“One-hundred and twenty-seven possible opponents, and you have the sheer terrible luck of drawing Eric Dane in the first round. I could almost feel sorry for you, except for that as of now it’s my task to dismantle you.”
“As luck would have it, dismantling leaves very little time for pity.”
[FADEIN: What you didn’t know about Castor V Strife’s Hollywood home/studio is just exactly how many cameras and microphones there are hidden about the premises. The man is obviously a pure videophile, but this almost brings it to the level of completely laughable. ERIC DANE has decided that outside of spying on anyone and everyone he feels like, that he could use this completely unhinged over-exaggeration of an A/V setup as a stop-gap to cut promos whenever and wherever he pleased.]
[All he’d then have to do is have any number of Castor Strife Productions lackeys edit the tape up and send it off to ESEN for immediate assault on the airwaves.]
I used to fuck girls like you, you know.
Spunky little athletic diva-types whose big dream was to make it in the big, bad, male-dominated world of Professional Wrestling. Little divas who had the right look, but maybe couldn’t work for shit, or couldn’t talk for shit, or for whatever other reason couldn’t make it outta the middle of the pack in some backwoods podunk American Legion Hall or High School Gymnasium and into the hot lights of the big leagues.
[He smiles, thinking back.]
Yeah, all the little chicas like you used to cream their little bloomers when I came through, World Championships swaggering in and out of every town from New Orleans to New York to New Delhi, with my bad-boy attitudes and my leather jackets, fast cars and full wallets.
You get the idea.
But that was ten years ago.
Back then I would’a completely no-sold your existence, under-estimated your actual net-worth inside the ring, and possibly even lost the match by some kind of a gimmicky flash-pin that may or may not have involved the inappropriate groping of your girlparts while I lost a match that didn’t count, because let’s face it...
You ain’t the type to ever get a World Title match.
[The Only Star scratches his chin.]
That was a whole lotta years ago, though, and while I might arguably have been in better physical condition at the time, I’ve since had the good blessings to add ten years of experience and evolution and acumen into my resume. While my reputation may indeed proceed me, you can rest assured that gone are the days that The Only Star rested his laurels or survived by the skin of his ego. A string of titles and a laundry-list of beaten rivals has long since been enough to make it in this sport of Kings and Gods and Champions, Go-Go, but to reach true immortality...
...to be the best of the best of the Greatest of all time...
...one has to adapt, change with the times. One must grow, spiritually and mentally, until one can not only boast of excellence, but outright define it. All of these and more are the reasons, dear child, that you don’t have a whore’s chance in church of surviving past the first round in this 2012 ULTRATITLE Tournament.
Not the least of which being the fact that you’re a nineteen year old girl and I’m a fully grown man and I could just hold you down and choke-fuck you while the referee slaps the mat three times except for that rape is illegal in this country.
[He winks. It’s kind of creepy.]
You should thank me, though.
Thank me for giving you the opportunity to step into the ring with a bona fide Institution in this business, and not just in some bullshi[t throwaway match that nobody’ll ever see, either, but in PRIMETIME on ESEN, in front of the entire wrestling world, with nothing less but a spot in the second round of the tournament to end all tournaments on the line.
[Dane finds himself once again inside of Castor Strife’s personal office. He’s recently taken it over as his own part time “home away from home” office, and as such been monkeying around with the decor. For starters, gone are the authentic Nazi propaganda and memorabilia, and in their place stands the very large chunk of marble that will very soon take on the visage of the Only Star himself.]
[A reminder to Castor, when he comes home, to pay tribute to those that stand above him.]
[Eric continues on with his rant as he tries to visualize the sculpted version of himself that is soon to emerge from the marble.]
Sadly for you, Go-Go, I won’t make the mistake of spending this match promising you a future in the business just to get into your pants. As easy as that might make it for you to get your hopes up, I just wouldn’t feel right about myself if I didn’t put my all into crushing your hopes and smashing your dreams for the ULTRATITLE. I’m coming into this tournament with DOMINATION on the brain, I will have no choice but to tear you apart, piece by piece, until there’s none of that teenaged ambition and spunk left your broken, beaten, bleeding body.
I will take your mask.
I will take your pride.
I will take your will to exist in this business.
And I’ll shove them down your throat. I’ll twist your joints until they snap, crackle, and pop out of their sockets and you scream for mercy. I’ll drop you on your head until your neck compresses into mush, and I’ll split your head open like a melon and gorge myself on whatever’s underneath the scalp.
Then, and only then, will I give you the decency of a three-count, and end your silly, miserable little excuse for a run in this tournament.
[He smiles, though whether at his own machinations or at the words coming out of his mouth, one really can’t tell.]
I suppose I should apologize.
And maybe I will, once this is all said and done with and the ULTRATITLE sits in my trophy room, front and center among all of the trinkets and baubles that define my career. But then again, maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll just piss on the thought of the poor, pitiful, spunky little girl that I destroyed to set the tone in this tournament.
The fans may hate me for it. The boys may give me dirty looks, and the bookers might start remembering why they were always leary of me to begin with. But more than likely...
When it’s all over.
They probably won’t even remember your name.
[He ambles up toward the marble, running a hand across its cool surface. He steels himself for another week on the road. There were two NFW shows and two DEFIANCE shows that he’d have to attend over the next few days, all before he made it to the ULTRATITLE and his meager first round fodder.]
"Starlight, starbright, first star that I see tonight. I wish may and I wish might. Give me what I ask for tonight."
(Cut to: outside on a lone hill top as we see Internatial Wrestling Federation rookie superstar representative, "Latina Fire" Go-Go Spectacular, looking up at the beautiful star-filled sky. The city down below her in the valley. She is dressed in non-wrestling attire except that she is still wearing her trademark black and red horned lucha-libra cowl on her head. The nineteen year old young girl from El'Paso, Texas wearing tight black jeans, black high heel leather boots, a red muscle shirt, and black leather jacket. Behind her, is her custom made rebuilt 1965 Pontiac GTO that her older brother Enrique gave her.)
Go-Go Spectacular: I know that I should have said wishes but I don't believe in wishes. I say what is on my heart and I mean every single thing that I say. Wishing are fleeting and for fools. I maybe only nineteen years old but I am not no fool. I have lots to learn but I learn really quick.
I challenged and I wanted Troy Windham. I asked for him. I wanted him but I didn't get him. I felt that it would be fitting as he made history years ago by being the youngest competitor to ever set foot in this tournment at the age of 20. Now years later, with all of his championships won and all of his accolades I saw that it would be only fitting that for the two of us to meet in this tournament as one generation passes the torch to the other. When he first entered this tournament I wasn't even born yet and now I represent the rise of the coming generation. But I am not mad that I didn't Windham because with or without him I am making history by not only coming into this tournament at the age of nineteen years old but I am girl. A strong Latina young woman who is ready, willing, able to take on all comers who gets in my way enroute to becoming the 2012 Ultratitle champion.
I know that this won't be easy. This will be a hard and near impossible fight every step, every round of the way but I am more than capable of doing the absolute impossible.
(Go-Go lowers her head down in a prayer like fashion as she takes tightly of the crucifix necklace around her neck.)
"I can and will do all things through Christ Jesus that strengthen me."
(The camera catches in the light underneath the young girl's hands, what long vertical surgery scar underneath the crucifix where her heart is. After a few moments, she utters the words AMEN and then raises her head up back to the camera and continues on.)
As I was saying I know that this tournament will not be easy, most certainly for a girl like me. I am sure that you could count the amount of women that have ever entered this tournament on one hand and more than likely I am sure that none of those few have even come close let alone have the Ultratitle. Even now, there are what maybe two girls out of 128 participants that I are in this tournament. I think that the odds are more than stacked up against me. But that is where it is all going to change. Match by match, round by one, until I fight to become the next Ultratitle champion. I know that I can do it. I have been through too much in my life just to go down in the very first round to Eric Dane.
At one time Eric, you may have been great. At one time, your star may have shined brightly in the sky one generation ago. You sent all the young teenage girls into instant girlgasm, but that was then and now time marches on as the new generation is on the rise and you are the era fast coming to your end. It's not your fault. Blame human nature. You had your time and now it is my time to shine. There will come a time that my fire will burn as bright and vibrant as the likes of Dan Ryan, Deacon, Eli Flair, Lindsey Troy, Troy Windham, and yes even Eric Dane. Eventually I will beable to eclipse and engulf even their legacies until mine alone stands above them all, but until then I gotta start somewhere. I need to start with Eric Dane. My north star, my only star. Eric Dane.
I know that even in your ripe old age, you think that you have this first round in the bag and you're just gonna destroy this little chica from El'Paso but I got news for you ya little Pan'Da'Ho. I am gonna do the unthinkable and I am gonna shock the world in the first round of the Ultratitle tournament and I am going to defeat you Eric Dane. And it won't be fluke small package roll up pin magic. There will be no luck whatsoever. I will be defininative, concrete, ain't no denying it, hold nothing back, leave it all in the ring, when the smoke clears, when the dust settles, your laying down flat on the mat and I am standing over with my arm raised as the winner that your role played a huge part in history being made that night. Just like Don Morocco was the one on the receiving end of the Jimmy Snuka flight from the top of the steel cage. Your name will skyrocket me right into the stars of immortality. Make no mistake about it, you will be the first but you won't be the last.
(Go-Go pauses as she lowers her head and slides off her mask from her head. Her long hair hovers over her head and face to conceil her true self. She looks at the mask and then puts the mask back on her head again.)
Oh and another thing. I love my Latina heritage. I love what I represent and where I came from. I love how even now I should be dead before the age of four and fifteen years later my heart still beats and my bloods pumps through it. I feel the fire in my heart and in my soul. This mask is more than about being a lucha libra. It is and will be a symbol of tradition and honor and glory from the inside out. What you saw just now was the closest that you will get to my mask coming off willingly or otherwise from this point on. You will never take my mask. You will never break my pride. You will never succeed at taking out of this business. Not now and not ever. You will make me hurt Eric Dane. Hell you might even make me bleed, but you will never rob me of my destiny or my life.
Come this week, they will remember me as the girl that defeated the aging superstar known as Eric Dane. My only star."
-Castor Strife Productions
-Castor’s personal office
It had been a few weeks since the business with Rook Black.
KELLY EVANS had taken something of a backseat in things since then, all part of her continued punishment for becoming a liability to her charge by allowing herself to become kidnapped and held hostage. In the interim, her eyebrows had of course grown back in, but the hair that she’d been forced to cut herself afterward remained a couple of inches shorter than shoulder-length. Absently, she brushed a few loose strands back behind her ears as she spoke to the sculptor who has been busy at work carving ERIC DANE’s face out of a piece of marble.
“How long is this going to take?” Kelly was notoriously impatient. “We haven’t got all week, you know.”
Unlike the laborers who had come before him in his profession, this particular artisan wasn’t a slave to any throne, and wasn’t going to be spoken to like one, especially by some uppity bitch who’d probably sucked her way into residency in this particular Hollywood Hills palace of luxury.
“When it’s done...” he growled. “It’ll be done.” He snorted and sneered over his shoulder at the Whore Next Door. “If you don’t stop bothering me, it’ll take longer, and if it takes longer, it’ll cost more, so I suggest you leave me to my work.”
He was proud of himself, shutting her up like that.
Only, apparently he’d never heard of Kelly Evans.
“Listen to me you asshole piece of general labor crap...” She hadn’t torn into anyone in a while, and felt like now was as good a time as any. “Castor VEE Strife is footin’ the bill for this here piece of “artwork” so it can take as long as I damn well please!” She actually made the finger-quotes. “And I can tell you to hurry the fuck up until I’m blue in the face, and all you can do is STAND THERE AND TAKE IT if you want to get PAID at ALL!”
He blinked back at her.
The sculptor went back to his work, and Kelly sat in Castor Strife’s chair fuming. She’d been left in the mansion and her only responsibility had been to make sure that this sculpture was done before Eric made it back from wherever it was that he’d went. He’d left hours ago, something about going to Compton to the Swap Meet, whatever that meant. Angus had tagged along and so Kelly had been left with Magnus of all people and the entirety of the staff of Castor Strife’s overly extravagant home.
The sad truth of it all was that Kelly was bored.
Her thoughts drifted back to Magnus. She’d been bossing him around for the majority of the morning, having him run ridiculous errands or follow her around with a mimosa on a silver platter. She’d taken to calling him her Cupholder.
“Magnus...” she cooed. “Be a doll and bring me another drink.”
She threw long, gammy legs up onto the desk. Her toes were pedicured and her feet wrapped in hundred dollar flip-flops, her legs went all the way up and made an ass out of themselves just past the hem of a very short tennis-skirt. A silk halter finished off her get-up as she made mean faces at the back of the stone-worker who’d only just put her in her place.
She heard the door open, and the heavy footsteps coming in her direction, but she was so much more focused on giving the sculptor the stink-eye that as she held her hand out for her mimosa she completely missed the fact that Magnus had not been the one to bring it.
“Enjoying my office?”
Kelly’s brow furrowed.
Her drink was then poured right on top of her head. Note that her makeup didn’t run, she had that crazy tattooed-on permanent job that was all the rage now. Kelly’s face turned red and she shot up from her perch between Castor Strife’s chair and his desk, she was about to say something illicit before she realized who it was that she was face to face with.
“Something to say?” ERIC DANE had a mock-amused look plastered on his face. She knew the look, and wanted nothing more than to slap it right off of his skull. Instead she dropped her own eyes to the floor, all the fire gone out of her at once.
“No. Sorry.” She kowtowed.
“Have you been abusing the help again, Kel?”
She met his eyes briefly. “Maybe just a little.”
“Aren’t you on punishment?”
In the background the sculptor snickers as he carves away at the marble. The Only Star chooses to ignore this as he can see the irritation glowing in Kelly’s ears. Her ears always get red when she’s been infuriated by something or someone, and this time was no different.
“And just when I was about to bring you back on the road with me.”
“What!?” She yelped. “REALLY?”
He smiled, her misery was presently his pleasure. “Absolutely not. I have zero intention on going to Lowell, Massachusetts of all places.”
“What about ULTRATITLE?” She asked.
“What about it?” Eric shrugged, contemplating. “Hell, if I wanted to have a little fun with it I could always put you in the ring with Go-Go in my stead.”
A sparkle came to Kelly’s eye.
“I’d cut the bitches tits off!”
“Then you’d get me disqualified...” He pauses. “Idiot.”
Her lip curled into a sneer. “I’d do it anyway.”
“Which is precisely why you haven’t been allowed anywhere near TV, either in DEFIANCE or NFW, because for whatever reason and however it came to pass, Rook Black is in your head and he’s got your brain all fucked up.”
That last bit was said with an air of finality, but the look on Kelly’s face bothered The Only Star. Of course this was all a game between them, an over-the-top and somewhat mean game, but a game nonetheless.
“It doesn’t help that you haven’t looked at me in weeks.”
“It doesn’t help that you haven’t earned it.” He retorted. Her gaze again fell to the floor. On some level it hurt Eric to see her look defeated like this. Kelly, for her part, had always been the fire that lit the ignition to the party, but since the thing with Rook and the ensuing punishment she’d been a walking defeated version of herself. “Besides...”
As much fun as it was to torment her, Kelly had always been a valued asset in both his personal and professional life. It really did hurt him to see her moping.
“...good things happen to those who wait.” He smiled.
“You mean...” she stammered. “I’m back on the road?”
“Absolutely not.” He took a seat in Castor’s overpriced chair and pulled her down onto his lap. Kelly suppressed a smile, but not so well that Eric didn’t see it and understand it. Maybe she was on the road to recovery after all.
“You need to get your head back in the game, I’m gonna need you sooner than later, and I don’t really have the time to still be dealing with this mess.” He spoke to her almost like a pet. She didn’t mind, it was better than the growling she’d been getting since Buffalo.
Eric contemplated this for a moment. He turned his head back toward the door where he’d entered and called on his personal monster. “MAGNUS!” The behemoth was through the door in a split-second. Magnus was all tattoos and piercings and blood and guts and whatnot, a clear psychopath and genetic freak. “I need you to do me a solid, Mags.”
The giant nodded.
Kelly furrowed her eyebrows again.
“I need you to take Kelly off somewhere and fuck her until she squirts out of her eye-sockets.” He said this all in a very matter-of-fact way.
The Ginormogantuan man in front of him raised an eyebrow.
“I’m serious,” Eric continued. “She does all her good plotting and planning after she’s been stuffed full of cock for a few solid hours, and I’m gonna need her at the top of her game for the later rounds of the ULTRATITLE and for whatever happens with your erstwhile employer in the New Frontier.”
Kelly bounded up out of his lap, her face aglow like a little girl who’d just been given her first pony. As an aside, Kelly had received her first pony years ago, before she made it in wrestling. “You’re not fuckin’ with me, are you?”
“Absolutely not. Just make sure he wraps that thing with a Glad-Bag or something, can’t have any Mini-Magni running around here, now can we?”
She twinkled her way around the desk and curled up on Magnus’s arm. The giant of man looked down at her, then back to the boss for final affirmation. Eric nodded, and Magnus led her away from the desk toward the exit of the office.
“And Kelly!” He called after her. “Make sure you make with the kegel exercises before you come back, wouldja sweetheart?”
“Of course, Daddy!” she cooed as she let Magnum escort her out of the office.
In the meanwhile, all work on the statue of The Only Star had stopped dead as the stone-worker stood there, mouth agape, completely astounded at the scenario that just played out in front of him. This time Eric decided not to let it slide.
“Have you got a problem, marble-man?” Every single trace of goodwill was gone from his voice.
“Ah, it’s just... ya see...” He stammered.
“How about you shut your gaping mouth, turn back around, and finish the job that I’m making sure that Castor Strife pays you entirely too much to finish." Thinking of his wife and kids, the good master-sculptor did as he was told. Besides, it’s not like he’d have to wait long for some more high drama in a house full of people like this. So he decided to settle in for the long-haul, he would make this his masterpiece, and he would learn everything he could about Eric Dane in the process. It would only be necessary if he were going to immortalize the man in marble.
“Also,” Eric went on. “Ignore the fact that I’m about to rant to myself for a few minutes. I’m a wrestler, and that’s what wrestlers do.”
The sculptor nodded and sank back into his work.
Eric Dane took a calming breath. It was common knowledge that Castor Strife’s house/studio was rigged for audio and video from every angle possible. As it were, Eric Dane’s entire life in Hollywood would be ON-CAMERA and there wasn’t a thing that anybody could do about it.
“Now, where was I?” He asked himself.
“Ah, yes, Go-Go Spectacular.” He extended both hands and gave her a polite clap. “Congratulations on spending four minutes affirming your gimmick to the ULTRATITLE world. I hope you didn’t break a nail while doing your best impression of a fiery cookie-cutter, dear.”
His face twists in annoyance.
“I feel like I need to ask you, though, did you fail English as a Second Language in middle-school? I mean, I know that you fancy yourself a Mexican, but I’m pretty sure you’re from the Texas side of El-Paso, otherwise we’d have ourselves a few Immigration officers crawling around the tournament looking for your Green-Card.”
“Anyway, I find it a little odd that you decided to combat my offer of choke-rape with a hunch of hippy-dippy bullshit followed up by some Jesus Christ mumbo-jumbo. Really, I mean, really? A fiery young latina such as yourself and you can’t even be bothered to even put over the fact that I basically told you I was going to beat you because you’re a girl and if I wanted to have my way with you I could at the drop of a dime?”
“I call bullshit.”
“To be perfectly honest with you, I’m not even sure you’ve ever even met a Mexican, let alone are supposed to be one. More likely you’re a nappy-headed, wide-eyed idiot who fit the physical description for the terrible character that some promoter somewhere saddled you with and you’ve decided to make a go of it.”
“I can’t fault you for that, I don’t suppose.”
“What I can fault you for is your grasp on the English language.”
Go-Go Spectacular said:
Wishing are fleeting and for fools. I maybe only nineteen years old but I am not no fool.
“Come on, man, I’m supposed to take that seriously?” The look on his face says it all, bored apathy. “I’ve got Eli Flair, Cancer Jiles, and Alias in my bracket, and I’m supposed to take you with your third-grade grasp of the language seriously?”
“If this is the kind of effort that you put into learning the language of the country that you live and work in, how am I supposed to believe that you payed attention to any of your trainers when you were learning how to wrestle?”
“HOW HAVE YOU NOT KILLED YOURSELF OR SOMEBODY ELSE YET?”
“Especially with that bullshit flippy-doo style of yours.” He slips easily into a mocking smirk. “Honestly Go-Go, I tried to listen to you, to find something of worth bogged down under that bad accent and worse mask, but all I found was fluff, because that’s all you are.”
“Cute to look at on the outside, but nothing of consequence on the inside. You can recite your useless cliches at me for as long as you want, but it’s not going to change the fact that in the first round of ULTRATITLE I’m going to peel that mask off of your bleeding face, and make sure that I mangle it enough that your poor mother won’t be able to look you in the eyes anymore...”
“Because I know how much that mother/daughter bond means to you.”
Eric pauses, allowing himself a snicker at Go-Go’s expense.
“And you had the audacity to call out Troy Windham, of all people. TROY GODDAMNED FREAKING WINDHAM! A guy who I should tell you I’ve recently smashed in the head with a briefcase full of his own money so hard that it put him in a neck-brace and made him think it was a good idea to start manning up to Mike Randalls of all people.”
“While you’re wasting wet dreams on that scumbag, I can tell you without hesitation that he’s managed the unlucky First Round draw of a guy from DEFIANCE who I pay in MICROSOFT POINTS to sit on loud-mouthed over-achievers for three seconds at a time. What that means is you didn’t draw Troy, you’re not going to make it past me anyway, and even if you did you’d be meeting Eugene Dewey in a masturbation-fest instead of Troy Windham in the match of your dreams.”
He pauses, reaches into the top drawer of Castor’s desk and retrieves his cigarettes. He pulls one from the pack, sticks it to his lips, and lights it.
“So while you’re droning on about Jesus and Troy Windham and whatever else rattles around in that cutesy excuse for a brain of yours, maybe you should stop, take six minutes, and realize that you’re going to be stepping into the ring with a guy who once nailed a friend’s hands to the mat just to win a match in a territory that nobody remembers for a belt that I can’t even tell you if I ever lost.”
“This isn’t going to be some friendly exhibition where I let you get your stuff in and then I get my stuff in and then we go back and forth and then we take it home with a finish that sends the crowd home happy, oh no, this is going to be an outright mugging, from me to you, and it’s going to end with me one step closer to claiming the ULTRATITLE and you one step closer turning tricks for tourists in Cancun to payoff hospital bills the size of the IWF’s entire payroll.”
Eric takes a drag, savoring the calming flavor of the cigarette before exhaling a plume of bluish smoke into the air around him. “Besides...” He takes another drag.
“When this is all over with, nobody’s gonna remember anything from Round One except for the upsets.”
His expression settles into a smile.
“And you, Go-Go, are going to be the ULTRATITLE’s Cinderella over my dead body. Besides, you don’t have the balls to get over on Eric Dane.”
(The scene opens as we see IWF rising young star, "Latina Fire" Go-Go Spectacular in her locker room. She is catching the latest promo from her first round Ultratitle tournament, Eric Dane. She smiles slyly after what everything that she has just heard.)
Go-Go Spectacular: So what were you hoping to expect whenever I opened my mouth about you Eric Dane early this week?
(She patiently waits for a no response to the retorical question.)
Were you hoping to hear Rosie Perez. Here let me try and help appease your fantasy.
(Go-Go changes her voice to impersonate Latina actress Rosie Perez.)
Awe, don't be so stoopid. Ah Jimmy, don't you know that white man can't jump...
(She snaps back into her real voice again.)
Nevermind, I can't even lower myself to fall to such so-called stereotypes even if I mean nothing by it. Sorry Ms. Perez if you took offense to that. I would never dream of upsetting you.
Anyway, about Eric Dane. I maybe a young strong Latino woman who takes her heritage seriously but at the same time Dane seems to forget about the second part of that hyphinated word, namely the American part. Latina-American. Yes I am from El'Paso, Texas. And yes I am an American citizen. Yeah I'm pretty educated. I don't have all of the answers. I am only 19 years old but I've learned a lot thus far and I'm just getting started. I plan on being in this business for a long long time so get used to it Eric Dane.
I'm not mad that I didn't get Troy Windham in the first round besides I'm already making history just by being in the ultratitle tournament and it hasn't even started yet. I plan on making more history and it all starts in the first round with you Dane. I know that this won't be easy, but I am taking this tournament one match and one round at a time. I am solely and committed to one thing and that is defeating you and moving on to the next round to face the winner of Wesley Paige verses Matt Caje. Again, I am not mad that I didn't get Windham because there are many different living legends and superstars that I can meet in this tournament. I could face Eli Flair, Kendall Codine, Boogie Smallz, Karl Brown, Max Blackshire. Lots of names to cement my name in the pages of history of who are in fact better than you. And come hell or high water. You may be the first but I am making sure that you won't be the last.
So get ready to be pissed off because when it's all said and done they are gonna be talking about this upset for a real long time and I am gonna shock the world and pin you to the mat for the 1-2-3. I don't need cahonjas nor do I need to kill you. That's not my style anyway. I just need to dig down deep and have the guts and to hit you just hard enough to knock you down for three seconds. That's all I need. No more and no less. I will never forget who you are and who I am.
Most importantly, I know that I am gonna win against you Eric. You're a smoking and those cigarettes your smoking are gonna cost you big time. I'm not preaching, I am just stating facts. But whenever you get back in the locker room after our match, you'll have to look every single guy in the eye and even yourself in the mirror that you got beat by a nobody 19 year old girl from El'Paso Texas representing the International Wrestling Federation. Then you will have to admit to yourself that the next generation just past you by...
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