The scene opens with Tony Santos sitting on a bench on Robert Dedman Drive in Austin, Texas. He sits back, his legs stretched outward and left open. Adorned in his usual pair of tattered, light blue jeans and white t-shirt, he smiles as he admires the area around him. The gap where his left front tooth used to exist opening a window in to the tar-blackened, alcohol-eroded mouth of the man formerly known as Tony Sullivan. Tony's dopey smile and ridiculous stare scrape across the blue sky above, piercing nothing but the cloudless, azure chalkboard in the sky.

After admiring well, nothing in particular, for a solid minute, Tony turns his gaze to the camera in front of him. This camera is conveniently placed for a rant that was likely planned ahead of a large, par-per-view event. Tony closes his mouth and presses his head in to his neck, his prominent Adam's Apple poking through the winged tattoo on his neck.

Santos: 100 thousand people. 100 thousand people, Steve Davids! That's a lot of redneck motherfuckers, Steve. A lot of rowdy fucking Texans, coming together to watch some primetime, over the top, high stakes, full throttle wrasslin', baby! You know how big of a crowd that is? That's like, and excuse me for being a bit obtuse and homey, but that's like, you know, 1/6th the size of Boston! That also applies for Nashville, Baltimore, Louisville, and...

Hold on.

Tony jams his left hand in to his left pocket, then quickly returns to the atmosphere with his phone. His fingers punch at the screen on his phone furiously. After a few confused glances, some impatient keystrokes, and a foot stomp on the ground, Tony smiles.

Santos: Here we go. Steven, did you know that the people that our stadium at Leap of Faith will hold is the size of...

College Station, Texas...
Pearland, Texas...
Tyler, Texas...
Erie, Pennsylvania...
Lakeland, Florida...
San Mateo, California...

And another fucking city in Texas? Lewisville, god damn Texas!

Basically, Steven, this place is large. It's full of human eyes.. Human eyes that may not be so good when it comes at deciding whether an ecclesiastical power exists, but they are good at judging people. Hell, the crowd that's going to be watching you will likely consist of a few tens of thousands of Texas Longhorn fans. They know their college football. They know, and loved, Mac Brown, and shit, even he couldn't keep a job there.

How do you think you'll fare, Steve Davids? Once I slap your face around Austin so hard that your cheeks look like slices of Texas toast, what will you do? Once our lovely fans, who have paid a premium to watch professionals compete in prime athletic competition, realize how much of a worthless bitch you are, what will you do? When they see that you've given up when faced with credible competitors? When they've been faced with the stark, uncomfortable realization that steroids and a mean stare don't make you tough? What will they do? The hero that never was will have shown Texans that their cherished death penalty is so wonderfully justified. Murderers are just cowardly pieces of garbage who don't know how to resolve problems other than to terminate what's in their way.

Heh, but that's not you., Steven. You committed manslaughter. You weren't even smart enough to plan something out ahead of time. Nope, your prehistoric slop of pink shit in that skull of yours couldn't commit to the simple act of murdering a human. Your lack of brainpower has translated ever so eloquently in to your wrestling career. You held on to a title belt that hasn't mattered since Stevie Tyler and I fought for it, and you escaped enough half-hearted pins from fucktards who could barely walk a straight line, let alone make it more than five minutes in a wrestling ring. Your luck got you that briefcase. Your luck is the only reason you haven't died from a brain aneurysm.

Steve Davids: The Psycho Sensation? No, no, I'm not so sure that's fitting, Steven. I'm not sure a "psycho" would have a winning percentage of 59%. A man who's murdered people whilst managing to stick himself in multiple life-threatening scenarios shouldn't be barely able to reach a D average in the wrestling world...

No no.

A "Psycho Sensation" would be a monster. A man who actually is "one of the most dominant men in the business," rather than some bitch who hides his inadequacies in some bullshit reasons for him not being ready for the fight. A "Psycho Sensation" would just go ballistic over any potential opponent even existing. That's sort of the definition of a psycho, right? Just some crazy ass nutjob? Crazy ass nutjobs don't typically care much for why they're crazy. They don't rationalize situations, they just act and worry about the consequences later.

Not Steve Davids. He picks his spots! He acts out irrationally when he's killing people (i.e., manslaughter), but becomes completely and utterly sensible when he's fighting someone in a wrestling ring... you know, when he can't apparently murder someone with a shiv, and has to instead utilize his cunning instincts and championship ability.

And that's why he fails. He can't outwit someone. He can't fight. He has no desire. Why? Not because of Stewart. No, no. Because he's afraid of the competition that lies ahead. Theo Pryce, for the amount of god damn talking he does, he's pretty good. Me? I'm ruthless and a god damn animal. Steve Davids is used to fighting Peter Gilmour. Now, he fights two fucktards that at least have multiple working brain cells.

Steven...

Tony smiles at the camera, sticking his tongue out through the gap in the front of his teeth. He pops the imaginary collar on his t-shirt, pulls his upper lip back in to his head, and smiles. His teeth jut out like a monkey yearning for a banana.

Santos: Goodbye, Steven. Now stick your finger up your ass, raise it to your mouth, and get a taste of what you're worth.

September 2013 and May 2019 Star of the Month
1x Hart Champion
1x Television Champion
1x Xtreme Champion