Narrator: Welcome everyone to the New London county spelling bee! As a special treat tonight we have a special guest speller! Ladies and gentlemen, the XWF's KUDA!

Nobody applauds because lets face it this guy can't spell for shit, he's a literal neanderthal.

Narrator: Without further ado, let's get to it! Kuda, we will be asking you XWF themed words to coincide with the XWF's upcoming show Anarchy! Your first word will be a two parter: James Raven.

Kuda: Could you...could you use it in a sentence?

Narrator: James Raven is a washed up piece of shit who would start collecting barnacles if he rested -any- harder on his laurels.

Kuda pauses.

Kuda: Origin?

Narrator: James Raven originates from a crudely inseminated tube sock found underneath a stack of Playboy's underneath Mastermind's 25 year old fouton.

Kuda hesitates.

Kuda: James Raven. F-A-G-G-O-T. James Raven.

Narrator: Correct!

The crows roars with applause.

Narrator: Next up, and we're really going to test you here, your word(s) are: Giant piece of remedial shit who has no chance of beating Kuda at tomorrow's Anarchy show.

Kuda confidently puffs out his chest.

Kuda: J-O-H-N R-O-G-A-N.

Uproarious applause fills the high school hall as they realize that Kuda may not *actually* be . He plays to the crowd as they hoot and holler like they just learned that Lacklan and Roxy were no longer allowed to flood the XWF website with stupid bullshit that nobody cared about and/or wanted to see. One guy is wearing a Tony Santos t-shirt because he fuckin' gets it.

Narrator: Your next word, and this should be an easy one for you: Tempestuous!

Kuda gives a confused look and then immediately suplexes the narrator off the stage! Right out of his chelsea boots which were a queer footwear choice to begin with so he was actually doing him a solid if you think about it. Kuda's manager steps onto the stage and grabs the microphone.

Manager: Ladies and gentlemen, I know you came here to see a dorky little Indian boy spell some long ass words that you would only use if you were trying to stretch a term paper out another half-a-page, but we need to address the fucking abomination that is a John Rogan promo. Can you believe the danglies on this fucking fossil? Claiming that he's willing to go full force after doing 30 minutes of light cardio in his basement! Fuckin' regular Rocky Balboa. What's next? An 80's power ballad-set montage of you highstepping through a children's sandbox? Gonna run down to the Piggly Wiggly and throw a couple limp-wristed jabs at a package of turkey bacon? When you're done sweating to the fucking oldies would you mind rejoining the rest of us in the real world, where you look more like a COPD-riddled invalid trying to make it through the warm-ups for a Richard Simmons video cassette?

You talk about climbing your way to the pinnacle of the sport but you haven't even been able to climb into the win column since your blunder of a return. And you think the Anarchy whateverthefuck title is the pinnacle of the sport? That tin piece of shit is going to be about as prestigious as a Twitter mention from Ned Kaye, to which his follower count is about a baker's dozen. You'd think an indie wrestling hero would have more followers than that but I digress. That guy beat you, by the way.

Lets get to the brass tacks, shall we Johnny boy? You aren't shit. You never were shit. You'll never be shit. Cute story about Tom Brady throwing you a microphone but last I checked, the golden boy doesn't associate with perennial losers who equate physical-therapy level calisthenics with putting in championship effort. If you would've say, caught a pass from another broken and battered loser like Eli Manning, I'd be more inclined to believe you--but just like Centurion and James Raven's win/loss records, it's wholly unsubstantiated and completely not believable. You'd have an easier time convincing me that Kid Kool is a future universal champion than you would telling me the GOAT threw something at you for any reason other than attempting to knock you off and turn the ground below into a Jackson Pollack.

Save yourself the embarrassment of starting off your pathetic XWF stint 0-3 by staying home and huffing the match-worn Ned Kaye g-string you were gifted after your back stage smooches. Get into that ring and Kuda is gonna fuckin' kill you.