There is a boggy creek somewhere. Something about shadows. Everything is brooding and dark. Shadows all over. A cigarette bounces between lips.

Breath. Smoke.

A slight breeze.

Doc Martin's digging into mud, a pair of too tight skinny jeans tucked into the top. Some stupid black undershirt with the neck stretched, showing some chest hair. It's all brooding and deep, like the intro to a psychological thriller.

Dead trees sway in the breeze, and the water skips over the rocks audibly. The moon shines down on a figure sitting on a rock. There is a commentary somewhere nearby.

Nazi propaganda litters the grass nearby as if it was ripped off and thrown down. There were women's underwear nearby as well, as if they were changed and a new pair was put on.

Freshness is key.

The little orange circle from the cigarette light illuminates the area around the face.

More brooding, deep scenery.

Moonlight.

Wind. Water sounds. Black and white flashbacks to war time.

Another cigarette puff.

More brooding.

A shit eating, undeserved grin into the camera.


"You know, I wasn't sure what approach I was going to take when they named the stipulation. How am I ever going to do a promo as Nathaniel Idenhaus? How was I ever going to be an overzealous douche who is too full of himself to realize that everything that comes out of my mouth is complete shit? How am I ever going to sit here and pretend I was actually the Hart Champion, beating a twice, and losing said title to the only real competition I've faced since mid summer? I was really at a crossroads about putting out a promo that is bland and boring, no emotion, as monotone as a damn Siri. How could I ever be entertaining enough to matter to anyone with the damn trash talk of a book club meeting moderator? Then, just like that, it clicked.

I needed a gimmick. I needed shock value, then I needed to water down that shock value because the man who signs my paychecks cares about feelings all the sudden. All of the sudden my entire heritage is put on the backburner because some long haired hippy had a hard on for political correctness.

Hey, what can I say, I am a company man.

I am brash and uncooth. I have a demeanor that even the Grim Reaper would be taken aback about. Cold....dead cold. I have no emotion, I am dead inside. You have to be a people person in this business, to an extent, and I don't even like to be around me. How can I expect anyone else to?

So I come into Spooky Savage with a lot on my plate. I have a long way to go to be something here, and my uphill battle continues. I see the bubble bursting, the war coming to an end. It's October 31st on the datebook, but it is June 6th 1944 in my mind. A desperate last stand to turn it around against enemies that want it worse than I do. Enemies with a larger goal. But there is no goal larger than mine, in my mind. My goal is to be a somebody, but guys like Hanari.......they have it all.

Now I have to face Hanari Carnes face to face, man to man, and I know it will be a challenge for me, because, well, everything else is. Hanari is a tough competitor, but I am tougher. I firmly believe that I am among the toughest. It is my heritage, I am proud. We did, afterall, take over an entire continent. TWICE. Sure, we lost in the end both times, but it was a fun ride while it lasted, no? My ancestors were able to brainwash and entire nation to believe that one religion was responsible for our economic shortcomings, just like I am able to convince all of you every single week that I have even one lick of talent. I have that going for me, I guess.

Everytime I do decide to show up for work, I cut a brooding, dark promo about how I am tougher than a two dollar steak and highlight my prowess in technical wrestling. The only thing technical about me, in all honesty, is that I technically suck. I'll pretty much say or do whatever will get me ahead or get the administration to throw me a bone.

I JUST WANT PEOPLE TO LIKE ME.

That is what I have made a career on, getting myself to like myself by telling myself that other people think I matter. If I believe it, it'll come true, right? I can only hope.

Hope is a word I have become familiar with in recent months. Hope is something that many people try to latch onto, but it has become something that I have made a habit. I hope that if I keep kissing ass, keep sacrificing my principles for a pat on the back and a firm handshake, I'll be vaulted to the Main Event picture. I have quite a history as the bad guy. I have made a lot of mistakes in my personal life. I have done many things I am not proud of, and often find myself crying at night time. I have a kid to take care of that I wonder every night if he's proud of me. I wonder if he thinks I am as big of a joke as the "fans" see me as. I sit there and I watch him laugh, watch him play, watch him live the best life that he can. I see myself being jealous of him. I see myself being jealous of a young child as I watch my career fall into squander. His entire life is ahead of him, and the life I have built in the XWF is crumbling around me like Jenga blocks.

Would Hitler be proud of me? What does it matter, as long as Vinnie is.

I went back on my old beliefs and puffed out a long winded circle jerk about why. I have regressed in my dignity and my skill, but I speak with a high head and a stiff upper lip and hope that people believe me. There is that word hope again. Here is my firm voice.

I hope I beat Hanari Carnes.

I also hope you all believe that I was also bitten by a werewolf. This is a storybook for me, a a hard fucking dose of reality for everyone else.

This week, I will give up my pride again as I set the tough guy image aside and tap out to Hanari Carnes, further proving how much better he is than me. Better in literally every way. He looks better, dresses better, smells better. I look better with a cigarette in my mouth than he does with a cigar, but in a loitering outside of the bowling alley type of way. I think I have that going for me.

I don't have much, need to take what I can get.

So I come into this match confident. Confident that I have the entire company wanting me to lose, and an entire nation watching on television hoping Hanari ends my career. Like when the Russians invaded Berlin, and the city burned, the people watching from the outside cheered as the empire was crumbling before their very eyes, I have Hanari Carnes breathing down my neck like the Red Army. He is coming to destroy everything I have built, and I don't have the defenses to stop him. I am outgunned. I am looking into the future and I see hellfire and brimstone. I take a deep breath, I blow out some cigarette smoke, and I hope to the sky above that the next drag kills me. I hope--there's that word again--hope that it kills me. I have been through so much in my life, personally and professionally, and it is coming full circle now. Was this a boring promo? Good. I don't care, because that is my cop out. I don't care. Maybe that is my problem. I simply don't care. I even said it last time promo...."John, Shane, Luca and Theo, can go to hell for all I care.". The people that made me, that paved the way for the career I have, build the very foundation which I walk......they can all go to hell. I keep my lips puckered for Vinnie, but the rest of them, along with my career, can fuck off.

That is about the point where I am at.

So this is the truth about me, maybe some of you knew it, maybe some of you didn't. I don't care. Seems like a trend, doesn't it? I go from copious amounts of hope to an overwhelming and filling serving of I don't care.

You see now why I haven't been successful without help?

Me too.

So for those of you who may be new to my drab and monotone monologues, my name is Nathaniel Idenhaus and I have enjoyed boring all of you this evening. I am a former Nazi who has abandoned my old beliefs because I am too much of a pussy to stand up for something other than being a total fraud.

Hello everyone, I am Nathaniel Idenhaus and I am a total and complete bitch, and Hanari is going to make me his bitch on Halloween.