“Ahem.

Ahem.

Uh… uh… uh…

Hi?

No, that’s not it.

Yo?

Wrong again.

Hear ye! Hear ye!

Damn it, how did I used to start these things off?

Ladies and gentle…. I got it!

Ahem.

BITCHES AND GENTLEFUCKS!

Let that echo right now. Let it bounce from wall to wall inside your skull. Because this moment right here is something special. Something to be treasured. Something never, and I mean never to be repeated. Here it is: myth… legend… reality. The last triumphant bellow of the king’s horn. It’s a mixed bag of emotions, but that’s what makes it so exciting.

My name is Leroy Bruce Stone. As if I need an introduction. And I’m about to blow your mind.

What’s the matter? Some of you fools look like you’ve just seen a ghost. What were you thinking? That just because a motherfucker realizes there’s more to life than the middle finger and references to one’s own enormous genitalia, that he can’t start some shit? I guess I really don’t need to start shit, since it always seems to find me regardless, but that’s not the point. I sure as hell can finish it. So, Mr. Dante Anglais, Monsieur le Français avec un petite croissant, Mr. badass mo’fo living in la-la land, what was that you said? Actually, don’t answer that. The process by which we got to this point doesn’t matter, all that I want you to focus on is the conclusion. You were wrong. About a whole bunch of shit. Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong! Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong! Sing it baby! Let’s get some melody to your failure!

Dante was wroooooooooooooong!

Sure, it’s easy for me to sit back, keeping my opinions to myself, and then point out when others screw up, without personally offering up anything of value, but hey… at least when I do that, I’m right. Get out your pen and pad, kiddo, ‘cause I’m giving you a firsthand lesson in being right.

I haven’t been hiding shit, son. Sure I haven’t said the word ‘cunt’ nearly as much as usually would, but have you seen me walking around backstage? I’m rocking a swagger that’d make Jack Sparrow proud. You see, one can retain full confidence in one’s abilities, and even keep the ego fires stoked and roaring, without calling everyone in sight a cock-smoking, ass-licking, cum-drenched whore.

Although… when in Rome.

Dante, you’re a cock-smoking, ass-licking, cum-drenched whore.

Much better.

Now, you were saying clown? You want to get me angered? You want to have some sick fantasy where I’m massaging my ego? Dude, that’s gross. Maybe I should fear you, freak. I can only hope that you will be my last nightmare. Good sleeps for the rest of my life? I like the sound of that.

But how in the fuck could you possibly know what would work for me and what wouldn’t? As a matter of fact, who the fuck are you? What crazy-ass, imaginary world do you live in, where you could possibly preach to me about anything to do with being successful. You’ve had a couple of wins? Congratu-fucking-lations, buddy. String it together for six years and then come back to me and your opinion may just be credible after all. Of course, by then I’d have hit twelve years so could still stand here telling you to go blow a goat.

I understand though. You just want to see a show, right? I can’t blame you for that. I’m an entertaining bastard. It’s my curse. I don’t even have to make any sense with what I say, and it still has people grinning from ear to ear. Watch and learn.

‘With the fall of the Soviet Union, the Eastern European stranglehold on canine exports was greatly diminished, leading to a migration of dogs across the entire world. That’s how Dante’s mother came to bring him into America’.

See what I mean? I don’t even know what the hell I just said, but it sure sounded spiffy. Even managed a ‘yo mama’ joke in there. Win.

If you really knew enough about me to tell me how I should be acting, then you should know all of this already. And you should also know that this reaction of mine, it doesn’t mean you’ve gotten under my skin. It doesn’t mean you’ve pissed me off. All it shows is that you mentioned my name, and like I have for so many people in the past, I responded. That’s all it is. And you’ll probably call me back out. Go for it. You’re just bitter. You and Miyoko may have been the best team on the night, but Jose Chavez was the best wrestler. His ability was greater than the sum of you and Miyoko combined. Fact. He didn’t steal a win. He didn’t catch a lucky break. He hit Miyoko with the Tornado, and then he pinned her. I know you haven’t been around for very long, and I know this was your first taste of defeat, but let me tell you, that’s how matches tend to end. Someone hits someone else with a good move, and it’s over. Often it can come out of nowhere. That’s why we’ve all got favourite moves to use, because they’re useful in situations where we need to turn the tide. It doesn’t mean you were better and Jose got lucky. The match played out exactly as any match that isn’t a straight demolition would. With the smarter, and more talented wrestler winning.

My guy.

Cry me a river, son.

Heh, I just gave you a career Dante. You’re welcome. But there’s someone I really should be focusing on. I could go throw a few words in RW Randolph’s direction; I could keep my stingray barb at the ready to once again launch an attack on Steve Jason; I could ramble on about how I have no idea who in the blue hell Chris Page is, or why he’s in a match later on the card than my own, but I’ll gloss over that for now, because you’re all here for one thing. Here it is.

Lee Stone versus Aidan Collins.

First time ever.

Last chance.

Are you as excited as I am?

You are?

So you’re bored as shit already with this?

See, Aidan, Dante did hit on one particular point. I haven’t responded to your hi-jinks with the usual energy and propensity for the f-word often inherent in my actions (26 and counting). It’s because this is the same old shit, Aidan. We’ve never faced each other, and already I feel like I’ve been down this road so many times I could drive it with my eyes closed and only using my feet to steer. Maybe it has something to do with the constant potshots at each other over the years, but more specifically, I think it’s because every time I wind up in a position like this, every time it’s a big marquee match (although why this – a match made about a year ago and advertised far more than any other on the card, is as far down the card as it is, is completely beyond me), it always reads the same way.

So you want to know why I’m sad, Aidan? There’s one reason: the monotony of this bullshit. Here’s a second: while we fight for the amusement of all the puppeteers in the audience (and also for our own amusement, let’s not kid ourselves here), millions of people around the world are fighting just to survive. Or maybe, I’m just making all of this up because I can’t think of anything else to say. Sounds like something I’d do.

Quite frankly, Aidan. I just don’t give a shit. You want this big showdown of egos? You want my scalp on your belt? Here, take it. I’m not using it. It’d be rude of me to keep hold of it.

I could stand here, and talk about how you’re Universal Title reigns came from wins over douchebags like Brad Pierce, so even though you’re at two and I’m only at one, mine has a lot more credibility. I could bring up how it’s taken so long for us to get to this position, because I’ve always been a step ahead of you on the card. When I was Universal Champion, you were losing the World Title. When I was Legend, you got to the Universal level. Coincidence? Hardly. Or I could say that you’ve dodged me your whole career because you know that as soon as you step into the same ring with me, all these delusions of grandeur you have will come crashing down.

But again Aidan, I don’t care.

So come along. Push me down the ramp in a wheelchair again. That was fun. Try to call me gay, I’d like to see if you actually have any creativity when you’re put on the spot. Put a bucket of pain above my locker door and watch it splash all over me. That’d prove your wit, no doubt.

But I don’t care.

That’s not to say that I’m completely unresponsive. Hell, I’m still talking, aren’t I? People want a show, so I’m going to give them one. It’s the least I can do for everything they’ve given me. Heh… my one noble deed in this lifetime, and it involves you. You must be one suave motherfucker now, Aidan. But I challenge you. Make me interested. Make me give a crap. Prove to me that you’re even worth my fucking time. Because I’m not convinced any of you are anymore.

Faggot.

Just thought I’d add that, for nostalgic reasons.

Have a bad day”.