"For Christ's sake, Curtis!" says an incredibly agitated Danielle Moinet (also known as Summer Rae), as she paces her way back and forth around the motel room they rented the night prior. The smell of burning marijuana fills the air, more than likely due to the sparked blunt resting between the fingers of one Curtis Hussey (also known as Fandango). Either that, or the weed fairies were extra generous/douchbaggy when they decided to descend upon Room 12 with their magic pot powers. However, the former seems much, much more plausible. "You can't even beat a stupid fucking Neo Nazi and you expect to be taken seriously in this federation?"

"Woah woah woah, time the fuck out here. When did I ever say anything about wanting to be taken seriously?"

"Well, I kinda assumed..." she said, twisting the ends of her hair into tiny knots.

"You should know better than anyone, you should never assume with me."

"Then why the fuck did we leave the WWE to show up in this fucking mental hospital? We were making good money-"

"Workin' for Vince McMahon? Fuck that noise. Fuck him."

"So that's what it's all about?" she asks, coming to a stop and taking a seat on the bed beside Curtis, snatching the blunt from between his two fingers (where it was during the entire conversation up till this point) and taking a hit. Turning his head to face her, the half smirk on his face twists into a scowl as his hands grip the edges of the bed, which he uses to pull himself off and into a standing position.

"You're goddamned right," he says emphatically.

"Nice one, Heisenberg," she says inbetween furious coughs.

"Fuck off with that shit," mutters Curtis, taking the blunt right back from her and leaving it once again to rest uneventfully in the gap between his fingers. "Come on; you aren't really taking Vince's side with all his stupid shit, are you?"

"I'm just saying, he wasn't totally in the wrong..."

"Motherfucker wanted to set me up to be the fall guy so they don't look like they encourage their workers to take roids? After I told him to fuck off with the suggestions about jamming needles up my ass? Fuck that."

"We're sitting here smoking weed, and you're going on about what you won't put in your body?"

"This ain't shit. 'Specially when you compare it to the shit in those needles."

"So, you'd be just find with both of us possibly losing our jobs over weed, so long as you didn't have to go up to bat for the whole company to look like it gives a shit?"

"Yeah. This shit's legal in two fucking states now, one of them a few days away from letting every motherfucker to get some, why is it still an issue?" he asks, before taking a massive hit. Danielle in response, simply rolls her eyes and clears her throat.

"A whole whopping two states? Stop the fucking presses. Everyone should be doing it!" she exclaims over the chorus of coughs.

"That wasn't what I meant."

"Still a shitty reasoning, though."

"Whatever. Now at least we won't have to deal with that shit here. I think most of these motherfuckers on some sort of shit."

"True. You still managed to lose to a Neo Nazi though," she teased, taking the blunt from Curtis.

"Whatever, it wasn't even a televised show. Fuck, I bet most of the people who watch the XWF don't even know I'm a part of it yet."

"Speaking of things people don't know yet; we're going to New York tomorrow to tell my parents."

"You're kidding."

"Do I look like I'm kidding?" she asks from behind the shield of still dissipating smoke.

"If I could see ya, I wouldn't need to ask," he says with a chuckle, waving the smoke away. As his vision finally became unobstructed, he came face to face with the bored, flat faced expression his fiance was giving him, fiddling with the ring on her finger as the blunt hung from her mouth like a cigar on a stereotypical rich antagonist in a movie. "I'll take that as a nope."

"Excellent deduction Sherlock."

"What, son?"

"Touche," she whispers, striking a reluctant grin.

"Do we really have to-"

"Yes we really have to."

"Ugh."


Oh, fuck am I ready to finally be debuting in the XWF after sitting on the backburner for what feels like an eternity. Greetings XWFiverseplanetgalaxytype thing, I'm someone that some of you might recognize if you bothered to follow shitty, Vince McMahon owned wrestling at any point in the last year. I'm that guy known simply as FAAAAAAAAAAAAN. DAAAAAAAAAAAAN. GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Aw yeah motherfuckers, that assclown you seen on your WWE TV screens since I bolted from the company in early December has been a fucking fraud.

A convincing fraud, but a fraud nonetheless. I'm the real motherfucking Fandango and I'm here to do a couple things this week. First: I'm here to fuck Levi Storm up and rip a Tuxedo off his lifeless corpse. Second: In doing so, I'm going to make a fucking statement that I should've made the second I stepped into this company. I ain't no motherfucker to look past. Third: I'm here to fuck bitches and kick ass, and after I leave Levi Storm unable to keep clothes on his body, I'm gonna be all out of ass to kick for the week.

Ladies, just line up outside my locker room. Preferably now, seeing as though there might not be enough of me to go around if you wait-

Oh, who am I kidding? There'll always be enough of me to go around!

So yeah, onto the Levi Storm matter. Levi Storm, the fucking pawn sent out to drop to his knees under the surmounting pressure that the XWF is throwing at him, it seems. He's failed and failed countless times in trying to do something as simple as beat that goofy looking motherfucker The Linguist and to top it off, he gets his ass kicked by some freak in a mask? Is this motherfucker for real - and going on with that train of thought just a tad bit further is he still even employed?

I'm pretty sure a serial fuck up like yourself shouldn't even be here, let alone be the first piece of cannon fodder thrown at my fucking feet. But since it's been penciled in, I'll gladly oblige and stop that face of yours until becomes one with the fucking canvas.

Come on cunt. I dare you, I double dog fucking dare you, you worthless sack of rodent testicles, come at me. Come get your face broken harder than any shot you had at being something worth a shit in this federation was broken the first time you manage to drop the ball against The Linguist.

The fucking Linguist!

You mean to tell me all his rants about strategy got in your head so hard that all he had to do was show up and your scared stiff ass got totally fucked by the raging erection of Linguini's repressed sexuality until you got dropped on your fucking skull?

Wow man, you're even worse than I thought.

Wow.

Just, fucking wow.