:::SCENE: Jatt Starr sits behind a desk, the LSD Championship and Tag Team Championship belts are on display in front him.::::
JATT STARR: HOFC match or not, LSD Champions don’t need to talk trash to opponents. That’s why I have someone doing it for me. Allow me to introduce you to Anton Sanchez De La Croix.
::::The scene cuts to the bearded visage of Anton, who is sporting his usual and not-that-fashionable tropical shirt, begins speaking in his deep, faux British accent.::::
ANTON: Steve Harrison, before last night, I had no fucking idea who you were. And now? I hope Jatt Starr gets buttfucked by a rabid gorilla for forcing me to endure the hours of torture watching your matches and looking at your hideous face.
My first impressions? I theorize that you must be suffering from some form of male pattern baldness or you are a Nazi fuck, otherwise why would you choose to shave your head? You look like a stubby penis and your beard makes your chin look like a hairy scrotum.
I found your performance at ICONIC to be an abomination. How could you let a portly fuck like Jatt Starr beat you in a race to the LSD Title? You were both basically the same distance away, for the Queen’s sake! He had half his face ripped off! You should be fucking embarrassed that you allowed that to happen! I would be so fucking ashamed at my performance I would have debased myself by having a midg—…er, I mean little person, shove a vibrator up my ass and call me Slutty Suzie while forcibly making me watch repeats of the “The Hills”. Either that or “Real Housewives of Wherever the Fuck”. Fucking entitled bitches, am I right?
Anyway, Steve, I have seen Jatt Starr train. You were conquered by a bloke in worse shape than John Candy and he’s been dead for something like twenty years!
I do not see how you can go into this match with semblance of confidence. Fuck, Steve! Your mum must have been wishing she aborted after watching that match! Unless she has passed on, and if so, my condolences and you can take solace in the fact that she was not alive to witness that pathetic fucking display at—-
JATT STARR: Okay! Okay! That’s enough!
ANTON: I have to complete my—-
JATT STARR: You’re not acting as “Pro-Ruler of Jattlantis” as I thought you were going to be!
ANTON: You know you are not my favorite person. In fact, I consider you a twat of the highest order. You should take my words as high praise, old boy.
JATT STARR: I wonder what you think of Steve Harrison then.
ANTON: A fucking cunt the size of the Grand Canyon. Whereas, you are—-.
JATT STARR: You’re out!
::::The scene cuts back to Jatt Starr behind the desk.:::
JATT STARR: It looks like we still have a bit of time. So, did you know that the tampon industry is a five billion dollar industry? It’s amazing. An absorbent what, tube? Is it a tube? Or is it more cylindrical? Unless I am mistaken, and being a kickass dude, I might be. It’s a cloth that a chick will shove up her vagina to stop menstrual bleeding. Damn, I feel skeeved out just saying it. Ugh.
When I was married, all I knew about them was that I did not want to be the guy to pick them up for the wife. Anyway, women will use these things and then toss the bloody thing away like a used tissue.
I know, I know. “Sultan of SeaJattle, Hero of Jattlanta, Champion of Jattanooga. Why? Why in the world are you talking about freaking tampons right now? It’s unsettling.”
Well, my fellow Jattlantians, it’s uncomfortable for me as well. It must be said, though. I am merely giving Steve Harrison a look into his bleak future. Because Steve, my not-so-Miracle Man, after Saturday night, you and a used tampon will have so much in common. You will both be bloodied, tossed out in the trash, and maybe, just maybe, once you’ve hit rockbottom, Steve, you’ll find yourself in the mouth of Scott Stevens.