The scene opens up today in a darkened room. The only light coming from that of a computer screen where Dorito is seen sitting in front of, staring at. Tap after tap is heard with every stroke of the keyboard as the camera just stares at the various colors reflecting off the face and silver-white hair of Dorito. After a few moments Dorito stops typing and leans back, stretching his arms out behind him, fingers on both hands just touching for a few seconds before he unstretches, groaning in the process. Dorito continues to stare at the webpage, "WWCWF" barely visible to the camera.

Dorito: Extreme? My first wrestling match in four months is against some guy from Nova Scotia whose name is Extreme? If anyone knows anything about extreme, it's me. Hell, I lived with extreme for twenty-two years. And look at these moves. It's like this guy was a huge mark for Sonic. Which reminds me it's been just over a year since he died, and six months since I got released from prison. And so far his only advantage is having never shown his face and never saying a word. That's the only thing he has going. That is, until he shows up in Oregon next tuesday. And come wednesday, his mind will be so distorted after having his triangle digitally shattered, he won't even know how to eat.

But then it looks like the guys doing most of the jabberjawkin' are the roox. Rookies with their first real shot to blow up in front of actual people in real arenas, not cardboard cutouts downstairs in their basements while their mommies tell them to shut the hell up from the floor above as she watches her soaps on outdated television. And it's their first real chance to get their asses kicked by an actual convict. That is, if any of them step up to the challenge, and I know they all will because they all talk a big game, but I've played the game and buried it in the beaches of Hawaii.

And speaking of the Game, there he is. The Radical, Matt Helmsley. And if he even thinks that we may cross paths, he had better stop thinking it may, because I guarantee it will. I know Matt better than anyone else, having tagged with him in the past and him marrying my sister, Alicia, he's like a brother. But I killed my actual brother on live television, as many people remember. And what was my thank-you for great television ratings? I get put in jail for six months before G-Dub Bush says I can go cause not only is he a huge triangle mark, remarking how he likes to play with them, but also because prisons are getting overfilled and they're letting people on parole early.

Ah, hell. I made my debut in pro wrestling about four years ago as a valet of sort for my brother Sonic in WWCWF. I wasn't a wrestler, I was just spending time with him before finishing up high school. I didn't get all that much into WWCWF, but I got a little taste. Well, not really a taste, but a smell of what it was like. And then there was NCW which I devoured, and if it had not gone under, I would have taken it over and done what my brother could never do, and beat the best in the world to claim the world title. But I'll be the first to admit it, I am a drug addict. Missle is a drug addict. Sonic was a drug addict. Chris Freytag is a drug addict. Matt Helmsley is a drug addict. However, unlike the crave that is teen pop-culture, my drug of choice is not marijuana. It's not ecstasy. It's not alcoholism. No, our drug of choice is W...W...C...W...F. And like the junkie I am, and the rest of us, we can't live without it. For years a lot of us have only heard about this mysterious wonderdrug, but in just a few days, we get to experience it for ourselves. Although unlike some assinine teenager, we won't have munchies or stumble around for our high. No, my high, our high, is seen when sweat is pouring, blood is dripping, and everyone is screaming. Come this monday, the newest drug hits the market, and everyone is going to be wanting a piece of it.

When NCW closed I was both the intercontinental champion, and tag team champion with Marcus Johnson. How that relationship will stand now I don't know, but he for one I know will be looking toward this. While Missle, David Cote, and Peccant return home, for me, Matt, Pain, Damian, and so many others, we get our first whiff of what we've heard about for so long from the vets. And with a load of roox who have yet to learn about it, it's like Santa Claus when you're a kid. You hear so much about him, you hear about how he is so great and never one thing was wrong with him, and you always look forward toward Christmas Eve so that you may be able to just stay awake long enough to stumble out from your room to catch a glimpse of him, or wake up in the middle of the night and go to check if he's been there or not by checking the cookies and glass of milk you left out to thank him for coming. But you never see him. Year after year you try to catch a glimpse of this superman, but never once see him. But then eventually you learn of the truth, there is no ultimate Santa, for we all become Santa in a sense when we start giving out presents in our later years, thus keeping the ideal alive for us all. But what if it's like the "Santa Clause" movies and there are a remote few who know a truth and there truly is a Santa? Who is to say Santa doesn't help out the less fortunate throughout the year? What if he has gotten out of the toy-making business because of the greed it instills in children thus making them want and want and want more and more toys which is the fundamental ideal of brand products for corporations and materialism. And when those children grow up, becoming materialistic mostly due to Christmas and the commercial usage of Santa's image, they slip into the darkness that is Christmas. But then how evil could one fat man be and dreamed about by millions of people? How could a bum who works for food be such a symbol of evil? Yeah, you heard me, Santa Claus is a friggin' bum. He goes around giving these toys called presents to materialistic kids and adults and what is his payoff? Milk and cookies. Milk and cookies. This is so sad when we have a bum who double as the image used by corporate conglomerates in the advertising and distributing of products of all types.

So why is Santa Claus idealized and not me? Is it because I'm not a corporate sellout used to make a quick buck just for my image and life and then sold as something else. The best salespeople could sell you manure in a gladlock bag, telling you it's a dust cleaner, and you'll still buy it if it's sold right, distorting it from what it really is. I am better than Santa Claus. I can do more than Santa Claus. And I will do more than Santa ever could. Infact I'll start this monday at Distortion by changing everyone's lives when I give them their new drug of choice. If Extreme gets mean, I won't break his triangle down, but instead rather delete it. And just like with the main event battle royal, everyone going at it at the same time until there is only one, and all for a simple trophy to enable them bragging rights to winning the first main event on the night that WWCWF returns and for all whom breathe it in, shall become distorted.

At that moment a voice is heard as the door opens, light emitting within the room causing Dorito to cover his face, turning quickly to the table to grab a pair of sunglasses to put them on. He turns back as Alicia is seen walking in with tight red pants and a fuzzy white top with santa hat.

Alicia: What are you doing in here? Why don't you come out and enjoy the party?

Dorito: Party? I don't want anything to do with a party.

Alicia: Come on bro, I told eve...

Dorito: Parties aren't real. There's no reality in them, just...

Alicia: Matt would have at least put aside his feelings to welcome the other people in his life into his home.

Alicia, crossing her arms, stares at Dorito who just looks back at her. Several seconds of silence pass before Dorito turns back toward the computer.

Alicia: Fine, be like this. It seems like you care more for a machine than your friends.

Dorito lowers his head then slightly turns it toward her.

Dorito: You don't get it. They're not my friends, they're just people using me as a springboard to use and something to talk about to others like I'm some sort of freak.

Alicia: You ARE a freak. Ever since NCW closed you've locked yourself in this room pretty much, locked yourself onto that computer. You could have at least have kept wrestling at some local independent shows like I have been doing. So why don't you just come out of your shell and come enjoy the holiday before we go back to hitting the road in WWCWF.

Dorito: Yes, this room is a shell. And I am the ghost. But this computer is my way out.

Alicia: What are you even talking about? You're not a ghost and the way out of the room is through the door. Or the window, your pick. But there are a bunch of people downstairs who want to see you so why don't you come down?

Dorito sits silent for several seconds, then looking at the screen, he begins typing once again.

Alicia: Fine. Be like this. Sonic would have at least known how to have a good time even when he didn't want to.

Alicia closes the door behind her as she leaves, and Dorito freezes in place. The time slowly creeps by as Dorito sits motionless, and the scene fades out as a ripple in the image is seen. Or do you refuse to admit seeing it again?