Mike Munson... Scourge… Quentin Scarborough… you boys just hit the damn lottery. You assholes just happen to be catching me in rare form. I've had a hell of a week. I spent last night in the hospital for reasons none of you dipshits have to worry about. Yet, here I am. You see, I'm a motherfucking professional.
Normally, I would do my research on all of you and then regale you with tales explaining exactly why I'm better than you. Normally, I would bother to learn your names and everything about you. These aren't normal circumstances.
Apparently, either Jon Stewart doesn't realize that I don't play well with others or C dollar sign J is too stupid to know anything about his roster. Do either of these men honestly expect me to work with those that are beneath me? I mean, you could ask The Maestro. Or, you could have someone could figure out where he ran to. I fed him to the wolves and chased his ass right out of the company. Now, I'm going to let everyone in this match, this could go one of two ways.
The first, is that I actually work with Max Pecker and Virus Artoria. Doing so for the sake of representing the old guard of CWF, defending the honor of this great and noble company.
Yeah, cuz that's going to happen. Did any of you happen to be watching when I represented the Championship Wrestling Federation? Or any of you watching when I defeated Impulse and won the World Class Wrestling Association Lightheavyweight Championship? Here's a refresher for those of you who were here and a little insight as to the character of “The Next Generation God.” Pay close attention. I went into that match to represent myself. I went into that match to prove that I was the best our company had to offer. I went in that match because I am better than your best. I went in there and walked out 15 pounds heavier. It was I, not Impulse, not Cool Cory J, and not that Frankenhooter from the other company, that walked out a champion.
So, I guess that leaves us with the other way this could go. I could walk into this match as one man army. I can walk into this match and take out each and every one that's in this match, friend or foe. Where I come from Brokeback Mountain is what we refer to as the pile of bodies I leave in my wake. I'm sure the front office wants us to put on an excellent match and entertain the crowd. But what purpose does that serve for me? What do I get out of it? That's a hell of a question as far as I'm concerned. The answer is plainly and simply absolutely nothing.
I would love nothing more then to walk into this match, tear the head off of each and every other man in this match and then shit down the hole.
Size does not matter. Go back to our last pay-per-view, go back to my last match. Watch what I did to Christer. Watch as I, the courageous David, took my sling and felled the mighty Goliath. That is what I will do to Scourge in this match. That is what I will do to Max Becker when I face him in the round-robin tournament.
Of course, there are far more outcomes than that. I'm just leading you down that trail of breadcrumbs that I've been talking about. I could do either one of these things, or I could do none of these things. The one, singular fact that I can assure you of is that I will do what fits my agenda best. That is what every single person in this match needs to take away from it.
None of you matter enough to me that I should waste my time talking about you. I am the best in the Kendamned business. Which means that I am the only person in this match that anyone should be talking about. I am going to walk into this match and do what I want to whomever I want whenever I want. And that is 100% gospel truth because when you are God, you don't have to break the rules. You make them!!!
"The concession stands are now selling those cheap hotel room round soap disks that I have personally blessed for $100’s a bar….AND SINNERS….I suggest you buy one, and use it, because if you think your God wants you in his heaven smelling like a 3am New York City uber ride you got another thing coming."