MATCH PROMO no brain, no guts, no balls, you must really be a skeleton ( showdown #4)

Mark Michaels

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“ So with just a few minutes standing between me and my route to Road To Redemption, with just minutes before I go out there and smash Santo Muerte’s empty skull into the canvas, I want to take a few minutes just to let him and the rest of the world know exactly why I am gonna crush his hopes, dreams, and career while building, achieving, and enhancing my own. I want Santo to know with zero doubt or confusion as to that this will not end in a positive way for him. There will not be a smile hiding under that mask when the bell rings, and there will not be another golden opportunity handed to him at my expense. I want him to know this right now because I don’t want him running around with tears in his eyes like he did about me breaking up a pin in a triple threat match. I don’t want him waxing poetic about how he was supposed to claim my soul or something when he did the only thing that anyone with half a brain could tell he was gonna do the moment this match was announced, and get outclassed, outworked, and out and out embarrassed from the second the referee calls for the bell. This will not be the moment people look back on as when Santo Muetre began his meteoric rise, no this will be the last week anyone ever bothers to even bother to remember his goddamn name. I know, you people know it, and by the time I’m done here Santo Muerte will know it. So before I get to calling him a rat bastard piece of crap who couldn’t wrestle his way out of a paper bag let me throughly dissect all the stupid shit he said in that last little video he threw out there to get my attention.”



A picture and picture comes into frame with Michaels taking the majority of the screen while a subtitled version of Santo Muerte’s promo video sits in the lower right corner.



“ let’s see here, California, yep I guess. To bad he never said where he was filming because I would have loved to have kicked his ass out on the streets and save myself five minutes of my life I’ll never get back every time I watch this crap. Let’s see some kids laughing and, hey wait, wait, wait just one second, he’s wearing a suit and he still wears the mask with it? HAHAHAHAHAHA... HAHAHAH!!!



That is goddamn hilarious! I mean can you imagine that was probably how he dresses to job interviews, and the manager is all like ‘I’m sorry mister Muerte, but McDonald’s has a no masks policy for employees, I’m Afraid you’ll have to scrub toilets somewhere else.’

Wow that made my fucking day. It almost makes me forget how that skeleton loving son of a bitch done opened his stupid ass mouth again and threw out more of the same shit that didn’t impress me last week, didn’t impress this, and won’t impress me when he pulls this crap with the next son of a bitch who gets stuck with him. You know after this past week, where I’ve been hearing this bastard try so desperately to get me scared and shook in any way he possibly could, I have to come out and just cut the bullshit and be totally honest.... I deserve better. I’ll repeat that for those of you who have trouble hearing, I DESERVE BETTER! I deserve a better opponent, one who might actually pose a threat to me entering into the Extreme Elimination Chamber at Road To Redemption. One who might be able to match me move for move in what would be a sleeper candidate for match of the year. One who would Force me to dig down deep and really push myself to earn my spot in that chamber, one who would have made me tap into the reserves and pull out every stop en rout to a most well earned victory. That’s what I had hoped for as I walked back into the locker room after Reasonable Doubt, that’s what Jenny Punk should be serving up on a Silver platter instead of trying to keep me out of arenas or behind bars! Thats what I should be offered, instead of being handed some Waste of perfectly good oxygen who clings to my feet like toilet paper stuck to the bottom of my shoe. And an ungrateful piece of toilet paper at that. I mean we’re what? Two weeks away from celebrating thanksgiving, and this asshole can’t even bother to say thank you for giving him the rub?! If it wasn’t for me, he’d be out working the dark match for the lofty payday of a hot dog and a glass of orange juice! But thanks to me he has the biggest opportunity, scratch that, OPPORTUNITIES of his career. He runs his mouth about me cracking jokes about his goofy look, his silly production values, and his laughable... well exsistance. He says I’m taking him seriously now because I poked a bit of fun at him. All I was really doing was hoping he would see what it looked like to anyone who had the bad fortune of being stuck watching him flap his gums about all his bullshit. I thought that maybe if he got to see just how damn stupid it looks to all of us on the other side of the camera, maybe he would wake the fuck up and cut out all the malarkey. Oh and what’s this? Look at him taking back the shit he said about being death itself. Well if that ain’t a bitch move I don’t know what is. Fuck he sure waited a good long while before he backtracked on that little point. To bad it really never mattered because I’m still gonna kick his teeth down his throat. So let’s keep going, Ah-ha masks, ready for war uh hum, oh you’re an avatar now? Is that you’re fancy word for puppet? Two quick questions here, one why does “El Ray” want you to work for a wrestling company? Like wouldn’t the avatar of death be in a better place say working in a nuclear reactor, or at missile defense? Shouldn’t the avatar of DEATH maybe pack some heat or at least be able to do more than slap on a headlock before getting his ass beat night in and night out? Second what does El Ray Get out of this? If he is as all powerful as you say he is than what the fuck would a few bits of tin slapped onto some leather mean to this almighty deity? Do you even know the answers or is that above your pay grade as the avatar of death? How do you know you’re even the avatar? Like how do you know you’re not just like the gimp in pulp fiction? Like maybe you’re really death’s BDSM side piece? You know what, I don’t really care what the answer is, I was just mildly curious.



Now here’s a real insult to me, calling me a comedian who wants to be a part time wrestler. Son I have given my time, my health, my whole goddamn life to professional wrestling! My quest to bring down EAW incorporated is so one company cannot hold a stranglehold and monopolize and monetize this sport to death! Since the age of six years old I have wanted nothing but to be a pro wrestler, not a goddamn gimmick pretending to be a wrestler like you are, but a true student of the game who mastered his craft and made himself second to none whenever that bell rings. And guess what? That belt you keep saying is missing from around my waist, the one I busted my ass for four long years to finally get my hands on, that os a belt Meant for men like me. You know it’s funny, After hearing run your mouth it kinda makes me glad that Jake Smith has that PURE championship, I’d much prefer him to have it over some doofus with painted on muscles, zero integrity behind whatever he whenever he says it, and a see through gimmick that is so ridiculous that you were a self parody the moment you stepped through the door, long before I ever even bothered to learn that you weren’t goddamn El Landerson. Look at me in the fucking eyes when I say this, if you want to talk about simply being here for a check, ask yourself which one of us is a former champion? And which one of us is painted up like a whore?! But if you still want to talk about me being picture perfect, maybe thinking I might make you famous with some cute little hashtag like bad luck brian? How’s this? Hashtag go fuck yourself? Or hashtag fuck you asshole? Thoughts? I didn’t think so.



Oh you think that I haven’t said you’re unworthy of being in that elimination chamber match? Here let me fix that, YOU ARE NOT FUCKING WORTHY OF BEING IN THE ELIMINATION CHAMBER! Have your ears just been so filled with crap from having your head lodged up your ass that you couldn’t hear any of the reasons I’ve given this week? Well get a Q-tip and listen up. I’m stronger than you, I’m smarter than you, I have more experience in big matches. You can’t wrestle for shit, you can barely keep up in a brawl because of your glass jaw, your silly outfit may creep out children who just learned about stranger danger but won’t mean shit Against men who are willing to risk life and limb out there in that match, and for all your talk about death you lack a real killer instinct when it comes to finishing off your opponents. You strike a blow but never a fatal one. You might hit in the vicinity of a Target but never land a bullseye. And when it hits you back harder you collapse in a heap. I’ve seen guy like you who are a dime a dozen and rush into every train wreck inside a ring, and just like every single one of the rest you’ll be promptly discarded and forgotten once the whole affair is over. So yeah Santo, you are wholly and totally unworthy. Myself on the other hand? I am the son of a bitch putz mother fuckers down plain and simple. I have left my opponents in bloody heaps, just look at my pure title matches. I have taken the best shots from the all time greats and kicked out at two! Did you not see how many goons Chris Elite needed to pin my shoulders down for three tiny seconds? And more than all this I’m not just a tougher son of a bitch than you Santo, I’m much more hungry. I want this win more, because I want in that chamber more, and I am much more willing to smash every single fucker who is unlucky enough to be trapped inside that chamber with me, because I want what lies at the end of it all that much more. And you know damn well that I always get what I WANT! The clock is striking midnight and the governor isn’t dialing. It’s time for you to meet your end via the Lethal Injection!”



Michales knocks away the camera man causing the feed to go static before cutting out completely.
 
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