Santos: Is this thing on?

Jeremy: Um, hold on.

As Jeremy checks the video camera, let's get into where we are. Heinz Field in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Home of XWF's Leap of Faith. Home to the Pittsburgh Steelers, Pittsburgh Penguins, and the suddenly successful Pittsburgh Pirates. Tony, while not a native Pittsburgher, has a surprisingly large amount of friends from high school who went to West Virginia University, a large state school about an hour and a half south of the city. He knew the city fairly well, and loved traveling to it. It was his home away from home. It's a cool Saturday morning before Leap of Faith, and the winds are telling us that Tony feels like ranting today.

Jeremy: Okay, we're good.

Jeremy points the camera at Tony, who in turn yanks it from Jeremy's meek little hands. Tony's hair is blowing a bit erratically in the breeze, cutting off his face a bit from the camera. His shirt, torn from jumping a fence to get inside of Heinz Field, lays on the ground.

Not being the best cameraman, Tony props the camera up towards his face, but accidentally hits the zoom button, which gives XWF fanatics an up close and personal view of the inner lining of his nostrils. Jeremy, noticing that Tony has no clue how to handle a camera, pulls it from Tony's hands, adjusts the zoom, and demonstrates how to properly hold a camera up to one's face. Tony takes the camera back, focuses on his face, and begins to walk around the ring.

Santos: Hi guys! Your buddy Santos here! I wanted to talk to my opponents for a bit... personally...

Stevie Tyler!

Agent Orange!

Alex Shawn...

Tony gives a facial expression similar to that of a baby having just smelled his own poop at the sound of Alex Shawn's name.

Ooh, as a narrator, I'm feeling a bit queasy as well.

Santos: Tonight, I rob each and every one of you of that sweet piece of gold... the Xtreme Championship... you know, the title that Tyler basically stole? Yeah, that's about to be mine. I've had two title shots in my short time here, but come up short to a certain Satellite each effing time. Not this time!

Not this time...

This is an Extreme Rules match. Basically, I'm free to do whatever I wish with each and every one of your worthless bodies. You may see me as a pretty boy (I'm talking to you, Orange), but please, PLEASE, don't forget that I took Satellite to the brink of destruction in our barbed wire steel cage match on Shove It a month ago. I made that man bleed, and trust me, I was hemorrhaging QUITE A BIT myself.

Jeremy: You know what hemorrhaging is, sir?

Santos: I listen to enough Fuel, kid.

Jeremy: Okay sir...

Tony, having looked away from the camera to talk to Jeremy, looks back at the lens and smiles.

Santos: Anyways, folks, I've gone through the drill with much tougher competition. I can handle this with ease. And I can CERTAINLY handle my opponents with ease.

Orange is apparently concerned that my subconscious homoerotic fantasies are going to make me do something as vile and horrid as, say, shoving a barbed wire bat up his anal cavity and ENJOY IT. Well, actually, that doesn't sound like the worst idea... thanks for the implicit suggestions, Orange! I'll be looking to shove some sharp instruments up some areas of your body that you've never had anything shoved before...

By the way, gentlemen watching, that reminds me, get a prostate exam, early and OFTEN! Prostate cancer is for LOSERS!

Jeremy: Sir...

Santos: Sorry I'm not sorry, kid. Lots of caffeine this morning.

ANYWAYS, remember this, children of my match tonight. You're facing a dangerous dude. A very, very dangerous dude. A man possessed... by demons. Oh, and there's me...

Here's the thing, folks. I need gold. I need it now. Is it to validate myself and my self-worth, mainly due to underlying daddy issues and vanity issues?

Pretty much.

I also want gold because I know that I deserve gold. I'm better than each and every one of these jokers that I'll be facing tonight. I know it, the kid knows it (even though he won't admit it), each of you watching knows it, and the locker room knows. Most importantly...

My opponents know it.

Alex Shawn is so incredibly intimidated by me that he prefaces his insults of me with saying that, well, Tony will probably come up with something clever. He knows that, in response to his words, I'm going to whip him into shape, carve him up like a slaughtered cow, and splatter his entrails all over the crowd, then fill the King's crown to the brim as a parting gift for the entitled fools in our main event tonight.

Alex Shawn knows he has no chance in hell of beating me, of even hurting me with his weak insults, that he spends his time complaining about backstage polls on our match, whining that he's the underdog, that I'm the guy to beat. Because, HEY, GUESS WHAT? He is the underdog. A weak little pup who's going to get rightfully beaten by a Doberman.

Agent Orange knows it. He knows it based on how I turned him into puppy chow last week... with the help of... well, my partner who shall not be named anymore in this promo...

Orange has to hurl accusations of homosexuality at me to try to hurt me at my CORE, and that's cute, because, he's a little child who apparently got lost in the fourth grade world of insults and could never claw his way out of elementary school. That's evident by the fact that he apparently spends his off-hours beating up little kids. He even sees us as children. Well, hey, good for him! While he's running scared from me in the ring, afraid that I'll molest him, I'll be busy doing my damnedest to finally grab that gold and becoming one of the popular kids in this XWF playground...

I'm putting it in terms that you can understand, Orange...

And Stevie. Stevie, Stevie, Stevie. You won that title with luck. You pinned a clinically brain dead Steve Davids, a man who's apparently lost his passion for the biz after a paltry few months. You took advantage, and won the title.

Hey, kudos! I'd have done the same thing! But here's the thing...

You're facing me now. I haven't lost my passion. I haven't lost a god damned bit of it. I'm hungrier than I've ever, ever been, and I'm going to eat you alive, sort of like how you eat a Domino's pizza after too many hits of the bong with your demon buddy. Don't worry, Stevie, you'll have plenty of time to relax and enjoy some fine stoner flicks when I've finished you off...

(don't get excited now, Orange...)

Tony takes the camera and pans the ring, then the levels of stands.

Santos: Take a good god damn look at this, Stevie... Orange... Shawn...

This place will be filled to the brim with hungry wrestling fans tonight. Tens of thousands of people, cheering me on. Yes, me. Pittsburghers love someone everyone else hates. I want each and every one of you to picture that now. Envision their bloodlust... their frothing at the mouth as they watch me punish each and every one of you for 15, 20, 30 minutes. As I humiliate and shame you for just daring to step in to the ring with me.

FEEL IT. Taste it.

Love it.

Tonight, you three make a mistake that many before you have made. You get in to the ring with someone who has nothing to lose. Someone who's lost plenty and doesn't give a damn if he forces a mother to cry over losing her baby.

Folks, tonight I look forward to painting this ring red with a wonderful mish-mash of your hepatitis-infested blood. Tonight...

I end each of you.

The scene fades to black.