My eyes fluttering open, the first thing that comes to my mind—amidst a weird dream consisting of Christian Phoenix and I stomping through a chicken coop with a lot of red lights blinking around us—was “how did I get in such an uncomfortable bed and why am I so content with it?”

Oh yeah, I’m in a hotel room. Hotel beds always suck. Blankets that were woven with threads of rough construction paper, I pull them from over my head. My morning routine has always consisted of trying to go back to sleep once I first wake up, coupled with mulling over my mental to-do list for the day.

Is it possible to get a paper cut from a sheet as stiff as this? Knowing foreign affairs, and the quality of this room in a place like this, I’d probably get AIDS.

Hmmm, I missed the post Anarchy party. Guess we can scratch that off the list—but what else do I have to do? Nothing? Perhaps, I don’t really remember anything to do but there is this nagging feeling that’s lingered for far too long.

I’m always forgetting something.

Fucking London. Why do you legalize all of my favorite past-times and make it such a bitch for me to remember everything I’ve done?! Shit, let’s start from the beginning.

Ergoline Alkaloid Mushrooms. Hmmm, are my limbs still attached? Missing fingers? Toes? Well, everything’s in check. I hear that shit will clog your blood-flow and make your limbs fall off and shit.

Somewhere along the way I decided to go out to a strip club. Why did I go to a strip club? I hate those fucking things. They may as well be called the $20 Hard-On Store. Was I with someone last night?

Was I with… Big Nasty? What the fuck—oh yeah, the walking and talking washing machine. Now I remember. Wow, I really did hallucinate last night? I NEVER hallucinate when I take shroomz! I am definitely coming back to London; BEST.TRIP.EVER. Fuck I can’t even remember what happened last night, that’s never happened to me off of mushrooms.

But this is going to bother me all day unless I figure this out. So after the Strip Club, I went to the bar? A coffee bar? Got faded? Did that hooker fuck me? Or did I—oh fuck.

Is that what I think it is?

I reach for the dresser, and yep, there it is. What’s folded in an envelope, encasing all of my fears that I’ve tried to quell with sleep, is a plane ticket to Los Angeles. Last night was neither a lie nor a hallucination. Everything had actually occurred.

I’ve got to go to L.A. This plot has been drawn out for far too long.

____________--_____________

+Distracting

You know what I fucking love? You know what makes me giddier than a schoolgirl at a Hasselhoff Convention? It's when I get in my car, take a big breath of fresh air through my nostrils, and soak up the pleasant and soothing aroma of CHRONIC.

I worked hard to keep that smell lingering. Blunt after blunt after blunt filled with the stickiest of marijuanas; all attributing to an everlasting feeling that I could milk until my next carwash (which would come later rather than sooner).

You know what fucking sucks? When all that smoking, all that hard-work and lung-blackening, goes to waste because of some fuck-head's need to decompose in the trunk of my car for two months.

Yeah, dead body smell sucks.

I can't breathe in this fucking environment, let alone concentrate. Just knowing that the fucking thing is in my trunk is enough to kill my buzz, so I've got to roll another blunt.

A blunt, a fat sticky blunt, is the only thing that can combat the smell and put me where I need to be. The entire process is a meditation for me. Breaking up the pot to a fine mix; splitting the cigar and taking out all the shit; rolling it to a perfect cylinder or cone or pregnant fatty. Smoking it wasn't everything.

Sometimes, everything pays off in the preparation.

People probably think I’m crazy. Here I am, getting high in the strangely deserted parking lot of a normally highly secure medical building, mere minutes before heading into what has been vaguely described as what I can only assume is a battle to the death with a Prometheus Serum-enhanced Educator. I may be crazy, but as always there is a method to my madness.

Essentially, there are two different kinds of pots; Indica and Sativa. Indica plants produce more physical effects on the body when you’re high. Sativa plants instigate the cerebral and cognitive effects, feelings that always make me think too much and consequently fluster myself with paranoia. Most dealers don’t give you the choice of what you’re smoking, much less know what they’re smoking themselves, but when you’re paying the prices I do it is the fine print that determines $400 pot and $500 pot. I usually get Indica.

Tonight, I’m smoking Sativa, the paranoid-weed. Because judging by the looks of the place on the outside, it’s bare as fuck. Such a void setting would put me at ease when I need to be on my fucking toes.

I mean, not even one security guard has driven by and looked at me suspiciously, and they have cameras in the parking lot. Here I am, smoking a blunt on CCTV, and no one gives a fuck. I can only assume that the ringmaster, or whatever the fuck he is, ensured that his business goes down without a hitch. With little people to interfere with his plans, there was no telling how the night would progress.

But I think I’m high enough to stay alert just enough to make sure no one creeps on me. I’m still not sure whose inside. This grand scheme that the ringmaster has in the works is a total mystery to me, but I have his assurance that I’ll be taken care of. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that nothing is what it seems. Keeping an eye out for a suspicious happening is not unhealthy, it’s necessary at this point.

Alright. I’m high. I’m pumped. I don’t even smell dead-body anymore. I think I’m ready to fight this mother fucker.

I make sure to park in a section all to myself, despite the scarce amount of cars in the lot, just because I don’t want someone to smell the body. The last thing I need is to be convicted of murder, but I guess I can’t really take care of that right now. All I can take care of is locking my doors, rearranging my junk & shit, and walking inside to face my fate.

_______________--________________

The following pre-recorded promotion is brought to you by the REAL number one contender to the World Title... Shawn Christopher.

The shot fades to an outside view of a very prestigious looking church. We hear a hymn being sung within the holy confines of the church walls, and the view slowly fades to a shot inside of the house of worship. We see a choir singing at the front of the church, right next to the priest’s podium. There is a sea of people in the pews, all dressed in their finest clothes on this beautiful Easter Sunday. After a few moments, the choir stops singing, and the priest steps up to the podium.

Priest: In these times of war, famine, and sin, I have to tell you all that I am overjoyed to see this many people attend mass. I don’t think I have to remind everyone in here why we need devotion during our current days on this Earth. There are things going on in the world that, quite frankly, I never thought I would see. Children are dying, people are going hungry, and the world is in dire need of faith. It’s times like these that we really…truly…need God.

Just then, the doors of the church BURST open like a virgin’s hymen being destroyed by Aidan Collins. A mist begins to fog the entrance, and a deep blue aura can be seen through the haze. A voice suddenly starts to boom into the patron-filled church.

Voice: The one you need is, in fact, here. I shall bring happiness and relief to all of my followers. You no longer need to be afraid, my children, for I am here to comfort you through these trying times. I am the King, and you are my faithful devotees. Rest you’re weary feet, dry your teary eyes…

Out of nowhere, the very recognizable beat of “Super Freak” by Rick James begins to play. The haze breaks apart… and we see the Cult Icon step into the church with a blonde on his right arm, and a brunette on his left. He’s holding a drink in his right hand.

"…and let the party begin, bitches, because your REAL savior is here!" SC looks over to a man standing in the back of the church. "Hold my drink, bitch."

The man simply stares at Shawn.

"Alright then…"

SC dumps the drink…right into the supply of holy water. A few people gasp…one man actually claps. Shawn then begins to walk down the main aisle of the church, wearing a deep blue business suit with a black shirt underneath. His platinum neck chain blings in the shine of the church light, and his shoes are so expensive that he can raise your self-worth just by shoving his foot up your ass. As the Cult Icon and his bitches continue to walk, a man in a black suit stands up from a pew and gets in front of Shawn.

"Who do you think you are, mister? How dare you enter into the “House of God” like that!"

The beat of “Super Freak” quickly stops with the sound of tires screeching to a halt.

"House of God? But my house isn’t anywhere near here…"

The man looks appalled.

"Are you insinuating that you are on a level that is as divine as that of our Lord?"

"No… I would never do that. I’m way more divine than that. In fact, I’ll prove it to you right now." Shawn clears his throat and raises his palm to the man's head. "Bless thee, and exorcise the demon jobber from this man’s body!"

Nothing happens, as the man simply stands there, looking confused. Shawn looks to the blonde.

"This is more serious than I thought. This is no regular demon jobber in this man’s body. It is…"

Gasp "No…"

"Yes… it is the demon jobber Zach Rizza, wrecking his jobber havoc on yet another soul… and there’s only one thing you can do to get rid of a jobber demon of this caliber."

Shawn moves in close to the man and whispers in his ear. Suddenly, the man passes out and a woman behind him catches him. People in the church gasp at the sight of the man passing out from the “holy spirit.” How did he do it?

"How did you do it, oh ye savior?"

"Easy…with a jobber demon like Zach Rizza, all you have to do is schedule a match. Once that happens… the demon no-shows and all is well again. So I told this man he had a match with yours truly next week, and the jobber demon fled. Now if you don’t mind, we have business to attend to."

The trio begins to walk down the main aisle again, while the rest of the people in the church look on, amazed and in shock of the disturbance. Soon, they make it to the front of the church. Shawn walks up to a huge statue of Jesus Christ as he hangs, crucified on the cross. Shawn kneels down in front of the statue, and then raises his middle fingers in the air.

"Shit… J.C. and I roll together like peanut butter and jelly."

The blonde woman takes a camera out of her pocket and points it at Shawn and “J.C.”

"Say “The Passion!”"

"The Passion!"

The blonde snaps the picture, and the whole church lights up with the flash. After this, Shawn steps towards the podium. He walks to the priest and grabs the microphone from the podium.

"Mind if I borrow this, pops? It’ll only take a minute…"

"Excuse me?"

Shawn whistles to his “crew,” and the ladies walks over to the priest. Each lady grabs an arm.

"Now, I know they might not be 5-year-old boys, but try to enjoy yourself anyway." SC steps to the podium. "I know what a lot of you are thinking right about now. You’re thinking to yourself, “Why has the ever-charismatic Cult Icon blessed us with his presence today?” Well, the answer is quite simple, ladies…gentlemen…and those in-between."

The camera quickly flashes to the corner of the church where the transvestites sit, including Prototype and his fudge-packing friend Pogo. The scene then flashes back to Shawn.

"Simply put, I am here because I felt it was time for me to come to this place and see what all the fuss is about. Consider yourselves lucky, because today… Shawn Christopher will be among you! Enjoy yourselves, bitches. It’s a celebration… of the Lord."

Shawn whistles again, and the ladies immediately come back to his side. SC begins to walk away from the podium and, without looking, throws the microphone over his shoulder. The priest manages to catch it as Shawn walks down to a pew. The trio sits down, and the priest, after the initial shock, begins to talk about faith and the war in Iraq. He brings up the notion of men and women of all religions fighting for what they believe in.

"So it is on this day that men and women of all different types come together in celebration of the Lord. Even if you have nothing in this world but a Sears' refrigerator box to shelter you from the elements, you can celebrate this very day in your own way."

to himself "Whoa… he knows Merlyn, too?"

The Cult Icon shrugs his shoulders as the scene fades. Instantly, another scene begins to fade in. It is later in the mass, and we see the priest standing at the podium. He is talking about various things, finishing up his sermon. The camera begins to pan over the crowd. Suddenly, a loud snore can be heard. The camera tries to find the snore. Another one is heard. The camera is panning back and forth across the crowd…and then it lands on Shawn. There is our hero, stretched out in the pew with his head in the brunette’s lap and his feet stretched out across the blonde’s legs. He continues to snore as annoyed patrons glare at the young superstar. After a few moments, the brunette shakes Shawn’s shoulder and he starts to come to.

mumbling "Hold on, Amy, give me 5 more minutes."

The brunette shakes him again, and this time Shawn wakes up. He blinks his eyes, trying to focus. The Cult Icon then sits up, tidying himself up.

"What happened?"

"You fell asleep…for the third time."

yawning "Damn…this guy’s sermon makes me crash more than Psyko Stevo’s computer."

Shawn sits up straight and rubs his eyes. Then, the collection plate is passed down the pew that the Cult Icon is sitting in. He is handed the plate and looks down into the golden tin.

"Hmm…don’t mind if I do!"

Shawn reaches in the plate and empties it out, handing the now empty tin down to the next person. After stuffing the money into his pocket, Shawn looks up to the priest and tries to focus on the sermon. The priest is holding some communion bread in his hand.

"And Christ said, “Eat this bread, for it is my body…”"

to himself "Bread? What kind of weak ass dinner is that? Jonathyn’s stingy ass must finance this church…"

The priest then rises up a cup of wine.

" Then Christ said, “Drink this, for it is my blood…”"

"Hmm…drinking blood? Sounds like a movie involving Famine, Tristen Lance, and Tristen’s “monthly visitor.”"

"It’s a metaphor, Shawn. The blood is actually wine."

SC rubs his chin and gets a mischievous look in his eyes.

"Wine, eh?"

Shawn takes his cell phone out of his pocket and dials a number.

"Wine… podium… now…"

Instantly, two bodyguards enter the church and sprint for the podium. While they run to the front of the church, SC stands up from his seat and his women follow suit. The guards secure the wine just as Shawn gets to the podium. One of the guards raises the cup to his nose, swirling around the wine and smelling it. After passing the inspection, he hands it to the Cult Icon. SC does the same, swirling the wine and sniffing it. He then brings the cup to his lips and downs the wine. After finishing off the cup, he grins.

"Mmmm, mmmm…this wine is good!"

Shawn walks over to the priest.

"Why didn’t you tell me the wine was this good?"

"Well, I…"

Just like that, SC socks the priest dead in the face. The Cult Icon then dusts off his shoulders before looking over to one of the guards.

"Part of me thinks I shouldn’t have done that…"

The scene fades once again, right into another scene. This time, we find ourselves on the outside of a confession chamber. The camera is focused directly on the chamber, and we see nothing else…all we hear are voices.

"Forgive me father, for I have sinned."

"Confess your sins to me, my son, and you shall be forgiven."

"Well last night, these three girls and I bought a container of warm oil, some handcuffs, and a video camera, and..."

"Please, my son…move on to something else."

"That's not a problem, boss. Let’s see… last week, Mandy and I were playing mini-golf. All of a sudden, she started to crave Papa Yogi Bear…if you know what I mean. So, I took her into one of the janitor’s closets and…

"AGAIN…my son, I’m going to have you ask you to move on."

"Ok. Well, a few weeks ago I was walking by Brad Pierce…and I failed to even slap him. When you’re as great as I am, it’s a huge sin to walk past a jobber and not…you know… sound of fist hitting palm check him."

"My son, is there any sin you’ve conducted that normal people would consider a sin?"

Silence.

"Hmm…"

Silence.

"Well there was that one time…never mind, that wasn’t a sin either…"

Silence.

"I guess I haven’t sinned a “normal” sin yet, but I can guarantee you that I will sin this Thursday night."

"Explain…"

"You see, Father, I’m a professional wrestler, and I have a match against this guy Famine of the Vile on Thursday night. For the first time, I am truly and utterly afraid… of the extent of pain I’m going to put this guy through when he steps between the ropes with yours truly. I’m still the only man on the roster that can blaze through the XWF roster like Jonathyn blazes through Massacre GM's. Let’s be honest here, Father. Famine of the Vile couldn’t beat my cousin, and I’m just as good as he is. What makes me even more dangerous than C2 is that I’m hungrier and more passionate about my ring work than he is… and that makes me a very deadly man. So if Famine, on his best day, couldn’t beat Christian, what makes him think he can beat the Cult Icon?"

"I fail to see…"

"I’ll tell you what makes him think he can beat me. He’s got all types of delusions running around in that head of his. He thinks he’s talented. He thinks he’s popular. He thinks he’s evil for CHRIST’S sake."

"I’m going to have to ask you to not use…"

"But Famine fails to realize that he doesn’t even know what evil is! Dressing like some gothic chick isn’t evil. Sucking up to the crowd isn’t evil. No, no… feeding a schizophrenic canine some antifreeze is evil. Almost running over a family of four just to steal a handicapped parking spot from an 80-year-old diabetic is evil. Bitch smacking some helpless jobber while you screw his wife in his bed is evil. Shawn laughs. "Now that I think about it, that last one is evil and pretty funny. But I’m getting away from my point."

"Do you even have a point?"

"Yes… Father Dickhead. My point is that Famine of the Vile has no business stepping into the ring with me. If he doesn’t even realize that he lacks any semblance of evil, how can we expect him to realize that he’s stepping in the ring with the greatest professional wrestler since…well…ever?"

"I have to say that I don’t quite…"

"If you think that’s crazy, what about his name? Seriously… what kind of adult would actually think of since a stupid name? I’ll tell you what kind…a delusional one. But Famine can keep those delusions of grandeur in his head all he wants. Hell, he can bring the whole crew with him to our match on Thursday night. Bring ‘em all down, Famine!. Bring Scott Young, your gay ass son Soul Bearer, Demon Ted Soul, Jay Leno, and Carson Daly! Bring them all down to the ring, and I’ll whoop all your asses…all while picking up a girl at ringside and signing the check for my brand new Lamborghini."

"I thought you said you never sinned before…"

"Hey Pedo-father! I’m not some little boy that’ll take that shit *cough* lying down *cough*, so watch your tone when you talk to me. Like I said, I haven’t sinned…at least not in the sense that normal people sin. Premarital sex, greed, and arrogance aren’t sins in my book…they’re just part of another day in the life of the Television Legend. Now whether you agree with it or not is irrelevant, ‘cause that’s the only way I know how to live.

"You, my son, are the most arrogant, egotistical, insatiable, foul-mouthed individual I have ever met."

"You forgot “good-looking” and “talented,” but I can’t argue with your choice of words."

The priest sighs.

"There is nothing left for us to do here."

"Okie dokie, Mr. Child-Pokie."

The camera, still situated on the outside of the confession chamber, picks up movement in the chamber. Shawn exits the chamber, closes the door, and walks off screen. Within seconds, the blonde and brunette exit from the same chamber, checking to see if they’ve got any… um… lipstick on their teeth. Shawn enters back onto the screen and offers his arms to the ladies. They grab a hold of the Cult Icon as he winks to the camera. The trio than walks off stage as the scene fades.