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scene five, and there's the smoking barrel
How do I feel... about Dillon Durst.
Heh.
You know, I'm not deaf. I've heard every word that man has spoken leading into this match-- both on and off air. From taped shoots to the words of the staff who've spoken to the man, I know all that he's had to say of me. Now it's time that he knows what I have to say to him.
Let's start at the beginning, shall we?
For my entire stay at the NLCW... I've been fighting and struggling to get to where I am today. During this time of trials and tribulations, Dillon Durst was riding Sean Galen's coat to success before he inevitably turned on the man, casting him aside much to the favor of the fans, and capturing the gold for the first time. Having successfully ridden the man to the top and then thrown him over once he'd had enough, Dillon then focused on building himself as a credible world champion. He lasted all of a single month, where then Chris Champion took the title from him.
Then, yet another month later... Durst took it back with the help of Rick Majors.
And now he claims that I've brown-nosed my way to the top, when it seems that he can't get there without the help of others.
Let me sit down and explain something to you, Dillon... I fought ON MY OWN to get where I am now. The management booked me into match after match that they believed I was capable of winning, and by FUCKING God, I won them. I made my way up that God damn ladder, rung by rung, off of my own abilities. You ride Sean Galen's ass up that ladder, you act as though had Rick Majors not interfered you would have STILL won... and you accuse ME of using others for my success.
There's a word that describes actions like these, Dillon... you fucking hypocrite.
You go on and you speak as though you actually know who I am, Dillon, when you know NOTHING of the man called Dominic Pericolo. You know NOTHING of my past, Dillon... and you know NOTHING of what I've spoken over time.
You think that I run from my past, that I try to push it behind and ignore the fact that it ever happened. You act as though I don't realize just how important the past truly is to the present and the future, and you procede to lecture me on the importance of accepting the past for what it was.
Listen here, you son of a bitch, I never left my past behind... I overcame it. I overcame the horrors I'd fought through just so I could continue on successfully in life, but by God will I never forget those days. There are some things you simply CAN'T block from your memory, Durst... and come this Sunday, one of those things for you will be when I beat the holy HELL out of you, and take away YOUR TITLE.
What you have FAILED to realize, Dilllon Durst, is that in that same week you beat Chris Champion with the help of Rick Majors... I beat VIOLENT A, and I beat SHANE PERRY, JUST so I could get a fucking shot at you. Then, just a few fucking days later, I set out to face Ash, and was beaten when he put his feet on the ropes.
What you have FAILED to remember, Dillon Durst, is that I KICKED YOUR ASS in the past, and have improved since then just as you. That after the FIRST TIME that I failed, I made up for it by ending your former friend's career. That even now, as I speak these words to you directly, I plan on making up for my loss to Ash in more ways then one. The difference between you and I, Dillon Durst... is that I make up for my mistakes, and you continue making them.
You claim that my sights are only set on winning the title and not defending it. You claim that I have no plan for the events that shall happen should I put an end to your reign, Durst... and you act as though I am nothing more then a fool challenging the Gods.
Don't you get it, you asshat?! I am the man who has gone through a multitude of wrestlers just to get to this point. I am the man who spent over two years in the HWF trying to win a title that I inevitably never even TOUCHED. I am the man who has gone through hell and high-fucking-water just to get to this very point... and you are the proud champion with the miniscule outlook on the competition. Of COURSE I have a plan for after, Durst... and the plan is a simple one-- keep on fighting.
Having everyone gunning for you at once... knowing that no matter where you turn, you might run into another challenger to the throne? I can't wait to experience that, Durst... and I daresay I'm better qualified for that experience then you.
You don't have the desire that I do, Durst... let's face it. You don't have the passion for the business that I have, because you're too passionate about your own damn self. You don't look at wrestling and see a business that you can forever advance in until the end of your days... you just see yourself instantly at the top of the mountain, forever stationed there as king. You want more, and more, and more with every step that you take... you simply can't get enough of what's in front of you, can you Durst?
Your eyes only focus on what you can do... and not what the future holds in store for everyone. I focus on these things and base my actions off of that, because in doing so I'll know what to expect from those I face.
You believe you're the most successful wrestler in the NLCW today, that you've climbed the mountain twice and should be hailed as some sort of wrestling God. You claim that you've done all of these great things... and you continue to sound more and more like a man I once faced not too long ago.
You've become that which you hate, Durst... you're turning into Sean Galen.
And we all know what I did the last time I faced Sean Galen, don't we?
It's funny how much you've twisted my words, Durst... it really is. From claiming that I flip out at the mere mention of the HWF when, in fact, I fondly embrace those memories... to claiming that I've stated that it is I who's made the NLCW title.
I never made that title, Durst... a man hired by the NLCW administration took a bit of gold and did some fancy designs to make it pretty for us all, then slapped it on a peice of leather. A regular, every day man... probably a man who doesn't even have an interest in wrestling, designed and made this belt.
We, as wreslters, only define it.
I remember a time in the HWF when I went on an incredible undefeated streak, where no man could seemingly halt the beast raging inside of me. I remember a time when I slammed myself through the glass of a rotating door just to win a fucking match. I remember a time when I got a concussion from a woman in a knee brace, ending my last shot at the HWF title quite suddenly and knocking my ass out cold.
I remember all of that, Dillon... and I don't sheild my eyes. I don't spit and sneer. I don't cry and wail. I EMBRACE my fucking past, Dillon... because I've overcome its mistakes.
Not ONCE did I ever claim to run from my past... for only a FOOL wouldn't realize that it always catches up to you.
The only memory that ever broke me, Dillon Durst... was the memory of Crystal's death, and I've love since outgrown that fucking memory. Instead, I remember the happy times she and I had, and I grimly recall the night that changed my night. I accept the past, Dillon... and I'll never allow it to break me again.
You've spent the past several days spewing shit time and time again about me off the top of your head, looking for any conceivable method of getting one up over me... and not once did you think that I myself would have the balls to step forward and call you on it.
Tommorow, Durst... you're not facing a misguided man. You're not facing your typical everyday challenger-to-the-throne. You should NOT go in expecting a cakewalk... because if you do, I will bring your fucking funeral.
It's a pity that all your talent's been wasted on that piss-poor attitude of yours... I would have liked to have an honorable match.
Michelle... you asked me for my thoughts on Dillon Durst? You want to know what's going through my mind, at this very moment, as I contemplate every word I've said here today?
Five words, Michelle... I can wrap this all up in five simple words.