XWF∞

เɳɦµɱαɳε

A Radical Production

Walk you scoundrel. Don't slow down to look around or wave goodbye.

It's no ones fault but yours you wandered into this bee hive.

I can't save you, and neither can fate.

Not this day. Not this day.

Sad insufficiencies have led you to now, to be put down, to be put down.

I told you not to come at me or my future Crown.

Listen to your veins fill with enigmatic poison, the sweetest sound.

And now, you drowned.

Seven seconds give you all you need to see. A SHain diagram written in crayon for all the world to see.

Marching him down to where his final steps are shackled. Fuck last words, don't make me fucking cackle.

Prophet provides the pissing in the wind approach. All I can decipher is one more twitching squashed roach.

I won't be kind, or allow discretions to stand in analogs of XWF gains. I'm gonna do something fucking inhumane.

In and out, hand over your mouth, I'm gonna take you somewhere that's below SHain's mouth.

Screaming and squirming are my favorite reactions, especially from two BDSM bottoms afraid of the action.

Daddy is here to show you the meaning of pain. You'll remember the size, the girth, and the fucking radical name...

We open to an industrial sized freezer somewhere in the midwest. Circling around the massive unit revealing peeling letters reading "s ow job set ar a restr ct d"  just above the rear entry doors. Screeching of a sand belt gnaws at some material as the camera sneaks through the cracked open door and steadily zooms in. Panning with a bobbing and weaving motion to avoid wire tool hangers, catching glimpses of a man with a welding hood over his face at some type of cutting table; he is slightly more visible vaguely through each incursion, the shot makes it's way tediously through them with pace. Finally a clearing shows the man's back, as the angle raises over his shoulder. Switching to his manically transfixed eyes illuminating the screen with morbid delight. He twists the item he's holding, examining his work with detailed precision. Sweat beads down his inner mask shield, fogging more with each passing moment. After exact measurements, a cleaning, and further final inspection... a smirk.

"It's perfect. Forged from the bone of his own kind."

Back to the overhead shot expanding, a hideously horrifying display of piled up hogm body parts lines the inside of the "s ow job" refrigeration unit.

"BEHOLLLDDD! IN ALL OF IT'S MAJESTY! THE SCAT SPEAR OF HOGM!"

A waxed finished bone carved masterpiece glistens in the dim UV lights of the cold fridge. Gabe's expression is murderous with inhumane appreciation for its built in capabilities.

"Ohhhh my precious. You will plunge into the heart of that hogm bastard! Then I'll club the prophet with his own beliefs in effigy!"

Feet shuffle as a whimpering is heard. Ugly hogm eyes peak out from behind one of the old "s ow job" containers labeled "Lane's best idea." Gabe looks startled for a moment, then reminds himself of the spear in his own hands. His restless demented eyes linger at the possibility of testing his newest extermination device. He moves slowly toward where the sounds originated. Deep hogm murmuring can be heard. Gabe rounds a corner as the feet scurry further away with a limping shuffle. He moves to the end of the unit, realizing it couldn't have gone out, then bends down, lifting up a "sn w job" promotional sheet from the "collector's crematorium."  A small hogm girl missing her foot cries thick brown runny tears. Gabe holds out his hand with a reassuring glare reflecting back at her. She refuses to take it. He insists, changing his expression, with a suggestive nod of where she should come out and stand. She finally relents, exiting the sheeted icy "sn w job" undercarriage, standing on her good stub. Gabe wipes a brown tear from her cheeks as it plops down. Disgusted, he rubs it on the wall. Another one splatters out like SHain's words. Her tear ducts boil over into a dry sputtering drain. It angers Gabe, reminding him of the hogm King. His hands grasp the Scat Spear of Hogm tighter, as he slices the little hogm girl in half. She dumps into two pieces. Little bits of corn and beans can be seen in her undigested dark brown bloodless sloppy remains. Gabe snaps his gloves on tighter, then reaches into the shit to pull out the core bone. Struggling to find it, his expression finally says bingo, he pulls it as the rest of the shit slides into another pile.

"Great, now I can make a dagger too."

He quickly shuffles back to the cutting table. The machine starts up again as the camera cuts back to the flattened pile of shit left from the hogm girl, her separated shitty eyes still blinking within the mound.

Dispatching of dirty old men isn't as hard as it seems. You just have to make them wish they were dead before they actually are. Deep inside they already feel it coming. Age and attrition play on their tolerance for breaths each day. My job is to twist the tip of the spear that already exists, then plunge in my own just to get it over with. Savor every endless twitch and noise. Death is like a fine wine. If you let it sit and decant it properly, it can be devilishly divine. You two can call me the devil if that helps. Pretend I am the reason you can't measure up anymore. I can take the guilt, the weight of your eternal sacrifices. Let go of all the ties that bind you here, and be one with the afterlife of quiet fear. Shhhh, it's not gonna be okay. Not even close, shit stain.

The time for that has long since been forgotten. Covered in cobwebs by your own delinquency to acknowledge it. Hogm of the table... my cutting table. It doesn't discriminate which side you sit on, or how big your chair is. You won't need it when you're just another pile of worthless hogm shit. The smell can be decadent. But I prefer the whimpers. Then comes the rage. Liz is going to notice more than your head being too big. That's not news to anyone as it is. This time she'll have to pick up the pieces... literally. An arm here, a leg there, the only identifiable part left will be the dick you leave in prophet's mouth. What's it to you? Just another hogm Friday? You forgot about the Frenzy. The one where the title you had, that Prophet stole in the middle of the night becomes mine. For all the hogm world to despise. Or will they? Are you more than just a parlor trick? A cliché walking around reminding us all of why we want to kill ourselves? Prove it, fucker. show us all something that isn't just you covered in everyone else's shit. You want a revolution, you want to change the way things are done around here, Hogm of the Table? Then sit down and shut the fuck up. Feel the tip of this spear nudging you, prodding you to the end of the plank. Then plunge into the darkness you already feel coming. The emptiness you have already forged through neglect and pure unadulterated fuckery that allowed this diarrheic mess in the first place. It should feel familiar, but it won't be as warm as you're used to. And the spear is not using a condom. Why would it? Safe sex is for people who have normal heads. Not freaks who want to be loved. That's called birth control. If only we'd gotten there in time. Your Petey needs to be found? Talk about an understatement. You haven't had balls since the year of Christ. Because ever since then your God has been a vin number on the back of an oxy bottle.

I'm not here to give you pick me ups, SHain. I'm here to smear what's left of your constipated name.

You will never know what it's like to look a hogm girl in her face and slice her in half. It's liberating. And I didn't even have to pay up front for detox pills.

The only thing better than spilling the defecating abomination that is another hogm is closing the mouth of an endless wannabe salesman like you, Prophet. Yet your transparency is what is truly heavenly. Profit is exactly what you're about. Taking advantage of the simple minded to get what you want in the name of what they claim to want. It's a scam as old as time. Did you and SHain grow up together or something? Good, you can die together too.

Because if I have to listen to one more of your sermons about you "being as good as me if me and you see what we've seen and be where we be," then I'll fucking hang myself at the alter of your vagina. Grow a pair, that's what it means. Funny how meaning seems to escape someone so befitting of the hoax, ay? That's what it is. Don't kid yourself. You're a walking talking ventriloquist dummy.  Bobbing your head every time someone says something you can agree with to make a buck. It's almost as disgusting as hogm muck. Almost. Rest assured, that will end on the date of our encounter. Then you can bare false witness telling the masses that you've seen the second coming. Because me beating you within an inch of your life is the closest thing to a white light you're ever going to see. Men like us, we burn, we don't float on clouds. We get a special suite in hell right next to all the other assholes who thought they were better. You're not better. Neither am I. But I don't go around pretending to be something I'm not. Worth everyone else's time. Worth time and attention stolen to make myself feel like I have a prime. You don't. Your prime was taken by the Priests in your make believe coven, and now the rest will be taken by me. Because inhumane things are going to become common practice for anyone who decides they are holier than thou, above consequence, and beyond recognition. Here's your vow, it's readable from the boot print I leave in your forehead. Can you see it? Try looking under your dress. Try being more than a religious preachy Billy Mays with a hairier chest.

I am inhumane. I will not be defeated by Head's of anything, or Lord's of anyone. Your individual searches for purpose and understanding will end at my feet. Your need to fool others into being sheep will meet my need to divide and conquer. My will will overtake yours in an endless spiral of beautiful beheadings. With a slice thud here, and a tumble plop there. Here a thud, there a plop, everywhere a thud, plop. Old SHain'donald had a farm, and on it the "E's" and "I's" were replaced by "Oh shits."

Don't even start Prophet, close your lips before we all hear the sound of me silencing them. You can't intimidate me with words jumbled into sentences backwards just to get a few bucks in the collection tray. You are the collection. An entire one built up over time of false promises and even falser narratives. Bullshit isn't a religion, it's a cult. Made up of the weakest common denominators who search for purpose in a goat among other sheep. My sleepnumber is one, bitch. As in the one who will be standing over your defiled remains and a hapless mound of SHain come Friday Night. This is about more than a title called Frenzy. It's about creating the tone that will be set for all those who enjoy its fruits forever. What would it mean if some prodigal full of himself gypsy like you won? Nothing. And what about a Hogm of a Table in the diaper forest? Even less. It's not just my duty to put you down, it's my supreme pleasure. Every part of me shouts to just do it already. Every part of SHain slides down your prophetic legs ready to be flushed already. So while you're out there running your mouth counting sheep like a demented herder from God knows where- I'll be holding up the strap you both were ignorant enough to leave within my reach. Setting an example, instead of having one made out of. This singular thing, this match, this fight, will set forth the dawn of what XWF will be. Not what it was, what it will forever be... Radically.

Keep running on for as long you want. Longtime liar, midnight scat rider, I'll tell ya both the same.

I'll be the Head, Lord, and God you two seem so desperate to find or imitate.

Only, sooner or later, this God's gonna cut you down.

I'd bet on sooner. Bitch.