The scene this time is in front of a CSWA backdrop at the arena. JA and Lollipop are standing at equal footing this time, JA in his ring attire and a JA logo t-shirt from his 'other' place of employment, the company's logo blurred out. Lollipop is dressed in a sexy skirt-suit, with the skirt hiked way up, 3/4 of the way up her thighs. She's also wearing glasses and has a clipboard, looking Stacy Kiebler-esque from her early WCW days.
JA: Oh, Anger-bot, Anger-bot, wherefore art thou betwixt with such ye olde anger?
Wherefore art thou so bitter and jaded? Hast thou been wronged by the world in some way? Dost thou bytcheth about the slings and arrows of outrageous fortunes tossed at you by the See-Ess-Double-Yoo-Aye on ye olde Live Journal?
JA shakes his head.
JA: Man, I do see your point about Shakespeare though... I can see how you'd think it was sound and fury and other bull-dookie like that. Although it would probably sound better in iambic pentameter... but I can't be assed to remember how that [bleep] goes anyway.
Still though, the question begs to be asked, why are you so freakin' angry, Anger-bot? To answer that, I've got my lovely and talented girlfriend, Lollipop, to give you some psycho-analysis, you know, to show how much of a psycho you really are. And before you start questioning her credentials, she took a class once on psychology at Orange County Community College.
Lolli: I like got an A in it too or something.
JA: See? She's got brains to go with the boobs.
JA: Anyway, Ms. Pop, could you tell me what the deepest seeded roots of Anger-bot's rage are?
Lolli: Well, like, I kinda think it's cuz he just doesn't get laid and stuff. Like, my statistics say that like, a lot of people who are angry are like angry cuz they like, don't get any play or something like that.
JA: And it makes perfect sense, seeing that I don't even think the lady cyborgs want a piece of this Speak 'n Say reject. Anyway, you have more?
Lolli: Yeah, like, another thing I noticed was like, he's really insecure, cuz he's always projecting stuff about superiority 'n stuff like that on himself. Like him calling himself Your Daddy.
JA: Yeah, I mean, what's up with that? I know it's an expression, but my real daddy, the esteemed Flairaholic Anonymous, didn't quite appreciate that.
Lolli: And what's, like, more is that he's all up in your grill like projecting inferiorities 'n stuff on you. Like calling you a pretender.
JA: Pretender... interesting. I think we have all we need, Ms. Pop. Thanks for your insight.
Lolli: Like, anytime babe.
JA smiles at his lady and turns towards the camera.
JA: You know, Anger-bot, you aren't making that strong of a case for yourself here. A bigot, a Napoleonic nihilist, and now a insecure little twit. That's okay though, seeing that the totally insecure don't know it. Well, that's what we're here for, to let you know. The first step to recovery is always admitting you have a problem.
And that problem is not following your own little rules. Pretenders not allowed. Shouldn't you have taken the cue a long time ago? If you were any bigger a pretender, you'd be Chrissy Hynde without the sex appeal.
Now, don't get me wrong here. I know there are some people who really deserve to harbor emotions of hate and desponency, but honestly, what beef could you have with us folks here working for CS Enterprises that warrants the condemnation of those pretty towers down there in Greensboro? Unless your name is Chad Merritt or Eddie Mayfield, I can't even begin to fathom any kind of justification.
You can stop pretending that you have some earth-shattering reason for hastening the death of this company. I mean, nothing lasts forever, but there are a corps of dedicated people here who will keep this thing alive for as long as it takes to put out a new legacy, a final chapter. Any reason other than Big Stevie Fool killing your mom and raping your dog Ted Turner-style is just bologna.
You can also stop pretending that you're some god to lucha. Unless you are Mil Mascaras under all those circuit boards and voice modulation, then you aren't. Hell, I know Mil Mascaras. And you, sir, are no Mil Mascaras.
I'd venture to say you're not even Juventud Guerrera.
So you can drop the charade. You can just drop everything, the pretenses, the masking, the everything. If you really have this big, big, hyooge, oh-em-gee EX-BOX SIZED grievance, why not let it all out?
Because you're insecure. Because you know that when you let it all out, the world will be utterly underwhelmed by what they see. And that's why you have to destroy this place before it can get rolling again. Because if you don't, then with each passing second, you stand a bigger chance of getting embarrassed.
And you can't stand that.
Because not even your World Championships can mask the fact that you're inadequate for the task. Right about now, there are thirteen men left in this tournament with an equal shot at that Unified World Heavyweight Championship, at least a theoretical equal shot.
You, my bitter little sailor, are just a pretender trying to tell himself and everyone else that he's just as good as everyone else, and with all that fancy technology and promises of being the GREATEST LUCHADOR EVAIR!!!1, you may fool John Q. Public, but not me.
I'm far smarter than you give me credit for.
And I'm smart enough to know, that, like I've said all along...
...there's only room for one luchador in this tournament.
JA looks intently into the camera as Lollipop looks at her clipboard. The scene fades to the CSWA logo.