Starting with Mr. John Madison

John Madison speaking...

Today was too much for me, I need a nap already. I'll start with what happened in the afternoon. How do I even begin to describe this?

It was a dark, cold night-

You know, I would sit here and try to paint a vivid picture for you folks, but I don't think I can do it justice. No, I need to bring in the big guns for this one.

You know that dramatic scene from Peter's promo last week? I'll just use that since me and Peter both had such a traumatic event taking place.

Quote:We see a dark, black screen and then the words “Previously” in all white begin to fade in very slowly. We see clips of Peter Gilmour having a very bad nightmare of his father’s death. The scenes show Peter crying hysterically, his uncles and mother giving Peter Sr. their eulogies and then the final scene is of Peter waking up from the dream, breathing heavily and then going over to his phone.

We pick up right from that moment when Peter woke up from his bad dream and see him only in his black silk boxers as his muscles bulge out making the ladies wish they weren’t dreaming. But we digress. Peter picks up his cell phone off the nightstand and swipes the screen a few times.

Thank you, Peter. I don't own a pair of silk boxers that my muscles bulge out of, but there's no way I was gonna exclude the hottest part of the Hollywood Bad Boy's promo.

So yeah, that basically sums up how I woke up. I was experiencing something similar to what Peter was going through last week. I mean, it wasn't anything like my father dying-- it was WAY worse!

So like you saw in The HBB's promo, he woke up and went straight to picking up his phone. I took woke up this afternoon; only, it wasn't to make a phone call. I woke up to discover that I had a text message that had been sent to me hours ago. So I went into my state of the art flip phone to read the message. "Who could it be?" I wondered aloud. Maybe it was my good friends Luca and NAZI wanting to hang out and play Mario Kart. Boy, wouldn't that be fun!

But no, it wasn't either of them. That was disappointing, but at least it wasn't Duke. God, Duke is so boring to hang out with. He's got that big fucking compound but there isn't shit to do out there!

Anyway, I didn't recognize the number which made the situation a little uncomfortable. Only people in my circle-- my BLACK circle-- send me messages, and they sure as hell don't look anything like what I saw on the screen. The message read:


What? Since when is he "my" Dimallisher, like he's my fucking wife-- or dog-- or something? I don't own this guy. And one million dollars? Hold up, this guy/girl must have confused me with The Hollywood Bad Boy. I don't have that kind of money laying around and I don't hang out with The Dimallisher. This all sounds like Peter!

So I said, "Fuck you!" to the mysterious cock sucker and made plans for the day.

"Let's see," I said aloud. "It's 3:00. I think I'll order a deep dish and play some League of Legends. My team is probably eating shit without me being there." It seemed like a good idea at the time. Maybe I'd even invite Luca and NAZI over so they can watch me play for eight hours.

So I placed an order for my greasy pizza, I sit down, turn on the computer, and get ready to play League! But then it happens...

"Invalid Password"

"WHAT THE FUCK?" I screamed as I sat there pounding all the buttons that make up my account password. I guess I expected that my demands would be met by the force of my aggressive typing. But again, it's the incorrect password!

I never have this problem when I go to play League. NEVER!

I try again. Son of a bitch, I still couldn't log in. I then lose my shit and kick the laptop screen so that it flaps backwards, touching the floor. It's never like this on Sunday. "What the fuck is going on?" I thought.

This is supposed to be the day where I relax more than normal. But here I am with unknown messengers and fucked up passwords. It's about time to call technical support and cut a Gilmour promo on them.

But before I can make that call, I get an incoming call from someone. "God damnit," I thought for sure it had to be Duke. Only he would call me at a time like this.

I picked up the phone, I'm just thinking it's gotta be Duke wanting to invite me to his shitty compound again.

"What, bitch?" I answered, thinking it's Duke.

While it does remind me of the pussy who couldn't manage a Universal Title reign lasting longer than 33 days, it is not the voice of Sebastian Duke.

I didn't know who the caller was, but that bitch just won't stop talking; I didn't even listen to half of what he's said. Something about wrestling, tag teams, Peter Gilmour, and titles. Fuck all of that bullshit. It's way too early for me to be talking about Peter Gilmour and gay ass wrestling. But then I hear him mention my League account, or as he put it "The vid'ya games password." It's at that very moment when I begin to listen to what this asshole has to say.

"What do you know about my League account, bitch?"

It's serious now that my gaming career is being put in harm's way. The guy-- err-- PUSSY (who sounds JUST like Duke) chuckles over the phone. What an asshole, he could have easily turned away and laughed but he went out of his way to make sure I knew that I was playing HIS game. "You're in MY league now, boy!" He said to me.

"Why you little..." I say before he hangs up on me.

Yeah, that was my afternoon and here I am now, trying to figure out what I'll do next.

Who takes another man's League account and holds it for ransom? I don't know what the fuck he wants because before I could ask him to repeat all the bullshit he said earlier, he hung up on me! All I know is that his demands had something to do with The Dimallisher, Peter Gilmour, 1 million dollars, and the Tag Titles.

God damn it, this is so fucked.

Why me? Why, after I try to get away from this bullshit sport, do I get sucked back in? All I want to do is sit in my house and play online multiplayer games. WHY THE FUCK is there always something with Gilmour and the rest of those idiots popping up?

Now I have to call Gilmour. Fuck, I hate calling Gilmour. Screw it, I think I'll just play some League instead...

I reach out for my keyboard and type in my password-- FUCK! I forgot, I'm locked out of my account BECAUSE of Gilmour and the wrestling .

I begin to search for other activities. Anything but having to go deal with Gilmour right now. I reach over into my mini fridge, in search of some booze. "Nooo!" I scream as I realize that I'm out of beer. This is the worst Sunday ever!

I reach into my satchel for some crack, but God fucking damn it; Luca did not deliver any to me this week. God damn it, Luca! Why did I even bother reforming The Black Circle if you can't be there for me? You're useless, Luca! USELESS!

It looks like I have no choice. I have to contact Peter Gilmour. I didn't wanted it to came down to this, but what other options do I have?

Peter doesn't even have my phone number but after today-- oh boy-- I'll probably be getting texts from him every hour of the day. One stupid question of his after another. Shit like:

"Hey bub, you doing a promo this week?"

"Hey bub, did you see me bury Frodo?"

"Hey bub, ready to defend those belts?"

Ugh, I had to change my number once already because of him...

How do I even start off a text message to Peter Gilmour? Does anyone know? Fuck it, here it goes...


I hit send, and now after today I'll have to go through the trouble of getting my number changed. Not a minute later, I get a message back from Peter.


Ready? Ready for what? What the fuck does Peter know, and why am I his "bub" all of a sudden? I scramble to my numeric keypad and just start typing every derogatory comment I can think of that might send Peter into a raging fit. Anything that will get him to call me or cunt instead of "bub."


I go on and on like this, writing everything I can come up with that will enrage Peter. But then I realize something. I might need Peter's cooperation in order to retrieve my League account. Shit...Well, looks like I'm bub this week.

I slowly back out of sending that nasty message, like Peter Gilmour backing out of a challenge. Damn, that would have been a good one to send to Peter if I wanted to piss him off.

I get the phone call. Yeah, "the" phone call.

It's the devil's favorite demon himself, "the Hollywood Bad Boy" Peter Gilmour. I always wondered, why doesn't Peter combine those two monikers to make one really cool one? Like, "The Devil's Favorite Bad Boy," or "Hollywood Bad Demon." It's something that Peter should consider.

"What is it, Peter?" I answer into my phone.

As Peter speaks to me, he sounds shaken up, like he just received a message as crazy as mine. Maybe he saw a demon, or his death father again. Or maybe the Hollywood Bad Boy is just running at a moderate pace on a beach where it's a balmy 99 degrees. (Careful, Peter; you don't want to have a heat stroke days before your scheduled title defense!)

"Maddy, we have to defend those straps this week against Mark Flynn and Mr. WGCENSOREDF."

Hold the fuck up. First off, why the fuck did Shane install something on my phone that censors WGCENSOREDF. Secondly, why does he keep-- Ah fuck it, I'm just gonna come out and say it to Peter.

"Peter, why are you trying to bring me back into this shit? I managed you and shithead that one time, and that was it! No more! Those are Tag Titles you're holding, not Trio Titles. You and your dumbass friend need to stay the hell away from me!"

"Oh, right. Well, sadly, you're in it again with me and The Dimmy."

"No, I'm not! Fuck both of you, I have important referee shit to deal with. I don't have time to march you guys around. Look, I'll give you Duke's number. I hear he's trying to branch off and reform The Brotherhood again. Heh..."

I couldn't hold back after that last line of bullshit. I'm pretty sure that Peter heard me snickering about it. I quickly apologize for that cruel joke. "Sorry, Peter, I would never wish for that to happen, even to you."

"Fuck you, Maddy! This isn't a joke. You need to get your ass over here to California and help me!"

"California?! Are you shitting me? It's probably a balmy 95 degrees over there!"

"You'll be okay as long as you stay moderately hydrated!"

"Alright, let's forget about the weather for a minute. Why on earth do I need to get my ass over to California? Why would I leave the beautiful, crime-ridden warzone known as Chicago? You know how many rapes I get to see over here? You can't just uproot me like that, you better have a good reason."

"Well, here's the thing, John. The Dimallisher has been taken."

"That's not my problem. He's your partner! You go find him, he's probably just lost, you know how he is."

"No, John. He was kidnapped!"

"Kidnapped? Fuck it, Peter. You're better off without that guy, especially if he got himself kidnapped. Like I said, I'll give you Duke's number so that you guys can partner up-"

"His abductor said that he's also taken something of yours hostage as well."

And then it clicks. "Shit, I bet it's my fucking League account that he's talking about."

"That's right, bub," Peter said, probably winking sadistically in the process. Why did this have to happen?

"Fine, I'm in."

"Good. Bring one million dollars on your way over."

"What, are you kidding me? It's YOUR tag partner, you bring the fuckin' money!"

Let's see, it's Peter Gilmour. Can anyone guess what kind of response I'll get?

"It's your gay League of Legends account. You bring the money!!"

Well, he's right. It is my gay League of Legends account and it's very important to me.

"Fine, I'll bring the one million dollars," I tell Peter as I begin to wonder how much I would be willing to pay in order to reclaim this account. "Well, looks like I'll need to put some pants on and catch the next flight to LA then."

"Alright, I'll meet you at the airport."

"Umm... Is the guy with Dimallisher and my League account gonna be at the airport?"

"No."

"Then why do you want to meet me at the airport?"

Seriously, the last thing I want to see when I step off the airplane is Peter Gilmour standing there waiting for me. As you all know, Peter and airports don't mix well together. Any time Peter goes to an airport, you know he's gonna get into some kind of a scuffle. I don't need that, I just want to get my stolen account and get the fuck out of there.

"Fine, just call me when you land and we'll meet somewhere else."

That fucking liar. I know he's lying! I swear, the first thing I'm gonna see when I step off that plane is Peter lighting some guy's head on fire.

"I'm serious, Peter! Stay home!"

"OKAY! God..."

At this point, all I can do is hope for the best. Hope that Peter will stay home with his fiance Maria Brink and assistant Jessica Johnson. Nah, won't happen. He's gonna bring one of them hoes with him, someones gonna hit on her, and he's gonna cause a scene.

Oh well, here it goes...

I hate people who look different

and if u dont like it then u can leave