Ghost Tank... I hope my Roddy Piper / Braveheart themed speech gave you some inspiration. Right now, I'm going to simply focus on the aftermath of your Elimination Chamber title match come the second edition of MY show, Anarchy. Now, some have said that show belongs to Jon Willis simply because he holds the strap. Some people would tell THOSE people that it takes much more than one person to build a brand. Some OTHER people would tell both groups to shut the fuck up and watch the damn show, but I tell all three to go fuck themselves, cuz Anarchy belongs to ME, and I can do whatever the fuck I wish to do with it. If I wanna put you up against Maverick in a Shit on a Pole match, I damn sure can, and you BETTER believe that, bitch.

You fucked with literally every match on Anarchy's debut. You screwed people out of victories, you ran roughshod over MY stars, and I can guaran-goddamn-tee you right now, if you EVER appear uninvited on MY show again? I'll have you disembowled immediately by every man and woman on the damned show. Simply because you call yourself death, that doesn't give you the right to insert your nasty, filthy, over-sized self where it doesn't belong. Wipe your fucking ass you disgusting piece of sludge on the street we lovingly refer to as the Realm of Xtreme. You mask your fear with a skull face, you hide all of your true feelings of despair behind a tough guy act, and you know why I believe you're afraid?

Because you KNOW you're nothing more than subpar at best. You don't have the talent of a Vinnie Lane or Frodo or Travis McCoy, and by god you fucking waste of roster space, you KNOW it. I've never seen a "monster" more useless than you. Hell, you know you can't hack it on the 'real' shows, so if Anarchy is as bad as you and John Black say it is, then you better thank your lucky stars that you're even involved with MY show, much less attached to the main event for the belt. You don't DESERVE a title that has main page treatment. Two words; Mike Emerick. That happens to be the man you wasted so much time trying to prove yourself better than, when he's even worse than subpar, he didn't even have Shade-level talent you yokel.

You really think I'm afraid of you, afraid of DEATH? Do you even know who you're talking to, Dopey? I DIED, 2013, head chopped off by the Wiccan daughter of The Undertaker. I descended into the fiery pits of hades, but I came BACK, and now? I stare into your multi-colored eyes and see that you're no 'Pale Rider', n'aw. You're a false entity. You're a man with a deity complex and you really, truly don't know what you've gotten yourself into. I'll shred you so finely you'll be no more than a huge pile of dust composed of flesh, muscle and bone. And then I'll spread the ashes in a toilet bowl, drop the handle and flush you into the sewers so you can float in a river of shit. Cuz that's all you are;

Shit. The same shit that's spread across this company like the plague.

Tank, I do sorta kinda quasi-semi-respect you. You aren't the WORST... but you're most certainly not the best. You put up the best fight you can, but for a big man you can't possibly hope to ever be up there with Andre or Big Show or King Kong Bundy or John Tenta or Kane. You're no threat to the main event, you're barely a mid-carder really. You HAD to run rampant through Anarchy just to grab some unwarranted attention. You NEEDED it, you CRAVED it. You're a spoilt child that needs everyone's eyes on you at all times. Trust me, I know the feeling. But I got over it. I haven't made my mark here yet... but I will. And when I do? You better pray it's not with you gazing on from the other side of the ring. Because brutha, believe me--

I will end you.
Take care.

-- R F'n G