~The Bad Mutha Fukas...One of wrestlings all-time great stables? Maybe. Who's to say? I mean sure, they can wipe the mat with guys like Messanger and Vegeta. They are truly great in that aspect. And no one can forget their catchy twelve year old catch phrases: "...A FLYING FROG FUCK ON A FROSTY FRIDAY MORNING!...They are true greats of our time, when it comes to speaking with the language of a fifth grader. Or perhaps it's their bickering and whining that makes them so great in everybody's book of legends. If you rank greatness of whether or not they sound like a group of fifteen year old school girls compaling about the one having bigger tits that the rest of the bunch, then sure, I'll go with that, they're great. But when it comes to wrestling, when it comes to what true greatness is based on, they're good...but they're not that good.~

~The scene opens in a very small town somewhere in Arizona. A large red brick house sits in the background. Many trees and shrubs surround this house as if to keep the resident’s activities completely private. A seven foot privacy fence sits the right of the house and extends to the very rear of the house, then winds around, and ends on the opposite side in the front. A large brick mailbox sits out near the street. The name on it is faded, but still readable. The name reads: The Johnson's. As the view of the mailbox changes to the wide street, a large, black, stretch limousine pulls up in front of the house and comes to a screaching halt. The windows are severely tinted and the license plates reads: 4KITTY. The driver’s door opens and a small English man steps out. He adjusts his coat, places his hat upon his head, and slips on a pair of white gloves. He slams his door and walks around to the near side of the limousine. He raps on the window a couple times, opens it, and steps to the side waiting for the man or woman on the inside to step out. After a few seconds of pondering who this man could be, we find out. A man standing six foot seven and weighing around 250 pounds steps out. He wears tan kakhi pants and a white polo shirt with a black trenchcoat over top. His boots are black steel toed work boots, and a pair of shades cover his mysterious eyes. On his left cheek a large scar can be noticed. It extends from his right nostril to his right eye. The man motions to the driver and begins walking up the concrete steps to the house beyond. The driver opens the trunk of the limousine and pulls out three large bags and one suitcase. He follows the large star up to the house where Jason Sensation then knocks three times. Soon thereafter the door opens and a well known man to the wrestling world appears before him. The man at the door stands about six feet tall and weighs around 230 pounds. He wears blue jeans and a white t-shirt. Jason dwarfs this man, but Les Johnson doesn’t back down, he just stands there, staring a whole right through Jason. Just as we tend to believe a rumble is going to break out between the two, the men embrace each other and share a laugh. Les invites the Jason into his home and just as he is about to close the door to his huge brick house, an ASW cameraman, who had been lurking in the shadows hoping to get a word with the newly signed ASW star, gets his foot in the doorway. Les looks at him with an annoyed eye and then glances at Jason. He too looks a bit annoyed, but gives him the nod to let him in. Jason and Les shake hands and part ways as Jason heads into the living room and Les takes his bags upstairs. Toward the rear of the room sits a rather large bar complete with every alcoholic drink imaginable. Jason mans the bar and motions for the cameraman to belly up. Jason poors a couple of drinks for the two of them and gives the ASW employee another look of annoyance~

Jason Sensation: So let me guess...you followed my limo, stuck your fat foot in my humble guest's doorway, bummed a drink from me, and now you want me to give you my two cents about the latest happenings in the ASW, right?

~The cameraman just sits there with a flushed look on his face, looking down at the wooden floor, and nods his head in agreement~

Jason Sensation: Yeah, that's what I thought. You f*CENSORED*ing camera guys, always wanting more, more more more. Can't you just be satisfied with an autograph, or a hand shake?

~The cameraman peeks out form behind the camera in response to Jason's comments~

Cameraman: I'm just doing my job Sensation, you know that...

~Jason shakes his head and takes a large gulp from his glass, not even leaving a single drip. He drags out three bottles from under the counter mixes himself a drink as he speaks~

Jason Sensation: I 'spose so...Well you're here, and you've driven off my host, so why don't we just get on with it already. Fair enough?

~The cameraman nods in agreement~

Jason Sensation: Alright then. No need for your lilly ass to ask the questions, we wouldn't want you to hurt yourself thinking some shit up. I'll handle the little interview, you just sit there and look like the pretty little jackass that you are.

~Jason takes another shot from his glass and fills it up again. He lowers his head for a moment before finding his words~

Jason Sensation: First things first. Sunday night marked a night that the ASW, especially the BMF, will never forget. Not it wasn't Christopher Green winning the world strap, it wasn't The Dominator becoming the first ever Canadian heavyweight champion. No it was something even more spectacular than all of that that made Sunday night a memorable one. Two men...two men who have been absent as of late from the wrestling scene...showed their faces one again. And ladies and gents, I'd say we left a pretty sour taste in the mouth of ASW. You know for the past year or so, all I've heard about was the Bad Mutha Fukas. No matter where you turned someone had the BMF rolling off his tongue. Oh, their so great, they're the best in the business....WRONG! You could never be more wrong! I was there folks, I was BMF. Hey Vegas, Tann, remember this. "I'm BMF through and through 'til the end!" What a load of shit! You two illiterate bastards were duped from day one! I was NEVER BMF! Sure I wore the shirts, screwed the women, and rode the buses. But did you actually think that I gave a rat's ass about your little group of flamers? Not for one damn second did I worry about the BMF or what it stands for! Tann buddy old pal, you should have known. Out of all the gullible shits in the bunch, you should have known better. Do you think I could just let bygons be bygons! Hell no! I'll never forgive, and I'll never forget! Sunday was just a taste, just a smidgid of what is about to come your way pal. Vital member, you're damn right! Ketstone member, you bet your ass I was a keystone member! I'm not going to sit out here and bullshit with you on how I held the BMF together. But I will say this, you sure as hell have a lot of people brainwashed into thinking you bunch of f*CENSORED*s are as great as you say. I know guys. I know exactly what you all are made of. And you ain't even close to where you say you are. Hell, I'll even go as far as saying you and your chum, Vegas, aren't on OUR level. No, I don't want your pissy titles, I want more! It's simple really, I want the downfall of the BMF! You two "legends" know as well as anyone, that I don't stop, til I get what I want. The shit stops here, and so does BMF! Tann, I don't care where it starts or with who it starts, but It'd make my f*CENSORED*ing day is you were the first to step up to the plate boy...

~Jason finishes up with his drinky drink and places the bottles back under the counter. He moves across the room and takes a seat on a nearby sofa. The cameraman sits in the leather recliner across from him~

Jason Sensation: Oh I ain't done with the BMF yet, not 'til I speak my mind on good old Double V himself...What can I say? You're a gullible bitch! You thought I was BMF 'til the end? You thought I had your backs no matter what, through thick and thin, for better or for worse, and all that horse shit!? WELL YOU THOUGHT WRONG BITCH! Look at yourself Vinny, now look at me. Did you honestly think that a man the caliber of myself would be stuck in some third rate group of Teletubbie watching fruits? You truly are stupid Vin-man. So you had my name engraved into the Hall Of Fame huh? Right under such greats as Sonny Lightning, Bryan Tann, and yourself? Aw, I feel so, so, honored!

~Jason tries to hold back the laughter, but it seems to slip out. He gathers himself and looks straight into the camera with a shiteating grin on his face~

Jason Sensation: Well whoopy f*CENSORED*ing do! You think that I actually give two left testicles whether you had me inducted into the prestegious Hall Of Fame or not? Damn you really are as stupid as X-T looks! Hall Of Fames don't mean shit to me, you're tag team titles don't mean shit to me. The only thing I'm striving for is to rid the wrestling world of you f*CENSORED*ing idiots! You can take all that other garbage and stick it right up your ass where it belongs Vinny! I really don't care. You can cut me from your little groupie, you can take my name off the friggin plaque, you can get pissed all you want. But the fact of the matter is this. We're here, and we're here to stay ladies. And you're in for the ride of your lives! Sooner or later Vinny, you're goning to have to step up to the big time. And when that time comes, you're goning to wish you stuck to stocking shelves at the Kwiki Mart...

~Jason flips on the television, obviously not wanting to go any further~

Cameraman: Um, Jason? You did get the memo didn't you? The one about Friday night's houseshow? You're fighting Vodhka...

~Jason pauses from flipping through the channels and looks toward the camera~

Jason Sensation: Oh don't worry, I can handle my liquor. Friday night, same old, same old. Even if I am fighting an alcoholic beverage. You no I fear no beer, or liquor for that matter. Vodhka....ah shit you're not even worth my words. Friday begins the revolution. Pay attention boys and girls. Drag out your old paper and pen, take some notes, Ass Whoopin' 101 is now in session! And as always, I don't dissappoint, and you...