All these things you keep trying to break me down with, one after another - my lack of a Universal Title reign, my lack of time in the main events you've been a part of, my lack of wins that you've acquired... the star of the month, the briefcase, the crown... and yet none of it changes the fact that the runner up to the highest position in our crazy little lives is me, not you.

See Doc, you've collected an awful lot of title shots in your career, but how many of them have you really spun into gold? Just the one? Against a laughably mismatched opponent? That guy you have at least one thing in common with - tracking each of his successfully survived pin attempts as if they were meaningful victories.

In the same span of time that you've sat back and relaxed, just putting in exactly enough effort to hold onto your poorly gotten title, I've rebuilt my brand from a dominating team member to a leader, from a mid card wonder to a main event megastar, from a wannabe, an also-ran, into a WINNER. There hasn't been a single obstacle thrown my way that I haven't eventually overcome, Doc. No one that's managed to be lucky enough to score a fluke win over me has been able to duplicate it a second time, have they? No, everyone I've ever lost to has also lost to me, with the very special exceptions of Guppy Parsh, a champion a dozen times more respected than the one you beat and a guy so ruined by being shown how fast the future was coming at him that he tucked tail and ran soon after... and you, Doc.

Don't worry Doc, I won't be like you and count kicking out from your Federweight assault over and over and over and over again as a win. I'm sure it's got to be just a little bit frustrating for you though, as accustomed as you've come to getting everything you want with the snap of a finger, but I'm not here to make Doctor D'Ville happy, man. I'm not here to elevate you from your hollow position as "good enough." No, Doc, I'm here to keep showing, over and over, that regardless of who thinks they're good enough, I'm better.

I can go into a rumble match with broken ribs, a concussion, and shorn like a sacrificial lamb and still shine like the brightest heavenly body in the night sky. I can go to the ring with a cheap wig strapped to my head and still not be the butt of the joke in the ring. You? You can't do anything about that, Doc. You've got to stop thinking things are the same as they were in the past, dude. Welcome to 2015 - the year in which you can't beat me.

Loverboy again kicks out, then stands and adjusts his Federweight belt, wiping away a smudge from its golden facade. He then helps the Doctor to his feet and, noticing that the collar of his jumpsuit has become disheveled, straightens it for him before lending him bus fare for the ride home.