The Annoyance Era is in full effect, I see.
First thing’s first, let’s just talk about it. Yeah, I sank the belt to the bottom of a river in Buenos Aires after a Taylor Swift concert. Big Red and I? We are never, ever, ever getting back together. Now I’ve got Bad Blood with Dad and I’m Ready For It, but shit. Fuckin’ Lee, man. Pettiest motherfucker on the planet. Sticking me into a tag match with Darin Zion against the Final Alliance, because he’s bound and determined to get me to put on that big red jacket like a Santa Clause bringing predictability to the children of the world.
Ho Ho Ho-hum.
Been there, done that, got the watch.
Now look, is it effective? Sure. Darin Zion is annoying. Not exactly tabloid shoot interview material to tell you that he fucking irritates me. But Christ, you wanna talk about predictability? Shit like this is why I’m not joining the ninety seventh iteration of the same Old Boy’s Club, man… this is haha happens when you wear the jacket. You fight Lee’s enemies in whatever incarnation of a tag team he throws together. Week, after week, after week. You stop talking when Lee is drinking water. Literally Lee just did this before In God’s House, except that he teamed me up with Dan, against Townsend and Ward.
And I complained about it then, too.
Come on, Lee.
We have like twelve people on the roster and six of them are in your goon squad already. Why do you even want me in the Final Alliance? So that I can face two other members of the same stable in the ICONIC main event? And then move on to feud with one of your enemies, until they can also be persuaded to join the Final Alliance? And then eventually, the entire company can just be a bunch of guys wearing the same jacket, we can all form a choir, and go sing Christmas carols to the fucking elderly. Jesus Christ, man. You’re the most creative booker in all of pro wrestling, so what the fuck is with this weird blind spot you have when it comes to the Best Alliance.
It’s B O R I N G.
Like, you teamed me with Zion to annoy me, but shit… I’d rather tag with him every single week than become Nameless Soldier #8. At least this is fresh. At least you don’t see this over and over and over again. At least I can’t tell you the last time I’ve tagged with Zion, if it’s ever even happened before. And Zion, I know you’re reading this right now and your little pecker is throbbing because you think I’m about to put you over a whole bunch, but don’t get excited. You’re a dork. You’re a better wrestler than my dad gives you credit for, since he does things like “punish” his son by sticking you into a match as my tag team partner, but that passive burial aside, you’ll do fine this week. Just shut the fuck up and don’t say my name a whole bunch of times. I’m not going to CTRL+F it anyway, because you do annoy the living piss out of me.
Get the boner in check.
But I digress.
I’m just tired, man. I wanna be amped up for this shit every single day, but we’re just stuck in these fuckin’ cycles, same shit over and over again… and it’s not like I’m immune either. I’ve retired like four times since we came back in 2019. That’s an average retirement of once a fucking year. Hard retired. Soft retired. I’m gone, I’m back, I’m here, I’m not. What the fuck are we even doing anymore, dad?
What is HOW in 2023?
Cause this? This ain’t it.
We need to move into the future, not just keep calling back to the past because it was a better time. War Games is awesome, but we’ve had a billion of them. Look how fucking cool In God’s House was, and all just because we had the balls to step outside of our comfort zone and NOT go to that depressing fucking prison for once. The Best Alliance was, at one time, the coolest fucking thing on television. But that was then, and this is now, and it’s time, man. It’s time to hang up those jackets, and watches, and rings, and… Jesus, there have been so many accessories over the years.
Look at us.
Jatt Starr, a member of the Best Alliance, attacks Mike Best to end a show, and is announced as the SUPER SECRET THIRD COMPETITOR for the main event of ICONIC. Throw a dart. What year did you land on? Was it 2011? 2013? 2019? 2021? It could have been any of them. You almost have to look at the way we’re dressed to figure out what decade that re-run is taking place during. Me and Dan Ryan? It has literally been the ICONIC main event before. Ironically, the only goon in your goon squad that I’ve never had a main event program with is fucking Steve, and what’s his part in all this?
Generic tag partner in generic punishment tag match.
Where the fuck is Mike Best vs. Steve Solex?
Put that shit up in lights. HOFC rules. Take every referee in the building out back and handcuff them to a steel pipe, to make sure the fight goes until someone needs to be brought back with a defibrillator. FUCK YEAH I’d watch that main event. But the sad thing is that outside of him and a handful of people too new to even have a picture on the website yet, we’ve just… we’ve done everything, dad. And while I strive every single day to find something new to do, and a way to reinvent myself, and a way to keep things fresh? Well, you’re a real red and yellow kinda fella, aren’t you? You like the old shit. You worship the old shit. You drag it back, time and time again, and that’s why our roster is always 97% Hall of Famers who are only even medically clear to wrestle because I’m pretty sure you’re getting Dr. Mario to do their physicals.
But you’re right.
Us going to war?
It’s not the move.
Besides, it’s been done to death, hasn’t it? You and I have the healthiest relationship we’ve ever had, and as far as I’m concerned… man, we’re all good. Punish book me. Annoy me. Do everything you need to do, and know that I’ll keep destroying titles and calling things boring and annoying you right back. Whole reason I destroyed that title in the first place, outside of knowing it was going to make your nuts itch like you just listened to four hours of positive feedback on Twitch, was that we’ve had the same fucking belts for the entire time I’ve been here. You’ve never let anyone touch them. They smell like shit, dude. The HOW World Championship smells like Aceldama’s balls and John Sektor’s gym bag, and it’s time to change some shit up.
Why is this all so precious to you?
Why do you have to have a team at War Games, every single year? Why are the titles so special? And I don’t mean the lineage, the history… what it means to be the champion, either. I mean the physical. Fucking. Belts. What is so special about all of this? Every other company in the world has evolved, but here we are, still pretending that the world is gonna end in 2012 and that Ryan Faze is coming back to be the commissioner. I know you probably hate everything I’m saying right now, and you’re annoyed, and you’re gonna punish me for it, and that’s fine. It’s fucking fine. Like I said, going to war with you, it isn’t the move. Whatever you feel like you need to do, as far as I’m concerned, you and I will be just fine.
But I have a proposition for you.
Since we’re both gambling men.
Since we both like to roll the dice.
Since this all ends in Vegas, anyhow.
I’ll run your gauntlet and play your game. And I’ll defend this championship at ICONIC. And if someone else walks out of that arena with the HOW World Title? Then fine… you and I burn this down together, I put on your dumb red jacket, and I join the Final Alliance. But if I win… when I win… you know what I want.
It’s over, Lee.
No more Final Alliance.
Dead and buried.
No more matching outfits. No more special skybox. No more action figures for Lee Best. You wanna watch the world burn beside me? Fine, then it’ll be just that— you and I. I’m never going to complain about having bangers with Dan or with Solex, legit just two of my favorite guys in the world. I’m not going to pretend to have some crippling blood feud with them over a jacket, man. I get it. We’re all just pawns on your little chess board and it’s the same game over and over and fucking over, and we’re gonna go out there this week and go fucking ham and send that crowd home happy.
I don’t want them gone, Lee.
I just want it all disbanded.
I just want Dan Ryan to do Dan Ryan shit. He earned a shot at the World Title, and what’s he doing this week? Wrestling me and Darin Zion, because you’ve now elevated our petty, annoying disagreement to number one over that belt. I want Steve Solex on the tear he was on against Christopher America, not the neutered version you keep around to pull his string and make him say “GAY! GUNS! AMERICA!” in the hopes that someone soft watches the show and tweets about it. I want my friends to be free. I want them to realize their true potential. I want you to stop having to be the most important part of everything that manages to get hot on the shows, Lee.
As a matter of fact, fuck waiting till ICONIC.
Let’s gamble EVERY FUCKING SHOW from now till then. Let’s make a new bet every week. I want to dismantle this archaic institution step by step and pave the way for something new, so I’ll make you a bet this week: if Michael Lee Best and Darin Zion can beat Dan Ryan and Steve Solex at CHAOS, which is… hey, it’s a long shot. I’m not going to puff my chest out here and say it’ll be a cake walk. But if we win?
I want the EPU.
To do with whatever I please. Maybe I’ll make them clean my apartment. Maybe they’ll be my bodyguards. Maybe I’ll put them all on the unemployment line permanently . I don’t know yet, and it doesn’t matter, because they’ll fucking belong to me. And if the Final Alliance does its job and takes us out? Teaches me a “lesson” on why I should have just taken the jacket? Well, I’ll do what I do best. I’ll temporarily retire something.
I won’t use the knee until 2024.
Ball’s in your court.