“‘Nother whiskey, please.”

“Rough night?”

“Rough few days.”

“That so?”

“It’s like I’m a completely different person…”


Woman: “Well, well, someone is having a party over here! Hi, I’m Ashley.”


Samuels: “Thanks for the shot, sweetheart. The name is Samuels, John Samuels.”

Ashley: “How James Bond of you. Very sexy.”

Samuels: “You’re awfully chatty. Did Theo pay you extra to make you seem like you’ve got some personality to go with the two tits, the hole and the heartbeat?”

Ashley: “Excuse me? Who?”

Samuels: “Come on darlin’, I’m not an idiot. I know a whore when I see one. It’s pretty damn obvious that Theo just paid you some money to come chat me up, suck my cock and leave me with that nice tingly feeling as an apology for turning me into a fucking piece of charcoal.”

Ashley: “What the fuck is your problem!? I have no idea what you’re talking about! I saw a handsome man sitting alone and I thought I’d come introduce myself, fuck!”


Samuels: “...You’ll have to excuse me, it’s the liquor talking. How about I buy you a drink?”

Ashley: “How about you go fuck yourself with a cancer patient’s detached cock?”


Samuels: “At least she called me handsome, right?”

Bartender: “Sheesh pal, you take rejection like a champ. I haven’t seen anyone strike out that badly since the World Series back in--”

Samuels: “Hold it right there. This isn’t going to be one of those things where you come across as some wise old bartender who’s unusually knowledgeable about life lessons and obscure sporting events. I don’t have problems that I want to share with you, and you couldn’t help me even if I did. Do you understand me?”

Bartender: “You’ve got it, sparky. Here, this one’s on the house.”


Samuels: “And there I stand, the foul midget’s groin area firmly in my mouth as I’m trashing him about like a killer shark with a helpless little otter trapped in it’s jaws. And goddamn was it foul. It smelled like peanut butter, puppy breath and a homeless man’s sweat sock. And yet I summon the strength to keep the vomit down and toss the little fucker around by that sad excuse for a penis. And I beat that sad little piece of shit. Convincingly.And I swore I would never get into the same ring as that disgusting little cretin again. Yet here I am. Stuck wasting my valuable time addressing this ignorant cock pleaser like he’s someone who actually belongs on my radar. There isn’t a single fiber of my being that finds Frodo even remotely threatening. I know him, far more than I’d care to, and I know what’s next: He’s going to call me gay 9 different ways while simultaneously trying to wipe away the spunk dribbling from his chin, and then puff out his chest like he just put me in my place. I wonder when he’s going to realize that no matter how hard he tries, no matter how foul his mouth gets, he will never, ever be the man that I am. And then the lying little cocksucker has the audacity to flap his gums about me wanting to tag team with Scorpio? When have I ever mentioned teaming up with Scorpio? Not once. He cooked up that cute, contrived little rant about how Scorpio ‘chose’ him over me, and it just left me scratching my hairy ball sack in confusion because outside of World War X, I’ve never even considered the idea of teaming up with Scorpio again.

Bartender: “You don’t say?”

Samuels: “I do fucking say. I dare Frodo to find it anywhere on record. I want him to come right out and produce this supposed conversation where I asked Scorpio to choose me as a tag team partner. And I guarantee you he wilts and shits himself like the lying little prick that he is, because he knows he’s been caught. Sounds like someone is attempting to allude to things that didn’t happen within the scope of the XWF.

Bartender: “Is that what’s going on?”

Samuels: “Fuck if I know, I have no clue what he’s referring to. Unless we really are controlled by some sort of higher powers that regularly converse about theoretical partnerships in a universe that is broader than the scope of ours, I’d say that Frodo is just a lying little cocksucker! It’s like fucking facing Maverick all over again. At least Maverick had the good sense to lay down and admit defeat. Frodo’s outclassed in every way and he knows it, but for some reason is the only one stupid enough to not admit it.”

Bartender: “Why would he make up a story about you wanting to team with that guy?”

Samuels: “Because he’s nothing more than a pathetic manboy who needs ammunition to fire himself up before a match, and since he doesn’t have a brain cell in that disgusting head of his that hasn’t been fucked stupid and covered in a cloudy blanket of man cum, he has to make shit up to give himself some sort of psychological edge. But if that’s what he needs to lead his team of fucktards into battle and be able to walk out with all his limbs intact, so be it. He can make up all the little lies that he wants, it’s not going to help him. Maybe he and Hysteria can put their hair up in pig tails and snicker under the covers of their next sleepover, telling fat jokes and making up stories like 12 year old girls with acne, a future full of decrepit apartments that smell of cat piss and no chance of their hymens being broken by actual physical contact.

Bartender: “What the fuck is Hysteria? What kind of name is that?”

Samuels: “Fuck if I know, he’s one of those idiot new guys with no claims to anything that think they just deserve to step into the ring with the big dogs and start talking shit like he’s somebody. The fucking idiot has no grasp of satire, proper english or intelligent thought. And he’s supposed to be some kind of prophet? I hope this guy drinks the Kool-Aid sooner rather than later because frankly if I have to sit through another 5 minutes of him sputtering about trying to come up with insults like some kind of internet nerd with a fistful of flaccid cock and a penchant for insulting someone superior’s mother, I might literally rip my ears off and donate them to Gilmour. He’s over there strutting around with a title that I have never even heard of before. What the fuck is that thing? A Cracker Jack surprise? Before Hysteria wants to try trading shots with the big boys, maybe he’ll want to take a look at the record books, notably the parts where Theo, Madison and myself have each accomplished more individually than the entire collective of the Asylum ever will. If Hysteria still wants to toss his first-blood soaked panties to the side and get fucked like the good little bitch that he is, so be it. I can’t wait to watch him piss and moan about losing again as the Asylum crumbles around him. Maybe he’ll be a good little harbinger of shit-nobody-cares-about and sacrifices himself to that imaginary cocksucker in the sky that he and all of his peabrained lackeys seem to worship so much. And that brings me to that fucking Manson...thing. What the Hell is he doing inside of a ring and not in a classroom? I know I tease Peter about being stupid but holy shit, this guy may literally have shit for brains. He’s stupid as fuck and how does he mask it? By ADMITTING that he can’t even come up with his own insults!? Congratulations to him, he’s actually managed to surpass Peter on my list of unimportant XWF wrestlers who I wouldn’t trust to put in a fucking hamburger order for me. I can’t wait for the day where I stop by my local burger establishment, place my order with Hysteria who will undoubtedly fuck it up, and I watch in sheer awe as I watch Manson struggle to complete even the simplest of tasks. And then I will eat said burger because I know that Manson will still put fucking pickles on it even though I specifically mentioned that I was allergic to them, because I know that when I go to the bathroom and take a massive shit onto the floor, Frodo will be standing there with a mop and bucket, eagerly awaiting to come as close to success as he ever will. Asylum burgers. I kind of like the thought of that, maybe I’ll invest a few dollars in their start-up if it means no longer having to watch these clueless dipshits embarrass themselves in front of the camera, week-in and week-out, pretending to be anything other than a group of misfits that have no place in the XWF.”

Bartender: “Has anyone ever told you that you have anger issues? You seriously might need some counseling.”


Samuels: “Has anyone told you that you’re out of whiskey? That pisses me off so much more than anything that those Asylum clowns could ever do. Don’t you worry about my ‘anger issues,’ I’m just tired of having to share a ring with opponents that have a lower collective IQ than a handful of monkey shit. Come Wednesday, after we beat those three pricks and cripple their pointless existence, there will be nobody left to challenge the Kings. And then maybe I can finally relax for a couple fucking minutes. And figure out how to be black.”

Bartender: “What the hell do you mean?”

Samuels: “That’s a long fucking story. I’ll tell you all about it some other time.”

1X - GOAT.