Post by Phil Atken on Nov 24, 2012 17:43:41 GMT -4
We find ourselves in the company, as can often happen on a dark and stormy November night in the company of Phil Atken and his merry band of advisers and protectors. They appear to be combing over a large amount of paperwork, with papers tossed, balled up and coffee ringed all over a selection of different tables. Folding tables, card tables, coffee tables, dining tables, you name it, they have a table that could very well fit into your definition.
Yes, all of your favourites were there, Phil Atken of course, he's no doubt the star of these situations but how could we forget Dirk Dickwood, Hank or indeed the newly hired council to Phil Atken on all matters technicality, Mr. Saul Slendamin.
Atken: So Saul, have we had any biters?
Slendamin: I'm still working on it, there were some nasty falls in that main event and I know for a fact there were a few hospital visits. I can't imagine these guys are happy about that but you know wrestlers and their machismo.
Atken: I hear some of them ooze it.
Slendamin: Indeed. It's a tough field to break. Some are afraid for their jobs. Some say they've already signed up for the “Sally Talfourd Liberation Front” whatever that means. Still, I think I have some biters.
Atken: Well, we just have to keep digging. I'll be damned if I let that gray hair megalomaniacal buffoon decide what kind of match me and the lovely Ms. Talfourd have at Christmas Chaos. The only way that we can ensure that we get the fair playing field that I deserve is through a little bit of leverage.
Slendamin: Aren't you at all worried the guys will catch on? I mean I'm sure they wouldn't be too happy with us using them as pawns.
Phil gives Saul a weary smile and bangs his hand on the table, perhaps in deep concentration, perhaps having some kind of fit. Still, either way he jumps out of his chair.
Atken: Saul, these men are already pawns. These men have had great bodily harm happen upon them because they have been successfully used as a form of meat based human circus entertainment, they have performed to the lowest of the lower classes by maiming each other for little to no reward. They will welcome us as liberators. They will thank us for opening their eyes. They will be better people after we take this forward. They will be better wrestlers. This will once again become a noble sport. A sport fit for tycoons of industry to appreciate. Not some low rent, working class, violence factory. It's heartbreaking to watch these true talents pick up their weapons and begin to gush blood like a damn fountain.
Slendamin: So, you're saying they'll welcome us? I'm just worried they might see this as a little callous on our part.
Phil tilts his head back and laughs an uproarious laugh. Well at least until he starts coughing anyway.
Atken: Callous? Oh Saul, that's why I hired you, you bring the laughs. They'll have to welcome us and our ideals. It was easy to laugh me off, dismiss me even when I had nothing to show for my message. It was easy to just walk away from listening to my firmly help principles when I was the “chat show guy”. After all, who was I to talk? I'd never proven myself in APW, I'd never climbed to that top rung that they were all clambering for. Now, through logic, through common sense and through mental prowess, I have achieved what many would think is unfathomable. I am one match away from becoming the World Heavyweight Champion. This is no longer a case of all mouth and no trousers. We now have a lot of trousers. I'm drowning in trousers over here.
Dirk Dickwood digs himself out of a mountain of paper work and chips in.
Dickwood: There's such a thing as taking a metaphor too far Phil. I think you drove that one off a cliff.
Atken: It's the point that counts.
Slendamin: So my instructions are continue to build up these formal complaints?
Atken: Until we have enough.
Slendamin: How many is that?
Atken: Enough for the balance of power to swing our way.
Saul looks over at Phil from the brim of his horn-rimmed glasses.
Slendamin: You do know I am billing you for following your vague instructions, right?
Atken: S'not my money, just get as many as you can.
Dirk once again interjects.
Dickwood: It IS my money but yeah, what he said.
Atken: See, Dirk knows a good investment when he sees one. He knows this is working. We have the proof. We have the contendership. It's ours and soon, the title will join our ranks. It's science. Simple, basic, lovely, beautiful, sexual, sensual science. It makes people uncomfortable to see it proven right. It send shivers up their spines as they slowly realise that these antiquated notions of “heart”, “gut”, “fighting spirit” and their ilk are meaningless in the face of a rational mind. People like Sally Talfourd and Anthony Bailey, they still like to believe that they just have to show “grit” and “determination” to make something of themselves. That they can determine their own destiny by sheer force of will. It's that false idea that's been sold to many throughout the years in the hope that it'll keep them quiet. That it will turn them against each other in competition to prove just who has the most “heart”. If they lose? Well, they just didn't have it them, whatever it is.
Then a man like me comes along and tries to explain to them that they've been fed a lie since birth. That's the sad thing, I haven't kept the secret to my success hidden in some kind of underground bunker under tight lock and key. I've been very open about it. I've tried to let my roster compatriots see that APW is trying to fatten them up on a lie to make massive profits off their back breaking labour and give them the smallest treat possible to keep them sweet. I hate to see it happening, it breaks my heart, so for months now I've tried to get people to open their eyes. I've tried to get those of the Asylum roster to say “ENOUGH!” but they've been unwilling to listen to me. They've had their heads buried in the sand because what I say shakes the very notion that someone like Sally Talfourd has peddled time and time again, that to be the best in this company, you have to have that unique talent, that you have to fight your way to the top, that you have to show that fighting spirit and through grit and determination, you can become champion. Even now, she is trying to form some kind of army by continuing to feed them this idea. She hopes that she can spread this message throughout the roster, perhaps in the hopes of quieten my voice. It's why I must win at Christmas Chaos, I must tear down the oppressor and if anyone represents that, it is the lovely Sally.
Phil grabs some water to drink. He looks down at a physical, real life soap box that is being used to store some of the piles of paper and begins to contemplate it, The camera cuts over the Saul, who appears to be deep within a phone conversation, he quickly waves the camera off and it pans back around to the grinning mug of Atken.
Atken: Now me? I come along and spit out some solid science and I get laughed at. Even now, people dismiss me. They say that my achievements at One Night in Hell and at the last Asylum were somehow due to fate conspiring against them. Instead, they have to realise the truth, they must open their eyes to the reality that I bested them because I understand the human condition. I under the science behind the desire that many of my opponents cling to. They are willing to tear each other to shreds to get to their ultimate goal, the World Heavyweight Championship but every single one of them is like a damn bull to a red rag to get there. They don't stop, they don't think, they just do and those in power like the esteemed Mr. Schmidt. They love that, they don't want thinkers, they don't want those who would challenge their authority, they want their Sallys, their Anthonys, their TJs, their Keatons. That's who they want to deal with. They don't want to deal with a man like Phil Atken because I'm dangerous to them. I upset to systems they put in place. I'm a damn aberration, I am what should not be and yet is. Good ole Russ Nailz, he called me “The Dark Horse” and damn if I don't wear that like a badge of pride. Of course, I'm not alone in being derided for understanding that the times, they are a changing.
Phil grabs a picture off one of the tables, it appears to be a signed framed picture of a rather skinny, bespectacled gentlemen with an awkward gangly look about him. Phil admires the picture for a few moments before turning it towards the camera.
Atken: Nate Silver. He's a man that fascinates me. He challenged that status quo much like I do. He carried the torch and bore the cross in the name of science and he was much derided for it. He was a man who though he could use statistics to improve baseball and those who made their fortune in the “gut” game waved him off, after all, how could you use science to understand the intangible qualities that the pundits love to go off on. Surely you couldn't mathematically model desire and that must be what makes a good player greater and a great player a legend. Over time though, he was proven right. He brought sense and logic to a place where people made their fortune from what they “reckoned”.
Still, he was satisfied will leaving his talents in one field, he took them on over to the politics game. One that is chock full to the brim with those who makes their fortunes rambling on about their opinions based on nothing but speculations, two stars and a wish. Once again, those who made their money at the gut game shouted him down, they derided him. How could he understand the voter without meeting them? Didn't he see how many yard signs there were for Mitt Romney? Didn't he take the temperature of the average American's feelings? No, he didn't. He tossed out the feelings and looked at the numbers. He came to the game and challenged people's deeply help believes that science couldn't put a figure on people and claim to understand them.
In a way, I feel that I am very much the Nate Silver of the wrestling industry. The man was shouted down for challenging decades long conventions, mocked for not understand the industry. I can assure you all that come Christmas Chaos, I will be proven right. Rationality will prevail, no matter how much Smiling Sally Stalin tries to get her newly formed goon posse to stop progress.
Still, I don't think there's any better metaphor for this little discussion, this clash of ideas than that of the upcoming main event that Reggie has shoved together on this week's Asylum. In his infinite wisdom, he has tagged up two people who have a very much established history of loathing each other and he has placed them against a team who appear to have a history of mutual respect and friendship. One could say that perhaps dear ole Reggie, not too happy with my attempts at power plays recently is hoping to take me down a notch, maybe take Michael Callahan down a few steps too before we get a little too big for our britches. I mean, after all, we're facing a united front, two people intimately familiar with each other and god knows me and Mike, we hate each others guts. Surely Reginald is just handing Anthony and Sals the victory on this one. After all, that's what all rational analysis of the situation would expect to happen. Me and Callahan are meant to fragment and the moment we do, we're bound to be easy pickings for the current and former World Heavyweight Champions. After all, that's what should happen, isn't it? That's what your gut tells you, is it not?
Phil bows his head, shaking it solemnly before returning to eye the camera with his eye holes.
Atken: How many times to I have to tell you that there is no such thing as gut? I hate being cliché, it's just not in me to do the boring and expected, even if that's what tickles Mikey's fancy. Still, what I gave you is a very superficial reaction to the match. One that doesn't pay much mind to the cogs and wheels that go on beneath the surface. Your pal Phil though, he... I... love to dig down beneath and just find all manner of beast that lurk within. So while this match may be lovingly sold as the United Front against Those Fragmented and Frustrated Evil Doers by the company, is it really that simple? Of course it isn't, nothing in life is. Nothing in life is as black and white as many people in this company like to pretend it is. Black and white is the lazy man's way to deal with life because it's comforting. It's “us” against “them”, you don't have to think about why you hate “them” but you know you do and that's good enough for you. Phil fans though, you guys are just a bit smarter than that.
Let's look at that united front shall we? Now of course, in front of the camera, they're the grand team that's ready to kick some buttocks all up and down the ring. However, Anthony Bailey is still the man that willing took the pin after Shane Borderland viciously assaulted Sally. He didn't show much concern nor indeed basic human compassion in that moment. In that moment, we all saw the real Anthony Bailey, a man who valued retaining his World Heavyweight Championship over a sense of justice and fair play. Yet I'm sure Sally will tell anyone who asks that this in no way will impact their ability to function as a team on the night. We all know what happens when we bury the bad feelings though, don't we? Sooner or later, they will start bubbling up to the surface. Perhaps Sally has convinced herself that by taking his title that justice has been done. Maybe it has. I wonder if Bailey sees it that way. I wonder if Anthony feels that fairs fair, that at Shockwave, he done what he needed to do and at One Night in Hell, that was merely Sally giving him a well deserved receipt. Life must be so simple in the world they wish to live in.
Ah, they're old school. I'll give them that. They feel that if they ignore the ill will they hold towards each other and just keep telling everyone who listens that they are ready to put on a show on Sunday night that that they will bend reality towards them. It's the wrestling equivalent of shouting “I do believe in fairies, I do, I do” only this ain't no fiction, Tinkerbell isn't real and neither is the friendship that Anthony and Sally claim to have. We're in reality my friends - real life and real feelings, they just don't work that way. In times of high emotions, true feelings just tend to spill out and I for one look forward to Sally and Anthony finally getting all those bad feelings out of their system on Sunday.
You see, me and Michael Callahan, we've never hidden our distaste for one another. We know that we hate each others guts and I could spend an hour and a day discussing how heartbroken I was to see Mr. Callahan betray his guiding principles on Asylum just so he could become slightly racist and swing a baseball bat. Still, we're honest. We know where we stand and we know we need to deal with that. We know that we can't let those more false than ourselves try and eek out a victory over us, that would be us allowing them to validate the lie they are trying to perpetrate to you, the fine viewing audience. We can move on beyond our issues because we acknowledge them, we don't hide them, we don't pretend they're not there. We hate each others guts but we can get the job done, if Anthony and Cleopatra don't do it for us.
On Sunday night, those who have taken up Sally Talfourd's call to arms are going to once again get the same sinking feeling that got when my hands were wrapped around the briefcase in that Table, Ladders and Chairs match. That they are the past in this industry, that they are the dying breed, that the industry is evolving around them and is becoming molded to benefit men like myself. Thinkers, rationalists, scientists, they are the future of the wrestling game, this will become the true game of human chess it should always have been. To those of you standing in Camp Sally, I warn you now, change is going to come, the future of Asylum is creeping ever closer and as you sit and watch me pinning your Dear Leader on Sunday night I leave you with one closing though. The door to the next level is still open. Come on in, embrace our thinking, embrace the future. Saul is waiting to hear from you. We don't judge your poor decision making, we want to improve it. We want to improve you. We want to improve Asylum.
And we will.
We will.
Yes, all of your favourites were there, Phil Atken of course, he's no doubt the star of these situations but how could we forget Dirk Dickwood, Hank or indeed the newly hired council to Phil Atken on all matters technicality, Mr. Saul Slendamin.
Atken: So Saul, have we had any biters?
Slendamin: I'm still working on it, there were some nasty falls in that main event and I know for a fact there were a few hospital visits. I can't imagine these guys are happy about that but you know wrestlers and their machismo.
Atken: I hear some of them ooze it.
Slendamin: Indeed. It's a tough field to break. Some are afraid for their jobs. Some say they've already signed up for the “Sally Talfourd Liberation Front” whatever that means. Still, I think I have some biters.
Atken: Well, we just have to keep digging. I'll be damned if I let that gray hair megalomaniacal buffoon decide what kind of match me and the lovely Ms. Talfourd have at Christmas Chaos. The only way that we can ensure that we get the fair playing field that I deserve is through a little bit of leverage.
Slendamin: Aren't you at all worried the guys will catch on? I mean I'm sure they wouldn't be too happy with us using them as pawns.
Phil gives Saul a weary smile and bangs his hand on the table, perhaps in deep concentration, perhaps having some kind of fit. Still, either way he jumps out of his chair.
Atken: Saul, these men are already pawns. These men have had great bodily harm happen upon them because they have been successfully used as a form of meat based human circus entertainment, they have performed to the lowest of the lower classes by maiming each other for little to no reward. They will welcome us as liberators. They will thank us for opening their eyes. They will be better people after we take this forward. They will be better wrestlers. This will once again become a noble sport. A sport fit for tycoons of industry to appreciate. Not some low rent, working class, violence factory. It's heartbreaking to watch these true talents pick up their weapons and begin to gush blood like a damn fountain.
Slendamin: So, you're saying they'll welcome us? I'm just worried they might see this as a little callous on our part.
Phil tilts his head back and laughs an uproarious laugh. Well at least until he starts coughing anyway.
Atken: Callous? Oh Saul, that's why I hired you, you bring the laughs. They'll have to welcome us and our ideals. It was easy to laugh me off, dismiss me even when I had nothing to show for my message. It was easy to just walk away from listening to my firmly help principles when I was the “chat show guy”. After all, who was I to talk? I'd never proven myself in APW, I'd never climbed to that top rung that they were all clambering for. Now, through logic, through common sense and through mental prowess, I have achieved what many would think is unfathomable. I am one match away from becoming the World Heavyweight Champion. This is no longer a case of all mouth and no trousers. We now have a lot of trousers. I'm drowning in trousers over here.
Dirk Dickwood digs himself out of a mountain of paper work and chips in.
Dickwood: There's such a thing as taking a metaphor too far Phil. I think you drove that one off a cliff.
Atken: It's the point that counts.
Slendamin: So my instructions are continue to build up these formal complaints?
Atken: Until we have enough.
Slendamin: How many is that?
Atken: Enough for the balance of power to swing our way.
Saul looks over at Phil from the brim of his horn-rimmed glasses.
Slendamin: You do know I am billing you for following your vague instructions, right?
Atken: S'not my money, just get as many as you can.
Dirk once again interjects.
Dickwood: It IS my money but yeah, what he said.
Atken: See, Dirk knows a good investment when he sees one. He knows this is working. We have the proof. We have the contendership. It's ours and soon, the title will join our ranks. It's science. Simple, basic, lovely, beautiful, sexual, sensual science. It makes people uncomfortable to see it proven right. It send shivers up their spines as they slowly realise that these antiquated notions of “heart”, “gut”, “fighting spirit” and their ilk are meaningless in the face of a rational mind. People like Sally Talfourd and Anthony Bailey, they still like to believe that they just have to show “grit” and “determination” to make something of themselves. That they can determine their own destiny by sheer force of will. It's that false idea that's been sold to many throughout the years in the hope that it'll keep them quiet. That it will turn them against each other in competition to prove just who has the most “heart”. If they lose? Well, they just didn't have it them, whatever it is.
Then a man like me comes along and tries to explain to them that they've been fed a lie since birth. That's the sad thing, I haven't kept the secret to my success hidden in some kind of underground bunker under tight lock and key. I've been very open about it. I've tried to let my roster compatriots see that APW is trying to fatten them up on a lie to make massive profits off their back breaking labour and give them the smallest treat possible to keep them sweet. I hate to see it happening, it breaks my heart, so for months now I've tried to get people to open their eyes. I've tried to get those of the Asylum roster to say “ENOUGH!” but they've been unwilling to listen to me. They've had their heads buried in the sand because what I say shakes the very notion that someone like Sally Talfourd has peddled time and time again, that to be the best in this company, you have to have that unique talent, that you have to fight your way to the top, that you have to show that fighting spirit and through grit and determination, you can become champion. Even now, she is trying to form some kind of army by continuing to feed them this idea. She hopes that she can spread this message throughout the roster, perhaps in the hopes of quieten my voice. It's why I must win at Christmas Chaos, I must tear down the oppressor and if anyone represents that, it is the lovely Sally.
Phil grabs some water to drink. He looks down at a physical, real life soap box that is being used to store some of the piles of paper and begins to contemplate it, The camera cuts over the Saul, who appears to be deep within a phone conversation, he quickly waves the camera off and it pans back around to the grinning mug of Atken.
Atken: Now me? I come along and spit out some solid science and I get laughed at. Even now, people dismiss me. They say that my achievements at One Night in Hell and at the last Asylum were somehow due to fate conspiring against them. Instead, they have to realise the truth, they must open their eyes to the reality that I bested them because I understand the human condition. I under the science behind the desire that many of my opponents cling to. They are willing to tear each other to shreds to get to their ultimate goal, the World Heavyweight Championship but every single one of them is like a damn bull to a red rag to get there. They don't stop, they don't think, they just do and those in power like the esteemed Mr. Schmidt. They love that, they don't want thinkers, they don't want those who would challenge their authority, they want their Sallys, their Anthonys, their TJs, their Keatons. That's who they want to deal with. They don't want to deal with a man like Phil Atken because I'm dangerous to them. I upset to systems they put in place. I'm a damn aberration, I am what should not be and yet is. Good ole Russ Nailz, he called me “The Dark Horse” and damn if I don't wear that like a badge of pride. Of course, I'm not alone in being derided for understanding that the times, they are a changing.
Phil grabs a picture off one of the tables, it appears to be a signed framed picture of a rather skinny, bespectacled gentlemen with an awkward gangly look about him. Phil admires the picture for a few moments before turning it towards the camera.
Atken: Nate Silver. He's a man that fascinates me. He challenged that status quo much like I do. He carried the torch and bore the cross in the name of science and he was much derided for it. He was a man who though he could use statistics to improve baseball and those who made their fortune in the “gut” game waved him off, after all, how could you use science to understand the intangible qualities that the pundits love to go off on. Surely you couldn't mathematically model desire and that must be what makes a good player greater and a great player a legend. Over time though, he was proven right. He brought sense and logic to a place where people made their fortune from what they “reckoned”.
Still, he was satisfied will leaving his talents in one field, he took them on over to the politics game. One that is chock full to the brim with those who makes their fortunes rambling on about their opinions based on nothing but speculations, two stars and a wish. Once again, those who made their money at the gut game shouted him down, they derided him. How could he understand the voter without meeting them? Didn't he see how many yard signs there were for Mitt Romney? Didn't he take the temperature of the average American's feelings? No, he didn't. He tossed out the feelings and looked at the numbers. He came to the game and challenged people's deeply help believes that science couldn't put a figure on people and claim to understand them.
In a way, I feel that I am very much the Nate Silver of the wrestling industry. The man was shouted down for challenging decades long conventions, mocked for not understand the industry. I can assure you all that come Christmas Chaos, I will be proven right. Rationality will prevail, no matter how much Smiling Sally Stalin tries to get her newly formed goon posse to stop progress.
Still, I don't think there's any better metaphor for this little discussion, this clash of ideas than that of the upcoming main event that Reggie has shoved together on this week's Asylum. In his infinite wisdom, he has tagged up two people who have a very much established history of loathing each other and he has placed them against a team who appear to have a history of mutual respect and friendship. One could say that perhaps dear ole Reggie, not too happy with my attempts at power plays recently is hoping to take me down a notch, maybe take Michael Callahan down a few steps too before we get a little too big for our britches. I mean, after all, we're facing a united front, two people intimately familiar with each other and god knows me and Mike, we hate each others guts. Surely Reginald is just handing Anthony and Sals the victory on this one. After all, that's what all rational analysis of the situation would expect to happen. Me and Callahan are meant to fragment and the moment we do, we're bound to be easy pickings for the current and former World Heavyweight Champions. After all, that's what should happen, isn't it? That's what your gut tells you, is it not?
Phil bows his head, shaking it solemnly before returning to eye the camera with his eye holes.
Atken: How many times to I have to tell you that there is no such thing as gut? I hate being cliché, it's just not in me to do the boring and expected, even if that's what tickles Mikey's fancy. Still, what I gave you is a very superficial reaction to the match. One that doesn't pay much mind to the cogs and wheels that go on beneath the surface. Your pal Phil though, he... I... love to dig down beneath and just find all manner of beast that lurk within. So while this match may be lovingly sold as the United Front against Those Fragmented and Frustrated Evil Doers by the company, is it really that simple? Of course it isn't, nothing in life is. Nothing in life is as black and white as many people in this company like to pretend it is. Black and white is the lazy man's way to deal with life because it's comforting. It's “us” against “them”, you don't have to think about why you hate “them” but you know you do and that's good enough for you. Phil fans though, you guys are just a bit smarter than that.
Let's look at that united front shall we? Now of course, in front of the camera, they're the grand team that's ready to kick some buttocks all up and down the ring. However, Anthony Bailey is still the man that willing took the pin after Shane Borderland viciously assaulted Sally. He didn't show much concern nor indeed basic human compassion in that moment. In that moment, we all saw the real Anthony Bailey, a man who valued retaining his World Heavyweight Championship over a sense of justice and fair play. Yet I'm sure Sally will tell anyone who asks that this in no way will impact their ability to function as a team on the night. We all know what happens when we bury the bad feelings though, don't we? Sooner or later, they will start bubbling up to the surface. Perhaps Sally has convinced herself that by taking his title that justice has been done. Maybe it has. I wonder if Bailey sees it that way. I wonder if Anthony feels that fairs fair, that at Shockwave, he done what he needed to do and at One Night in Hell, that was merely Sally giving him a well deserved receipt. Life must be so simple in the world they wish to live in.
Ah, they're old school. I'll give them that. They feel that if they ignore the ill will they hold towards each other and just keep telling everyone who listens that they are ready to put on a show on Sunday night that that they will bend reality towards them. It's the wrestling equivalent of shouting “I do believe in fairies, I do, I do” only this ain't no fiction, Tinkerbell isn't real and neither is the friendship that Anthony and Sally claim to have. We're in reality my friends - real life and real feelings, they just don't work that way. In times of high emotions, true feelings just tend to spill out and I for one look forward to Sally and Anthony finally getting all those bad feelings out of their system on Sunday.
You see, me and Michael Callahan, we've never hidden our distaste for one another. We know that we hate each others guts and I could spend an hour and a day discussing how heartbroken I was to see Mr. Callahan betray his guiding principles on Asylum just so he could become slightly racist and swing a baseball bat. Still, we're honest. We know where we stand and we know we need to deal with that. We know that we can't let those more false than ourselves try and eek out a victory over us, that would be us allowing them to validate the lie they are trying to perpetrate to you, the fine viewing audience. We can move on beyond our issues because we acknowledge them, we don't hide them, we don't pretend they're not there. We hate each others guts but we can get the job done, if Anthony and Cleopatra don't do it for us.
On Sunday night, those who have taken up Sally Talfourd's call to arms are going to once again get the same sinking feeling that got when my hands were wrapped around the briefcase in that Table, Ladders and Chairs match. That they are the past in this industry, that they are the dying breed, that the industry is evolving around them and is becoming molded to benefit men like myself. Thinkers, rationalists, scientists, they are the future of the wrestling game, this will become the true game of human chess it should always have been. To those of you standing in Camp Sally, I warn you now, change is going to come, the future of Asylum is creeping ever closer and as you sit and watch me pinning your Dear Leader on Sunday night I leave you with one closing though. The door to the next level is still open. Come on in, embrace our thinking, embrace the future. Saul is waiting to hear from you. We don't judge your poor decision making, we want to improve it. We want to improve you. We want to improve Asylum.
And we will.
We will.
