink.
Rejoice! O lost soul! For you have shed your mortal coil and ascended to an existence of pure, unadulterated, gloriousssss chaos!
Dancing men (simultaneouly): “Praise the chaos!”
Man: “And the congregation speaks! My brethren, wont you please greet eachother with the customary Kiss of Chaos.”
Samuels: “What the fuck…”
Several men turn to each other and drop to their knees as their standing partners drop their pants. One man inches closer to Samuels, however he knees him in the face, sending the man crashing to the ground.
Man: “Brother Samuels! We do not fight here! We follow the one, true Chaos, and thus we cannot participate in any meaningful physical confrontation that does not involve our mouths on another man’s penis. It is the Chaos way.”
Samuels: “So let me get this straight.”
Man: “Oh brother, the word ‘straight’ is a swear in the Church of Chaos. You must say three ‘Hail Chaos’’ and place 4 fingers in your own asshole.”
Samuels: “...As I was saying. There’s really some fucking underground collection of sausage suckers who praise this limp-wristed Asperger poster boy? At exactly what point of his non-noteworthy career did you decide that it needed to be celebrated? Are you just a bunch of Micheal Graves’? Fucking idiots that aren’t collectively worth dried dog shit so you go and celebrate the career of someone slightly less embarrassing than you?”
Man: “We respect the opinions of all, however if you speak ill of brother Grav--”
Samuels: “Oh shut the fuck up. I’ve heard enough about these two to write the world’s most pointless book. And I swear to god I’d rip out the pages and castrate myself one papercut at a time before listening to one more juvenile, repetitive sentence. Honest to God, Chaos must make a bullet point list containing no more than 2 subjects, and then spends hours trying to figure out how many times he can say the same goddamn things over-and-over-and-over. I have never seen a bigger case of penis envy in my life. This guy just loves to bring up all that I’ve accomplished but then brushes them of like they’re meaningless. You know what that’s called? Negging. That’s how fuckboys try to pick up women on Tinder. And given how much he’s doing it I think it’s safe to say that he doesn’t want to beat me, he wants to fuck me. Is that Chaos’ white flag? Knowing he’s no longer good enough to win championships by himself so he’s settling for trying to hop on the dicks of those who can and swivel until he gets filled like a Krispy Kreme? He beat Doc one time, big fucking deal. If you lose your belt to a no-talent hack like Gabe Reno you don’t deserve to call yourself a champion. Hell, if I were him and I lost to Reno I would’ve cut eyeholes in my nutsack and wore it as a mask in public to hide my shame.
And then there’s Graves.
Holy.
Shit.
He honestly calls himself the ‘brains’ of AX3. How the fuck did the rest of his pack of inbred Tumblr boys not beat the living shit out of him for insulting them like that? If I were a member of AX3, which is impossible because I have actual talent, I’d throw myself head first into a locomotive if I didn’t have the mental capacity to outthink MICHEAL FUCKIN GRAVES. That’s gotta be a pity title right? Like they feel bad that the stunted
can’t walk three steps without either getting his ass whooped by a little girl or saying something so mind numbingly stupid that the entire human genome winces in pain. It scares me to try to imagine a future containing the hand-me-down brain cells of Micheal Graves infecting the gene pool. If my daughter ever came home with the mutant offspring of that subhuman flesh wreckage I’d make her wash her uterus out with bleach. In the increasingly likely event that time machines are invented I’m yanking Graves out of the womb and replacing him with a fistful of Doberman shit and the world will be a better place for it.
Graves and Chaos, what a pair. Their combined IQ is lower than the weight of a Barney Green shit. In-ring, they’re about as terrifying as gay frenchman menacingly waving a latex buttplug. To even put them in the ring with two of the greatest wrestlers in XWF history is akin to presenting a hogtied paraplegic to viagra snorting Guatemalan. It’s just going to be fucking messy, painful, and frankly difficult to watch. You guys can put that one on Lane and Washington. You aren’t ready for what the Kings™ bring to the table. The doctor and I have each individually accomplished more than your entire crew. And don’t think they’re going to help you. If I see Cadeus or Main come down to that ring I’m going to literally wrap your nutsacks around their scrawny little necks and hang them from the ring ropes. Savage marks the beginning of the necessary end for these invasive parasites. These...leeches. Here to suck the blood, and dicks in Chaos’s case, of the XWF.
A white light engulfs Samuels. The man at the podium hisses as horns sprout from his head. Samuels laughs and raises both middle fingers as he levitates skyward. In a flash of lights, he disappears.
Samuels reappears in a large white white room with a large white chair in the middle. Samuels groans and sits in the chair. Instantly he is thrown from it and lands several feet away. A man, who looks suspiciously like John Madison with a white beard, appears and takes his seat.
Samuels: “No gay orgies up here?”
Madigod: “Not til’ Tuesday.”
Samuels: “What the fuck am I doing up here? We both know I’m not exactly a boy scout.”
Madigod: “Because they don’t allow
.”
Samuels: “Goddamnit.”
Madigod: “Oh my mistake, you want to go back down with those dick suckers?”
Samuels: “No, no. I’m good. What am I doing up here, anyway?”
Madigod: “You made fun of some
. That’s all you really need to do to get in here these days. Bad news though, you’re not really dead. You’re just kind of out cold in bed, naked like a fucking idiot.”
Samuels: “Well can you zap me back or something?”
Madigod: “Do I look like fucking Houdini?”
Samuels: “How about I start reciting a Micheal Graves promo--”
In flash of light, Samuels jumps back to life in bed, spitting up a mouthful of vomit as the woman next to him shrieks in horror. Samuels coughs and collapses in bed. Samuels sneers at the woman as she looks on horrified.
Samuels: “Really? Chris Chaos? Get out, bitch.”
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