View Full Version : SWEET 16 - PORTLAND: [1] Shawn Hart vs. [5] Promo

03-14-07, 07:50 AM
Hart defeated:
Decapitator Diamond
James Irish

Promo defeated:
Matthew Kurtis

This match will be held at the Rose Garden in Portland, OR. There is no RP limit, and the deadline is Friday, March 23rd, 11:59:59 PM, give or take a second.

03-19-07, 05:54 PM
FADE IN: To pillow fights, giggling girlies in their laciest lingirie, and a Kawasaki boom box bumping some BSB at full-blast: all of which are crucial ingredients to a successful SWEET SIXTEEN! At the shindig in question, the girl of the hour is none other than the EPW Television Champion and D-list television personality, SHAWN JESSICA HART, PhD. Despite the disturbing nature of such a proposition, he too is rocking his sexiest set of PJ's, which appears to us in the form of a black teddy. So, now that a thoroughly disgusting pictured has been painted for everyone, LET THE GAMES BEGIN!

HART: "Tee hee HEEEEEEE!!! This is it girls, this is my MTV moment... My Super Sweet 16!!!"

Giggle. Giggle. Giggle. Shawn's sister FELICIA interjects.

FELICIA: "So wait a minute, if that's the case shouldn't Rhianna or Bow Wow be performing? And just where the hell is your diamond tiara?!"

HART: "What are you trying to say exactly, li'l sister?"

FELICIA: "Oh... nothing. 'Cept the only thing SUPER about your Sweet 16 is the size of the Big Mac value meal you had earlier today!"

HART: "B(FCC)tch, that's not super... it's super-sized."

FELICIA: "Yeah, just like your ghetto booty... B(FCC)tch!"


Giggle. Giggle. Giggle. A third girl who may or may not be EPW/Venus star and TEAM participant FOXX intervenes.

FOXX: "Ladies, ladies, ladies! How about some Jell-O shots?!

Dumbing down the whiteness of the party is Hart's Asian friend. Let's call her AIKO.

AIKO: "If I'm gonna be taking shots to the mouth, I think there are better things than Jell-O for to be swallowing!"

The other three are taken aback.




FOXX: "Umm..."

Giggle. Giggle. Giggle. Out of nowhere the Latke Lexicon, JON KATZ JR., bursts into the room!

KATZ: "YO-YO-YO! What'chyou nafkas and no-goodniks doin' up in this b(FCC)tch-ass piece?! The Manischevitz Mac-Daddy is on the scene like Charlie Sheen, you know what I mean?!"

SJH's face lights up.

HART: "DADDY! Are you here with my Super Sweet 16 SURPRISE?!"

KATZ: "The hell?! JKJ ain't yo daddy, b(FCC)tch!"

HART: "Stick to the script, JACKHOLE!"

KATZ: "Oh, OH! Word... word. My bad, yo. That's what you get for payin' a shikkert like yours truly to keep the shpiel goin'..."

Suddenly, JKJ takes notice of Foxx and drops his shades.

KATZ: "HOLD UP! Who might this tasty pastry of a shiksa queen be?"

The Jewish Jackhammer slides up close with the quickness.

KATZ: "Yo baby, can't you SEE?! You got an 'ittle bitty itchin', and the cure is ME! Check it- what's your sign, my future Jewish bride?"

Foxx is, well... disgusted.

FOXX: "Uhh, is it just me or does something smell distinctly of coney sauce and cabbage?"

From what she can discern, the perilous odor is coming from JKJ.

FOXX: "Yeah, I think I'll pass. Sorry."

KATZ: "B(FCC)tch please!"

AIKO: "Hey baby, I'll be your Milkshake Girl!"

KATZ: "Ahh sh(FCC)t, baby! You want JKJ in your brown rice patch? You gotta come taste my motzah meal first!"

The Phenom finally grows impatient.

HART: "Apparently SOMEBODY doesn't want their $25!"

Katz rolls his eyes, snaps his fingers, and steps up to Hart.

KATZ: "DAYUM, boy!! That's all me, son. My bad. Now uhh, check this OUT! I know it's your Super Sweet 16, baby... and since your my *GULP* precious baby girl, Daddy's got a big surprise for that ass!"

HART: "What is it, Daddy? WHAT IS IT?!"

JKJ steps to the door and puts his hand on the handle.

KATZ: "I got the most HYPE performer in the biz to ROCK y'alls lacy drawers lyrically!! So let's hear y'all give a big shout out for my main man, RICKY MARTIN!!"


With that, Katz lets the door RIP and... KIN HIROSHI explodes into the room?!


KATZ: "Ohhh BABY!"

HIROSHI: "When she MOVES, sheeee MOOVES!"

KATZ: "I go CRAZY!!!"

The girls are thoroughly disgusted.

HART: "What in the hell is this?! That's not Ricky Martin!"


Suddenly, Aiko has an epiphany.


FOXX: "Who?! WHO???"

AIKO: "It's the MUFFIN MAN!!"

KATZ: "Oh sh(FCC)t..."

Hiroshi is violently halted. His face instantly becomes a shade of red and his left eye begins to twitch.

HIROSHI: "WHAT... did you just say?!"

AIKO: "Yeah!! You're the guy who sells the muffins back in Japan! I used to LOVE those things!"

HIROSHI: "Do you know the MUFFIN MAN?!"

AIKO: "I'm sorry?"


Quite unexpectedly and without any kind of warning, Hiroshi PROPELS himself at Aiko, connecting with a vicious FLYING LEG CLOTHESLINE!! In possibly the worst special effects scene ever constructed, the impact causes Aiko's head to EXPLODE a la Dawn of the Dead! Phoney orange blood is thrown about the room, drenching the other girls. Meanwhile, JKJ and Kin Hiroshi leave to collect their $25.

FELICIA: "Not again!! Why does this ALWAYS happen at our family parties?"

FOXX: "I'm sorry Shawn. I think I'm gonna go..."

HART: "Go?! Go WHERE?! What do you mean?!"

FELICIA: "She MEANS that this party is totally LAME!"

HART: "Is not!!"

FELICIA: "IS TOO!! Seriously Shawn, this party's gotta be the LAMEST thing on the planet!"

HART: "Pssshhh... there are things FAR LAMER than this!!"

FELICIA: "Like what?!"

HART: "Like my Sweet Sixteen opponent, PROMO!!!"

As if by cue, the room lights dim, the girls fade into the background and a spotlight hits the Prime Minister of Gettin' Sinister. Meanwhile, Foxx and Felicia leave to collect their $25. Gotta love cameos.

HART: "Now THAT'S what I call a segue!!"

The Phenom can't help but chuckle as his scheme comes to a head.

HART: "Seriously Promo, if I'm gonna go to THIS much trouble just to set up some mic time, imagine what I'll do once I'm in the squared circle!!! It's gonna be a beating the likes of which haven't been seen since the LA riots, and YOU SIR are gonna be my Rodney King!! Or my over-matched, white supremacist, bigot BASTARD. Either way, SJH is an equal opportunity ass-kicker. And when time comes for our match, YOUR ASS is gonna be the one in my cross-hairs! Call it an OUTRAGE, call it a mockery, call it that mucked-up, Leonard Nimoy-lookin' mug you've got under the mask if ya like... my Magic 8-ball calls it the TRUTH!! And clairvoyant children's toys don't tell lies!!"

Hart steps in close to the camera.

HART: "For faaaaaaar too long, guys like you have failed to acknowledge my place in the industry... electing instead to brush the Phenom under the rug like yesterday's batch of bread crumbs. But with GOD as my witness, things are gonna change... and they're gonna START changing RIGHT NOW!! Like it or not, Shawn Jessica Hart DEMANDS to be taken seriously!!"

He pauses momentarily to adjust the right shoulder strap of his lacy black teddy.

HART: "You call yourself Promo, but once we're between the ropes... you could talk 'til your blue in the face and it wouldn't do a bit of good. Cuz as far as yours truly is concerned, if you try to go over... you're gonna go UNDER!! Period!! Followed by five exclamation points! Sure, it sucks for you... but what can I say? Such is life when you go toe-to-toe with the MASTER of the Portland bracket, taking off like Joe and Brian Hackett... If I see your skull, my left hook's gonna CRACK IT!! And that, my friend, is when your dome-piece crumbles..."

Dramatic pause.

HART: "Just like your hopes of winning this tournament. The PHENOM has left the building!"


03-19-07, 11:05 PM
:: FADEIN to what appears to be a novelty retail store. The camera pans through the store, going past customers until it finds the person that it's looking for. That person is the MBE World Champion, as officially recognized by PBPro. He is accompanied by two Japanese bodyguards who are keeping people distanced from him while he shops. ::

PROMO: Nonsense. That's what I got from you after playing your little waiting game, Shawn Hart? Nonsense? I expected so much more from you. A man, and I believe I am to use that term lightly, who is a World Champion several times over. A man who is supposed to command respect from his peers in the sport.

And that is what I get.

You see, Shawn, I wasn't sitting idly by twiddling my fingers. I've had the camera crew following me around non-stop. All because I refused to play your game. Your little reactionary game. Yes, that's right. As the number one seed in our division, you've been walking around with a natural spotlight on you, making you someone of interest to everyone who remains in this tournament. I tracked down some footage of you from other places also, and the predominant thing that I see is that your entirely reactionary, Shawn. Only by waiting you out, was I able to force your hand. Giving you nothing to work with, as you were apparently too busy overpaying the pitiful accessories to your little "skit".

You went through three fourths of that segment Shawn before you ever mention your opponent. You neglect the fact that while you might have been a World Champion, I AM a World Champion, as officially recognized by PBPro. While your status in our sport, which I'll come right out and say comes from whoring yourself out to any league that is willing to give you a spotlight to showcase your nonsense, has probably lent to your high seeding in this tournament, it's your own neglect for doing the research on your opponents that will bring you down.

That's right Shawn, I said that I'm the man who will bring you down in this tournament. The spotlight will shine on you no more. No more stupid skits. No more fu<FCC> nonsense like I was just put through.

Do you understand that Shawn? It's time to be serious for a while. It's time to realize that my time in this sport is just starting to grow while people such as you are soon to be fading to the wayside.

But I'm sure there's an outlet for your brand of entertainment somewhere in this world, Shawn. Somewhere out there is an audience waiting to hear your little rhymes. Wanting to see you parade around in women's lingerie, but not here.

Not in my ring.

Not on my time.

Shawn Hart, you're about to be introduced to an entire new world of pain. If you listen closely, you can hear it coming. In the back of your head, you'll hear it as you walk down the street. You'll hear it while your laying in bed at night, like a constant reminder that your fate is held in my hands.

Pain is coming for you Shawn. And after it's through with you, we'll remember that day as the day that the laughter died.

Until then, I thought I'd throw you something for your effort, so I came here to this store to find you the perfect Sweet 16 gift. Unfortunately, they don't sell reality.


03-21-07, 07:52 AM
FADE IN: SJH is in the ring at MMA Eugene, a school of Muay Thai, Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, Submission Fighting, Jeet Kune Do, and Greco-Roman Wrestling just a 90-minute drive from Portland. In lieu of a legit sparring partner, the Phenom is going through the motions with his sister, Felicia. After spending a moment on his rear chinlock reversal, he calls it good, helps his li'l sis to her feet, and hits the ropes. Having met his quota for in-ring training for the day, Hart approaches the cameras to start in on his sh(FCC)talking quota.

HART: "So normally, I wouldn't DREAM of going with Sissy-pooh's 9-inch guns, 127 lb. frame, and 6 years of cheerleading experience for a sparring session, but the way I see it... if I'm ever gonna get the best of a B(FCC)TCH like Promo, I've GOT to go into this thing PREPARED!!"

SJH giggles like a 6 year-old girl.

HART: "Heh, OK... OK... so mebbe I'm overstepping my bounds a bit when I go for the NUTS like that, but hey, if I didn't do it... how would I ever know if he had any?!"

Yeah, this time it's more of a glorious guffaw the likes of which hasn't been heard since Woody Woodpecker.

HART: "Alright P-Diddy, my bad... I promise I'll stop kicking you in the C(FCC)NT like that, but before I do... I've really got to talk some sense into you, man. Cuz from the looks of your last little promotional piece, you haven't got a god damned clue what's starin' at you from the other side of the ring! You flap your trap about what you perceive as NONSENSE in my interviews. You say I need to get with REALITY. Son, if ANYBODY'S gonna call spades spades and get down to the nitty gritty of any situation in this sport, it's me! I mean for Christ's sakes, telling people the TRUTH is my friggin' catch phrase, Phyllis! Or did you fail to notice that while you were waiting with camera crews in hand, dissecting each and every word I spoke, then serving up expert commentary on the validity thereof? Seriously, for a guy who likes to call himself PROMO, you sure don't know much about 'em."

The Prime Minister of Gettin' Sinister shakes his head in utter disdain.

HART: "So let's get to the steak n' eggs of the situation, SHALL WE?! The actual REALITY behind our match, our respective spots in the business, and where we're gonna go from here. I mean, you wanna sit there and say that the only reason I've won the titles I've won is because I whore myself out to every fed I can find?! The only thing I can say about that is at least my fans can find solace in knowing they'll always be able to see me somewhere. I went to those promotions because those promotions WANTED ME. They knew I had the goods, and they knew my presence there meant good things for them. NOBODY in this sport keeps a schedule like mine. Hell, since January One I've only captured the NEW world title via winning the BattleBRAWL Rumble and subsequently beating Jonathan Marx, taken the Empire Pro television title and made it respectable, smacked Sean Edmunds around on the TEAM Supershow, the same place where I've advanced to the Sweet 16 of their Invitational Tournament, submitted myself for a tourney of the tag team variety in A1E, defeated the A1E champ, returned to LoC with a big win over Malik Roland, and locked lips with some of the juiciest Julies, Jens, and Janets this fine country has to offer all the while.

Don't get me wrong, when you're up and down these dusty roads as much as I am, you have to take little breaks here and there. And I've been known to vanish for 6 or 8 weeks on an annual basis, just to clear my head. Kind of hard not to when you're working more matches in 6 months than some guys work in TWO YEARS. But you, you my friend... you like to take vacations of the extended variety. You disappear for years at a time, then crawl out from under whatever rock your hiding beneath and expect people to shudder with fear at each and every little critique or criticism you dish out. You expect a guy like me who's EARNED his spot in the MODERM landscape of professional wrestling to hear you say his promos are nonsense and crumble like a graham cracker. As if the PROMO is the most IMPORTANT aspect of what we do, and if they're not up to snuff, some all-seeing, interview-judging GOD is gonna put the other guy over!"

Hart ponders the silliness of such a scenario.


OOC: Holzerman weeps. ;)

HART: "Seriously son, your logic on this whole thing is outrageously skewed. You pass gas about the fact that you're a world champion and I'm not, when your title isn't even RECOGNIZED by your own league?! That distinction goes to Doc Silver, another guy I've smacked around mercilessly every time I've faced him. I guess this just means that once I make you tap the canvas like I tap the booty, I'll be the undisputed MASTER of MBE's domain. But I digress, the topic for talk here isn't my propensity for pounding the poon, but your failure to realize that YOU, not I, are the one who's out of touch. Take your big theory about my purported reactionary approach to matches and how you've seemingly STOLEN it from me by forcing my hand to strike first for example. A rather weak attempt at putting me in an awkward situation when you consider the fact that by playing the 'Shawn Hart's a big, silly windbag' card, you're doing the same damn thing that BOTH my previous opponents did! James Irish and Decapitator Diamond alike were so caught up on my zany, flamboyant, nonsensical ways, that they couldn't tell their heads from their asses once we got in the ring. And while you tried your best to do some different, the fact of the matter is that you've gone and done what's costed a couple of douchebags their tournament lives. I guess you failed to notice all that while you were over there with my mic spot under a microscope, combing the bitter sands of my perilous personal downfalls?"

Again, the Phenom can't help but scoff.

HART: "Bottom line, you've tried to play a couple trump cards here, but in the end... all you've done is shown how truly uncanny it is that you didn't get tossed out of this thing in Round One. Call it an OUTRAGE, call it a MOCKERY, the TEAM Invitational Tournament's resident purveyor of all things jiggy calls it the TRUTH! And the truth of the matter here is that you're about to get SPANKED. What can I say... sometimes the truth hurts. The PHENOM has left the building!"


03-22-07, 03:05 PM
:: It's dark. Dark and silent. For what seems an eternity, the screen shows nothing until suddenly a click is heard. That one click brings light to a room. So bare that it is almost nondescript except for one ragged table and chair that sit underneath the naked light bulb that hangs from the ceiling. Then, we finally see him. Promo. He walks to the table and sets his MBE World Championship down on the table and then places his Singapore Cane on top of it and then, and only then does he speak. ::

PROMO: What's wrong Shawn? Did I take you out of your comfort zone that you thought you would be in? Did I shine a light in your eyes to wake you up to the fact that your not going to find yourself in a cakewalk in this round? Or perhaps I overstepped my boundaries by commenting on the sheer idiocy of..........you?


You see, Shawn, I'm not one to worry about what you can do to me inside the ring. Hell, I've been up and down the road quite a bit myself, and I think I've had just about everything that can happen, happen to me. I've been burned, cut open, concussions, broken bones, you name it. But never have I had anything happen to me that makes me want to dress up in women's lingerie and do mock-ups of a bad television show.

So, while you want to prance around looking all tough at the expense of your sister, running your damned mouth about me, I'd suggest that you stop for a moment and take a few things into consideration.

Number one, I didn't make it this far in this tournament by some fluke. You want to underestimate me and think that I should've gone out in the first round, then you're more than welcome to your opinion. But I'll take pride in knowing that I'm the first person to officially eliminate a number one seed from this tournament inside the ring. Do you think that's an impossible thing for me to accomplish Shawn? Are you so delusional that you think that a man capable of the violence that I am capable of, can't defeat you? If so, then I pity you for the hell that you're about to experience.

Why? Because you're a fool.

Number two, the REALITY of our match is that I'm prepared, you're not. I've been here in this..............this hellhole now for the past 36 hours. Training with two of PBPro's finest trainers. Watching video footage of your matches over and over. Analyzing each aspect of your matches Shawn. What have you been doing? Making out with your sister? Dressing up like a sixteen year old girl? That's the REALITY of our match, Shawn. You deal with it however you want, because I know it for a fact.

Number three, you want to ***** and complain about me saying that you whore yourself out to whatever company will hire you? You want to brag about winning the NEW World Championship? Well, how quickly did you lose that belt Shawn? Pretty damn quick if I recall, right? And while Doc Silver might be running around MBE with his own version of this belt (Promo picks up his MBE World Title) the pure fact of the matter is that PBPro calls the shots in MBE, no matter what Yori Yakamo wants the world to believe. And PBPro says that PROMO is the MBE World Champion.

So, Shawn, what it really boils down to is how lightly your going to treat me in this match. Are you going to waltz into the ring with plans of how your next round opponent is going to go? Or are you going to step into my world and play my pain game? Are you ready for the entire Promo Experience Shawn, because I promise to deliver levels of pain and humility unlike which your first two opponents of this tournament brought. But if you're expecting it to be a cakewalk and that I'm going to roll over and play dead, then you're wrong.

Dead Wrong.

And that's going to be your downfall. So, now the ball is back in your court. Deliver me unto thy truthfulness once more, Shawn. Or you could maybe try to mimick another stupid television show named especially for people like you.


Like I said, the pain is coming Shawn. The pain................is....................coming!


03-23-07, 08:41 PM
FADE IN: SJH is sitting patiently in the waiting room of a Doctor's office. While his sister, Felicia, chats it up with the receptionist, the Phenom elects to thumb through the latest edition of Popular Science. Upon noticing the cameras that are fixed upon him, he closes the magazine, places it on an end table next to his chair, and enters rant-mode.

HART: "What can I say, I've read this thing from cover to cover, TWICE OVER, and not a thing in it could explain the utter asininity of your interview strategem, Mr. Promo."

Hart checks his watch, then shakes his head in disgust.

HART: "From DAY ONE on this road to our grand encounter, a showdown the likes of which may never be seen again, you've labeled each and every thing I've done a waste of time. You've called me a fool, you've called me a JACKASS, lord knows what you're saying to your PBPro gangbang buddies behind my back! Bottom line, you haven't given me so much as a speck of credit..."

More head-shaking.

HART: "And you've got the CHUTZPAH to come out and say I'M underestimating YOU?! Good grief. I mean honestly, how many times do I have to come out here and urinate on your theories before you realize you're making yourself look like a JACKHOLE?! When we kicked this thing off, I had some respect for you. Sure, I talked about how I was gonna beat you and how I was the biggest bad-ass on the block and all of that, but I didn't say a god damn thing about you not being up to snuff."

He retrieves the magazine and rolls it up in his hand.

HART: "That changed the moment you opened that dung-spewing mouth of yours, and a couple days later, we find ourselves here. You in a state of utter idiocy and I in a Doctor's office. Last week, James Irish talked about me infecting people with some kind of sickness, and it was later discovered that the sickness in question was HPV, or the Hungry for Phenom Virus. This time around, I've contracted an ailment far more sinister... and I have YOU to thank for it!"

He lowers his head in sadness.

HART: "I'm ashamed to admit it, but they say the first step on the road to recovery is coming to terms with the problem. That being the case, I'm here today to tell the world that Shawn Hart... has PMS."

Silence. The chattering of Shawn's sister and the desk nurse ceases the very instant the words leave his mouth. Concerned and confused, Felicia goes to her brother's side.

FELICIA: "Wait a minute, are you saying we're here because you've got..."


FELICIA: "Noooooo..."

HART: "YES!!! After suffering through two tumultuous interviews, I've come down with Promo Migraine Syndrome!"

FELICIA: "Promo Migraine Syndrome?! The disease caused by its namesake, whereupon prolonged exposure to his flawed logic and fantasy world take on his abilities induces EXTREME headaches, vomiting, and in some cases.... ERECTILE DYSFUNCTION?!"

HART: "That's the one..."

FELICIA: "Shawn, that's AWFUL!"

HART: "I know, I know..."

FELICIA: "You know what's crazy though?"

HART: "What?"

FELICIA: "I THINK I HAVE IT TOO!!! My head hurts like a mother, his last interview reduced me to tears, and while I don't have erectile dysfunction, my special place has been cramping up something FIERCE!"

Hart ponders the perplexities of his sister's situation, then gives his own diagnosis.

HART: "That's not PMS... that's just menstrual pains."

FELICIA: "Ohh, right..."

HART: "But don't you worry, miss! Whatever your problem is, we'll get through it together... the both of us!"

FELICIA: "We can only hope..."

HART: "Once I get into the ring with that monkey, Promo, and take him out like yesterday's trash, I'll be cured of my perilous condition... and with the money I'll have earned from the match, we'll get you the BEST Mexican doctors money can buy!"

FELICIA: "Thank God..."

HART: "For faaaaaaaar too long, I've allowed this wanker to flap his yap about how BAD he is, what a MOCKERY I am, and how he's gonna dish out pain like a far-sighted dentist! What he doesn't realize is that I'll do ANYTHING and EVERYTHING in my power to beat his booty, cash my check, advance to the ELITE 8, and shake this dreaded PMS before my perfectly-shaped face EXPLODES under all the pressure of his SUCKATUDE! Call THAT a MOCKERY, call it an outrage, the Prime Minister of Gettin' Sinister calls it the TRUTH!"

FELICIA: "And according to television, TRUTH is contagious!"

HART: "Just like the mind-numbing power of PROMO. Luckily, his time is up. He says the pain is coming? Well guess what... so is the MAC TRUCK that's gonna BIG WHEEL it's way right over the remnants of your crumbling career. The PHENOM has left the building!"


03-23-07, 10:24 PM
:: FADEIN to Promo standing at the top of a stairwell in what appears to be some rundown building. In fact, the place looks almost as if it could come down on top of him at any moment. The MBE World Champion, as officially recognized by PBPro, paces at the top of those stairs, disappearing into the darkness from the dimly lit building. ::

PROMO: Now, in the eleventh hour, you finally start wanting me to respect you, Shawn? You want me to shower you with praise for your accomplishments, while looking past the image that you want to portray?


You get the job done inside the ring. Your style leaves most of your opponents dumbfounded at how to take you seriously, which gives you an almost immediate psychological advantage over a large majority of your opponenets. Your resume speaks for itself, do I really have to run down it in order for you to take ME seriously?

If that's the case, then you can forget it, Shawn. I don't give a rat's ass if you think I'm the least deserving person to even get a shot in this tournament. I don't give a damn if you think you could take me with one arm tied behind your back wearing a pink tutu and a gorilla mask.

The fact of the matter is that I'm winning. I'm showing the world that while I may not be from the most prestigious of places, and I may not have a pedigree that makes promoters salivate at my name, but what I do have is a reputation for walking into the ring, kicking the s<FCC>t out of the unlucky sonofab<FCC> that's standing across from me, and then getting my damned hand raised in victory.

It's quite simple Shawn. You continue to make a mockery of everything, pay your people to come up with your next outrageous skit, and see if you can drive your opponent crazy with your extreme ability to make a complete and total ass out of yourself.

Whether you're running around in some stupid outfit or your coming up with clever little anagrams to portray your illness, you're always good for a laugh. And after this round is over, and you look at your bracket and have to cross your name off, I don't think you'll be laughing anymore, Shawn. I think you'll be crying somewhere in a locker room, wondering just what in the hell it was that went wrong........but you won't figure it out. After a few days, you'll move on, declare to the world that it was a fluke win, and you'll start from scratch against some other unlucky bastard.

But me, you'll see me moving on to the next round, the Elite Eight of the TEAM Tournament. And somewhere in the back of your mind, Shawn, you'll say to yourself that things might have been different, if I'd only done this or that different.

So, while your sitting in your locker room, minutes before you have to make that long walk to the ring, reach down and pull your laces a little tighter on your boots. Take a big deep breath, and then listen. Listen to the crowd erupt for me. Listen to the place during each minute of our match. Listen to them cheer me on to pull off the upset.

And then and only then, will you finally hear the pain. It's too late, Shawn. The pain is here...............and his name is Promo.