[Foreword] Everything was back to full circle as I made my way back to Chicago. Well, with the exception of the hardcore title, which resides with Hardcore Hulin. Ah, yes, everything was back to normalcy. My wife was back to bitching and nagging about my new face modifications. Victor Blood never really changed and continued with great strides on making asshole of the year. Fearinhell continues to annoy the piss out of me and comes one step closer to a smack across the face as the days go by. Mini Sutton, well, he’s doing whatever the hell he does. As for me, I’m still alive. And as long as I’m still alive I’ll be eating coal, pissing fire, and ruining each of your days.
[Scene] The scene opens up in the Sutton household. Josh, Ashley, and Victor sit in the living room. They’re watching Hell to Pay that Ashley had recorded. The match between Sutton and Hardcore Hulin is being shown and Ashley is quick to bury her face in Josh’s shoulder with every gruesome maneuver pulled off.
Blood: I have one question for you, Josh. How in the bloody hell did you lose that match?
Sutton: You asked me that four fucking times on the way home from California, Vic. The answer still remains the same. It just happened. I got one-upped by the better man on that night. There’s nothing I can do about it. So with that said, let it go.
Blood: Fair enough. But what about this kid you’re facing this week? What’s his name.
Sutton: J Stevenson, and to tell you the truth that’s about all I know of the guy. I don’t care to know anymore. I’m not going into this match looking to make a new friend, so information about him isn’t necessary. I’ve got one goal and that’s to walk in, put him down for the count, and walk out of that arena as the NEW United States champion.
Blood: I was shifting through some papers and I found the card for this week. You know, no where on here does it state that this match between Stevenson and yourself is going to be Asylum rules.
Sutton: What’s that supposed to mean?
Blood: Well, I’m just saying this might put a little added pressure on you. This will be your first contest outside of the Asylum rule allowance. You’re going to have to out-think and out-wrestle J Stevenson.
Sutton: What’s your point, Vic? Unlike a lot of these chair swinging, die-for-the-sport hardcorites, I know my roots. I don’t care if I have to beat this son of a bitch to death with a chair, out-wrestle him, or hell, Vic, even kill him. That United States title is leaving with me on Wednesday.
[Scene] The sound of a door closing can be heard. Seconds later Fearinhell emerges into the room carrying two large boxes of what appears to be pizza. Sutton looks at the boxesa nd an annoyed look washes over his face.
Sutton: What the hell is that?
Fearinhell: Gee, Sutton, I dunno. It looks like pizza to me.
Sutton: I'm well aware of what that is, moron. I mean what brand?
Fearinhell: Oh! It's Slappy's. I've been hearing some good things about it. Pizza Hut was packed, so I decided to go with this.
Blood: Ah yes, the Snoops endorsed pizza. This I have got to try.
Sutton: This is ridiculous! Who in the fuck does this guy think he is? I remember just a few years back, this guy was nothing. He was the top of the bottom and the bottom of the top. Now he's one of those fucking 'rags to riches' stories. He comes in here with his stupid little catchphrases and tries to commercialize this sport. I don't like it and I can't wait to sit back on Wednesday with the US title around my waist and watch Ryan Knite plant a boot firmly in The Snot's ass.
Fearinhell: Dude, Sutton, it's just a damn pizza. Calm down, there's no need to have a feminine march through the middle of the living room over it.
[Scene] Everyone 'digs' in, with the exception of Sutton whom sits there with a dumbfounded look on his face. The others seem to be really enjoying the pizza and the temptation is simply too much for Josh. He grabs a slice, takes a small bite and immediately spits it back out, coughing madly.
Sutton: What the hell is this?! It tastes like a mixture of refried beans, corn syrup, and natural ass flavoring on a piece of fucking cardboard.
Fearinhell: Oh, come on Sutton! You didn't even give it a chance. I find it to be pretty damn good for a piece of pizza.
Sutton: Well here, you fuckin' eat it then.
[Scene] Sutton throws the pizza, smacking Dan Baker right in the face with it. It falls to his lap, leaving a trail of pizza sauce, sausage, and pepperoni in the midst. Baker looks as if he's going to retaliate but instead begins crying and prompty runs from the room like a raped school girl.
Sutton: And that guy has the nerve to tell me I was having a feminist march. Someone get that guy a binkie and a blankie and put him down for a nap. He's seen far too much excitement for one day. Ashley, maybe you should breast feed him while you're at it. You two seem to be eyeing one another an awful lot.
Ashley: Ugh! How dare you!
Sutton: Ugh! How dare me! Go wash some dishes or load some laundry.
[Scene] Ashley, like Baker, has had her feel and she exits the room steaming. Sutton looks over at Victor with a smirk.
Blood: Well then, now that the morons are out of the way. Let's devise a plan, shall we?
Sutton: You've read my mind, you cynical old bastard.
[Scene] Sutton and Victor begin calculating a fool proof plan, but unfortunately due to a privacy act passed by Bill Clinton in 1995, we're not allowed to let you view the details. You know the drill... The scene begins to fade.. to.. black.