A dark room, not much unlike the room we saw Luca in earlier this week, when he was dealing with his first real interview in a long while. This is our backdrop, as in the foreground sits a desk. No time to make out its construction, as the slightest movement draws your eye, like the viewer you are. Your short attention span directs you to the man seated at the desk. You guessed it, Luca Arzegotti. He holds out his right hand, open. Slowly, he counts down on his fingers, and when he reaches one, the lights come on. At this point, you can see what was initially a dark blob on the left side of the desk is actually a briefcase. No matter that, as when you look over, Luca appears to be ready to speak.

"Ahem, are the camera's on?"

No response, although the look on Luca's face assures us that they are indeed operating. He leans back in his chair, and places his feet up on the desk. He reaches for the briefcase and opens it, pulling out a bottle of whiskey. Smiling, he sets the bottle well within reach. Depending on what's going to happen, he'll more than likely need it.

"Well, no time delaying it any further, I guess. Welcome to Episode one of Arzegotti's Analysis! This is the show where I watch shitty XWF promos and make fun of them. Why?

Why not? I mean, it isn't like there's a hint of substance, or entertainment value, or really anything in these promos. Just whining and schoolyard insults from the supposed 'best' this company has to offer. The ones who claim to be held down in some sense by some entity that isn't their obvious lack of redeeming factors. In fact, you all need to look at me. Even if I was the completely untalented prick that you all like to make me out to be, I still have my humor to fall back on. Or, if I can get in on the insult parade on myself, my 'ass kissing' ability. That's right, I took the insult I've been handed for weeks and put it as a skill. Why?

Because I can. Good luck thinking of a new insult guys!"

With a flourish, he brings his right hand up to his lips. The sound of his lips smacking against his palm can be heard as he lowers his hand, blowing into his palm.

"Oh wait, I actually have to WATCH the promo, don't I? I can't just make gun of the talking points unless they're directly stated, huh? Oh well, time to introduce the first man to receive this treatment, Andrew Morrison!"

And the live studio audience goes, dead. Oddly enough, just like what happens when he steps out from behind the curtains at any other XWF show! Yeah, following a pattern!

"Well, not even a few moments into this promo and I already see something very wrong with this backdrop. I mean, stop me if you heard this formula before for a professional wrestling promo. Okay, are you ready?

A 'dark and scary' man.

Wearing a hoodie.

In the rafters.

Of an arena.

Cutting his promo.

Hmm, sounds awfully alike a man named Raven. So, this is going to be a Raven promo, huh? Dear God, as if this could get any more dreadful, Morrison goes all nineteen ninety's on us! Awful, truly fucking atrocious. So far, this is getting a solid F on my report. What's next? Are you going to go to wrestling school like Franklin Fresh did? I mean, we've seen so many of these things from every fucking person over the years, can't you be original for once in your fucking life?\

Does Dezzy have to tell you what to wear when you get dressed in the morning too? I mean, he obviously picked this spot for you to look like a man of darkness and malice, right? Once more, Ricky Desmond proves how much of a lock he has on these guys. I doubt they'd even want to leave if they could, not that anyone would want them, but still. Just, fucking Christ man, are you fucking serious?

This, is the best you can offer?

I haven't even started the promo, and I'm already planning on stopping this. You win, you're too scary for me. I'm, gah, fuck it. Let's get this over with."

Luca covers his face with his hands, as if trying to hide his identity from this train wreck. Rubbing his eyes with the middle fingers of both hands, it's obvious that there's a second reasoning for doing so. Real classy, motherfucker.

"Allow me to rephrase Morrison's opening statement, to make it fit the shitty, cliched scenery a bit more. Before I drone on and on about the impeding doom that my opponents will face, I must first address the comments that the man fornicating with our king has made that I found unsatisfactory. I will then proceed to cry about his mean, mean words while listening to a My Chemical Romance CD. Hey; do you think the Black Parade will accept me?

There, done. Maybe Dezzy doesn't have as much of a grip on the whole dark and scary thing as he thinks. Perhaps I should write your promos, they'd be much more fun."

He reaches for the bottle, opening it and taking a small sip.

"Preserving this for when the shit hits the lack of fans."

Laughing at his own stupid joke, he places the bottle back where it was before continuing.

"Yes, you are the last to make an impact on your own. You argue that you haven't been given competition? Well, do you wanna know how you get competition? It's a relatively simple process, in reality.

You impress enough with the competition that you're already facing, and you'll get better adversaries. So, looks like your impacts haven't been as big as you want to make yourself believe, or you'd be failing in a major way in a main event like John Austin before you. Isn't that why he's wasting his time with you? Because after his TWO failures in a main event position, he still thinks it's him not getting an opportunity that he deserves?

I don't know what's more pathetic, honestly. You for believing that you deserve anyone above Swift "The Ultimate Sinner, and not in a cool way" Ion, or John Austin for still calling himself the 'BEST WRESTLER ALIVE'.

I'd flip a coin, but you aren't worth it.

Moving on.

Do you want a cookie, a pat on the head for almost beating Hunter Payne? Even with all of those distractions, which don't constitute extra opponents, mind you, you still lost. That's all I care about, or do I?

You see, I don't care about my wins, my losses, my draws. I don't give a fuck about titles, about being crowned the King of anything. Why?

Because I can see past the shiny trinkets, and look into my opponents. That's what I crave, the challenge of it all. Do I challenge friends? No, because I have loyalty that isn't swayed by a lust of material possessions, unlike you. That's why I didn't go after my FRIEND, King Madison.

Loyalty is everything, and if you don't have that, you don't get respect. Even without a lust for gold, I still have possessed more than you. Keep on saying that's because you're being shafted, it's such a rousing argument. Heyman loves losers asking for shots to be handed to them, especially when they lose to a man who can't tell his asshole from his elbow, let alone the difference between Wallace Witasick and Unknown Soldier. Great job, that's how I'll remember you.

Can you guess what I'm going to call him for that?

If you guessed fucking pathetic, you'd be right!

What do you win?

More of this brilliant promo!

Yeah, shitty prize, huh?"

He reaches back into the briefcase, pulling out a baggie of gummy bears. Opening the package, he takes a handful of the multi colored candies and shoves them into his mouth.

"Let me correct you, Morrison. Your multiple matches with JTC were ultimately caused by the stupid decision that you made. You accepted JTC's offer, therefore you're the master of that match. You did run from actual competition that night to have a shitty match with a shitty opponent. That's fact. But by all means, blame someone else for that decision. Maybe it's that Callaway chick's fault.

Also, even though in the end, I made sure Madison won that match, I still put up a much better fight than you would. Go on, bitch about that some more, will ya? You're running out of the talking points Dezzy gave you, didn't you? That's too bad, now you have to think! How unfortunate!

I don't give a flying fuck about your match history, all you're doing is proving that you aren't as good as you claim. Thank for saving me the time it would've took to watch all your unbearable previous matches though. So, if you wanna keep burying yourself deeper in this hole, keep talking. Wait a minute, stop this crazy train.

I.

Was.

HANDED.

A.

Shot?

What were you watching? Were you even watching wrestling at that point?

Last I checked, PAUL HEYMAN booked me in a match for the Wild Card. A match I won by beating CM Punk and JOHN AUSTIN, one of your buddies in the Connection. I went to the Pay Per View, and beat NIGHTMARE, another one of YOUR guys! So, you're saying that your friends are nothing, which is what I'm saying. However, I'm in the wrong somehow? Get a grip on reality, you fucking .

In fact, you aren't even at Duke's level now. Duke wouldn't say something that irrefutably stupid. You know who would, and was at one point a part of the Black Circle? Long before I was a part of it, I assure you, but then again, you're too stupid to see from two months ago, let alone over half a year ago.

You're the Cyren of the Connection.

Cyren would say something that stupid.

Cyren was that stupid.

Where's Cyren now?

Dead.

The Circle decapitated him.

Let that sink in for a second.

But wait, time to impersonate him again!

I gotta put the promo on hold to shout out da homies in da Connection! Y'all know I love ya, right fam?

Back to the show, and back to ripping on this shitty promo.

And to end it, all he does is make stupid, nonsensical insults to me and calls out his opponents. That's it. Whoopdeedoo.

Oh, he throws around some 'insider' terms for all the 'smarks' out there. Fuck it, two can play at that game.

Hey Morrison, how about I 'bury' you and your friends some more. Oh wait, I have no power to do that apparently, but then again, I do. You did say it after all. Do you even know the insider terms you're throwing around, you green as goat shit amateur hour reject?

Yeah, you're an amateur.

Not a professional wrestler.

A professional anchor.

Falling so hard to the bottom of this metaphorical sea, that everyone else in your posse has no choice but to look better by comparison.

Hey Nightmare!

How do you like seeing me assault one of your friends?

Bet you won't do anything about it, you fucking pussy!"

With that, our camera fades to black. Not a moment too soon.