The shot opens on the characteristic beeping of a large truck. The image tracks downwards from the sky. Maybe its a garbage truck? A U-Haul? No silly, this is a Samael Dyson promo! So of course its a tow truck pulling a bound and chained Elektra and Violet (colloquially known as the Rollerwhores) into the bed of the truck! They seem sad. Or, most likely sad. You can see their eyes through the gas masks they’re wearing and at any rate they look sad!

“Hey, hey, HEY!” A familiar voice calls, followed by some indignant stomps as Samael Dyson rushes up to the back of the truck. Samael looks confused, and then irritated, and then right pissed off! He turns towards the tow truck operator, who is nonchalantly overseeing the Rollerwhores as they’re pulled into the truck. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing asshole?!”

“My job.”

Samael grips the bridge of his nose in irritation and starts muttering a mantra under his breath.

Must not murder. Must not murder. Must not murder.

“Whadja say?”

“I said, what the fuck are you doing with my WHORES?!”

“Repossessing them.”

“What?! Why?! Their bills are paid up. They’ve had all their shots! Why could you possibly be…..”

The truck operator sighs and reaches into the cab, pulling out a sheaf of papers that he plops down into Samael’s hands. “Look pal, the Rollerwhore concept is the exclusive intellectual copyright of one Matthew X. You are in violation of that copyright so we’re reposessing these whores and sending them to their rightful owner.”

“What?! You blistering imbecile, these are MY whores! I’m their owner!”

“Not according to the paperwork, pal.”

“Shouldn’t I have gotten some kind of warning or some shit?!”

“You did. For weeks.”

The shot quick cuts to a mailbox with Samael’s name on it stuffed to the point of near explosion before returning to our present merry scene.

“Fuck! Okay fine….fine! I didn’t really feel like committing a homicide today but I’m starting to get a little antsy and when I get a little antsy I start making EXCEPTIONS! So either you remove those whores from that truck or I open some new creative orifices all over your body.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Five….”

“Seriously…?”

“Four…..”

“Alright, I’m calling the cops.”

“Three….”

The truck driver starts rummaging around in the cab for his cell phone.

“Two….”

“.....the hell did I leave the damn thing?”

“One.”

Samael removes a switchblade from his pocket and flips it open. Just as the driver turns around Samael rams the blade up through his jaw and into his brain cavity! The driver blurts out some brain dying nonsense and his body goes rigid in its death throes before toplling over.

“And I’m charging you for the knife!”

With that, our gallant tow truck murdering hero leaps up into the back of the truck and somehow manages to unchain the Rollerwhores. Once safely on terra firma, they both give Samael a hug before turning to each other and frantically making out.

A LITTLE WHILE LATER….

AL’S SEX STOP EMPORIUM

…is what the sign on the exterior reads, before we head inside to what is indeed a sex stop emporium. The walls are littered with all sorts of sex toys of every shape, color, and variety. We see Samael front and center, standing near the check out line. In the background, the Rollerwhores flit through the aisles, giddy as a fat kit in a chocolate shop.

“Damn you, dad! You just traumatized the shit out of my whores! And now I had to take them to one of their favorite places. This is like slut Disneyland for them! And just like the real deal, it’s gonna cost me a fortune!” Sam grouses. “Oh well, still cheaper than therapy.”

Sam pauses to look back at check on Violet and Elektra, who presently seem to be fawning over a massive double sided dildo.

“Ah Jesus, you already have like TEN of those!”

He returns his attention to the camera.

“Gotta keep my girls happy I suppose. Especially as they head into their first title defense. Though, it’s not much of a defense if I’m being honest. Which I always am.” A devilish smile.

“Latoya Hixx and El Landerson. The 619 Storm. As I live and breathe. The BIGGEST abject failures in the entire XWF. Nothing like their buddy Razor Blade mind you, who I’ve already established is quite possibly one of the greatest performance artists in the world (and I still beat him, spank you very much). Nah, these two just blow copious amounts of ass all the while pretending their next victory, their next big success, is just right around the corner.

You see guys, that’s what I HATE the most about you two. The baseless hope. You fail, and fail, and fail again and yet every single fucking time like two naive doe eyed hopefuls you proclaim to the world that the next ones gonna be a win. Despite months and months of history to the contrary.

In point of fact, I think you two somehow winning this number one contendership was one of the worst things that could have happened to you. Because it gave you an injection of so much more false hope. It made you think that things are actually possible for you. But they’re not. Because you see, these two? Stone cold killers.”

Samael jerks his thumb back towards them as they fondle a leather sex swing hanging from the ceiling.

“Violet capped that traitor Kristoffer Arroyo without a second thought. Hell, they beat the shit out of the Kingsuard, the loyal armed forces to Kieran King himself (pay no attention to the fact that they subsequently lost to CLOWNS. Literal CLOWNS. Christ almighty).

And to put the cherry on top of this shit sundae you’re being served, Big Dick saw fit to put their victory on lock down in a roller derby rink, the place where these whores literally came into their own! THEIR BIRTHPLACE! You think you’re going to beat these whores in their birthplace? Jesus wept, you two are as stupid as Jenny Myst shaking a jar of ants and thinking that’s a cogent metaphor.You two can’t even string together a coherent thought much less beat my whores.

And make no mistake guys, you NEED this win. Badly! It’s literally the only thing keeping you two from sinking back down to curtain jerker hell for the rest of your careers. Because let’s face facts, the title shots are not going to be lining up for you. Not since management finally (FINALLY) wised up to what jokes you are. This is it for the 619 Storm. The last gasp of relevance before its back to the doldrums of getting out ranked on the ELO sheets by clowns and Solomon Kline. No difference there, really.

Ladies how we doin’?”

The Rollerwhores rush up to the counter with arms full of sex toys. Sam grimaces.

“I can feel my credit card melting already! God dammit DAD!”

Sam slaps his credit card down on the counter in front of the acne faced nerd managing the register. Then, to his surprise, they head back into the store for MORE.

“That’s not it?! FUCK!!!”

He takes out another credit card and slaps that one down on the counter too.

“You know what Latoya? Landerson? Why don’t you two just kill yourselves beforehand? Your careers are nothing but a long, dark, depressing hallway of losses and halted momentum anyway. And the way my girls are “filling up their tanks” here, you know they’re gonna be in good spirits and ready to fight come March Madness. Sure the girls will be disappointed not to engage in a bit of the old ultraviolence come pay per view time, but at least you’ll be saving all of us from having to witness your bumbling, ineffective attempts at dithering through an entire title match that you are literally GUARANTEED to lose.”

“Excuse me, are you Samael?” A sleazy looking guy in a comb over walks up to the XTreme champ.

“What?! No! Wait….why?”

“Well I was just talking to those girls back there and they said they’re interested in buying the entire store!”

“FUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKK!”

Sam upturns his entire wallet onto the counter and empties its contents before storming off camera.