The scene opens with a loud thud.

Santos: Fucking hell! You'd think a god damn suitcase could hold more than a pair of pants and a t-shirt! What the hell are these $50 bags even worth, anyway?

Tony Santos can be seen propelling all of his weigh on to his bag, roughly 200 pounds of muscle, bone, and fat shaking this poor bag to its core. The floorboards tremble as an irritated Tony shows little care to his ensemble. Tony also happened to forget that the reason his bag was so packed had to do with the bottle of whiskey he was hoping would pass check-in, as well as the packs of cigarettes that would... also likely not pass check-in. Tony spent more time focusing on the non-essentials than he did his own clothing. The threads of his bag (valued at $15, not $50) are close to exploding, given the immense pressure Tony is putting on them.

Tony gives a swift kick to his bag, the zipper having failed close. Beads of sweat trickle down his forehead, exasperated breaths leaving his gap-toothed mouth. Tony does a 180°, and comes across the camera he forgot he'd set on the top of his apartment recliner... if you were tuning in, the recliner that Tony was sinking into in despair in his last appearance.

Tony stares into the camera, remembers it's on, and smiles. His slightly yellow front tooth does its best to shine in the sunlight beaming through his Oakland window, the air from the cool, 61° weather blowing his hair slightly towards the door. The veins in Tony's arms stick through his biceps, his muscles pulsing. Tony had just gone through a binge drinking session, and his body was showing clear signs of dehydration.

Tony looks unfazed, holding his smile as he reaches into his jean pockets, pulls out a Marlboro Black, and lights the cigarette. Tony takes a few puffs without losing his grin. The ash trail builds at the end of the cigarette, and after a few minutes a clump drops to the ground, a slight orange spark lighting the ash pile, and just as quickly dissipating.

Tony smiles. Maintaining eye contact with the camera, he grabs for something else in his cigarette-filled pocket. After a few seconds of rummaging, he pulls out a crinkled piece of paper. His hardened hands struggle to open it, but after another few seconds, Tony manages to open, and decipher, what's in his hands.

He drops his eyes to focus on what's in front of him. He mumbles a few words, stops to chuckle, continues reading, stops to chuckle, and on and on a few more times. Meanwhile, the flame on his cigarette is making quick work towards his face, each furious puff by Tony carrying it closer to its destination.

Tony takes a few seconds to gather himself, then looks at the camera.

Santos: Sorry, everyone. I needed a bit of time to comprehend the gibberish I'd written down about a certain opponent. My chicken scratch notes certainly don't help, but, man, I...

Tony looks back down at the piece of people and lets out a loud guffaw, ash catapulting towards the ceiling.

Santos: Beard...if...full. Does that mean, like, beautiful? Oh! He's going for a pun! Because he has a beard! Well, I guess it's better than hearing "suck my dick" for the literal 10,000th time!

Tony scans the paper further and snorts.

Santos: Oink... oink? Oh! Oink oink... motherfuckers! I'm dealing with a real badass here, guys! He even wears CARGO SHORTS! Damn, BWP is making a vicious return. The XWF has been saved by this man gracing us with his original and not at all played out presence.

You... you mean we get a guy who makes shitty puns, makes pig noises, is edgy enough to drink weed-infused coffee out of a badass mug that shows how much he rebels against the world, and is generally insecure about his sexuality?

XWF, watch out! We don't have our next Hart Champion in BWP, we don't even have our next Universal Champion. No no, we have our next BEARD-if-FULL King of the XWF! Bring back the crown, place it on Miss Piggy's head, and cancel all future shows! We can't beat the wit and creativity of a man who compares a man's small ding dong to a self-circumcision! We're done! Vinnie! Did you have a paycheck for me?

Well... still send that to me, but then... THEN, cancel the XWF! We've found our GLASS-is-HALF-FULL-and-A-LITTLE-HOMOPHOBIC champion! BW-fucking-P!

Tony's cigarette is more than halfway done, the flame continuing to travel towards the gap its rested in Tony's mouth. Tony looks down at the cigarette, cross-eyed, then back at the camera.

Santos: Don't get any thoughts, BWP. See, I've faced many like you in my time in this company. You have little brainpower, so you try to emasculate your opponents. You have little creativity, so you spout idiotic puns and hope everyone will applaud you for using the dozen brain cells sitting in that thick skull of yours. You talk yourself up as a legend...

...because you know you're not.

See, BWP, the difference between you and me is that I know I've fucked up. I've held the Xtreme and TV Titles, just like you. I've lost them just as quickly as I gained them. Why? I'm a drunk. I'm a fuck up. I take opportunities and frankly squander them. But I get that. I'm back in the XWF, talent oozing out of my tar-soaked pores, and I'll likely manage to ruin it again.

You know what really stuck out for me? How uncomfortable it made you to watch me wallow in pain. You watched me get real with my past, my present, and my likely dire future. I see the writing on the wall, and I'm not afraid to face it, even if I don't learn from it.

But damn did it make you itch. You know why? Because you're facing your own history and realizing that you're looking at practically a spitting image. Someone, just like you, who is brash, has a god damn dark side, and some serious fucking flaws. And that's the piece you can't own up to.

I have no pizazz? You lack even a shred of charisma or wit, forcing you to oink like a god damn pig in shit for the fans.

I have no story? You've concocted one that fits the grandiose narrative you've built in your busted head.

"What in the actual fuck is wrong with me?" Look in the mirror, pal. Your best comeback is to talk about premature ejaculation and Down syndrome. Your best burn is to ask a woman if your appearance scares her... well done. The best bastardization of a wrestler's name you can come up with is "El Pussy."

EL PUSSY!!!

Tony chuckles, the flame from the cigarette about to hit his lips. Tony grabs the cigarette with his left thumb and index finger and lets it drop to the floor, crushing it under his black Converse sneakers.

Santos: See, BWP, I'm not even wasting my time on El Principe or Natia Ngata. Until I hear from them, you're my sole target. So, my focus is on you and you alone. And don't you worry, my sorely misguided friend, I'm not going to tell you that I've "made it" and that "no one's going to topple me." No no, I have a partner in my corner who's going to do it all for me...

...and it's you. All I need is for you to keep fearing who you really are, and to watch your insecurities battle it out when we're in that ring together. Your feelings of inadequacy alone will overtake you, and I can guarantee that you'll be right by my side, helping me drop that sweet, sweet, Final Destination.

I look forward to hearing from you soon, you hairy swine. Until then, don't look too close into the mirror!

Tony winks as the scene fades to black.

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