Our scene opens up to Luca, bottle of whiskey in hand, seated on a random nondescript curb. In the corner of the video camera's shot is a nondescript thumb, belonging no doubt to the incompetent camera man. Why does Heyman insist on giving Luca the shittiest camera man at his disposal to kidnap? Also, why does Heyman keep hiring shitty talent to try to dethrone Luca when it's been proven that no matter which hack is placed in front of him, the end result is always the same. Luca: 3,218, Heyman: 1 (Hey, he can admit defeat when the score's that far in his favor). Now there's a whole tournament full of fucksticks placed in front of him? This should be fun...

"Oh hey, conveniently placed camera man! I so didn't see you there! I was just sitting here, admiring this lovely bottle. So, my narrator says there's a tournament going on, and everyone's biggest question is whether or not Luca Arzegotti's going to be one of the names registered in it. Well, to give you that answer shortly, fuck off. I'll announce whether I'm in or not on my own fucking time."

He rolls the bottle on the ground off to the side, laughing as it rolls further and further out of his sight. His fingers press against the grass that sits behind the curb, pulling some of it out as he brings his hand upwards. Taking the grass in his hand, he blows it at the camera, leaving a blade stuck in the middle of the lens.

"Now, Heyman got me in the Main Event. He got his safe pick for a winner in Nightmare, and I say more power to him! Really, he gets his cake and gets to eat it too, although I would offer something more healthy for him to gorge on. However, life advice from Luca Arzegotti is about as valuable as parenting lessons from Michael Jackson's corpse. Oh well, wasn't there a tournament for me to talk about or something?"

Standing up, pushing his hands off the curb, he reaches out to pick up the bottle that he had let roll away. It didn't go far, as the neck was stuck on a rock that sitting in the middle of the road. Chuckling, he cracks the bottle open and pours a sizeable amount of the liquid into his mouth. He swallows it, following up with a refreshed sounding ah.

"So, who are the names, what am I working with here, Mr. Generic Camera Guy?"

You can hear a slight mumbling from behind the camera. Now, it isn't any words that you can make out, just an assortment of unintelligible mouth noises. Grunts and groans from The mouthbreathers in the Connection neanderthals, is the best way to describe it.

"Jonny Rebel and Andrew Aldway have been confirmed so far? Is this a tournament or a second rate backyard barbecue? Wait, enough of the backyard jokes, that Agent Orange's thing, because everyone except him is a yardtard. That's fucking logical. However, this isn't about him, even though he's a way more interesting idiot to insult than either of these guys."

Pressing the bottle to his lips once more, he takes another unhealthy swig of the alcohol, laughing as the liquid burns his throat. Content with standing for so long, he falls back on his ass. Back on the curb.

"So, who to verbally abuse first? Not Aldway, because I hurt his feelings too much already. So, that leaves Jonny Rebel, the man with absolutely everything to gain in this debut. A chance at winning a match with Feder and all he has to do is beat the Connection and a bunch of other shitheads that decide to sign up. Really an easy night for someone with any talent at all. So, where does Jonny Rebel fall when it comes to speaking ability?

If you guess terrible, you probably wouldn't believe how right you are..."

Luca's eyes widen in disbelief as the last sentence escapes his mouth. His jaw hangs open for a moment, shocked at what he can remember of the promo. Eventually, he realizes that fact, and closes his mouth momentarily.

"Jesus titty fucking Christ, where the fuck to start with this fucking peice of shit abomination of justice that is Jonny Rebel being put in front of microphone in any of these fifty states of America? Well, he sucks, but that was already established. However, allow me to do play by play of this monument to collective idiocy just to breakdown every single fuck up he made."

He lounges out on the grass behind the curb, shaking his head in a mix of disbelief and annoyance. Propping himself on one hand, he begins to speak, his voice reverting back tot he condescending tone we haven't heard him use since his days as a Communist politician! (Remember that, any of you Connection fucks? No? Well then you have no idea how bad of a person Luca is)

"First, starting off your WRESTLING promo by talking about BASEBALL, a sport that no one should be watching at all. The sport that puts me to sleep faster than a John Austin promo. Maybe not a fuck up to everyone, but a major one for me. Either way you look at it, whether or not Braun is this that or the other thing is a completely moronic topic to start with. Way to make a first impression! You really hooked me in with your expert analysis about BASEBALL. What a fucking addition! We really hit the jackpot here!"

A mock round of applause comes from the mildly inebriated man as he falls flat to the ground after losing his support.

"That was stumble still not greater than the way Rebel decided to start us off with. Moving on. Ohmigawd, he said XFW instead of XWF! Damn, that's what I call edgy! Real creative, dickweed. How many people have done the exact same thing around here? More than I can count. Then there was the time someone was so cool that they said the wrong guy that I beat. At least you aren't on his level-

Oh, who am I kidding? You'd do the same, because it's the edgy thing to do! Just like calling yourself Rebel, you fucking menace to society you. How much angstier can this guy get?

Side question, how come whenever I ask that question, it always gets worse?

He's so fucking cool because he said jobbers! Fuck, I would just give up there, I'll never be as edgy and cool as this guy. Using insider terms for the smarks just like Andy Morrison. So, by that logic, Rebel's also Cyren. Yeah, that comparison's back!

He's a boost of testosterone? Well, with all his edginess and angst, I'd be surprised if he had any testosterone in his body, let alone enough to spark anything above a skinny jean fad. Fuck it, we should just have a camera crew follow him around and give us all a new segment.

We could call it, 'That's so Meterosexual!'

Then comes the stupidest, most cringeworthy quote I have every heard in my entire life."

Quote:There are a few guys that seem to have what it takes, like The Connection, but the rest are a joke.

"Good fucking Christ man, are you even aware of how moronic you sound right now? The Connection, having what it takes? That's about as logical of a statement as saying JP Corino had any skills whatsoever. Then again, you don't get that reference. Therefore, you'll cast it off as irrelevant just like all the other rooks before you. Because you're the edgiest motherfucker to ever exist, huh?

So you can throw your hat into this mix all you want, it will only serve to make you look like a disappointment, wait.

In order to disappoint, there has to be expectations.

I expect you to lose in the first round.

To the Crimson fucking Dong."

He stands up, and walks over to the camera man, laughing at his comments.

"Oh yeah, my answer. Am I going to be in this tourney?

Yeah.

I am."

He continues to laugh aloud, walking out of view of the camera slowly but surely. Soon after he's gone entirely, our scene fades to black.