Breakfast of Champions
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Breakfast of Champions

Good morning, underlings! As I sit here, enjoying a nutritious champion’s breakfast of eggs, bacon, toast, and a delicious Belgian waffle, I wanted to reach out to those below me with some words of encouragement for the New Year. Just as it is important to feed your body and keep it strong, it is important to feed your mind and your heart, and that’s just what I’m here to do.

I’m gonna feed you, baby birds.

First, congratulations are in order. The High Octane Hall of Fame is no small achievement, and several members of our roster just earned their SECOND Hall of Fame ring. Is it for a meaningless, dead division that has never really stuck around due to lack of interest? Absolutely. Was it nearly a given, considering there have never been more than a handful of tag teams that lasted longer than a mouse fart in HOW? Of course. Does it mean nearly as much as a SINGLE Hall of Fame ring for the most collectively dominant career of all time in this company? Not a chance.

But seriously.

Congrats on the jewelry.

Now I’m not a petty man. I’m not just here to remind everyone that I am single greatest statistical champion in history, and not just a guy wearing a ring because he was here long enough to score 45 points on a list mathematically manufactured to guarantee a winner. I’m also here to congratulate Rhys Townsend. Rhys, it’s finally time to do it again. But I have to warn you, in very few words so as not to blow my whole load before the card is even official, that this is not ten years ago.

I am a different animal, Townsend.

That’s not a threat. It’s a warning. To a friend. And a warning to the rest of you, as well. The sweatpants are coming off in 2024. The PlayStation is in rest mode. John Sektor, Mr. Wrestler of the Year? Steve Solex, the “last man in wrestling” who never seems to have to back that claim up against the GREATEST man in wrestling? Silent Witness, who has a whole lot of jokes for a man whose last claim to fame was just being a homeless guy struggling to hang? I’m here for it. I’m here for you. Evan Ward. Scott Stevens. Jace Parker Davidson, Scottywood, Carey, shit… maybe we can rescue America from the terrorists over at CashComrades and get the rematch we’ve deserved since he shit the bed against me in 2019. I will fight all challengers. I will defy all odds. I will melt down your fucking rings and turn them into another belt I can roll down to the ring in a fucking wheelbarrow.

Your champion awaits.

And despite a hearty breakfast?

He’s hungry.