Pete Whealdon is lined up in the Defiance promo booth, two bottles of Pappy Van Winkle family reserve. Laura Winters leans against his back as he sneers visibly. 

 

“Alright. Here’s the fucking deal. Today I got handed what I thought was a fucking grocery list of absolute stupidity. Why the fuck would I want to buy a Curtis Penn. Fuck Curtis Penn. Fuck Beef Jackson. They’re all completely stupid faggots not worth the time of effort it took to pick up some paper, print their name, fax it to me, because I refuse to use email. It’s for faggots.

 

And double triple fuck Nikolas Kiri, hey retard, remember when you beat the shit out a tiger, because you’re tough and then I fucked Chris Hopper’s so hard he walks with a wobble, and you’re still a completely useless fucking faggot tool, times two because you’re a big fucking piece of shit. OH yeah. Cute, you managed to pin my partner ten minutes after we got back from mattering. Slow clap faggot. you deserve it. 

 

Here’s the deal, Nikolas Kiri. Defiance Battle Royal. I have experience in these things, and you’re some big dumb fucking jockstain wearing a mid nineties wrestling mask Jonas Anger found behind a fucking dumpster while you were trying to decide if Jack in the Box was a Zoo and you were wrestling a drive through ordering machine. Hey Sound familiar?

 

Nikolas Kiri wrestling inanimate objects and slobbering at the mouth like the kind of unwashed faggot heathen from Iowa, or wherever they breed big gigantic mouth breathers. Oh hey congrats on your victory over The World’s longest tag team. Hope you enjoyed it. Did I mention that us losing to you is the equivalent of me stubbing my toe getting out of the shower in the morning, and that I effectively ended the career of the biggest faggot in wrestling history ten days later?

 

Lemme slow that down for you.

 

Mouth Breathing fucktard. When you beat us. It didn’t matter. I do things that matter. I’m Pete Street Dolphin Whealdon, and I’m gonna head to your home town, to the jack in the box where you were trying to wrestle a hamburger out of, I’m going down to the local pub and I’m going to fuck your ugly mother. Because I’m a sick guy. I really like to feel alive. I bet when you roll out of your double wide trailer and Jonas Anger takes you for a walk and has to hefty bag your shit, because you couldn’t figure out indoor plumbing, showering, doorknobs. You say things “ME mad, Me hate Sloan. HUNGRY”. The concept of thinking, fucking eludes you, and I’m going to embarrass  your stupid faggot ass so badly, you’ll have to have Jonas Anger pull out every fucking goddamn video tape he masturbates over. 

 

Here’s a hint you two. Jonas, I’m going to speak directly to you , because let's face it. Unless it has a cage door and an animal in it. Nikolas Kiri isn’t going to be deciphering a single word I just said. So listen you stupid cocaine railing living in the past two bit hack faggot of a manager. Buy a Television. You know a flat screen so you don’t hurt your back when you tape it to your face and Watch Bronson Box, do the exact thing Nikolas Kiri is trying to do, but you know not fucking completely suck at every single part of it.

 

Bronson Box wears a fucking bathing suit from the Nineteen Twenties and has a mustache from Portlandia and he’s scarier than Kiri wrestling a tiger, a bear, or whatever else the fuck you think makes that big dumb fuckwad look hard.

 

Have him wrestle some lockers, have him wrestle Mike Sloan a million times. Doesn’t matter. He’s a paper thin piece of shit. And maybe next time when you’re buying his fucking clothing you can drop a few more quarters and upgrade from the fucking St. Vincents to Goodwill, and sign him up for a job as a wall or some shit. Because that stupid peice of shit isn’t going to be going anywhere.

 

Me I’m going to the fucking wargames. and I’m going to win this tournament, then I’m going to send you a big fucking picture of what a successful wrestler looks like, and I’m going to send Kevin Alloy to show your fucking nineteen foot tall silverbacking faggot what a manager looks like, Capiche? Because when I’m done with him, and he’s covered in your lipstick from your purse, I’m going to have Laura Winters put a fucking strap-on, on,  and fuck you like the rest of your useless life, and maybe you can film it for posterity, cut another shitty promo over it and finally do something compelling for exactly the first time in your entire fucking DEFIANCE career.

 

Wait. Hold up. Aren’t there other people in this fucking disaster? Hold on. Nope.”

 

Dramatic Pause.

 

“No one, the rest of you faggots don’t even rate to be named. You fucks should come out group rate style. “

 

Black.