TK steps forward, adjusting his gauntlets, his smirk as wide as his ego. He then glares at the camera, daring the boys in the back to question his ability to dominate in yet another pointless match to get paid.

XWF fans around the world, serfs and fucking peasants, lend me your goddamn ears! We are gathered here today to celebrate a truly historic occasion! That's right, the forthcoming second term of our King, Kieran King, I call him KKK for short, because the only hope otherwise will be Charlie Nickles and we all know that fucker is going to choke. Back to KKK, a ruler so profound that even the haters, like me, and losers, like you, can’t deny his greatness. How do we honor such a King? With some fancy speeches? Nope. Some weak-ass parade? Hell, to the fuck, no! We do it with the most XWF way possible, beating the absolute dog shit outta each other with long, pointy sticks while riding full speed at one another on horseback!

So, anyone in the back who plans to pick up a stick... Get your wills in order, get on your fucking horse, and prepare for the hottest, hardest, most humiliating ass-kicking of your miserable careers. When the dust settles and they ask how you lost? The answer’s simple... You had the misfortune of riding into the arena and sat across Ol' Thunder Knuckles, the savant of stupid matches.

Make no mistake about it, ass-hats. When I’m out there, victorious, still sitting on my tricked out steed, galapping around whichever bitch made opponites that thought they had a shot, I’ll raise whatever trophy I get high and dedicate my win to the KKK’s second term. Not a goddamn thing says ‘long live the King’ quite like me maiming the competition.