All work and no SATAN! makes Jack a dull boy. All play and no work make Jack a mere toy. All work and no play makes SATAN! a dull boy. All play and no work make Jack a mere toy. All SATAN! and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All play and no work make Jack a mere toy. All work and no play make Jack a dull SATAN! All play and no work make Jack a mere toy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All SATAN! and no work makes Jack a mere toy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All play and no SATAN! makes Jack a mere toy.


In darkness and in shadow, I rear my ugly head with monotonous and melodramatic movements that meticulously mesmerize ME! and placate ME! to a particular place where endless entities of infinite imagination become my own insanity. I’m either lost or trapped inside my own zone of the highest zenith I can formulate with the fascination of my own facade. One that is so strong that it drives a wedge between two realities in which I co-exist of my own making. As I stare ominously out the window, contemplating a leap that would seal my fate, and deciding which of these two bipolar entities in which to interact with that may save me or bring me to my ultimate demise, I smile and cry all at once as a fever of emotions comes over me with a flop sweat of my own conscientious creed.

I can’t swallow enough of these giant white pills to keep both my brain and emotional state from bursting at the seams. I feel like I could explode out of every extremity as I try to extrapolate affections for the aforementioned extremes. I can pretend it doesn’t bother or affect me in any manner of my own making, but in the dark recesses of my mind, I know that I am uniquely uniformed in a unit of undying unification. When both existences become one and I’m left in a euphoric daze both from the drugs I’ve ingested and the impassioned intricacies of my inner thoughts. I will have reached the maximum level of bliss beyond any realm of beauty that could be beheld. I will become the thing that I both fear and love. A figment of my own imagination. One small step away from my own reality, and one giant leap into the abysmal void known as the unknown….


The following scene takes place in the book of Genesis (Gen 4:1-16)

Cain Dante?
Abel Damian?

As they walked through the golden wheat fields of an endless beautiful scenery that stretched miles outwardly into the horizon, the two twins? stare simultaneously into one another’s eyes and smile a seditious sentiment that leaves them feeling a bit differently than the other. It is said that twins? can sometimes feel the sympathies of the other and that sometimes they are in sync and can be symmetrical. Abel could sense that his twin? Cain was hiding something behind that smile that he couldn’t quite pinpoint the precise perception that he was perceiving. It made him feel wary and worrisome as the two trudged along lightly through the endless sea of yellow stalks of grain.

A single butterfly, with the most beautiful array of colors that were not typically subscribed to most of the flying moths he had seen in his lifetime, floats ominously close to his face as if studying him in some kind of sinister and superfluous way. Different shades of black from varying degrees of darkness permeate along with its wings and a bright red glow saturates from the center of its eyes. After what seemed like an oddly long time for the insect to float ominously over his shoulder, it dips backward and floats towards his brother. When Abel turns around he is greeted with an interesting look upon his own twins? face as that simple smile in the same stature as before is the same expression on his face. It appeared as if it were drawn on perhaps as the same curvature of the lips and unblinking nature of his eyes stared back at him in a blank stare that seemed as if he were in some sort of trance.

Abel tries to smile back, but not even a simple nod is given in the response, and that same silly smile with no sort of feeling or interaction in return is given. This was not his twin?, in fact, he didn’t know who was hiding behind that emotionless empty soul waddling closely behind him, but onward he traveled as he turned back around, too frightened to confront or construe to what was taking place behind him. Perhaps if he simply ignored it then he could be relieved of the thoughts that were running through his head of such malicious nature. From behind he hears a whisper, so dark and sinister and unbeknownst to him in recognition of its vocal capacities to his knowledge. He attempts to turn back around but is instead met with an instant pervasiveness of pain as it strikes his head and consciousness both at the same time. Nothing but an eternal realm of blackness surrounds him as he sails off into a world of endless slumber.

From behind Cain is still wearing the sadistic smile across his face like a mask of a wicked nature. In his hand, a bloodied and battered black boulder rests between his thumb and index finger. As he drops it to the ground he kneels and begins to sob uncontrollably as if his trance was broken and he now was able to show some sign of emotion. He lifts his fingertips in the air as he stands over his twins? murdered body and holds out his hands as if beholden to the butterfly that floats gently onto the tip of his finger. Kneeling before him as if he were about to be knighted by a queen and staring intently into this beady bright red eyes. He clears his throat after choking down a few more tears and proclaims.

“Yes, I will be your Unknown Soldier!”



--In the before times, in the long long ago--

Lightning cracks the sky as a full moon illuminates tonight as our scene unfolds before us and the gravestones illuminate from the small stint of light that emancipates the entirety of the midnight sky for a brief moment. The patter of raindrops now proceeds to saturate the sounds of the scene unfolding and the stench of death fills the nostrils and burns the ends of the nose hairs. As we move quickly through the graveyard, passing by each tombstone with tremendous speed and superfluidity, we come across a dilapidated soul that is destroyed obviously in his own regards as he sits upon a plot of the grave that has been freshly dug, most likely by him.

As we move more closely to take a glance, we see that it is none other than Dante Kyllen, the former wrestling star that once was a great warrior in his time, but now appears to be battered and bruised and broken. Sulking in his own spit and saliva as the tears begin to flow endlessly in a stream of seditious sentiment. They flow so hard and precipitously that he can not simply control himself any longer as the tears begin to flow from other orifices above his neck. His mouth and his ears even drip of liquid sadness, as the rain mixes into their salty existence. On a cell phone, he stares at himself, watching endlessly in a loop himself getting pinned and destroyed by the former wrestler known as Lux and losing his coveted XWF Universal Championship. A giant and sharp machete he pulls out from inside the grave, where he had been storing it for safekeeping until the time was right.

From behind him, a subtle whisper steps forward in the darkness, as he holds the blade to his neck and prepares to finish his life and his misery once and for all.

“Hello, my friend.”

Dante Kyllen: “Don’t try to talk me out of this Doc, my decision is made. I made a fool of myself and there is nothing left for me to live for! I was the GOD! Of XWF and now I’m the laughing stock! I went from Steve Jason status down the fucking doldrums of the likes of Ghost Tank! I let the ‘one who is not to be named’ warp my frazzled little mind and twist my thoughts into believing him. I was hypnotized by my own ignorance and ignorant behavior. I was cocky and confident and thought I was untouchable and now I am broken with nowhere to call home.”

Doc: “Don’t be so hard on yourself, my friend… For I too have found losses in my life that still haunt me, yet I carry on to this day because I know that life is an endless battle between good and evil and the twisted realm of the mind that keeps us from delving too deeply into the dark side.”

Dante Kyllen: “What the hell would you know about it, huh Doc?!?!”

Doc: “Well, I am a doctor of both the body and the mind, my friend and I’ve known you for longer than the days of yesteryear when we were atop the world together.”

Dante Kyllen: “What would you know of being subjected to the sanctity of the evilest. What would you know of being a slave to the sinister mind of my MASTER!”

Doc: “You forget that I too have conspired with SATAN! And I know that he is nothing more than a devious trickster, hell-bent on controlling you for his own pleasure and nothing more. You must forget your former alias and live your life away from the anonymity of the past and move onward with your life. A simple loss to a transvestite little twat can not and will not break you forever. In fact, it can make you stronger if you walk with me once again.”

Dante Kyllen: “Fuck you Doc, I am nothing but a disgrace to this federation and the family that once bore me into this wrestling existence. I’m nothing more but a memory in the minds of these folks and I’ll be nothing but a fool for the rest of my days.”

Doc: “The memory of fear is what they all will remember. What you don’t realize is it’s not the accolades or the achievements or the wins and losses that make you a legendary member of the XWF. One loss to one little girl trapped in a boy's body is not what they all will remember. It is the fear and bane of your existence that is constantly what the world conscribes to be you. As you battle with your alias I would suggest that you reconsider and take my hand and walk with me out of this graveyard. Together we can make sweet music once again and rule the XWF like the days of yore.”

Doc reaches out his hand for Dante Kyllen to take, but the anemic-looking meth fiend decides to raise the blade closer to his neck instead.

Dante Kyllen: “I like what you have to say and I agree with you Doc! I can make something of myself! I believe! I believe! Bu-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-ut I can’t let all this hard work digging up 666 feet of dirt go to waste, so therefore, I must kill myself!”

Dante Kyllen raises the blade back as far as he can with his elbow and strikes it across his neck. An array of blood spurts everywhere and shoots from his neck like a ketchup bottle being stepped on. The machete must have been sharp as it slices through his neck entirely with little resistance. His body and his head fall into the grave like a sack of potatoes and Doc just sighs and shakes his head as he looks down at the ground to see Dante’s cell phone and a shovel. Doc picks up the cell phone and begins to search through it.

Doc: “I’m sure there’s a witch doctor on speed dial in here somewhere.”


--Present-day--

Our final scene opens up with the sounds of a small child screaming, but it doesn’t sound like a roar of terror but rather of pleasure. As the camera turns the corner and comes into a bedroom, the scene becomes more shocking than anyone could imagine as a Jenny Myst doll is seen pegging a Chucky doll. Who knew dolls could fuck, but it’s something of the utmost disturbing nature that I don’t think anybody would like to see and it definitely turns an eyebrow upwards and strokes the chin. The Jenny Myst doll appears to be climaxing as the Chucky doll lets out a giant sigh of relief but then turns around to see someone was indeed watching them. He leaps out of the window and begins scampering off into the midnight skyline. The Jenny Myst doll turns to the camera and proceeds to proclaim her sentiment, as a giant dildo hangs off her hips.

Dante Kyllen: “For years I have suffered and bowed before the wishes and will of my MASTER! And were known by my alias, but it is now that I live with myself and yearn for the chance to break free of my chains. In utero, I was but a simple child too young and naive to know that my mother was a controlling freak who wished to lead me into a world in which I never was known to bestow myself upon. I have battled with my own alias for years and traveled between two worlds in my mind to succumb to the sultry of my own inner sanity. This evening, I stand in the ring and battle my alias once again, and not in the same realm of mind that I once was, but in the realm that I will now be. Why should it be difficult to stand opposite this emotionless and moronic jizz rag who thinks he’s so poetic in every word and every manner of speech he formulates from that fucking mush mouth of his. This isn’t Theatre class you romantic little fuck, so don’t try going all Bill Shakespeare on me in the ring and start dancing and skipping like Tinkerbell all over the place. I’ve seen your little off-stage antics here in the XWF.

The promos of fantasy realms and lands that were simply pulled out of your ass. The poetry of a middle schooler who found out his crush was kissing his best friend he wrote between the Good Charlotte and Bullet for my Valentine t-shirts on the rack in the back of the Hot Topic. The prescribed potshots that deliver no dynamic delivery justice in the continuous calamity of callousness you keep collaborating on and on about. The rebirth of you as a Phoenix as you travel beyond dimensions that only you think are cool and cohesive to the story behind told. If I wanted to watch that I’d pop in my Harry Potter DVDs and study the likes of Albus Dumbledore. If I wanted to ‘choose my own dimensional doorway’ book I’d pull out a Goosebumps book and cross my legs on my nap mat with my mother fucking juice box! Fly away with Voltar into the Silver City in Fantastica!

You’re not some type of ‘word wizard’ that you think you are, in fact, you’re nothing but a simplistic shit head that thinks just because he can pull out a Thesaurus that makes him some type of master of the English language in the verbiage that comes flipping out of that meth toothed gum flapper of yours. When we stand in the ring to do battle and the shit hits the fan and you realize that no dictionary book or poetry prose is going to save you from me putting a foot up to your ass and the physical realm of defeat is within your grasp, then you’ll stare up at the ceiling and sing me a little song while the stars go spinning around your head.

Why should this be of any concern or problem for me in the ring? If I can defeat my own alias then why should I have any problems with you? In fact, conquering the slave name that I’ve wrestled under for years by the workings of my MASTER! Has been the greatest achievement of my life, superseding even the day I robbed Robert Main of his Universal Championship when I cashed in on him. Robbing him of the longest title reign in recent history. Which, to be fair, was far more glorious than when you held the strap most recently. Cashing on the likes of Chronic Chris Page, the shit stain of the XWF. Have you ever crashed a pirate ship through an arena ceiling and shocked the universe? I didn’t think so. Chris Page is like The Miz, he's just here and active but nobody really cares.

I don’t understand why you're so hungry all the time, by the way? Do you got some kind of tapeworm or something? Why is this guy always fucking eating all the time, huh? Well, guess what bud, you better bring a knife and fork to our little shindig this evening because I’m going to serve you something on a silver platter to start eating.”

The Jenny Myst doll drops the dildo to the floor and pulls down her panties and bends over and spreads her ass cheeks.

Dante Kyllen: “Feast away you little fuckwad and EAT my ASS!”

The scene fades into the doll's asshole and fades to brown.