3:27 AM

The phone rings.

"Ughhhhh fuck off!"

The phone continues to ring as the scene opens to a groggy John Samuels laying in bed, groaning as his hands blindly search for the loud cell phone ringing on the nightstand. From under the blanket a female hand reaches up and begins to slowly stroke his chest, but is met with an agitated slap. Samuels' hand finally reaches the phone and he draws it to his face and without bothering to open his eyes and look at the caller, he answers.

Samuels: "I have a hot piece of ass passed out next to men, a damn good buzz and I was dreaming about pulling Azrael Erebus' tongue out through a bloody gash in his neck. Needless to say, if this isn't fucking important I am going to beat you harder than Frodo beats his meat while looking at pictures of yeast infections.

Samuels shudders at the though and gags slightly as the muffled voice on the other end of the phone begins to speak. After a moment, Samuels sits up and his eyes spring to life.

Samuels: "Theo!? Kidnapped!? What? How the fuck does this happen? Yeah, I'll be there right away.

The light from the phone dies with a singular button press. Samuels lets out a long, exasperated sigh as he buries his head in his hands. The woman emerges from underneath the blanket and taps Samuels on the shoulder.

Woman: "Is everything alright?"

Samuels: "Christ, who are you again?"

The woman scoffs and rolls over onto her back.

Amanda: "Amanda."

Samuels: "And how much do I owe you?"

Amanda: "Excuse me?"

Samuels: "The room smells like halibut and my lap is stickier than a McDonald's playroom, I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that you just took a nice little vacation to pound town. And like all vacations, they aren't cheap, so I'll ask again: How much do I owe you?"

Amanda: "Are you calling me a hooker!?"

Samuels: "Well you are sort of painted up like Rembrandt's interpretation of scotch and daddy issues. But I'm guessing I'm wrong on this one. This is awkward.

SLAP!

4:52 AM

Samuels is seated a large metal table with two men in suits flanking either side of him. On the other side of the table is a television on a cart with an eery image paused on the screen.

After a moment, the familiar and frightened voice of Theo Pryce fills the silence.

Theo Pryce: "It is Monday, January 5th, 2015. My name is Theo Pryce and I have been taken hostage. For now I will remain unharmed, but the clock is ticking. The Kings have been shown utter disregard for decency and now it is our turn to pay the price for it. John Samuels, your arrogance grows with each passing day, every accolade accrued by you catapaults you further into an abyss of human immorality and idiocy and...

...Come on guys, really? This script is fucking terrible. It's like it was written by a couple of toddlers.

A man walks past the camera, wearing a Peter Gilmour t-shirt.

Theo Pryce: "Well that fucking explains it. Are you seeing this John? I've been caught by fucking PETER GILMOUR FANS. Do you know how fucked up this is? There isn't any reasoning with people who willingly cheer for that fat piece of shit. Look man, these guys don't want money, or recognition, or any sort of logical ransom demands. They uh... They want you to fuck a pig.

The camera cuts to a puzzled John Samuels, watching the video closely.

Samuels: "Jill Lorder?"

The camera cuts back to the video.

Theo Pryce: "And before you ask, no they don't mean Jill Lorder. They're talking about an actual fat, sloppy, disgusting pig."

The camera cuts back to Samuels.

Samuels: "Caroline Burchill?"

The camera cuts back to the video.

Theo Pryce: "So I was thinking Caroline Burchill right? But nope. A bonafide, roll-in-it's-own-shit piece of live bacon. A th-th-th-th-tIme to fuck Porky Pig, buddy. And they want it televised live, no shenanigans, at 5PM on the dot. And make it snappy would you? These guys keep farting and it smells like chick parm and root beer.

The videos cuts out. The camera returns back to the room where the two men in suits are pacing about the room. Samuels remains seated with his head held low.

Man in suit #1: "I know how difficult this must be for you, Mr. Senator. But we need to take a realisic look at our options..."

Samuels: "What the fuck are you talking about? I'm not fucking a pig. You guys are outta your fucking minds. I'm going home and going back to bed.

Man in suit #2: "I understand this is a lot to process and we do still have nearly twelve hours. Perhaps a few hours of rest would be best.

Samuels: "Yeah, whatever."

11:35 AM

The phone rings.

"Ughhhh why the fuck won't anyone let me sleep!?"

Samuels picks up the phone, still dazed, and raises it to his ear.

Samuels: "Yeah? What? No, I'm not fucking doing it. Leave me alone."

Click.

12:52 PM

The phone rings.

"I swear to fucking God..."

Samuels picks up the phone angrily.

Samuels: "What did I tell you fucking suits? I'm not doing it. Yeah, I know he's my friend but I also know that this is the exact type of bullshit that he and Madison would pull to fuck with me before my match. They think I'm being too serious. And who knows, maybe I am? Maybe I should be more like Azrael and reenact Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind with that dumpster baby Frodo. I guess he's smart enough to know that he doesn't have a snowball's chance in Hell of beating me this Wednesday, so he's already checking out to give himself and out when people start chiding him over how he could lose to me. Again. Think he's gotten over that one yet? Back when that one-armed space whore actually mattered around here, when he was was the 'champion' of Shove-It, he ducked the real opponents as much as he could. And then that one day, Mr. Spacequeer decided he'd have the balls to show up in the same ring as John Samuels, and what happened? He lost. Convincingly.

I don't have the fucking stomach to sit here and embrace worthlessness the way Azrael can. It's amazing to me how easily he can just sit back and revel in the fact that he used to be somebody around here. The big, bad, former universal champion himself reduced to fishing through garbage cans for fuck buddies. Pathetic. What happened to him? He used to at least be mildly entertaining. And now he just sits there, picking off easy prey in hopes that people still get a little shiver when they hear his name mentioned. Not me. When I hear the name Azrael Erebus mentioned, the only physical reaction I can conjure is a mixture of nausea and sheer disgust. Azrael Erebus, the XWF's perpetual underachiever, still roams these halls clinging to whatever scraps of relevance he can.

And now look where we are, John Samuels vs Azrael Erebus. The next universal champion, the hottest thing in the XWF vs washed up piece of shit hoping to ride my coattails once more. Not going to happen this time, Spacefag. Whereas last time I just let him slink off back to Shove-It, defeated, so that he could continue to rule over that severely underwhelming collection of and degenerates; This time, Azrael, doesn't get off so easily. I'm going to make him pay for tricking people into believing that he deserves to be mentioned in the same breath as John Samuels. I'm going to hurt him, I'm going to humiliate him, I'm going to show him what a true champion is. And when I'm done, maybe I'll just rip both of his arms off and hand deliver them to Madison, I'm sure he'd love a souvenir. But hey, given Azrael's propensity to chat up strangers in the bathroom and use his big gay mouth for nefarious purposes, I have a feeling ol' Azzy will be just fine after I leave him limbless and humiliated.

Now, I'm getting quite bored of this conversation, so if you could go ahead and call Theo up and tell him the joke is up... Hang on, I have another call.


Madison! You son of a bitch, that gag you and Theo are trying to pull is pretty goddamn funny. I mean, fucking a pig on live television? Brilliant. And you almost had me fooled for a...wait, what? What the fuck do you mean it's not a joke? They're gonna cut off his dick!?


Ah, fuck.

To be continued...

1X - GOAT.