MATCH PROMO Killshot {Voltage 9-16}

Jackson Blayde

For the United States of Blaydemerica
National Elite Champion
Memphis, TN
EAW Network Cameras are positioned outside of a local spray tanning facility in Memphis, Tennessee. After several moments, Jackson Blayde comes out of the door with a huge grin on his face wearing loose slacks and a white cotton button down, he has a particularly orange hue to his skin. He sees the cameras and walks up to them, stretching his muscles as if feeling particularly relaxed.

“Ah!! There’s nothing like a fresh spray tan to get yourself feeling perfect and looking better! I’m about to put on the performance of the fuckin’ year against that C+ Noah Reigner! Because this..” Blayde rips at the shirt, popping the buttons and showing his abs and pecs, “ motherfuckin’ prime cut grade A, baby. WOOOO! I am living my best life right now. And goddamn, y’all can just call me Nostradamus because exactly as I called it, the walking leather fetish himself came out looking to make every excuse he could to make himself look good. Yeah Noah, you really lit my ass up for the whole ten seconds you actually were in the ring after I’d already been in there with your boy, Dub the Scrub, for god knows how long before I pinned him to the mat. You come claiming all these technicalities you little insect? Someone once told me, at the end of the day, no one gives a fuck what happens in a match except who made the pin. Who was that—OH! That was your ass that said that, wasn’t it? All them months ago when you wanted to contort reality to fit what you tell yourself at night. And who was it that they cared about at the end of the day? Who was it that made the pin? Jackson fuckin’ Blayde, bitch.”

Blayde has a cocky grin on his face and raises up a clenched fist.

“You see this? This beating right here?” He points to his own fist. “This brick is about to hit you like the rudest awakening you ever felt. Because listen here son, I am all the way up on my shit right now and I coming like a fuckin’ thunderbolt right for your heart. I’m gonna show you exactly what a true athlete, a true warrior, fuck it, a true man can do. The only claim your ass has to any kind of athleticism is that your lanky torso can still fit a child’s medium from Oshkosh B’Gosh but that won’t mean a damn thing when you step in that ring on Sunday because I’m about to drop you right on that ego of yours when I pin you and prove that you being Mr. Cash in the Vault don’t mean shit when you step up to the man who actually has Cash in his Vault. The past is the past and I’ll own that shit but don’t come in here expecting any repetition because now I’m that next level mothafucker and I’m about to teach you a lesson, boy. When it comes to the board room or the war room or putting dumbfucks like you down in a tomb, there’s not a man alive that can touch me. And you wanna call for the end of my career? I see you lookin’ at me with them hungry eyes. Is it lunch time? Well then come on down the tray line and get yourself an old school can of whoop-ass for your troubles. You may have gotten the best of me after I took an injury mid-match in the past and you went into a big winning streak, so your welcome for that momentum. I gave you this run and now I’m about to take it away because I have the goddamn power now.”

Blayde is bouncing on his feet a bit, full of adrenaline and fire.

“You seem like you’re ready and willing to come and catch this, baby boy. So come on and try to continue that ‘established dominance’ that you got over me and I’ll step up and do what I’ve done my entire life and break down what’s been established and make it my own. Come shootin’ at me you weak ass nerf gun. You’ll wake up the next day with ‘Blayde’s Bitch’ stamped on that billboard you call a forehead before kneeling down and begging to give me head! You’re damn right that I found the chink in the armor and now I’m about to drive a fucking spear through it and into your chest because I’m not about to let my foot off the gas pedal. Oh wait but that was a spear and it ain’t a gun reference so it wasn’t edgy enough for you, so how about we bring this shit full circle? You wanna walk around here spouting the same trash that you did last week about how you’re some kind of immeasurable powerhouse when all you are is a twig primed to be broken while you go around spouting about being the ‘Assault Rifle’. And while Marshall may have just dropped one of the most disappointing diss tracks this side of the millennium, he brings up a good point. Since you already proved last week that you ain’t shootin’ for shit, what good is an assault rifle that ain’t got no ammo?”
Likes: Noah Reigner

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