The shot opens on the exterior of a Hampton Inn before transitioning inside the Inn itself to a large conference room with a sign parked outside the double door.

THE XWF PRESENTS, in conjunction with SAMAEL DYSON INDUSTRIES…. ROLLERWHORE AUDITIONS!

We proceed into the conference room where the wall closest to us features a line of young women, some scantily dressed, some looking pretty classy really. Some look like tweaking meth addicts who haven’t gotten to the laundromat in weeks. It’s a veritable smorgasbord of ladies all here to see one man.

Samael Dyson!

(Duh.)

Sam stands at a cheap looking podium with the Hampton Inn logo splashed on the front of it. Next to him are two chairs, each hosting an…erm….occupant. The first chair holds Madison Dyson, who is not only bound and gagged but drugged out to the point that all she can do is stare longingly at the angels winking back at her from the conference room lights.

The second seat is occupied by, naturally, the bloating corpse of Jeffrey Epstein. In fact, the rot is so pervasive you can barely tell it’s him. The only leg up we’re given is that he’s wearing a cheap paper name tag that says “Hi, I’m Jeffrey Epstein.” Next to Jeffrey, one of Sam’s masked Insignificants is continuously spraying Jeffrey down with cheap cologne, hoping to mask the stench of his advanced decay.

But perhaps most striking of all (yes, even more striking than the corpse of a notorious pedophile), are the two women flanking Sam at the podium. Both of them are wearing black leather bondage gear that leaves little to the imagination, topped off, or perhaps bottomed off, with old fashioned four wheel roller skates on their feet. They’re also both shaved completely bald and are wearing gas masks that mar what look to be conventionally attractive facial features. Neither of them speak or even show a facsimile of reaction to what is playing out before them.

And what is playing out before them, you may ask?

AUDITIONS!

Sam holds his arms out with some degree of pomp and calls out into the podium mic.

“Ladies! Welcome to my first ever ROLLERWHORE OPEN AUDITIONS! I’m your host and head judge Samael Dyson and with me today to provide completely fair and unbalanced counterpoints to my opinions are my mother Madison Dyson…”

A thin film of drool spills over her bottom lip.

“....and noted philanthropist and businessman Jeffrey Epstein.”

Jeffrey’s bleach white right eye spills out of socket and lulls into his cheek.

“You know, people often ask me, Sam, what exactly does it take to be a good Rollerwhore? And well, I must admit I’m not even the best one to answer that question. No, that accolade goes to my father, consummate genius and man of vision…MATTHEW X, who created the first Rollerwhores Thalia and Erato back in the early 2000s. Incidentally, I asked my father to be here today but he must have been able to smell my mother’s nasty cooch over the phone because he declined. Oh well!

That doesn’t mean I can’t carry on his legacy! That doesn’t mean I can’t create Rollerwhores for a new generation! In fact, I’ve already started. Ladies, let me introduce you to Elektra and Violet!” Sam points to the bondage gear wearing women flanking him on either side. “Yes, they were my very first graduates of Rollerwhore Academy. And I couldn’t be more proud. You see, these are real women! These are…” Sam suddenly scrunches up his features in irritation. “Who the fuck are you?”

The shot swings around to reveal a mousy looking man in a business suit. He looks around with the expression of a man who clearly knows he’s not where he’s supposed to be. “I’m sorry, I was looking for the conference for small business owners?”

Sam scowls deeply. “For the last fucking time….that’s in conference room B!! B!!!!” Sam hammers on the podium for emphasis and the small business owner flinches with each pound.

“Terribly sorry! Sorry!” He scurries out the door and Samael watches him go. Then, he points to the clipboard wielding masked Insignificant standing by the door.

“Hey! YOU! If one more of those banal normy fucks gets in here, so help me GOD I will rip off one of those chair legs and sodomize you with it!” Sam rages.

The Insignificant perks up. “Oh, yes, sir of course sir! But might I add what a complete honor it would be to have my asshole get thoroughly blasted by you sir!”

“Shut the fuck up!”

The Insignificant obediently bows his head and returns his attention to the door.

“Now, as I was saying before I was rudely interrupted, these Rollerwhores are REAL women. The next stage in female evolution. Because these women have been stripped down to their basic ID urges! These women are here to FIGHT and they are here to FUCK!

They’re not here to prattle your ear off about the latest episode of Bridgerton or some Macy’s sale or whatever other vapid piece of thought trash enters their tiny little brains at any given time. No! Because you see a Rollerwhore is silent unless spoken to. And they are rarely ever spoken to because why fuckin’ bother, you know?

And the sex? Hoooo boy, the SEX.” Sam smiles an impish perverse smile. “These bitches sexualities are completely unleashed! No begging or bargaining for sex. And none of that “Ohhhh, I have a headache!” or “Oooohhhh, I’m on the rag!” bullshit! The macrodoses of pain killers and period blockers that are pumped through their veins on the daily take care of all that shit! So what you are left with is an emotionally deadened nonstop fuck machine the likes of which you ALWAYS dreamed of.

Now you might be saying “oh Sam that sounds like misogyny, that sounds like sexism”! Well guess what you namby pamby little pukes, misogyny and sexism got us through the first 95% of human evolution thank you very much. So maybe, just maybe, it’s not that bad! Anyway, let’s get on with this parade of whores. Insignificant, send up the first candidate.”

The clip board wielding Insignificant calls out a name. “Brittany Spears!”

Sam’s eyes go wide. “What?! SERIOUSLY?!”

However the woman who steps up before Sam’s podium is most definitely not THAT Brittany Spears. Sam’s disappointment is palpable.

“You’re not Brittany!”

The young woman, who is wearing a fashionable but tight black dress, holds up her hands placatingly. “No! I’m not that Brittany! But I’m still an excellent Rollerwhore candidate. I have my Bachelor’s from Cornell, and my Masters in Civil Engineering from….”

Sam pretends to be asleep before rousing himself. “Oh…huh….wha….? That was so fucking boring I fell asleep. Brittany, I think you’re missing the point. But hey, maybe I’m wrong. That’s what my co-judges are for. Mother, what do you think of Brittany?”

Madison, for a fraction of a second, is able to focus her drug addled gaze on Brittany, and you can hear her make a vocalization behind her gag that sounds kind of like “please help me.” But it doesn’t get any further than that before another ever present Insignificant jams a needle in Madison’s neck, plunging her back into sleepy sleeps land.

“Your opinion is noted, mother. Jeffrey? What say you?”

Jeffrey’s body unleashes some rot gas from somewhere deep within his decaying husk, causing a raucous fart that resounds throughout the conference room.

“A fine point, Jeffrey.” Sam returns his attention to Brittany. “That’ll be a no from us, Brittany. Now fuck off!” Brittany looks disappointed but obediently leaves. “Okay, next!”

“Uhhhh….Arlene Benson.”

A woman who is clearly a discheveled meth addict approaches the podium. But before she can even open her toothless gapper Sam recoils in disgust. “Jesus Christ bitch I can play Ticket to Ride on those fucking collapsed veins.”

“Please, I’m so hungry!”

“Silence! Another one who has grossly misread what these auditions are looking for! Look, I don’t mind if my Rollerwhores do drugs. Hell, it even enhances certain…heh…heh….EXPERIENCES. But they gotta be rich people drugs like MDMA and coke, not poor people drugs like meth! That shit’s just sad. I don’t even need to go to the co-judges on this one you are straight out!”

“Please….I’m ready to go to rehab!”

Sam scowls and rubs the bridge of his nose. “I swear to God I will send you to rehab in PIECES if you don’t get the fuck out of here!”

With that Arlene scurries away. The Insignificant with the clipboard takes the hint and reads off the next name before he even has to be goaded to.

“Next up is Byrthdeigh Owens!”

A young, perhaps a little TOO young, girl walks up to within spitting distance of the podium, but she pays Sam absolutely no mind. Instead, her attention is buried in her phone. Nevertheless, Sam looks at her lasciviously and licks his lips.

“So Byrthdeigh…just how old are you…?”

“Huh?” she mutters, clearly distracted by the flashing lights and sounds of her cellphone.

“How old are you?” Sam reiterates with a patience he didn’t come close to showing the other candidates.

[Another voice that sounds like a man doing an awful facsimile of a girls voice is dubbed in and says “Definitely 18!”]

“Well now that we got that squared away so that legal will shut the fuck up and leave me alone….” Sam glowers at the camera, “....let’s go the judges. Mom?”

Madison is still a drooling drugged up hunk of flesh that doesn’t respond to stimuli whatsoever. Sam waves his hand at her dismissively and proceeds, “Jeffy boy I know YOU got something to say about this one!”

Jeffrey’s corpse cuts a world rending fart, so tremendous in noise, depth, and length that it causes him to tip over and flop out of his chair.

“Holy shit! Jeffrey couldn’t even sit still in his chair he was so impressed. Girl, you are IN! Insignificant, prepare Byrthdeigh for the second round.”

An Insignificant comes up to the young girl and ushers her along. She’s completely compliant and still utterly absorbed in her phone.

“See girls, it’s just that easy! We already have our first girl going on to the second round. But anyway, I have to pinch a wicked loaf so let’s do one more before that.”

The Insignificant reads off another name. “Nelly Simmons! You’re up.”

Another young lady steps to the fore and….oh….oh no….


Sam looks askew at the young lady, working his jaw absent mindedly before belting out, “Lords of the Underdark, I am being TESTED today.” He shakes his head. “You know what, fuck it. What can you do for me, Nelly?”

Nelly cops a sly smile and winks at Sam flirtatiously. “More like what can I do TO you.”

Sam, suddenly intrigued, leans in. “What do you mean by that?”

Nelly pops a cherry out of her pocket (a real one, not metaphorical you sickos!), removes the stem and pops it in her mouth. Then, with the cherry eaten, she places the cherry stem on her tongue and slips it past her lips.

“Sam, I’m gonna .”

Sam is completely enrapt by whatever Nelly his saying! His face is flush and his eyes start to cross in a horniness overload!

“And then when that’s done, I’m gonna !

Finally, with that deluge of obscenity over with, Nelly picks the cherry stem out of her mouth and shows that it is now neatly tied in a bow.

Sam, now sweating and panting at the podium, lights himself a cigarette. After taking a few moments to get himself together, Sam points at Nelly and cajoles, “That was some of the filthiest FILTH I’ve ever heard! Nelly, you’re gonna be a ROLLERWHORE!”

Nelly claps her hands together in excitement and an Insignificant leads her into the next room. Sam runs a forearm across his sweat mottled brow. “Okay everybody take 5. Actually, on second thought, take 20. I’m thinking I’m gonna have to do more than just take a shit now. Heh heh heh….”

A LITTLE LATER….

We arrive in the hotel bathroom, a simply elegant little affair with….

“FUCK!”

Oh, nevermind.

The shot transitions over to one of the stalls, and Sam kicks the door open from within. He is indeed seated on the royal throne, and has his phone open to the “Satanic Times” as he drops his deuce. Sam grunts in frustration, his ass emits a brief fanfare of gas, but all we hear is the sound of one small piece of excrement hitting the water.

“Fucking Xanny Bars making me constipated! As if I needed one more goddamn thing to be pissed off about! It’s okay though, I’m just gonna take all this anger out on Director Fuckface! Because at the end of the day, this shit wasn’t even supposed to be about him in the first place!

Director, this promo was supposed to be about Jenny Myst! It was supposed to be about me showing her what she can be and drafting her to captain my Rollerwhore team! But that bitch tucked tail and RAN. Acting like she didn’t recognize my last name! Acting like she didn’t duck me because she knew what it represented! Please!”

Sam grunts, trying to pass another pebble of feces.

“So now I’m stuck with you. And hell, even you initially said you didn’t want face me. Which, I can’t blame you really. You DID imply you wanted to win after all. But like most weak willed mush brains that encounter me, I eventually got what I wanted out of you and rooked you into a match.

Dumbass.

But ya see Director, here’s what bothers me the most about you. You…you try to create this MYSTIQUE. This AURA of mystery. What with the mask, and the whole “puppetmaster pulling the strings of…XXXVI, I guess?” You try so hard to invoke this notion that people SHOULD care.

But they don’t.

Nobody cares, bro. You are a bit player. Your record is completely mediocre. And absolutely nobody sweats you. Fuckin’ noooo-body. And why should they? After we TOOK these Anarchy tag titles from you, what did you do? What kind of revenge did the “master tactician” wage? Nothing but bitch mouth little comments from XXXVI about “enjoying it while it lasts.”

You fucking PUSSY.

That’s the long and short of it. You’re a bitch made vagina of a man playing at greatness and failing. Shit, in your last promo before you lost to that walking advertisement for regular prostate exams Centurion, you even admitted that nobody saw you getting past him. And guess what? YOU DIDN’T. You FAILED. Just like everyone knew you would.

And there’s the heart of the matter, right? Even YOU know when you’re gonna lose. I mean, when you put those Anarchy tags on the line in the first place, you didn’t even bother to speak a word in defense of them! I think that once you saw that Samael Dyson and Clutch Cassidy were standing across the ring from you, you had a pissy in your pants, threw your hands in the air and gave up.

Hmmmm.

And then what comes after THIS loss Director? What excuses will be made? Are you going to try to stay positive? Or admit forevermore that all your mystique, all the bullshit that makes you a hollow mask, is just wasted time and effort on a man of no real substance or talent?

Ugh. Hold on.”

Sam bunches up his features as he tries to push out a log. He’s pushing really hard, so hard that a vein pops out on his forehead. And right when we’re start to fear he might have a stroke….


“Ooooooohhhhhh MAMA! I think I’m about to pass a Director!”

With one final heave ho, we finally hear a mighty splash in the toilet beneath Sam. His shoulders slump and he breathes a hearty sigh of relief.

“Whew. Thank Satan that beast finally passed.” He jerks his head at the camera. “Get the fuck out unless you wanna see my massive hog!”

The camera operator scampers backwards out of the toilet stall, allowing Sam to finish his business. But notably you don’t hear him use any toilet paper or even flush the toilet. He throws the door open and completely bypasses the sinks. Ew.

“At the end of the day Director, you’re no more than one of my turds, endlessly circling the bowl and just waiting to be flushed. Actually, I take that back, probably not as impressive as one of my turds. That bomb I just dropped was like two toddler arms back to back! You’re nowhere near that great.

Now I could continue to prattle on about the Director and what a worthless empty nutsack he is, but why bother? You all got the gist. So instead I’m going to engage in the ultimate form of promotional disrespect.

I’m gonna spend the Director’s time talkin’ about somebody else.

Let’s talk about Seabass Everest Brights. Or as you wankers like to call him, S.E.B.

Hey buuuuuddy. Couldn’t help but notice that your first tag title defense in like a bajillion years ended in a no contest. My, how convenient. I wonder whose balls I got to gargle to earn that kind of “luck”.

You know, S.E.B., at least The Director had the stones to put his tag team championships on the line. Same as Clutch and myself. But you? You only put YOUR titles on the line if you’re forced to, and even then its after multiple months.

And people call you “great”?

Listen bitch, when a masked Tron reject has more stones than you, that makes you an unmitigated FAILURE. Which is why I’m begging….BEGGING….you, S.E.B. to come over on Anarchy and face me under Anarchy rules! And if you don’t you’re an even bigger fuck up PUSSY than I took you for.”

Just then, the bathroom door slams open. It’s Nelly Simmons from earlier, and this time she’s wearing some spicy lingerie. Sam’s eyes open wide in surprise.

“Hey Sam. I’m here to butter your bread.”

“OhHHHhhhhHHHHHHH MAMA!”

The shot closes on Nelly as she pushes Sam back into the stall and the door shuts behind them.