A message from Brian Cawood:

“What you’re about to witness is a scene of unscripted, tasteless, drunken rambling from a washed up professional wrestling hack job that shouldn’t be witnessed by anyone- ever. And while I would like to apologize to each and everyone of you for the nature of this brash and bizarre content one must bare in mind the subject-or exhibit- if I may.

Muddy Waters is an absolute joke.

A one time promising prospect in this realm, turned drunken and drug addicted baboon who would go on to abandon his own flesh to a world of blood thirsty neofeudalism; Muddy Waters I again repeat is a joke.

He’s a nothing. A scrubber of the worst kind.”

A camera begins panning away from a grey obscurity- back zooming away from what was apparent now to be the haggard face of Muddy Waters. Brian Cawood’s voice still narrating over the imagery.

“Lost from the plot all together. Gone to the dogs as the English would say.

While it would be irresponsible to try and pin point when and where this man- using that adjective loosely there- actually “lost it”, it would be fair to consider that option that he may have never “had it” to begin with.

So let’s just face it folks, while what you’re about to hear may be littered with almost incomprehensibly vulgar and threatening language- suggesting maybe that Muddy Waters and the sorry sap whose had the unprivileged responsibility of teaming with him at Turning Point actually stand a chance in winning- they don’t. Muddy can barely climb out of his cardboard box in the morning, let alone climb a ladder and grab a contact. The fact that he was even able to defeat Phantom Panzer last Warfare was a total anomaly- given that we had to administer an adrenaline shot on him backstage just minutes before hand.

Muddy sucks. He’s rubbish. Destined to die young, drunk, lonely and without remiss.”

The camera continues to pan outward showing Muddy’s full, shirtless frame leaning against a rather large headstone in a cemetery under the moonlight. Panting and sweaty, he pulls up a can of hot Milwaukee’s Best Ice to his lips- spitting a bit of backy juice inside then proceeding to guzzle down what bit of the drink was left inside. Muddy then turns and begins to vomit inside of a dug-out grave. Violently.

“Oh, and please don’t let what MAY be characterized by some as southern charm confuse you- this man hasn’t a decent bone in his body. For everything his daughter did to restore some prestige to their halo less handle, Muddy destroyed it handidly.

So without further a due, I grant you all... Muddy Waters; the mutherfucking gravedigger. May god have mercy on your souls.”

Aye, Brian? At faggit got the camcorder runnin?

Off camera I nod to Muddy and give him a thumbs up.

Aight den.

Listen here you mutherfuckers, my name is Muddy my dick is bigger than yers Waters!

It’s really quite small actually.

And imma here to tell ya now, X-Dubya-ef Turnin Point? It’s Muddy’s turn ta point at all y’all doubters and frowning out there and say ‘HEY!

Fuuuuuuuuck you!’

At's right bitches- it ain’t a doubt in Muddy’s mind what’s gunna happen at that there papered view. Muddy and his too often overlooked partner, an X-Dubya-Ef legend, Peter Gilmour gunna' walk out under they's own strength like two majestic stallions under the Dixie Moonlight with a contract to face off against the Tag Team champions, Jimmy Gaydus and The Engine-queer.

mutherfuckers.

They aint standin' a needle-dick's chance inside'a Oprah's black cave of retaining them titles either!

Jim Caedus is 1-0 versus Muddy Waters. Engy is also a far superior talent. Both have also defeated Muddy's partner, Peter Gilmour.

You think I'm fuckin playin? Ask yer momma how Muddy plays boy, ask yers momsa!

Muddy was just screaming at my cameraman who was chuckling at bit at his outlandish claim

But see at's always what's real about Muddy Waters.

Muddy is now awkwardly fondling his own genitals while talking-probably due to some form of itch or another, so I advise my cameraman to stay focused on the drunkards bust.

Aint no one ever gimmie the credit, recognition or the mutherfuckin' money I deserves. On any given night I've proven, time and time again- that Muddy Waters can go toe to toe with any the liverlipped, pussy-dicked, cat ownin' mutherfuckers in this here federation. And fer' flyin' fucks sake- we're sure as fuck filled wit em' now.

And that brings me to these lonely lover skunk suckers I'mma' be just overjoyed to beat the dogshit out of at Turnin' Point.

Michael 'I'm a confused fucking bitch' Graves- and his shemale lover- Gaydren Tiqueerious.

Pussies of the highest got-damn accord.

We all sat here and listened to Michael's baby-back bull-shid the other day. Whiny little bitch. Espousi-fyin' the same ol' hot garbage he done been spittin out of his dick sucking lips fer' years to try and get over. You suck Michael! Face it boy.

Angel in the Darkness. Type-ah' cliche painted pussy nectar that'a have Mall Emos lookin atcha' sideways. Bitch. Fuck you. Yer' a bitch, Graves. Bitch!

I aint a' never... EVER seen someone justify as many losses as a credit to thier career in my mutherfuckin' life. You was doin' it last fuckin year too! Muddy remembers GOT-DAMN well, boy.

"Ohhh I'm a that lost to Chris Chaos- but damnit I tried hard."

"Ohhh I'm a that lost to Thaddeus Duke- but damnit I tried hard."

Now it's tha' same ol' shit, three gimmick changes later-

"Ohhh I'm a that lost to James Gayven- but damnit I SUUUUUUURE DID GIVER ALL I HAD!"

And so how you think at makes you better than Muddy Waters? Pull yer' head outta yer' partner's ass. Get all them gay boys outta yer promos and pay a-fuckin-tention fer' just a lickady-split.

A loss is a mutherfuckin loss boy- no matter how you shake it.

Muddy fuckin' Waters once piledrove King Vinny Lane into a steel chair leaving him with nerve damage- he still beat my ass- but it was a damned ol' good fight- but I aint a one time never- EVER tried to use that as a credit to my career.

Micheal, if all yer' sucking at wrestling amounted to success, you'd be one of the greatest of all time- and I'm talkin' beyond yer' stupid little top 50 ranking gimmie bullshit. I'm talkin you'd just be a fuckin gimmie- but ya' aint. You aint a fuckin Doc, ora' Luca, ora' Madison, ora' Lane, ora' Theo.

Yer'a' cunt mutherfucker. So quit acting so fuckin' arrogant like you know what the fuck Vinnie Lane's rationale is- how in the fuck could you know what's goin' on up in that fuckers head? Vinnie looked at yer' talent level, and yer' bitch ass partner- and he booked fuckin accordingly.

Acting like you and Gaydren deserve more. Cry me a river you bitch.

Peter fucking Gilmour is a GOT DAMN grandslammer- you asked the fuck he's ever done. AGAIN, Universal, XTreme, Hart, Tag Team Champion. See how stupid you sound? You'd been better off askin of my credentials... but you instead marked my recent win over a total fucking scrub like Phantom Panzer as some sorta' check of distinction. How are you?

Muddy aint' relevant? Ats' yer claim as to why I don't deserve to fight with a Hardcore Icon against a team of losers? Muddy aint fuckin' claimed to be relevant either. Only jackasses who claim moral victories everytime they get beat think that a persons' recent pertinence matters anyhow.

How long was Raven relevant before he came back? How long did it take him to win the Universal Title? Yer' one dumb mutherfucker Graves.

Oh and back to the entire "I deserve more than this" soudnin' like some participation trophy loving cum dumpster- lets not act like you and Cadryn aint been eyein' them tag straps fer' years anyhow. Remember when it was yalls mission to get em'? What so suddenly yer' both too good for the belts carried by the two fighting for the Universal Title?

Ya'll failed at that too...

You know what- Muddy Waters is a piece of shit. Got dammit I embrace it. I'd rob a blind cancer patient of their painkilelrs in a New York fuckin second. I've stolen more Salvation Army buckets then you can shake a stick at. But the one thing Muddy Waters aint- the one thing Imma' never EVER be is a fuckin' pussy.

Muddy has now used some variation of the word 'fuck' at least twenty times.

Graves?

Yer' the koobla-cunt.

You even used a pussy Metallica song in yer' promo. Outta' all the GOT DAMN Metallica songs, you pick one of the only three gay ones.

But the truest mark of yer color? It aint you wearin' makeup, or the tears you shed over being a bitch, or naming yer' promo Angel in the Darkness- though that was pretty fuckin I'll again reiterate that... there's one reason and one reason alone I know'd yer' a punk...

You already know what it is too... that's why you didn't even mention her by name when adressin' me. Sissy. You baby-dicked sissy. Wackin' off to Barney and Friends and such. Fuck you Graves!

When I get my hands on you, all that shit you've talked about how me and Peter Gilmour are somehow beneath you is gunna' mean about as much as a hairless taint. See I'm scum. You? Yer' worse than that... Yer' scum that pretends to be important.

Well guess what? Come Turnin' Point, Muddy is gunna' wake yer' bitch ass up to the reality of yer' situation real fuckin quick. Yer' Grave done been dug out boy- now it's time to bury this once and fer all...

"HEY YOU'RE TRESPASSING!"

BRIAN! QUICK LOWER ME DOWN! THIS DEAD BITCH GOTTA' BIG ASS RING ON ER' FANGER!

-end promo-