Andrew, dressed in a seemingly new black suit, stands in a large, brightly lit, empty room with polished wooden floors.

"Miss Callaway, I was personally hurt by your words earlier today."

He touches his chest, and shakes his head.

"I gave you the most credit of the three stooges I'm going to face Wednesday, and you turn around and say we probably all see you as the weak link."

He waves his finger, and shakes his hand again.

" Tisk, tisk, I'm disappointed in you for not giving yourself more credit, you are Mark Callaway's daughter after all. Or maybe you should just do more homework before using promos that were clearly written and rehearsed before you even know your first opponents."

He waves his finger again.

"But maybe you really did see my last promo and you think I was trying to attack you on some level with it, well dear your clearly pretty barmy yourself if you think I wouldn't have something to say about you."

He circles his finger around like he's saying crazy.

"Well now I already knew you were the one to beat in this match and you made a few comments that I thought deserved a rebuttal."

He reaches into the front pocket of his jacket and pulls out a folded piece of paper, which he promptly unfolds and begins reading from.

"Oh yes before I start darling, I must say you have a horrible grasp on the english language, but I suspect they don't have very good schools in hell so I won't hold it against you."

He pauses and looks back down at the paper in his hand.

"Calling me pond scum, quite original of you to use a shark reference. Considering you apparently live in fire and brimstone, using a water creature in an analogy was very unexpected, you think you would say something like, rip you limb from limb like the Genghis Khan did to his enemies or something some other psychopath did, but I found the shark thing quite laughable for being so serious."

He chuckles a little.

"And as for my mother well she certainly was topping something off with alcohol when I was a baby, but it certainly wasn't my bottle, she was a very greedy woman. And finally, trying to tell me what I can and can't do, I guarantee I'm the best Waltzer in this match. Now I figured you wouldn't believe that so I ordered this ballroom just to show you how good I can waltz."

Slowly he backs into the center of the empty room, bowing to some imaginary dance partner and puts his left hand up and his right lower as if curling around an imaginary waist and begins Waltzing, step slide step, step slide step, one, two, three, one, two, three. He pretends to extend the imaginary dance partner over his knee and then he stops, straightening himself up and smoothing out his jacket.

"See I told you, I'm a very good Waltzer, bet you didn't predict that. You should let me teach you sometime."

He winks to the camera.

"But alas, apparently one of the other fools in this match is going around trying to show everyone his perverted fantasy about a pantsless cowboy and a zombie, I'm sorry chap but your fantasies have nothing to do with this match and no one wants to know what you dream about in your spare time, so next time please say something that's actually meaningful to someone other than yourself while you sit in church at night by yourself."

He does a mini waltz towards the camera.

"Don't worry I got my eye on all of you, including you cloud man, although you're not really worth the time of day, and I'm sincerely sorry for all of you but it will be me Waltzing out with the win Wednesday."

He begins Waltzing again, humming to himself as the camera fades to black.