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HARDKORE HELLOWEEN 2009
Cleveland, Ohio
The Quicken Loans Arena
on pay-per-view

HARDKORE WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP TITLE MATCH
Steel Cage Match
MATTHEW X vs. Adrian Tanner Jr.

HARDKORE AMERICA HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP TITLE MATCH
Bitch Maker Match
Loser Must Become Winner's Bitch!
"THE RISING SUN" MARTY DONOVAN vs. Andrew Karnage

HARDKORE WORLD TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP TITLE MATCH
neXt (Jamie Romino & Joshua Smith)
vs.
THE SAINTS OF EXILE (Eric McNeely & Bobby Nowa)

HARDKORE WORLD SIX MAN TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH
Tables Ladders and Chairs
THE UNTOUCHABLES (Aaron Rupp, Ken Shiro, Devastation)
vs.
The Highlights of Humanity ("Platinum" Pat Bozzini, Tony Damico, Big Bad Bill)

Kilroy Evans vs. Cyrus Williams

2009 QUEEN OF HELLOWEEN CUP
Barbed Wire Falls Count Anywhere
Winner Recieves Shot at Hardkore World Women's Championship
Suzie Machina
Darkchild
Misery Demise
Aunt Lucinda
Dragonatrix
"The Best Kept Secret in the Southwest" Kaycee Tanner
Brandi
Emachi Lewis
Natalie Burrows

HARDKORE HELLOWEEN
Four Barbed Wire Falls Count Anywhere Battle Royals

HARDKORE HELLOWEEN #1
Lucifer Jones
Robert Hunglestien III
Tuxedo Mask
Shadowstorm
Xander Williamson
Dragon Belt
Frank Jasper

HARDKORE HELLOWEEN #2
Vile "Vince" Viper
James Fierce
Brock Sisson
The Shootfighter
Alex Jackson
Marv Xanz
Tric

HARDKORE HELLOWEEN #3
Abe Rogers
Dougie Ray Bullet
Poke the Clown
Manwel
Dave Brickheart
Tong Fairtex
Leo Van Dam

HARDKORE HELLOWEEN #4
Antonio Costa
Cecil Kennedy
"The Big Ragoo" JoJo Sushi
Matt Sanders
Randy Candy
Psychotic Goth
Harvey Van Houten

THE ROAD TO HELLOWEEN
Barbed Wire Falls Count Anywhere Match
The Winners of Helloweens #1 & #4 vs. The Winners of Helloween #2 & #3

THE 2009 HARDKORE HELLOWEEN CUP
Barbed Wire Falls Count Anywhere Match

The Winning Team faces one another for a title shot at the Hardkore World Heavyweight Champion, $1 Million Dollars, and the 2009 Hardkore Helloween trophy!

[Screen fades into the beaches of Normandy, France…cameras scan the beach on the cloudy 59 degree weather and come into view of an old M4A3E8 76mm armed Sherman tank standing as a watchful sentinel. On top of the tank resting back first against the torrent with his arms folded is a man in his early forties with hardened features of granite. On his clean shaven skull are signs of scars where he’s been busted and battered over the years but none is more distinct in the deep scar over his left eye. The eye itself is colorless due to it being eighty percent dead. Scars also adorn his ripped and chiseled arms and what little can be seen of his chest as well as patriotic tattoos with the running theme being red, white, and blue. A screaming eagle carrying an American flag can be seen peeking out from his green tank top from his left pec.

He doesn’t look directly into the cameras as he looks out into the ocean as the waves comes crashing in and then retreat as if in fear of the sight of him.]

Abe Rogers – On June 6, 1944 an estimated one million soldiers of the allied forces from Canada, Free French, United Kingdom, and the United States stormed this beach riding what they called “Taxis to Hell” to put an end to the tyranny of the Nazi regime. Fathers, sons, brothers, uncles, nephews, cousins fought side by side and died right here on this place for the freedom that we all enjoy today. On this same beach…I also proposed to my wife of 21 years before I went to go serve my country to help protect and preserve that very same freedom.

And serve it I did…and paid a heavy price (taps his left eye) that I would pay again with a heart beat…

Because I believe even when bad things happen…God has a plan for all of us in this world…mine lead me to the battlefield of profession of wrestling and seven years later I haven’t looked back since as I lead by example…inspiring people that it is okay to fight for what is right…it is alright to stand against the opposition and say…no more…that one person…man…woman…or child…can make a difference.

And that…is why I have come back…and will be competing at Hardkore Helloween…

It ain’t about the money or the trophy…as a seven year veteran of Battlefield Wrestling Industries…I’ve had my fair share of both…

And getting a World Heavyweight title shot and possibly being champion would be an honor…but it also is not the main reason why I’ve decided to come back either.

I’m here to fulfill a promise…

[Rogers reaches into the back pocket of his camouflage military fatigue pants and pulls out an envelope which has been opened. He proceeds to pull out a hand written letter opening it up.]

Abe Rogers – I get a lot of fan mail…mostly e-mails…but there are those rare times I get a hand written letter from a fan, and those I personally enjoy reading…this one however not only got my attention…but shook me to the core…

It reads…

Dear Mr. Abe Rogers,

My name is Joshua Donaldson and I am eight years old and am a big fan of yours…my dad and I watch BWI all the time and I love when you come out to wrestle. I also think America is the greatest country in the world and am happy I live here. I also like Hardkore World…I like Andrew Karnage, Kilroy Evans, and the Manhattan Project although you are still my favorite.

Mr. Rogers, I am writing to you because I think Hardkore World and its fans need your help. A very bad man named Matthew X has come back to Hardkore World with some very bad people, and now it is no longer fun anymore since he has become World Heavyweight Champion. He tries to hurt and scare people especially the fans. My dad took me to Palms Springs Punishment this year and a lot of people got hurt because of him…my dad said he will never take me to another Hardkore World show as long as X is still in Hardkore World.

Lately I have had bad dreams where I think X is going to get me and hurt me and my family.

Can you please come to Hardkore World and stop Matthew X and make it fun again? I remember when you saved the BWI from being taken over by Adam Essex, and then again with Bart Saxon when you came back after being hurt and beat that giant named Schizm.

I’m asking you because even though I like the other wrestlers in Hardkore World…no one seems to want to do anything or even care. But I know that if you came, you would care, you would stand up to Matthew X and stop him…stop him from hurting people, because that is what you do.

Please Mr. Rogers…please come to Hardkore World and stop Matthew X so I can sleep again at night.

Your fan,

Joshua Donaldson

[Veins in Rogers’ neck bulge as he refolds the letter and places into the side pocket of his battle fatigue. Finally he looks directly into the camera with an ice cold look of intensity.]

Abe Rogers – You know…I don’t know what makes my blood boil…me getting this letter or actually sitting down to WATCH Palm Springs Punishment and then Irish Rage and watch in complete and total disgust as innocent and honest fans who pay their hard earned money which sons of bitches like this X character gets a cut of and pocket be disrespected and terrorized for no good damn reason knowing damn well that if it wasn’t for those fans there would be no us.

It is an honor and a privilege that very few get to walk down to a ring and do what we do best in front of those fans, and what I’ve bared witness to viewing was a complete violation and total disrespect of that trust and honor.

So I say here now…at Hardkore Helloween…will mark the beginning of the “Cleansing” coming to an end.

It will begin when I march down to that ring, battle through and mow down five unlucky individuals who will have the definite misfortune of being in the same ring with me on that night…right down to the tag match…and finally to the last man I have to battle through in order to get the opportunity to stand before this Matthew X should he retain the Hardkore World Heavyweight title at the end of that night…

And on THAT night I promise you…this X’s guts will sink into his bowels and never rise again…

Because at Hardkore Helloween he will bare witness to a man exactly opposite him…who isn’t title hungry…who can’t be bought, bribed or reasoned with…whose clear motivation to walking down to that ring is to remind good God fearing people of every race, creed, and color that there are STILL HEROES in this world who will stand and fight even in the blackest of nights because…THAT is what we DO…and because (Points to the tattooed American flag on his left shoulder) THESE COLORS DO NOT RUN!!

[Rogers gets up leaning from the tank torrent resting his hand on the barrel of the tank cannon as if they were old friends.]

Abe Rogers – So Joshua…you don’t have to worry any more…you can sleep at night knowing that your words have been heard and answered. The American Fighting Machine has come to Hardkore World to take care of your “monsters” and anyone…who gets in my way will be DEALT WITH…

And to Matthew X…Hardkore Helloween would be a VERY good night to loosen your grip on that belt…because I promise you the next day you wake up with you still champion…will be D-Day.

And on that day you will learn three things…

God hates you…

The meaning of the phrase “Collateral damage on a massive scale”…

And take no prisoners…

[Warrior by Kid Rock blares to a fade out.]

"Ah, Hardkore World... it's been a little while since I've painted the mats red with blood for my own amusement."

*The scene opens to a very familiar smiling face... the painted face of none other than Poke The Clown. He's sitting in a steel chair in a room that's only lit by the small bits of sunlight sneaking in through the window shades. In his right hand is a lighter, which he's absent-mindedly flicking t=its flame on and off as though he expects the fire to actually do anything more than just that. After about a minute of this, his eyes and smile turn towards the camera, although he's still messing around with the lighter*

Poke: "That's right, boys and girls... everybody's favorite psychotic clown is back in town! I know you all missed me. I mean... I wasn't exactly myself back at Palm Springs Punishment, or else I'd have easily beaten Tuxedo Mask and maybe even be standing here right now as your World champion. And I didn't make the trip to Irish Rage at all, which was a major bummer. But you see... I've had some serious personal issues I've been dealing with as of late, things I'd rather not go into detail about. Let's just say they were some late repercussions from my 'colorful' early days here in this company that had my attention ever since sometime near the end of the Frank itself. Needless to say, uncle Poke wasn't himself and had to step away."

*Poke's smile slowly turns into a frown*

Poke: "Sadly, in my time away it seems that this company has been plagued by a grave series of events. Apparently, we have the Untouchables and the HoH split apart again and at war with each other, although nobody really cares about that. Marty Donovan is running around thinking he's the guy we all need to look up to just because he's got the heavyweight strap of this region. But worst of all... Matthew X has taken the World title and has practically turned this entire company into his own playground just so he can try to send a message about how he has no regard for the rest of society just because he won't conform to their standards. For those who don't know, that's the standard definition of an anarchist, and that's basically what Matthew X is. He's your standard-issue anarchist who likes hurting people and lighting things up just because it means he gets to stand out in front of the crowd that would love nothing more than to see him dead. Where's the fun in that? To someone like Matthew X, Madison Dyson, or apparently Lucifer Jones now, that might be fun. But to someone like me, that's nowhere near close to being fun. And you can believe me when I say that there's no fun in what 'The Cleansing' does. After all... I'm a clown."

*Poke slowly shakes his head*

Poke: "Hell, I at least considered Lucifer Jones better than that. I mean, the guy went to jail for killing people and always loved creating riots and fucking people up in the most brutal ways imaginable. But now he just likes parading around with the anarchists, setting things on fire because he thinks it's cool and threatening to kill someone his opponent knows just because he wants to get a victory through a hostage negotiation. You're far better than that, Jonesy. I know... I saw it with my own eyes. I've been in prison before too, you know. I know what being locked away entails. But I'm still here, the same twisted clown I always have been. Prison doesn't change those who have a strong enough will to resist it, but it appears that poor old LuJo wasn't strong enough, because now the Lucifer Jones I loved watching and always wanted to face someday is dead, and in his place is this new Lucifer Jones who has changed to the point where he craves change just so he can still consider himself relevant in the modern era. You didn't need to do that Jonesy... you're far better than the title of a mere anarchist, and everything you did before your imprisonment proved that. But now... I'm disgusted to even think that what I see now bears the same name as the lunatic I saw as a kindred spirit. You've become a disgrace to yourself LuJo... you could easily do far better shit than what Matthew X does and still be feared. But I guess that now you've fallen in with his crowd, my words will fall on deaf ears. It's a damn shame too... you were far better before you lowered yourself to the level of an anarchist."

*Poke sighs and throws the lighter across the room*

Poke: "I'm not in the mood to address my opponents in my barbed wire battle royal right now. But I will leave things at this: with the way things are set up, I hope that Lucifer Jones wins his battle royal, because I'm damn sure going to win mine. I don't care who my partner ends up, or who LuJo's partner ends up. But Jonesy... if I'm going to join my friends in The Manhattan Project in opposing The Cleansing, then I'm making you my own personal responsibility. I'm going to force you to see that you're far better than what you portray now. The Lucifer Jones of old would be able to entertain me and truly pose as a threat. But as for Lucifer Jones the anarchist? No amount of 'anarchy' is going to stop me from showing you just how much fun your old ways were compared to the deeds of your run-of-the-mill anarchist. Your far better than this Jonesy... and it's my mission to show you that when you agreed to join Matthew X just so you could get out of jail... you committed suicide and are now forcing the rest of us to endure a watered-down version of what you used to be. So do me a favor Jonesy... win your battle royal, and I'll be more than happy to meet you in the second round, because nobody is capable of stopping me from wreaking havoc just to get to you."

*Fade to black*

[Dougie Ray Bullet...]

DRB-Wow Abe, that was riveting. No, it really was.

You're just a big ol' slice of old fashioned American Pie, aren't you? Minus Jason Biggs sticking his dick in you of course.

[Que rimshot]

But seriously Abe, "unlucky individuals"? Well obviously that would have to include me since I'm one of those "misfortunate" five men who you have to go thru in order to get the next round, nevermind winning the whole damn thing and getting a title shot against Matthew X. Who trust me, won't even be the World Heavyweight champion after my boy Tanner is done.

You can't possibly believe that you're just gonna walk into Hardkore World and start running shit, all the while spouting...

"These colors don't run"

...and any other corny ass catchphrase that that's too hillbilly even for rednecks like James Fierce and myself to use, do you?

If so, then I'm sorry Abe, because you're in for quite the rude awakening. The kind of rude awakening that's gonna get you hurt...badly. Ya see Abe, you may not be in it for the money, trophy, or the title, and two out of those three I can halfway respect. But if you're not wrestling to become a champion, then you really fucked up when chose not to sign those reenlistment papers.

Meanwhile, myself and every other single member of the Hardkore World roster in this thing are looking to walk out with the complete hat trick. The money, trophy, the shot at gold. And we haven't even started on the glory. All are at stake Abe. And all I will take by whatever force I have to.

No, there will be no mercy.

No, there will be no remorse.

And no, there will be no one else standing in the end as Dougie Ray Bullet gets his next shot at greatness.

But yes, oh yes...

This Heart...Still Beats.

[Fade to Black]

[A bus.]

[It's a pretty shoddy looking one, but it's got that homely aura about it that just welcomes you and encourages you to take off your shoes, though it wouldn't be recommended. It's one of those shitty Greyhound buses, and although they seem pretty well-kept and comfy....They're really not. But, enough judgment on public transportation, inside this “magnificent” vehicle, we see just but one man, sitting in the back of the bus, hands to his forehead as he stares down at the ground. Woe is him, this man. After ONE - COUNT IT - ONE successful title defense, he loses his precious title in a match that will forever have him renowned as the class-clown.]

[Kilroy's voice doesn't leave this man's brain. Strangely enough, the voice is so powerful that the viewers at home can hear it – Nifty! The bus stops. A small family enters the bus and sits a few seats ahead of the man. One of the smaller children of the family peers back at the man and suddenly realizes who he is. The child runs to the back of the bus, screaming for his mother hysterically and begging for her to take a picture. A replica-TV title is placed upon the man's shoulder, which causes him to look up at the child, whose all smiles and giggles. The man has no choice but to force his biggest smile and pose for the camera, thinking in his head, “God bless children everywhere.” Perhaps, things are not as bad as they se-]

Child: I wuv yoo, Ceece! Yoor my fav'rit rasler!

[Tears nearly form in the man's eye. He hardly knows this child, but here the man is, stripped of his beloved title and yet, still loved by the crowd. The smile is no longer being forced, and the man does everything in his power to hold back the tears. The picture gets taken.]

Cecil Kennedy: Thanks, k-

[Before he could even finish, the child bursts off to his mother.]

Child: Didja get the picture, mum?

Mother of the family: Yes dear, I did. You did a good job.

[The child beams brightly at his mother.]

Child: I betcha yoo could get five-thouuuuusand money with that!

[The mother laughs.]

Mother: Not that much, dear. I'm sure we could probably swindle that mboone6969 on eBay for a few hundred bucks at the most. Now, come here – Lord knows what diseases and bacteria those wrestling folk carry with them.

[While the mother wipes her child down with a antibacterial wipe, Cecil Kennedy resumes his previous position, the innocence and joy robbed from him by a six-year-old. Humiliation, he thinks. This is what it feels like to be humiliated. Sure, he's felt it many times due to being a part of the phenomena known as Nextwave, but it's never quite stung him to the core like it does right now.]

[Oh, woe is the man who has to hear that voice every five minutes. It'd be a bit more bearable if there wasn't that annoying echo, but, a man cannot control his brain by his own free will. It's punishing him, and for good reason: The lesson to be learned is to never involve robots and a large rolling-pin of a man . Cecil shakes his head; he's got other things to worry about. He didn't even get the chance to leave the ulster halls before he saw the card for Helloween. He grimaces about the memory, and pulls out a sticky note with all his opponents quickly scribbled down.]

Cecil: Ho-boy. Just when I thought it couldn't get worse...

[Kennedy sighs.]

Cecil: Psychotic Goth... AGAIN. At the same event, no less. Jonnie must be angry at me for the robot match...Ah, well... Goth, how's it going you sadistic, not-all-too-scary bastard!? I can't remember the last time I've seen you around these parts... In fact, I think the last time I DID see you was at last year's Helloween. You still making those phone-threats and fingering severed heads, these days? You really need to stop that shit if you do, man...

[Cecil rocks his head back and rests it on the back-wall. He looks up, recalling a conversation he had.]

Cecil: ...Yes mom, one of the first shows I did, one of the other mean-baddies finger-fucked a decapitated head to get at me. No, mom... Someone ELSE did that, not me. What? No, I don't get a rise from wearing tights...

[He shakes his head and returns his attention to the sticky note.]

Cecil: Matt Sanders... Another aspiring wrestler in the same exact position I was in last year. It's a pretty cool story, but i'ma hafta hear from you in order to make a good assessment on whether or not you're something I should really worry about... which i'm SURE i'll hear soon enough, eh?

[He shrugs – 'Tis be the truth.]

Cecil: Suiker... booze? Suiko... bronze? Suikoden? I can't say this damned nam- OH, Suikerbossie, right, right... From the house of Tum. Lordly lord he looks to be the biggest competition in here so far, because you can NEVER underestimate the House of Love. No way in hell... I've seen what happens when you underestimate them, and frankly i'd prefer to stray away from any Shiro-like situations with those guys... If Raoh used a pool-cue....

[Kennedy shudders.]

Cecil: Don't even wanna think about what the House of Tum would use...

[Off to the next name!]

Cecil: The modern wrestlin' Pootie Tang, JoJo Sushi! It's been a time-old tradition of many people around the world to find a love-guru whose creepier than Günther, and who would have thought that very same person would be in Hardkore World today!? Not even Matthew X's flaming glove 'o doom could burn away the gay-aura you have surrounding you, my dear boy. I'm honest-to-god terrified of being anywhere near you, and to think that I'll more than likely have to place you in a submission... Or vice versa... I'm gonna need to visit Poke for therapy afterward, me thinks... Maybe even before the match-

[Cecil trembles a bit with a little eye twitch here and there. He's not really a homophobe, JoJo just has that certain “Charm” that creeps him out to no end. Cecil decides to leave it at that and looks at the last name on the list, with a frown.]

Cecil: -and then there's this Antonio guy... From out of the blue he joins Hardkore without a single word and his first match is Helloween... There's the rumors flying about him, and while it certainly seems true... There's this gut feeling that tells me he's familiar, yet, he IS an entirely different guy altogether. I dunno how to really place the guy, except for in the weird-zone. There's just something I can't quite place, and it's bothering the fuck out of me...

[He scratches his head, deep in thought. The gears are turning but providing no results whatsoever. He folds his arms in front of his chest and stares back down at the ground, still deep in concentration.]

Cecil: Antonio Costa, huh?

[Cecil shakes his head violently.]

Cecil: Damnit, Kilroy! Get out of my head!

[Fade... hopefully to something more sane.]

Antonio Costa: Hey Cecil, I got something you can't quite place, right HERE.

[He grabs his crotch.]

Antonio Costa: You aren't good enough to pull my rickshaw beeeetch. Look at you. You can't even read your own handwriting on a note you have right infront of you. "Suikerbossie". Yeah that's hard to say. When you're a fucking nimrod that is.

But that's not as retarded as that dumb bitch who thinks a candid shot of your twisted face is going to bring in a **couple of hundred**.

You showed more restraint that I would have pal. I would have slapped that hooker silly right there. And her snotty little brat too but hey I'm old fashioned that way.

[Antonio places his shades up on his head.]

Antonio Costa: I'm not surprised you lost your title. You've always been a poor man's Adrian Tanner. And let's face it you have to be all kinds of broke to settle for Adrian Tanner. And yes I realise he's got a World title match on Pay Per View this month but the least said of the title scene at the minute the better.

[He pauses for a moment to laugh off the very notion of Abe Rogers.]

Antonio Costa: I'm looking forward to lifting the Helloween Cup on my first night at work. Its going to be quite a debut utterly destroying you all. Especially you Cecil Kennedy, for no other reason apart from the fact that I've never really liked you. You know, from the outside looking in, when I was training, and working hard, and waiting for that Hardkore World contract to come my way, you were my inspiration. And I mean that.

Because I always figured that if you could be working here, and not only working here but getting title shots despite lacking even a grain of talent then when I finally do get that call I'm gonna have a field day.

And then the call came.

And I said "boss, if you want me to make my debut at Hardkore Helloween then great. I apologise in advance for humiliating all your current stars and please, if it's possible, put me in Cecil Kennedy's ring."

Then I hung up and slapped my dick across your sisters whoreish mouth.

I'm going to hurt you Cecil. I don't really know why, you just look like a little bitch that's an easy victim to start with before I move onto bigger targets. And I know I've got Psychotic Goth's and Jojo Sushi's and fifth wheel's to deal with in this ring as well but really I just want to smack my knuckles into your time wasting face several hundred times before moving on to win that Cup on my very first show.

And I'm going to do it. You're about to find out I'm the kind of guy that's true to his word.

[Fade.]

[Fade back into ye 'olde Greyhound bus. Cecil Kennedy is still in the back of the bus, just sitting there with his eyes closed and his head against the wall. At first it seems like his head perks up, almost as if someone said something to him, but it just rests there, unmoving. Without even needing to be awake, his subconscious is realizing what was so out of place and downright thought-provoking.]

[Cecil wakes up slightly, lets out a HUUUUUGE yawn, and falls back asleep.]

[Boring. Unexciting. Utterly disappointing. That was the missing link, and it was found in less than twenty-four hours! Cecil sleeps unperturbed, almost like a sweet little baby. It's probably the best sleep he's had since he made his debut in Hardkore. After all, why waste much-needed sleep over listening to stupid people talk about his imaginary-sister? His face is so adorable it's damn-near IMPOSSIBLE to hate such a lovable face. Is it really a face that has nary a grain of talent? 'Course not!]

[Another yawn.]

[It's simply the face of a man who, in order to properly convey a message, doesn't need to say a single word to convey a message to his “inspired” followers.]

[A third yawn.]

[Perhaps he might say some words later, but for now, let's just watch him sleep peacefully, without a single care in the world. Sleep tight, sweet prince.]

[Fade.]

I see Princess Kuna,Belle May flow over from Japan with Tum Tum and Copycat why are they here?
They rgought the would wrestle on Helloween no problem they can cheer now for Suikerbossie and Kuna sister Lucinda.

Tum Tum: I came all the way from the South to get the match card without Copycat or any of our names on it.
But see a guy,s name I must know because he was family yes was he turned his back on the famous Thomas legacy. <_
Yes I,m talking to you Jo Jo Sushi that you are a fairy ain,t a problem.
You were wrestling with your dad in AWF before backstab him losing to many times.
Yes your dad was then known as Baby Boy but he was later known as Mr.Ladykiller.
I first didn,t believed that you were once my nephew,Suikerbossie will let you know what family code creating mean.

Belle May: I better can not unpack our bags and take mine PWO head office did told me to come next Monday?
But don,t mean I can,t see some action Kuna helping your sister train for that match.
HKW officials see the group and lead them inside before fans see them.

Fade away.
(Don,t know if Ho Ho Sushi got me PM I put you over that,s all?)

We open up on the face of Matt Sanders, a big smirk present. Every woman on the entire planet just had an orgasm, something JoJo Sushi can't even do with... whatever gay porn flicks he stars in.

Sanders: Well, I can't say I'm not surprised. We reach Helloween, and the only thing standing between me and my rightful shot at the world title is a bunch of whining bitches who aren't even 1/8 as talented as I am. I know the math is lost on all of you because I'm the only intelligent soul around here, so let me dumb it down for you guys:

The only reason Helloween is happening this year is because Jonnie wants to test his future world champion to make sure he's ready for the 'violence' of Matthew X. Please... nobody in this company can even comprehend what violence is, much less carry it out. Guess it's time for God to take you guys to school, and it starts with the first wave of losers I have to decimate in the first battle royal I'm in.

Matt pretends to act like he needs to think about what to say to his future victims.

Sanders: JoJo Sushi, why don't you just do everyone a favor and get your gay porn making ass out of here before your 'moneymaker' no longer works. This isn't the place for some chink who thinks he has any looks or talent to step up to the plate, because the God that stands before you will take pleasure in taking what's made you so 'famous' and killing it. You're just a wannabe who thinks he matters in the face of God, but in case you haven't noticed bitch... I'm the only person in this whole damn company that has any real talent. I'm the guy everybody should fear, because I'm the guy that's going to claim the world title and only give it up when I decide this place is out of fresh meat to throw at me for a slaughter. So do us all a favor and don't bother showing up. I don't care what you decide to do back at home, but showing up means you have to face the greatest talent to ever grace the wrestling world. And trust me... I'm not a merciful God in the slightest.

Who's next? Suikerbossie? Great, just what I needed... a fucking reatrd from the House of Gayness to kill. I can't even understand what this worthless fuck says half the time, so that makes it pretty obvious that he poses no threat. I mean... how could somebody be any good if they shoot a shitty promo and think anyone understands retard-speak. Maybe you guys should get in contact with Ruppy, I'm sure he'd love to join you guys. After all, you'd make a great big retard family, which just saves me the trouble of exterminating you vermin from Hardkore World. That's all the time I'm going to waste on you, bitch.

Matt snickers.

Sanders: Cecil Kennedy... nice to see how respectful you are. Why don't you just pull a Rip van Winkle and sleep through this match. You'd have a better chance of keeping your worthless career if you just slept through the whole damn thing on whatever bus you are. I'm sure it must feel like to be a homeless douchebag sleeping on a bus that's made it's final stop ever in Loserville. Tell me... how does it feel knowing that you had probably the gayest match on the card, and ended up losing your title to the second most retarded person on this entire roster after Aaron Rupp? I'm sure the only thing that could've made your night any worse was getting your ass kicked by Rupp. Lucky for you, that didn't happen. Unlucky for you, you now have to face God. Consider this the last time you get anywhere near a title shot bitch, because you'll be nothing more than shreds of ribbons when I'm through fucking you up. Maybe you'll enjoy being put down like the dog you are, since it's already been established by a bitch and her offspring that you carry diseases because you were in close proximity to Kilroy for so long. Then again, I'd be willing to let you live if you could tell your undeserving counterpart Aids to send his sister my way. I'd be more than willing to give her far better than what X could give Nazi bitch with his two inch pole.

Matt just gives a full-out smile, and odds are than Kaycee Tanner just started packing up and getting ready to do her duty as a woman and get down on her hands and knees for the greatest thing to ever happen to wrestling.

Sanders: And so we also have an emo douchebag who thinks that just because he's one of the millions of Shitfucker knock-offs that he's worth being kicked in the face by the sole of my boot. I don't know who's more annoying, the School of Shitfucker or the House of Gayness. I'm not concerned about you in the slightest, emo dude, because you'll probably slit your wrists too deep before the match and end up killing yourself. That's what emos do, right? They try to kill themselves because they realize before anyone else how shitty their lives are and want to end it all. Should be no surprise that I, as God, could care less. Have fun rotting in Hell while Satan assrapes you!

Matt just waves goodbye, as though Psychotic Goth has already done the faithful deed of killing himself so nobody could put up with his useless emo drool.

Sanders: Hey, what do you know? Looks like people are finally starting to recognize the God-like talent I possess. After all, why else would we have a guy named Antonio Costa in this thing doing his nigger duty and stealing my gimmick? Kid, listen... I know you want to be like Greatness Incarnate and everything, but to do so you actually have to have... what was it again? Oh yeah... talent. And last I checked, nobody gave a flying fuck about you until I, out of the goodness of my God-like heart, gave you a name drop. For a nigger, that's the greatest thing to hear. You're even doing the Michael Jackson crotch-grab to signify how pathetic you are! Good for you! You're truly the kind of guy that stays true to his word, because you just showed us all how much you want to be like someone who's so far above you that you'd have to die and hope your soul can rise up just to be in the general vicinity of my greatness. You may think that you're going to 'shock the world' and all that other rookie bullshit by thinking you won this thing already, but that cup's had my name engraved on it ever since I walked through the door. All this is to me is a chance to create a body count that Matty X only dreams of making. And that's why you can just take your nigger ass and join emo boy in committing suicide now, because you'll never be as good as me.

I'm sure the message is loud and clear by now, but I'll go ahead and repeat it since you all are so fucking stupid that it's been lost on you. I'm Matt Sanders, the savior of wrestling, Greatness Incarnate, God, and the man who's simply... Better Than You.

Fade.

I have to go off-character because I,m sick off it to get personly attacked through my characters.

Handler of Matt Sanders and others listen good I work daily with mental handicapped people they ain,t retarts.
Yes some can,t read or write some are gay some are a bit weird with what they do.

Suikerbossie: Matt Sanders I may not like Jo Jo Sushi but when he need help to beat your ass I,m his man.
We in South-Adrica have a saying feel proud for who you are don,t feel proud who you can be!

Assassin's Video Blog: Driving Ms. Daisy or Those Are Some Mighty Fine Galoshes

As expected, Risk night was a bust. I had my strategy all planned out. I was going to build my forces in Australia, work my way over to Africa, and build my troops. From there I was going to run the gambit in South America, and cause Kilroy to have a shit fit because he can never keep South America no matter how much he tries. Then I was going to trade in a massive amount of cards and go to battle with Karnage who no doubt would have had a firm grip on North America. The Game would have ended at 5 A.M when Dougie drunk off scotch threw board over saying only geeks played this shit. Nevertheless, alas, it was not to be. Irish hookers, and a large ass Farris Wheel is how I spent my night. Which is how I spend most my nights, so I had time to ponder a few things such as:

If an UHOH whines, does a kitten die?

And if so, why are there still cats?

When is next month again Mr. Bozzini and who is this man playing Mr. Valentine in your promos?

Didn't Tony D. Help Kensan? And now he's teaming with Pat against Kensan? Me smells a swerve!

Can we add a stip to the previously mentioned match? Loser leaves town? I'm rooting for Double DQ.
And speaking of tasty treats from a subpar restaurant that has added to the weight gain of my fat Aunt Milly, I do want to take the time to put on notice a certain young gent that may or may not be related to one Colonel Sanders. Good Sir, the use of harsh language in Hadkore World is not frowned upon, and when used in the most excellent manner it is celebrated with a tinker tape parade by the Hardkore Hall Staffers and current Hardkore West Coast Champion Kilroy " Fuckin" Evans himself will serve as the grand marshal, but good sir, your use of douche bags against a none douche bag places you in the category of a douche bag yourself. I am sure that you understand, and will soon correct your mistake.

Another mistake I have made is clearly my own. There is no real way around it. So I'll just admit to it.

I hate snakes.

Fucking hate them.

My last contact actually had a no snake clause in it, but somehow my crack team of attorney back in Big Ugly, West Virginia missed that one...

And they wonder why I don't hire my cousins to do more work for me anymore.

So, I'm going have to do what I always seen my grand daddy do when it came to snakes, and that is take a big ole swig of hooch and grab and hatch and cut the damn thing's head off and feed it to the fish in the pond. Yep, that what he did, and by god, that's what I'm going to have to do to you Mr. Vvvvvvviiiinccccce Vvvvviiiiiippppeeeerrrrr. I' m going to break you down and feed the scraps to the bottom feeders.

Otherwise, I foresee another bloody month, when all I really want to hear is the sound of bones crackling, and cartilage popping and muscles tearing. Who knows, maybe someone will be for a game of Risk afterwards? I know I will be.

End Video Blog.
2:34

[Bulletin.]

[Antonio Costa is dead.]

[Not permanently, don't worry. He's just dead for the purpose of this promo as he visits heaven. Costa walks up to the pearly gates, hands in the pockets of his dark blue jeans, shades hanging from the collar of his loose white shirt. He passes the queue of recently deceased spirits, high fiving the doorman who lets him past the red rope and pushes back any that try to rush past as well.]

Antonio Costa: Sup P.

St. Peter: Antonioooooooo! What's happening!?

[They bump fists.]

Antonio Costa: Keeping busy. You know how it is. Just got myself a contract at Hardkore World.

St. Peter: Fuck off.

Antonio Costa: Truth.

St. Peter: Shiiiit. You've been praying for that for fifteen years now.

Antonio Costa: Hey you don't have to tell me, Pete. But that call finally came through. Got my debut at Hardkore Helloween.

[He checks his nails.]

Antonio Costa: I'm not sweating it so much. I'm here to see God. He in?

[St. Peter checks the diary of heaven.]

St. Peter: No can do. He's in a meeting with Zeus and Shiva. I can pencil you in for next Tuesday at 10?

Antonio Costa: That's okay. Maybe you can help me out anyway. I'm trying to figure out if anyone's heard of this Matt Sanders guy. No one on the face of the Earth has two clues as to who the fuck he is so I figured I'd check the ethereal plains.

St. Peter: I'll check the book of life...

[St. Peter thumbs through to the right section and looks down the page, mumbling.]

St. Peter: Sanders.... Sanders... Sanders... nope. Nada.

Antonio Costa: What about the book of death?

St. Peter: Hmmm... could be. We don't usually check it since anyone not in here goes... you know where.

Antonio Costa: Law school?

[Canned laughter.]

St. Peter, thumbing through the black book: Nahhh, can't see the name anywhere. This guy you're dealing with officially does not exist. Sorry I couldn't be of any more help.

Antonio Costa: It's cool.

[The pearly gates open. A blinding golden light bursts forth from them. Costa has to shield his eyes for a moment before the glow dissipates somewhat and out steps the big cheese himself.]

[That's right.]

[GOD.]

[Eating a dohnut and sipping a coffee.]

God: Hey.

Antonio Costa: Good meeting?

God: We got a lot done. What're you doing here anyway, you're not supposed to die until next Thurs... uh... many years. Yep. Many years.

Antonio Costa: I was just trying to figure out who Matt Sanders was. I can honestly say I've never heard of his lame ass and yet he's walking around like his shit don't stink. He even calls himself god.

[God dips his dohnut in his coffee and eats it.]

God: Ugh. THAT guy.

Antonio Costa: He isn't in either of the books.

God: Yeah, even I'M trying to brush that peice of crap under the carpet. I mean I don't make mistakes, right? I'm God afterall.

[He brushes some sugar off his face with the sleeve of his robe.]

God: But that little prick pisses me off. Listen to himself call himself god. I mean how old is that shit? That's so weak ass it's not even funny. SYBERUS even stopped short of calling himself god. He called himself a god-KING. And he had the common decency to break records and win titles in order to actually EARN his ego. But that piss ant Sanders? What the fuck has he accomplished exactly? Antonio, take it from me, you have more talent in your left nut than that shitbag has in his entire body.

[God sips his coffee and walks off.]

Antonio Costa: Uh... thanks.

[St. Peter puts his arm over Antonio as the pair walk for a moment.]

St. Peter: Sounds like it really isn't important that you've never heard of Matt Sanders...

Antonio Costa: No one's heard of *me*, but at least I have the intelligence to know what I'm getting myself into in Hardkore World. This guy thinks that racial slurs constitute shock value.

Racial slurs.

In a place where people have been pissed on, raped, set on fire, tortured, and killed. There's been killings right?

St. Peter: Yeah that place is gross.

Antonio Costa: And he thinks saying "nigger" and "chink" is going to turn heads... don't we have a Nazi on the roster already? Sanders needs to realise something. Ego is ego. No one likes ego. It's not cool. It's not funny. It's not entertaining in the slightest. Ego needs to walk hand in hand with MOXY. And moxy he 'aint.

St. Peter: Werd.

Antonio Costa: I'm from Ecuador. You don't have to talk like that.

St. Peter: Oh.

[Antonio looks into the camera.]

Antonio Costa: Sanders, let me make this clear. I'm going to knock you the fuck out. It's not even going to be hard. I know this because of how utterly clueless you are. It gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling to know how disastrously unprepared you are to be in Hardkore World. Then again I'm in heaven. Warm fuzzy feelings are pretty much the norm here.

St. Peter: Isn't it great?

Antonio Costa: But if I wasn't in heaven I'd still have that feeling anyway because I heard your words and I saw that blank expression on your face like you really don't know what it is you're about to do here... you're just saying things... and saying more things... and saying things all over again. Probably things you've said in many other places before but with different names. The problem is this isn't any other place you've been before.

I know.

Because I'm not just a FAN of Hardkore World.

I'm a student.

I know who the real gods are in this company. They go by the names Cyrus, Cobryn, Syberus and Jackson. We have a living legend on the belt right now and you're just some douche fag saying he doesn't know the meaning of violence. Broham, from what I've seen of you so far you don't know the meaning of your own ass.

[He turns to St. Peter.]

Antonio Costa: That made sense right?

St. Peter: More than anything HE said.

Antonio Costa: Whelp, either way, Sanders, you aren't a god. And after Hardkore Helloween, you'll barely be human.

[He steps onto the cloud that will take him back to his body.]

Antonio Costa: I'm the latest and greatest here. I'm the one that's going to take the headlines. Steal the limelight. Rocket himself into contention of the Hardkore World Heavyweight Championship, on his very first day in the fed.

Me.

And I don't need to call myself a god. And I don't need to call you kid. Or son. Or herpes.

Heheh.

Well, I might call you herpes.

'cause I know the truth. And anyone who, like me, is a student of Hardkore World, and KNOWS Hardkore World, knows the truth too. Because they'll be hearing my voice, and looking into my eyes, and knowing that I'm the real deal. That I've got what it takes to not only survive here, but rise high. Students of Hardkore World know a dumb fuck when they see one, Sanders. And right now we're looking at you.

Ciao Pete.

[He waves goodbye as the cloud takes him down, and the camera fades.]

(Scene opens as Tony Damico at a nearby bar in Cleveland)

Damico: Yeah, I am sure glad that the managment did not book any more matches yet in California. At least, I finally have my house on sale over there. And the new owner is some beer drinking cussing fool like me. Oh, well.

(Drinks his beer and orders another)

Damico: Fierce, you know that you were lucky to leave Belfast with your life. Now, you want to talk shit. You keep it up and I will break your fucking neck as soon as I win the six-man tag match with Pat and Bill.

(Laughs)

Damico: Rupp, I was the one who dominated our team, You were always the weak link and you could not handle it in the Highlight of Humanity. Shiro, I am sick and tired of you running us down memory lane everytime you talk. Hell, I can drink a case of beer, sleep it off and you would still be running your mouth. Devastation, I don't even know who the hell you are and don't even care. No, matter what, there won't be any Bruno or Stan the Tank screwing up things. This time, me along with Pat and Bill will win.

(Pauses and drinks his beer)

Damico; AND...................


(Pauses again to finish his beer)

Damico: I am Tony Damico, the Master of Legends, and yes, I do tell it like it is.

(Departs the bar)

(Fade out)

[The shot opens close on Cecil Kennedy's face. Slowly, he comes around, waking up and yawning.]

???: Cecil...

Cecil: Nrgh.

???: Hey Cecil...

Cecil: Get out of my head, Kilroy!

Kilroy: Is that code for "good morning" or something?

[Cecil bolts upright in his seat. The shot pulls out to show that he's sitting across from Kilroy Evans in a diner booth. Location? Unknown. Quaint little place, though.]

Kilroy: *smiling* Get out of my head to you too, buddy.

Cecil: Okay, what's going on?

Kilroy: I kidnapped you. Want some breakfast?

Cecil: What? How? Also, I love pancakes...

Kilroy: I can read a bus schedule. Using that mutant power for good, I had Andy drive me on ahead so I could meet you. You know what's weird? People don't speak up when you physically remove somebody from a bus.

[Still sleepy, Cecil gives a half-awake thousand yard stare.]

Cecil: Why...?

Kilroy: You seemed down when you left. I thought I'd see if I could help.

Cecil: Oh. Honestly? It's kind of...it's because of...well...

Kilroy: Yeah?

[A waitress stops by with a cup of coffee and some chocolate milk. Kilroy takes the milk and slides the coffee to Cecil, who just looks at the mug with disdain. Kilroy gives him a look that tells Cecil he should drink it anyways, so he does... He isn't a big coffee man, but at least the caffeine gives him a boost.]

Cecil: You.

Kilroy: Me, huh? I'm sorry. Losing happens, though.

Cecil: No-no-no, it was mainly what you said afterward.

Kilroy: What I...oh.

[Both men look meaningfully off into the distance as Kilroy's words echo once more.]

Kilroy: I was just making a joke, though. Why would that bother you? *pause* Oh crap, now I get it. Cecil, you didn't do anything wrong in that match.

[Cecil, who's been trying his damnedest to get some more, "Vile black stuff 'n a mug", looks back at Kilroy.]

Cecil: But you said it yourself, man! It was the least bloody match for you ever! I actually DID think up of the match so you could have a little variety with your gorey-fights.

Kilroy: First of all, do you know what hyperbole means?

Cecil: Making up words does not impress me.

Kilroy: Aw, really? Damn. I was kidding around, Cecil. I loved that match. Every card someone's doing their best to bleed me out. Do you know how refreshing it was to be able to leave the building with all the blood I brought in and an unbroken nose? I don't get to do that very often.

[Cecil is still pouting. Or nodding off, it's hard to tell.]

Kilroy: Okay, I was the better man that night. You beat Death Gojira on your first try! I'm impressed to all hell!

Cecil: Really?

Kilroy: I fought him for over a year before I scored a win. He beat the everloving fuck outta me. There is no shame in your game, I promise you.

[Cecil brightens up a little.]

Kilroy: I have no doubt you're gonna kick ass at Helloween. After facing you, I know they have no idea what they're in for. So let's get some food ordered and then you can get started for that. Oh, and there's a couple of other things.

[Kilroy sets a box on the table. Cecil opens it, seeing it contains a cake.]

Kilroy: Apology cake.

Cecil: Aw, thanks. It was nice of you to have them cross out "Congratulations" and add "Nice Try."

Kilroy: I was just going to eat the words off, but that'd be kinda rude. And...

[Kilroy sets a tire iron on the table and slides it to Cecil. Cecil is right not to be eager to touch it.]

Kilroy: A long time ago, I stole an idea from Batman and started a little trophy room for myself. This one is yours now.

Cecil: What is it?

Kilroy: That's the tire iron I slammed into Gojira's head during a cage match.

Cecil: The one from the opening highlight reel?

[Kilroy nods.]

Cecil: Golly gee, mister! This is amazing... Does such a historic piece of Hardkore have a name?

Kilroy: Yes. The Thunderer.

Cecil: Really?

Kilroy: No. May you swing toward the Heavens and crack open the skull of God.

Cecil: *grinning madly* Can do!

Kilroy: If you can't, at least make God wear it as braces.

Cecil: Matt Sanders could use some braces, actually... Wait, I'm suddenly realizing that I watched his promo... How the hell did I do that while unconscious?

Kilroy: It's actually been blaring out on the TV's behind you.

[Kilroy points, Cecil looks around tiredly to see some TV's. Amazing.]

Cecil: ...This totally explains the past three-four minutes of my life... or is it hours?

[Kennedy looks back.]

Cecil: Whatever... is this guy serious? I recall training for awhile with the last self-proclaimed god, and that guy skedaddled out of here faster than Ruppy's sense of... well, anything. Or Marty Donovan with my robot... the cunning bastard.

[Kennedy scratches his goatee for a second.]

Cecil: See, I can make fun of mentally-handicapped people, too, and I even shouted out a current champion's name as well while I was at it! The only-two worthwhile skills it seems you have, Saddle-bags!

Kilroy: Isn't that RDS' nickname?

Cecil: Was. 'till he skiffed, anyways. Getting back on-topic... The god complex. It was done by no better man than Syberus, and no man will ever come close to achieving an attitude like he did... So of course, when I say this, more than half the roster here falls into a category of being Syberus-clones. Even our man Tanner could be put into that category, but he was one of the very few men who could give 'ole Sybby a run for his money... and Tanner had established himself as a titan amongst wrestling; Not alike any other wrestler out there.

Kilroy: That was a mouthful. I regret giving you the coffee now.

Cecil: As you should. But wait, there's more!

[The waitress finally brings Cecil another cup of coffee. He downs it faster than Tony Damico does a bottle of beer. Doesn't seem that fast at first, but you gotta give Tony credit for keeping up with the traditional-style of drinking a six-pack every promo he does.]

Cecil: TO REITERATE! I have been told that I am facing, "God"-

[Finger quotes, people. You WILL be quizzed on this if you don't pay attention.]

Cecil: -who, last I checked, the previous, "God" - Or rather, God-King as Mr. Costa pointed out - ran out of Hardkore World to play soccer with all the nice Brazilian kiddies-

Kilroy: To be fair, those guys can get pretty nasty. I've personally never been kicked by one of them, but television has given me insight on how painful it can be. TV is wise and all-knowing.

Cecil:...and then the previously-mentioned-self-proclaimed, "God" transformed himself into a dumbass who berates Costa for stealing "his" gimmick. As far as I'm concerned, Matt, you stole it from a guy whose afraid of another man with a flaming glove - now let's make-up and find our own creative ways of expressing ourselves, hm?

[Third cup of coffee. A gentleman's sip this time. If only he had a monocle.]

Cecil: With the way you speak, I'm not gonna be surprised if an angry Suikerbossie or Goth eliminates you first - I really mean that. Putting you to my level - or me to your level, however your warped sense wants to think of it as - you're gonna need to show a little more determination than just repeating what once a great man said.

Kilroy: Ed O'Neill?

Cecil: Syberus.

Kilroy: You've got a lot of respect for him, I notice.

Cecil: As much as a man that trained with him and then stabbed him in the back could, yeah.

Kilroy: Aww, that's sweet.

Cecil: Well, me and Aids figured it was gonna happen to us eventually, just look at poor, depraved 'lil Marty fighting the bad-good fight by himself. It's almost inspiring!

Kilroy: I think that's going to be the name of his autobiography.

Cecil: That's nice. It's a shame I don't read crap.

Kilroy: Good luck with Helloween. And remember, it's not the blood on the outside that counts, it's the blood on the inside.

Cecil: .......wut?

Kilroy: Nevermind. Can you believe Cyrus Williams is back? And he asked me for his return fight. Me!

Cecil: I'm not really sure who that is.

[A strained and awkward pause.]

Cecil: I really hate coffee, by the way.

Kilroy: *smiling* I know.

[Cecil laughs and they shake hands as the waitress makes her way over. Fade out.]

Its a hot day in Texas. Brandi is at the Rick Owen Cup show over at SWAT, preparing to decimate 'Wildcat' Lynn Brewster, Stormy Weather and "The Best spent 50 bucks in the Southwest" Kaycee Tanner, as she claims the SWAT Womens world title. She glances up and sees that the HW suits have sent a camera crew to her because, quite frankly, the others in the Queen of Helloween just arent interesting enough to hold the attention of the viewers.

Brandi: slipping her elbow pad on as she loosens up Well..looks like its that time again. Time for my buddy Jonnie Valentine to put together the Yearly Helloween show. Cant argue with the fact that the mens brackets are pretty strong this year. Hell, anybody isnt out of the running there, its a wide open shot.

she pauses to adjust her pony tail in a mirror before she continues.

Then we have the Womens bracket. It kills me..why an event as big as this ALWAYS has a bunch of dimwits and underlings..every damn year. If it were just a 1 time thing, I could understand it, but every year its the same shit. Theres The easiest fuck in the Southwest Kaycee Tanner, Aunt Lucinda..or Aunt Ester, WHATEVER her name is..and then we cant forget the official HW Cum Dumpster Darkchild..although I, personally, wouldnt MIND a climb up that 7 foot frame.. she cracks a slight smile and winks at the camera Caitlin..ya got my number sweetie..call me..ok? Where WAS I? Oh yeah..then theres Suzie Machina..still trying to get over that hump huh Suzie..well..that sound ya hear..its the clock honey. And yours aint slowing down any..HA!! Then theres the Happiest Ending in Hong Kong Dragonatrix, honey..give it up. The only Hardkore thing ABOUT you is your rap sheet with interpole..And lets not forget Emachi Lewis...who...rumor has it is actually Emanuel Lewis after the sex change..HAHA..Im joking..seriously girls..if ANY of you doubt what I pro ise will be the most brutal ass kicking of your entire, lonely, miserable lives, just call the Tomcat Lynn Brewster and ask her what Im capable of. Better still..AFTER I win that Womens title, Ill bring it WITH me to Ohio and wrap it around every damn one of your skulls..Caitlin..honey PLEASE call me.

She winks quickly at the camera again and departs into the hallway, as the sound of the Texas crowd is heard in the background