The midday sun came in through the window in an instant, nearly blinding me as I turned my head toward it. The clouds passed by, fuck. Covering my eyes, I blindly reach out to the to close the blinds, dragging my hand across every single thing on the way. One such thing being the half full can of Mountain Dew I was drinking prior. Hearing the liquid make a fizzling noise as it seeps into my carpet, my face becomes warmer and warmer, as if there was some fuse in my head. If there was, it was be smoldering, almost to the point of being gone completely. Like an explosion...

Maybe that's what's been triggering my random episodes of anger and harsh words! Funny, I never thought myself as one to have a short temper...

Oh right, the can! I reach down to the ground and pick it up off the ground, a huge puddle formed around it. On top, near where I grabbed it were some droplets which I moved my fingers as far away from as possible. There surprisingly enough was still some liquid left in the can, so I pressed it to my lips. Not much left, as I finished what remained rather quickly, and stood up.

I tossed the can in the trash and walked further into the kitchen to grab the paper towels. Or not, as I noticed that they weren't in their usual place. We must be out, I thought as I grabbed a washcloth from next to the sink. Anna kinda had some form of OCD I always thought, being that she would freak out if anything was slightly out of place at all.

I return to main room, the short walk not doing much to put out the fire under my cheeks. Laying the washcloth over the puddle, I observe as it does next to nothing to absorb the mess. Screw it, I think to myself as I sit back down on the couch. Nothing for me to get worked up over, I continue trying to reinforce in an attempt to calm myself down. The fact that I can almost see the reflection of the color red in the window assures me that this isn't working, got to find some other way to...

Fuck this.

The video camera sitting in the right hand corner of my peripheral vision becomes more and more apparent as the seconds pass. Has that thing always been there, or am I just crazy? Whatever it is, something's telling me to pick it up. Is it a normal reaction when you see a random fucking video camera to want to film yourself saying or doing something stupid? Then again, Youtube's entire existence has been banking off of that very thing, so I guess it is normal. Good, I'm already a little off, I definitely don't need another reason for people to look at me weird.

Walking over to the camera, I start to take deep breaths. In and out, in and out. No need for my opponents to see just how annoyed I already am. Not yet, anyway...

I pick up the camera and return to the couch. Nothing says professional quite like using a video camera that's pointed at a fucking couch, am I right? Jesus, am I glad that my opponents are going to be too busy with other things to comment on the decision on where to film this. Maybe they'll try to use insults and shit to hurt my oh so fragile feelings, that would be fun, again. Seriously though, where did that Hunter Payne shmuck get off trying to guess what I was thinking? Oh well, he quickly learned that all his prior assessments were either hilariously false, or that he's somehow even below what he used as insult fodder!

Oh yeah, back to this week, where I actually have a match that isn't against an unimpressive fuckwit...

I turn the camera on and aim it toward myself. Where to even start is the question I have to face first, who do I turn my attention to in the beginning? Oh, should probably introduce myself, because people likely forgot about me...

Wait a damn second, I'm not Hunter Payne!

"Greetings and salutations!"

Oh shit, the battery's low. Probably shouldn't waste too much time.

"Well, to get right down to business, this week I have a tag team match against Reaper and 'THE' Table. Moving on up in the world I suppose, one week out from a match for the European title, I can't possibly still be in the ring against people on Hunter Payne's level..."

Dammit, I couldn't help but laugh at that last comment. It wasn't even particularly funny, but it does feel good to be able to rub something in the face of someone that fucking arrogant.

"Take notes Hunter, that was a better burn than anything you've said about me. Anyway, back to the task at hand. Reaper and Table...

Damn, I have a match against a Table? Either Heyman's trying to keep me well rested for Leap of Faith, or Hunter Payne is just that fucking bad. That's quite honestly all I have to say about Table, because what else is there to say? Most of my offense goes after the limbs of opponents, it's not like I can twist one of its legs into a pretzel or something."

I take a deep breath, realizing I've held my breath that entire time. Jeez, that last part must've sounded fucking awful. Oh well, it's not like I'm going to edit this, because nothing screams class quite like sounding as though your throat got stomped on by a pregnant elephant.

"Which brings me to Reaper. What's wrong, did someone already take 'Generic Name that has likeness to Darkness and/or Death'? I mean seriously, a dark and melancholic person in professional wrestling? That's so fucking original! Did it take you all day to think of that?"

I can almost taste the sarcasm as the last two sentences leave my mouth. Damn, that was a little harsh. I mean, not every single 'dark' wrestler is a carbon copy, but there sure are a lot of them going on.

"I mean come on, everywhere you look in this company there's a sadistic tornado, three dozen cultists, a 'Twisted Angel', John Austin arguing with himself, a psycho...

You get it. Now, I love a good horror story as much as the next person, but can we just stop with all the dark brooding people for a good decade? I swear, the next person who walks in here with a generic darkness inspired name is going to get their fucking teeth kicked down their throats before they even debut!"

Jeez, save some of that fire for the title match, will ya?

"Now, you'll probably claim that you're the real deal with your shitty poetry and even shittier attempts at freaking me out. Y'know, just like Hunter Payne tried so valiantly to get people to take him seriously after losing to me once that he forgot about not losing to me a second time. While we're on the subject of him for the hundreth time because talking about tables and cliches kinda bores me, I have one more thing to say to him.

Hey Hunter, if you're around wanting a rematch against me again, you aren't getting it. No amount of bitching that you didn't tap, no amount of STILL trying to slander me will get you another match. You're just stuck there, with two losses to a girl under your belt. Which, to these sexist motherfuckers is like a glowing red sign that says 'Hey! Talk about that time a chick choked him into unconsciousness!'

Then again, seeing Sid Feder murder you verbally would be fun to see, so I might just give you my title shot...

Just kidding! I don't believe in handouts like you do, Hunter. Guess you'll just have to earn a shot-"

Okay, this is where I start to laugh uncontrollably. I don't know why, but the thought of that guy earning something OTHER than a black eye and broken jaw is just way too funny!

"Oh who am I kidding? Hunter Payne and earning a title shot is like throwing a toaster into a bathtub full of water, a good way to kill something. In the case of Payne, it would be killing the company.

Anyway, back to Reaper. Oh wait, there's nothing left to say. Did I even say anything about him personally? I think I may have accidentally insulted Sebastian Duke..."

Seriously, who the hell did I actually insult?

"And lastly, my partner. Scott Charlo-

Oh jeez."

And with that, the camera battery dies.