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A hand held camera flashes to life.

A dog eating its own feces. The scene in Gladiator where Joquin Phoenix gets stabbed. Actual footage of 9/11. Static. Video of El Hijo Del Crusher in Puerto Rico getting stabbed in the forehead repeatedly in a civic center to the witness of 100 people. Janet Jackson’s tits getting shown at the Grammy’s. Hillary Clintons Benghazi trial. Hiro Shin-Mozas molesting a 12 year old boy. A picture of Richard Nixon in a bingo hall bowling. A woman stepping on a man’s testicles in stiletto. A live vivisection of a kitten. Footage from Mel Gibsons Passion of The Christ. Muammar Gaddafi getting a machete shoved up his a**s. More static. Silence.



We cut to the ring. It is dark. A spotlight shines on the middle of the ring. An illuminated Staff Member Russo reaches up into the sky as a microphone descends down into the palm of his hand. The New Yorker stares out into the darkness. Prestige. Class. Pride. This is what defined the political climate and culturally impact of late 2001 WCW. The droning chants of Hindu Monks is heard in the background as candles light the ring of what could very well be the final episode of the “Freak” Show Starring Freakshow with Special Guest: Vince Russo. The greatest booker in the history of professional wrestling
begins to speak into the microphone.

“There are different modes of working shoots:
There are worked works
These are works that we know are works
There are worked shoots
These are works we think are shoots but are really works
But there are also shooted shoots
To shoot a shoot is to shoot yourself into a work that's really a shoot.
The following is not a work. Or a shoot. Or a worked shoot. Or a shooted work. The following is an entirely new hybrid of kayfabe that will redefine the framework not only of professional wrestling but of life as we know it.
Tonight, we Enter The Valley of The HYPERSHOOT”

A second spotlight flashes down. Freakshow is illuminated in desert military gear and a Ski Mask over his head with several golden crucifix chains weighing down his neck. Leaning back against the coffin he too reaches for the sky as a microphone descends from the heaven into his hand. He could feel the walls closing in on him. The Jews. The SS. The Banks. The Arabs. All of them and their dirty money. Tonight would be his last will and testament. Pulling the Ski Mask over half of his face to expose his mouth he literally presses his lips against the microphone muffling the sound of his own voice as he begins to speak softly.

Freakshow climbs ontop of the casket. Wobbly slightly he finds his balance before standing tall. Putting his hand over his heart he removes the rest of the Ski Mask from his head revealing a crooked Swastika tattooed into his forehead. As the camera zooms in it is evident that whoever had performed the tattooing was not a professional and that with the procedure significant scarring had occurred. Penetrating the camera with his gaze the bleach blonde begins to speak:


On the top of the stage a third spotlight flashes down on Bad Boy behind a DJ booth. The MC of the event with Good Question ominously standing behind him removes the round sunglasses from his eyes. Cranking up the bass on the super fat audio he begins the music of the first guest of the evening!

Freakshow bobs his head hard to the banging and crashing of the AC/DC classic. Greeting the FWU he high fives each member of the group dousing hand sanitizer on his palm before grabbing Lynn and pulling her in for an innocent kiss on the cheek. Now was the time for worship. Now was the time for the highest rated segment in the history of WWFG. Now was the time that all men would be shown the light and bathed in the golden showers of gods eternal grace for this was the moment for which small naked children trembled at the touch of the lord. Russo whose face was red with ecstasy steps forward, holding up his IPhone 6 the screen illuminates his face for all the good people to see as he read the contents of his message:

"GUYS! GUYS! I just got a message from HR. This is the ALREADY HOTTEST DRAWING ANGLE in the HISTORY of WWFG! We are .4 percent HIGHER than the time MIKE LANDRY kidnapped and RAPED Phoenixfire! GOD BLESS this day! This is BETTER than when we found NUCLEAR WEAPONS in IRAQ. This is BETTER than when OUR LOCAL SPORTS TEAM won the Superbowl against YOUR LOCAL SPORTS TEAM! This is BETTER than TRUMP winning NEVADA for now we know that on this day OUR GOD is an AWESOME GOD!!"

Freakshow had tears in his eyes. His hands were shaking. His eyes were red. He shook his head rapidly. Something was wrong with the Marauder. Something was terribly wrong. He was distraught. Haunted. The FWU and some of the Choir boys rush forth begging of their master what was the matter. What had brought such a fit of despair from their glorious leader who had in his prosperity returned glory to the WWFG. He had made WWFG great again and yet still he suffered? Why was this? The answer was simple, in between exaggerated sobs his voice cracks:


The champion buries his head in his hands and begins sobbing. For all that he had put man through. For everything he had done to him. It appeared that Freakshow did genuinely care about the dearly deceased glorified midcarder who had played jobber to the stars for the real big dog in the house. Had the WWFG, after all, had a champion that was actually had the it factor it is entirely possible that Freak would have never gotten his shot at the big one. Despite all the trash talk, all the hate, and the complete insincerity of literally everything the blonde had been saying he did owe quite a bit to the man whose arm he had snapped. Russo steps in. Putting his hand of Freaks shoulder.

"B-But FREAK! Didn't you know?! There was ONE angle by HIRO that DREW MONEY--There was one SEGMENT by HIRO that got so many BUYS that for awhile--You--ME--EVERYONE--We all thought that he might be something other than an ENHANCEMENT WORKER with SLIGHTLY ABOVE AVERAGE workrate! Don't you remember it Freaky baby?! Why don't we ROLL THE FOOTAGE!"

The titantron lurches to life. We are taken back to the 2011 3rd Annual WWFG dance competition. The competition where Hiro had debut'd in WWFG. The departed was a far different man in those days. For many this footage would be new considering that it had been expunged from the records of the company for quite some time. However on account of personal reasons and research Vince Russo had kept footage of the infamous segment in his archives. For many new fans this would be their first exposure to Hiro-Shin Mozas live on-air molestation of a 12 year old boy:


The entire audience is rendered to stunned silence. Freakshow stares at the titantron of dried tears on his eyes. He had somehow forgotten entirely be it through traumatic repression or short term memory loss the very existence of such an angle. Judging by the reaction of fans many had had similar coping mechanisms. The blonde had also forgotten the long rambling drunken voice message he had left on Hiro's answering wherein he complimented for the very first time Shin-Mozas on his performance. Glumly and blankly he remarks.



As he says these very words the coffin behind him slowly begins to creek open.

Freakshow as soon as the music hits reaches for his pants. Tearing them off his ripping his shirt from his body he is now clad in only a skin colored thong. Holding his hand up one of the choir boys tosses him his El Hijo Del Crusher mask. Putting it over his head the blonde begins scratching his arm pit and crouching low making loud monkey sounds as all who occupied in the ring began to shuck and jive.



The champion having difficulty differentiating the T-Pain lookalike from the boy who he was impersonating was overcome with carnal desire. Nearly foaming at the mouth he lunges at the rapper wrapping his arms around the African American he begins bumping and grinding against the individual, pushing him up against the coffin while simulating necrophilia with the man disguised as a deceased 12 year old boy.



Crying out Russo reaches into his jacket to produce a pill bottle as the FWU restrains Freak pulling him away from T-Pain. As this happens the music scratches to a stop and Bad Boy begins playing the entrance theme to the next guest who as the reverend would be giving Hiro Shin-Mozas his last rites. All eyes turn to the stage.

Surprisingly, the man who was famous for literally sucking a ducks p***s in the middle of the ring didn't have much to say positively about anyone. Not even his ex partner who upon hearing his insult, bozo, flinched slightly. He felt a cold wind and stepped backwards. Maybe it just felt cold because he was still wearing his flesh covered thong. Maybe the Holocaust never happened or maybe the numbers were just exaggerated. Was JFK really shot or did somebody just eat too many pineapple brick sandwiches. These were questions for history. History was written by the winners. Fox wasn't a winner. Fox sucked duck and winners don't suck duck winners are the duck and Freak laid the golden egg that hatched the duck. As T-Pain spasmed and writhed on the ground in T-Pain the blonde hears the piercing bronze beauty of Russo's voice.

"GIVE IT UP FOR FOX EVERYONE! WOOO. WE'VE GOT ANOTHER GUEST COMING OUT. I WANT EVERYONE TO STAND UP. PUT YOUR HANDS TOGETHER. FOR THE WINNER OF THE 2016 HIRO SHIN-MOZAS IMPERSONATOR CONTEST..."

BEHOLD THE KING
THE KING OF KINGS
ON YOUR KNEES DOUG

Steam rises from the stage as out from the smoke comes a man who had to be around 200 lbs of sedentary fat accumulated from a lifetime of making Youtube videos of Pokemon unboxing that nobody watched and masturbating to pictures of Triple H while crying. The individual whose facial hair bore startling resemblance to female genitalia stood perfectly still on the ramp undoubtedly thrilled to have presented himself on a stage larger than that of the New Jersey independent scene where he, due to his oppressively unathletic nature, was resigned to managing a C-level worker who he secretely harbored homosexual feelings for. Fans were dumbfounded. Of what relation was this man to the real Hiro Shin-Mozas?

"From NEW JERSEY--JAKE... FRATO!"

Freakshow stares dumbfounded. THIS was the winner of the Hiro Shin-Mozas Impersonator Contest?! Say what you will about Hiro, say he never drew a dime, that he couldn't work his way out of a paper bag, that he abused dogs, but never let it be said that he wasn't a physical specimen. 240 lbs of Puerto Rican steel that could survive any beating, any thrashing and live to tell about it. This little f*****t couldn't survive taking a shower with the lights on. He wasn't built for wrestling. He was built for shitty Family Guy impersonations and warm handshakes with the palms just wet enough to be anxiety sweat but not wet enough to have been water from washed hands. Standing in the ring Jake Frato has the complexion of a very large baby frog with a glint on his neck which appeared thoroughly chapped. Holding the microphone to his big puffy s**c lips Russo begins beat boxing.

"I'M FRATOMON
AND I'M HERE TO SAY
I'M STILL A VIRGIN!
AND THAT"S OK!

I'M THE BEST AT RAP
AND IF YOU DISAGREE
YOUR FULL OF CRAP!!

WHATS A CONDOM?!
I DON'T KNOW!
BUT I KNOW WHO DOES..
MY MAN FREAKSHOW!!

THATS RIGHT, THE CEO
YOU CAN'T GO TOE TO TOE
WITH THE KING OF YOLO!

WHILE HE ******** TRICKS
I GET CUCKOLDED
I STROKE MY d**k
WHILE THEY GET FOLDED

IF ONE THINGS FOR SURE
I'M A TOTAL ******** BETA MALE
THE MIDNIGHT MARAUDER?!
IS TOO... BIG... TO FAIL!!"

Something dawned on Freakshow as he watched this performance. This...man. Who Russo had brought out as an impostor, a fake, a man who superficially had nothing in common with Hiro Shin-Mozas, was in some ways, spiritually a grotesque fun house mirror version of the dearly departed. In fact, one could venture to say that this man who we had all thought to be a fake better embodied the spirit of the Hated One than the real Hiro Shin-Mozas did. Weak. Fat. A cuckold. Boring. His autistic preoccupation with Pokemon reflected the real Hiro's narrow minded focus on becoming The Best The Very Best (Like No One Ever Was). Only this goal was unobtainable. Jake Frato would never collect all the Pokemon. Hiro would never be a top level, main event talent. It was a vain, masturbatory pursuit of a goal that lay behind the glass ceiling which both men would snap their necks on. The only difference was Hiro was a muscle bound warrior whose infant brain was competely disproportionate to the physical reality of his appearance. Fratomon, on the other hand, physically reflected the unconscious truth of the deceased Shin-Mozas insofar as he was, and always will be, an underdeveloped manchild that looked like the ultimate turbovirgin.

In this sense, Freakshow realized, Jake Frato was the real Hiro Shin-Mozas. At this moment he became aware, all too aware, that he had entered the Valley of The Hypershoot. He no long could tell whether or not this man was his enemy or an impostor for they were one in the same. Both empty promises of men. He swallowed hard. His hands began to shake. He gone too far. He had worked himself into a shoot. Or had he shot himself into a work? The center couldn't hold and his entire mental framework was collapsing. He had to end this. He had to kill Hiro Shin-Mozas once and for all. Reaching for the nearby table he graps a sharpened fork. Lunging at Fratomon he drives the weapon into the top of his forehead. Blood spurts out from his head. The audience gasps in shock. Freak looks down at the man with blood in his eyes:



Freakshow stands over the twitching, bleeding young mans shoulders. Slowly he squats as all in attendance watch in total silence. Pulling his thong up to expose the crack of his a** but not his d**k because that was bad he spreads his cheeks. Concentrating his chi and centering his balance clenches his eyes shut in preparation to s**t into Jake Fratos mouth.

Supreme p***y ***** took it to the maximum point of humanity but not without mental repercussions of the conflict between real talk and having 5 Cadillacs. In any event boss was feeling like lobster rolls in a cool tank without enough General Tso's chicken to overcome Liberal Democracy. African-Americans are fed up with the fact that no one can even elect the new President without a picture of photo identification inside of CM Punks MMA Career. The entire ring was covered in hot mayonnaise and buttercup sauce. Comedian Bobby Lee was lying on the ground after eating too many raw oysters. Black Steven Richards was moaning in pain as the Champion looked out into the ocean while the sun began to dawn on Cleveland. Damn, no one ever thought it would go down like this. No one ever though thought that he would take his talents to South Beach. However in spite of himself he could feel the revolution was coming like a solar flare shooting from his a**s. Reaching into his thong he removes his Swedish sausage while Skrillex hits the button playing the karaoke EDM mix of My Country Tis of Thee. A massive American Flag descends from the sky:

"MY COUNTRY TIS OF THEE
SWEET LAND OF LIBERTY
OF THEE I SIIIIIIIIIIIIING

LAND WHERE MY FATHERS DIED
LAND OF THE PILGRIMS PRIDE
FROM EVERY MOUNTAIN SIDE
LET FREEDOM RING!!!"