"So, Sterling Steal wants to make an example out of me? For what; how to get his ass raped by someone who doesn't even have a dick?"

And with that, the scene opens to a room in some cheap motel in East San Antonio. The woman who spoke the previous line, none other than debuting XWF employee Arryn Connolly is seated on the foot of the twin bed that was the place she would lay her head this evening. She brushes a little bit of hair out of her face and tucks it behind her ear before glancing aside over at the cameraman giving her a thumbs up from behind the handheld camcorder that he was using to record this impromptu session.

Arryn: "That isn't a rhetorical question, ladies and gentlemen. I'm literally wondering what else he could have possibly meant by making an example out of me. No, I'm not quite sure if those were his exact words but I really don't care at all. That was what he meant by it. Y'see, our friend Sterling Steal over here, wherever he is- hey you, cameraman! You know where the fuck this guy is?"

The cameraman shakes his head no, and you as a viewer can tell this because the camera's shaking horizontally along with his head, making everything a completely blurry mess for everyone watching at home. He finally steadies out, and returns the cameras gaze back to her as she sighs and slumps forward, letting her arms drop into her lap. A sudden look of sullen dejection on her face, she shakes her head and the hair she previously tucked behind her ears along with more fall without a pattern across her face.

Arryn: "Dammit! Oh well, as I was saying before my hopes and dreams were completely and utterly crushed into the dust, and I was left looking foolish without knowing my ass from my elbow in regards to where this idiot's located at currently or even who the fuck he even is. Yeah, that's a pretty bad sign right there, right? When you don't even know who or what your opponent's even supposed to be? Eh, fuck it. If he's as tough as his rantings make him out to be, this should be a piece of cake. Right, I should get to said rantings, shouldn't I?"

Once again, the incredibly experienced camera man nods his head yes with the entire camera in tow, which once more drowns the vision of all watching until all that's visible is a blurry mess vomited on the screen.

"Okay.

I don't even know to how to start this, seriously. Like, my brain needs a minute or two to just process whatever it is that I just watched and to turn that process into something that I can comment on without it wrapping my fucking brain around a noose and pushing it over a ledge to its death.

I think I got it; give me a sec."

She holds her left hand up, index finger pointing upwards at the ceiling while the others remained curled into something vaguely reminiscent of a fist. For a few seconds, her mouth moves with no sound escaping as she seems to be struggling to come up with the right combination of words to display what she thinks about the comments thrown her way by Sterling Steal. Ultimately, she settles on laughter. Her laugh echoes throughout the room and she falls back, now lying mostly on the bed with only her legs still dangling off the edge and her arms thrashing about, hammer fist punching the bed with loosely clenched fists.

Arryn: "What the fuck?! Oh God, he has to be on something to talk this stupid shit. Now, as much as I would love to sit here and guess what steroid, sleeping pill, and weak ass wine cooler combination he's downing by the 55 gallon drum, I'm not going to do that. No, as a matter of fact, I'm going to sit right here-"

She sits straight up on the bed, without bothering to fix or even the acknowledge the current state of disarray the sheets are in on account of her outburst.

Arryn: "And mock it. That's what we're supposed to do with the promos of our opponents, right? Mock them and make the shit head on the other side look like a fool for even thinking the thoughts that would so soon turn out to be verbal piss stains on their big boy pants. Hell, even if it isn't; that's exactly what I'm going to do to this fuckin' idiot. Then, when Monday night rolls around, I'll beat the shit out of him.

End of story.

Discussion over.

He may have come to the XWF looking for competition, but I came here with the sole intention of beating the piss out of overconfident meat heads like Sterling Steel. No, I don't have much to worry about with his size because he doesn't know how to use it to advantage because, as you can all clearly see from his attempts at talking tough, he doesn't think. Yeah, he doesn't even know how to think on account of the Creatine cocktail he downs every fuckin' night before bedtime. Fuck him. Fuck everyone like him. Hey Sterling, since you like to spell out what you think you're gonna do come Monday, how about I tell you the truth about what's really going to go down?

I'm going to fuck you up.

There.

That's all.

Literally everything I need to say about what's going to happen. I'm going to beat you into three different states of unconsciousness without breaking a sweat, and then I'm gonna cover you and win. Simple, right?

Well, it's still probably too complex for our good friend Sterling Steal to get.

Haha, he thinks he has a chance."

Arryn takes a deep breath and relaxes a bit. It wasn't too obvious while she was speaking but she began to tense up as she continued ranting, in direct correlation to her anger levels. With a face now glowing red to reflect her mood color, she clenches her fists tighter and stands up, staring directly into the camera's lens.

Arryn: "Joke's on him. That, he should be used to. Now, get the fuck out."

She points to the door behind the inexperienced camera man and he backpedals out of the room as fast as he can. The last shot of her on tap before he ends the recording is her hopping back on the bed and pulling the covers over herself. With that, the scene fades to the black asphalt of the parking lot before finally cutting to the black nothingness of an ended recording.