IC Title: JTB vs Troy

[Vince McMahon]

Match Three: (Extreme Cage Match) Joey The Bastard (c) vs Troy Motor
(Intercontinental Championship)

Description TBA

[Jon Moxley / The Wyatt Family]

I am A Monster

Part I: The Night Kevin Nash was Injured

Backstage is in relative chaos. Techs are going wild backstage over what just happened, medics are rushing out, and Troy Motor is standing by the Gorilla position, absolutely fuming. He didn't have a match that night, but he was at the arena nonetheless, and he had witnessed what Joey did.

The stretcher rolled out, and Nash was on the stretcher, being tended to. Troy pushes the camera out the way.

"Nash, Nash, I'll get him for this man. I'll tear him apart. No one, and I mean no one, touches Kevin Nash. I'm gonna obliterate him, Kev. Get that fucking camera outta my face!" Troy screams, once again pushing the camera. They come to the medical room, and Troy turns on the camera.

"Joey, you think this is what the sport is about? Kev stepped up like a true man, and you do this to him? You injure him? You sicken the fuck out of me, Bastard. Kevin Nash is legend among men, you should be honored he even stepped in a ring with you. You sneaky piece of shit, you criticize me for having him taking you out.... news flash, Bastard, him power bombing you was within the rules of the match! He was perfectly allowed! Perhaps, Mr. "Extreme", if you are as honorable and such a great man, you would have given him a chance. You sicken me, you make me wanna puke. I would have given you a fighting chance, and fuck you if you think I never didn't. I hope you're ready for the storm, you fucker, cause your going down."

Troy stops for a second to check on Nash. He rubs the corners of his eyes for a moment, visibly calming down somewhat.

"JTB.... in this sport......... in this sport, good men are honored. Whatever happened to the days when two men would have a match without sneaking around each other, and fight like true warriors, honorably? PIECES OF SHIT LIKE YOU! PIECES OF SHIT LIKE YOU RUINED THIS SPORT! You influenced a generation into fighting dirty, making the dirty fighters the majority as opposed to the minority! When I'm the intercontinental champ, I'm going to bring HONOR back to this sport. I'm going to influence a generation to have RESPECT."

Troy chooses his words carefully. The medics continue to work on Nash, and begin to wonder aloud whether or not they should bring him to the hospital.

"I don't respect you, Joey. Not one bit. I don't like you, I hate you. You are the filth of this sport. I AM THE BEST. Joey the cream always rises to the top, and dammit, this is my rise. THIS IS THE TIME. THIS IS THE ERA OF TROY MOTOR. I will influence all of those kids watching on their televisions, who dream one day of having my profession. They will want to be like me, they will be the best generation. Generation Motor. I like that. There won't be a generation looking up to you. OH, wait, I seem to have forgotten about the trailer park trash. Yeah Joey, you can have them, I'll have the educated fan base. Joey, I'll have my revenge. You bastard. It's coming sooner than you think."

PART II: ThyWWE.com Exclusive Interview



Troy is sitting down n the studio, wearing his official Tshirt. He seems calm, but the rage is visible in his eyes, burning deeply.

"I guess I've sort of calmed down now. Nash is fine, but he'll be in a cast for awhile. He won't be showing up for awhile, which I guess sort of sucks. I blamed myself for a little bit, but he said he would do anything to get me to the top of the company. He says it's his fault. So I didn't argue, naturally, I just accepted his opinion, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't have some guilt. But enough of that, honestly I think it's time JTB realized what he's done. Honestly, I haven't felt nearly this much rage in a long time... and Joey is gonna be the one who takes the brunt of it. I'll make good on my promise to take him out and take his title, no doubt in my mind."

Troy pauses to take a sip from a drink. He thinks hard for a moment, trying to keep his calm exterior from cracking, keeping the fiery rage from showing.

"Joey's actions were disgusting. How a man can do that to a pretty much defenseless man... I don't even know. JTB's actions will have consequences. He will be punished for his disgusting actions. And Joey, since we are going to have this rematch for the title sometime in the future, I guarantee you won't walk out the Intercontinental champion."

Troy opens his phone and looks at the time.

"I've got to go. Joey, I know your watching..."

Troy flips off the camera, a look of utter disgust across his face.

"So go fuck yourself."

PART III: AFTER FAKE KNIGHTS CEREMONY

Troy stumbles from the arena, blood dripping from his face over his shirt. He's weakened but as pissed off as he ever has been. He's violently pushing away the doctors, and beelines for the camera.

"JOEY! EXTREME CAGE? YOU'RE ON! I'm going to brutalize you! i'm going to grind your flesh across the damned cage, and drop you, and watch you bleed, watch the blood drip down, and I'm gonna look at my hands splattered with your blood, and I'm going to love it! Every second... understand one thing. I'm going to take you out, ensure that you will never compete again."

Troy begins laughing, an oddly emotionless noise. Then with a huge scream, he kick over a TV, which breaks and sparks over the concrete. Security rushes to hold him back, and he manages to scream out more words as he struggles.

"Joey you fuck, I'll be the end of you! Say goodbye to your career, and your goddamned title!"

PART IV: IN THE EMPTY ARENA

The arena is empty. Everything is set up for Anarchy. The stage, the ramp, the ring, the rigs, the chairs, the barricades.... and it's only Troy. He sits on a chair, staring, his chin in his hands. The cage is set up, looking wicked, the weapons not yet added to it. Troy is beyond anger. He's got a calm sort of psychotic-ness now.

"I haven't been in a cage match for years. I fought against some guy in one independent promotion. I sent him through the cage. And he landed on his head. And the people, the doctors, they thought he was dead. But he wasn't... he continued the match. I bloodied him. I've never seen.... never seen so much blood in my life. I entered a place in my mind I'd never been to. He was growing white with the blood loss. The ref was telling me to stop, to pin him, but I couldn't. I wanted more. The canvas of the ring was being painted by the red that was leaking from his skull so violently.... I've wondered since then if I wanted to murder the man. I've wondered if I wanted him to die. I went on a semi-retirement, and sat in my room on those days, wondering, was I reverting to the most primal of human urges? I came back. I don't think I've ever had the urge to kill.... but I certainly wanted to hurt, to maim. And I did. I constantly bloodied and battered my opponents, and as time went on, I began to feel as if those urges were satiated. And so for the majority of my career I went for a more physical style as opposed to the weapons. I was doing good. I was furthering myself from that violence."

Troy has a distant look in his eye, but still is staring at the cage, his future.

"But Joey the Bastard came. And he claimed to be hardcore. And that violent beast within awoke. I wanted to prove him wrong... I want to prove him wrong. This side of me is returning. This violent, grisly, brutal side is coming back, it's ripping apart this exterior of a purely physical individual...."

Troy is getting worked up now, slightly fidgety, as if he has to get up.

"It's back, Joey. That cage is going to keep you locked in with a monster. I am a monster. I am THE monster. The monster under the bed. The monster in the closet. And your mistake is letting yourself in a closed cage with this monster..."

Troy is maintaining a scary eye contact with the camera, a sick smile spread across his face. He stands abruptly, walking to the cage, and puts his hands on it, as if examining it.

"This beautiful contraption will house the end of your career, the final moments of your title reign. And then no one can stop me. I will reach the top of the ThyWWE ladder, I will be the world champion, and I will forever be immortalized as the greatest wrestler to ever step into this company, hell, this business. Nothing will stop me, not the Knights, not Vince, and not you, Bastard! This win in for Nash, and the generation you will influence with your white trash act! I'm going to bring respect back into wrestling."

Troy picks up the steel chair he had been sitting on, and smashes it on his face, hard, several times, until finally blood is flowing from his forehead.

"This will mark the beginning of MY REGIME! My rule over the industry! Every drop of blood will count, will contribute to the greater good! I will lead this business into the future!Joey, you should feel honored to be the first to go, as opposed to the last! I'm going to obliterate you Joey. Your hours are numbered."

PART V: RIGHT BEFORE THE MATCH

Troy is backstage in the interview area, looking determined and evil.

"Troy, your match is up next." Says the interviewer. "What are your feelings about your match up next?"

Troy smiles. "I'm feeling great. I can see it, it's about to descend 'round the ring, isn't it? The weapons... of the weapons... I can already smell, already taste the blood. My blood. Joey's blood. I'm in a place in my mind I shouldn't be, and admittedly don't exactly want to.... but I'll be damned if I can let Joey win! This Intercontinental championship isn't for white trash wrestlers, its for those who know how to respect and are respected. Joey the Bastard can't respect, and he isn't respected. On pure luck he got into the Knights, and on pure luck he won the title. This is my time. The monster rises. By the end of the night, I will be the next Intercontinental champion."

[Joey The Bastard]

The sun shone through the crack between the velvet curtains inside Joey the Bastard's personal quarters inside of New Camelot. It was a beautiful day outside. In fact, it was the first beautiful day that The Bastard had seen in a long time. Probably the first actual beautiful day of the year 2013. But, The Bastard did not care about the brisk spring breeze that has come three weeks early. He didn't care about song birds outside of his window singing their merry tunes.

The Bastard lay in his king-size bed half under his bear skin blanket. He was leaning against the back board with his arms crossed behind his head, shirtless. He didn't even care that his room was filthy. Beer cans strewn about the room. Some on the coffee table. Others lying around the room. The crack of light that slivered in through the crack in the curtains created a line of bright light which slit across the room and up the bed and painted a yellow line up The Bastard's face and up the wall behind him.

No, The Bastard cared not of any of these things. He only cared of the thoughts and images going on inside of his own head...

All my life I've had anger problems... I guess rage problems would be a better thing to call them. As far back as I can remember I'd snap at the drop of a dime. I remember when I was a little kid, this other kid called me ugly or stupid or something like, but I just shrugged it off. Pretended like it was okay... Like it was a normal thing. And for little kids, it was a normal thing. Kids says some hurtful things... But, I just acted like I didn't care. But I did care... I cared so much that I brought that kid out in to the bushes of my babysitters back yard and I told him that I wanted to show him something. He followed me out back and we stood in front of each other and he said, "What did you want to show me, Joey?" I just stared in to his eyes, and I still remember the fear that poured in to those eyes to this very day... I shoved him so hard that he went airborne and smack the back of his head against a rock and cracked his skull open.

He screamed, and I laughed, and I ran away to think about what I had done... My victory. Was I scared? Hell yeah, I was scared. I didn't want to get in trouble. As I ran out of the bushes and ran inside the house, I saw both of his parents pass by the window to see what all the noise was about. I watched as they carried him screaming like the little bitch that he was passed the window and in to their house which was across the street. Our eyes made contact as he passed... "Why would you do that to me?" was the question they were asking. Why? Why the fuck would you call me stupid? Or ugly? Or whatever the fuck it was you said to me in the first place? Why the fuck do you think I did that? Did you forget what you did to me first?

An eye for an eye...

I never suffered any consequences for my actions that day. Maybe he told his parents that he slipped and fell, or maybe his parents knew to stay the hell away from me. Needless to say, it wasn't the last time that rage was a factor in my actions...

The first real job I ever had was as a dishwasher at some restaurant called, Zachary's when I was fifteen years old. My job was to wash dishes, obviously, and to put them back where they belonged. Every body else who worked there was pretty cool, and I just kept to myself doing my job. I like to think that I did a damn fine job, but the only guy in there who didn't think so was the Head Chef, Maurice... Some short French guy who graduated from Le Cordon Bleu Culinary Institute. Big deal... I'd be working my ass off during the busy dinner rushes and he'd be yelling at me from behind the line... "Hurry up, you!" or "You're not working fast enough! Move your ass!"

I was moving my ass, dammit! If it wasn't for me, there'd be no dishes for him to put his precious food on. But, I kept going... Kept on trying to work even faster, but it was never fast enough. One night, he came over and yelled at me, "What's the matter with you? Are you stupid?" There's the name calling again, that fucking cock sucker... "You suck!" he'd say to me, and one night the rage took over once again...

I dropped what I was doing and turned him and said, "Hey, fuck you, buddy! Don't talk to me like that." Maurice looked back at me, stunned. "What did you say to me, you little puke?" he asked. "You heard me, you French fuck. Go fuck yourself!"

I could tell that Maurice was pissed off. Nobody talked to him like that in his own kitchen. "Say that again, I dare you" he challenged me. A challenge? Why the hell not? "Go... fuck... your..." He didn't even let me finish the sentence and slapped in the face. The rage took over and I spat right in his face. He was shocked and grabbed a plate off of the dish rack and smashed it over his forehead. He fell like a tonne of bricks and I started screaming at him. Who knows what I said to him, but it probably wasn't "Thanks for the pep talk, old buddy."

I stared down at him. He was out like a light. I looked around at the other workers and they were staring at me like I was crazy. At me! Like I was the bad guy! This guy was abusing me, and physically assaulted me and when I retaliate, I'm the the bad guy... I'm the freak.

But, they were right... I was the bad guy, and I was proud of what I did. I sent the next load of dishes in to the washer then dropped my apron on his face and walked out the back door. The cops found me on the street that night and I spent some time in juvi. The look they gave me was the look that you'd give somebody who was ready to go on a rampage. Somebody who was about to go postal, and I didn't understand why they gave me that look back then. But, now I understand it clearly... I could have done that to any one of them that night, and if they tried to step in, who knows what I could have done given the amount of pots and pans and knives that were in that kitchen. The was the first real job that I ever had. It was also the last...

This rage... It doesn't matter who's there, or who makes me feel that way, but somebody always gets hurt. my little sister and I were walking down the street after school one day, and she was making fun of me for having a crush on a girl in my class. She was laughing and joking around, saying that she'd never like me back. I begged her to stop... I knew what was coming... But she was stubborn just like me. Just trying to get the reaction. And that reaction was the worst reaction of my life. It changed my life forever...

I shoved her. I shoved her off of the sidewalk. I shoved her in to the street. I didn't see the bus. She hit hard, and I was seeing red. Then I saw the bus and screamed. But it was too late. I shoved her... And then... She was dead instantly.

I killed her...

But it was accident!

It was an accident, wasn't it?

Of course it was! It was the rage that killed her. That uncontrollable rage that takes over. My parents disowned me, and I was out on the streets for good after that. Dropped out school, and started my path to become the man that I am today. I used to blame my parents... I used to blame the bus driver... Hell, up until now I was blaming my little sister for not shutting up. But the more and more I think about it, I realize that it wasn't any body's fault but mine. I let the rage take over. I let it consume me and it makes me do things that I would never dream of doing. It's my fault...

But, this curse, can also be a blessing in disguise. The rage cost me everything... My life, my family, my friends, and my future... But, since then it has brought me status. It has brought me money and fame and also infamy. It has helped me to be a part of the best wrestling company in the business and to be a part of the best group of talent in the history of this business. But, more importantly... It has brought me gold. The rage took everything away, but now it is giving back. Almost as if it feels remorse, or pity for me, but I know that can't be the case. The rage is like a drug... You crash and you burn, but you can also fly high like never before. Right now, I'm as high as ever, and I'll continue to do so until that rage takes over and makes me do something so bad, I might be in prison for the rest of my life. Because, I've learned to deal with my rage. I've learned how to use to my advantage. I've done what every good human being does, and that is to adapt to my situation...

But, when it all comes down to one question... Would I changed it? Would I go back and not shove that kid? Would I take that slap in the face? As much as it saddens me to think this... Would I changed anything?

I wouldn't change a God damn thing...

*************************************************************

A knock on the door breaks The Bastard's introversion as he shoots up in his bed, almost as if he's ready for a fight. The door opens and Reginald, The Bastard's own personal butler pokes his head in the door.

"My lord?" Reginald asks quietly. "My lord, are you awake?"

"Yeah, I'm awake, Reggie." The Bastard says, almost relieved.

"King Arthur has summoned for your presence at the Round Table."

Oh, great, The Bastard thinks to himself. What the hell does he want? Don't lose to Troy Motor? Gee, ya think?

The Bastard sighs and starts to get out of bed. "Alright, cool. Thanks, Reggie,"

"Good luck, my lord."

The Bastard laughs, "Yeah, man. Thanks a lot, eh."

The Bastard reaches down beside his bed and grabs his cut off shorts and puts them on. Then he goes over to his armoire and opens it up. It's filled with various band t-shirts with the sleeves cut off and starts to sift through them. He eventually decides on one the reads "SUB/HUM/ANS" on the chest with a giant head spewing vomit every where. The Bastard puts on a pair of socks with holes in them then puts on a pair of moccasins and starts to head for the door.

He left his room in to the hall. The shades were opened and each one shot a long rectangle across the hall way floor and up the wall. He didn't know what time it was, but judging by the length of the light beams, it must have been pretty early in the morning. maybe, eight? Nine? It must be really important that the King is requesting The Bastard so early in the day.

Joey passed by various paintings on the wall. Paintings of previous Knights of the Round Table. End tables were situated between each painting with a vase full of flowers on top. It was nothing new to The Bastard as he had made this trek many times before, but for some reason, this time it felt different to him. It felt more urgent this time. Like the space time continuum was about to be ribbed to shreds in just a few short days.

The Bastard reached the end of the hall and pushed a button. The walls creaked and opened up, revealing a stone staircase that spiraled down a few floors to the Court. A chill flew up from the depths below and made The Bastard shudder as he started his descent of the stairwell. It was dark, damp, and musty. None of the butlers knew of this passageway, and The Bastard could tell from the lack of up keep. Everywhere in the castle of New Camelot was spick and span... Elegant, and regal, but this secret passage felt more like a dungeon than anything else. It was long, and made The bastard fell a little claustrophobic at points. But, he keep on his journey in to the bowels of the castle, and soon enough he at the bottom standing in front of a large wooden double door.

The Bastard reached out and knocked on the door. A few seconds passed, and nothing happened. Annoyed, The Bastard knocked again, this time harder. When nothing happened a second time, he started to bang on the door with his fist. The door unlatched and slowly creaked open. One of King Arthur's druids stood on the other side with his arm out, showing The Bastard the way.

"Yeah, I know where to go, dumb ass." he snapped at the druid. "I've only done this, like, a million times."

The Bastard stormed passed the druid and in to King Arthur's court. The Round Table stood in the middle of the dark room. The only light was from the small glassless windows at the top of the walls where the wall meets ceiling.

The Bastard gazed at the beauty of the Round Table. Boy, was it ever a sight to be seen. He hadn't gazed upon in quite sometime, but he was surprised at how well it looked. The original Round Table... It looked more elegant and beautiful than anything The Bastard had ever seen inside the castle. He thought that was a little bit strange, but that thought quickly dissipated when King Arthur's booming voice broke the silence.

"Approach the table, young Knight."

King Arthur emerged from the shadows and took his place at the head of the table. The Bastard walked forward and stood across from King Arthur.

"Hey, man, what's this about? I gotta catch a flight and shit..."

"Silence, Sir Knight." King Arthur said, his voice demanding. "I have summoned you here to tell you..."

"Yeah, I know, losing is not an option, beat Troy Motor, blah, blah, blah. I get it. You could have just sent me a memo..."

"Silence!" King Arthur ordered. The Bastard hated it when he did that. "It matters not if you are victorious or not. Either way, the Intercontinental Championship will be staying with the Knights of the Round Table."

"Oh, okay, that's cool. Wait a minute..." The Bastard was confused. "You mean we're actually gonna let Troy Motor in? Are you nuts?"

"If he proves that he is strong enough to defeat a Knight in battle when it is all on the line then, yes, he will have proved to be worthy of Knighthood." King Arthur said matter of factly. "But, that is not why you are here, Sir Knight."

"Okay, so what's the deal?"

"Troy Motor does not need to win to prove worthy." King Arthur said, then added, cryptically. "But, you Joey the Bastard do..."

"What the fuck, man?" The Bastard was a little offended. "I've done everything you've asked me to do. I'm the Intercontinental Champion! I beat down Brian Gunn and Barton like you asked me to do... Even though I didn't want to... Even though it completely contradicts the charges that you charges upon me when I was knighted."

"Ah, but they were no longer Knights, young Bastard." King Arthur stated. "For they had turned their backs on us. They had forgotten everything that the Knights of the Round Table stand for. For that, I took their Knighthood away. I can give Knighthood, but I can also take Knighthood away with a snap of my finger."

"Yeah, well..."

"SILENCE! You will not interrupt me! I am your King!" King Arthur was getting angry. "This is a must win for you. You have worked too hard to have it squandered away at the hands of your opponent."

"Don't worry, Artie." The Bastard said with confidence. "I got this!"

"Don't be such a fool!" King Arthur chastised The Bastard. "Do you have any idea what Troy Motor is doing right now?"

"I dunno, what?"

"He's training. He's getting mentally and physically prepared to go to whatever lengths needed to be victorious." King Arthur pauses, then adds. "And what of you? Lying in bed? Staying up all night being belligerent, and getting drunk like some school boy? Pathetic, if you ask me."

"Hey, man..."

"SILENCE!" King Arthur yelled once again. "Your over confidence is sickening."

"What the fu...?"

"SILENCE!" King Arthur's voice wavered a bit in anger. "Troy Motor is not over confident. He is driven to defeat you... To hurt you. You pushed him to the limit, and now it is time to face the music. It is time to back up your words, and your actions..."

"Yeah, but..."

"I said SILENCE, God damn you!" King Arthur bellowed. "Your insolence is unnerving, indeed, but I chose you as a member of the Knights of the Round Table for a reason. You may not know that reason, young Bastard, but I pray that this Sunday at Anarchy... You prove me right. Be not over confident when you head on in to battle for it will be your downfall, Joey the Bastard, and it will be your fall from grace from the Round Table. Heed my words..."

The Bastard stares at King Arthur who stares right back at him. No words are said. Suddenly, The Bastard speaks up...

"Can I talk yet?"

King Arthur nods.

"Okay, I get what you're saying." The Bastard admits in defeat. "Don't under estimate him, and don't be over confident, yeah, I get that... But why Troy? Of all the guys in the back, why him? He doesn't belong with us."

"There were members of the Round Table who felt the same way about you..."

"Seriously?"

"Indeed, but you silenced your critics. You proved them wrong. But, now the critics have spoken up once more..." King Arthur trails off then adds a few words of encouragement. "I have never once regretted knighting you, Sir Knight... Don't make me start now. Go out there, and make me proud King once again."

A small smile starts to form in the corner of The Bastard's mouth but he stops it. "Will do." he says.

The two men stare at each other, and King Arthur gestures for The Bastard to bow before him. The Bastard's face twists into a snarl as he reluctantly gets down on one knee, bowing before his King. The Bastard looks up under his eyebrows with contempt at King Arthur.

"Yes... my... King..."

**********************************************************************************

{The scene opens up in the back stage area of the arena for Anarchy on Pay-Per-View. The Bastard is stand alone at the interview area, mic in hand. He looks in to the camera then speaks...}

JTB: Well, tonight's the night, Troy Motorboat... The night where shut up and crawl back under the rock you came from... You know, when Beno first contacted you about being out ally...

{The Bastard makes quotation marks with his fingers.}

JTB: You were supposed to be our little bitch. And you were a little bitch. You still are a little bitch! But, you were supposed to do our dirty work for us... You were supposed to beat down our enemies... But that never happened. Not once did I ever see you out there along side us in battle, and you had the nerve... the audacity to come out claiming to be one of us... to be one MY brothers? That right there, is the biggest insult of all, and that is reason why I've put your life through hell for the passed two months. Did you ever think that we planned to let you in? You were just a pawn, and now all of a sudden, King Arthur is contemplating actually letting you in? That's just plain messed up... Well, I'll be damned if you come in and take MY spot, and take MY title! You're a jabroni, Troy... Remember that! Sure, you'll come out and pull off the greatest performance of your life, but that's what happens when you face The Bastard... The baddest bastard in town... I bring out the best in people, and I've brought out the best in you, Troy. I'm proud of that. I take joy in helping bring guys up to new heights only to slam them back down to reality and make them realize just how much of a loser they always were. You've brought your best, Troy, there's no denying that... But at the end of the day, everybody, including yourself will look back on this night and say...

It just wasn't good enough.

You think you have what it takes to help carry this company like I do? I'm a Champion in every way, shape, and form. You're just a flash in the pan, kid, getting the shot of a life time against the future of this company. I'm out here every week taking on the best that this place has to offer and you're wasting up my television time winning title shots by DEFAULT! How the hell can you be proud of that? You had your shot, and you lost miserably. You put out a half assed performance inside MY ring, and it embarrassed me to even be in the same ring as your sorry ass. Then, you idiot bookers put us in a match the next week... Why? I already beat you? And I was gonna beat you again until your giant ass buddy came along and screwed me out of the match... Can't win on your own, Troy, it's obvious. That right there sealed the deal for me... I knew I had to teach you a lesson. That night where you pinned me for the very first time, and the very last time was the night that I decided to make an example of you... The world will see what happens to people who piss me off. You're gonna get hurt, Troy... See, I'll say that I go out there and put my heart and soul in to every match, and not a word of that will be a lie. But, when it comes down to where all the marbles are on the line... When the world is watching live on Pay-Per-View, I'm gonna go out there put out just that little bit much more... Because I belong on Pay-Per-View, Troy... I belong on the Champion's podium... Troy...

You don't belong.

You belong on Thy Live events, or jerking the curtain on Monday nights. You pull a great match out of your ass, and all of a sudden the world is talking about Troy Motor being the next IC Champ. Gimme a break, Troy... You can't actually believe any of this, can you? You don't actually believe deep down in heart that you can beat me? Troy, listen up...

YOU CAN'T BEAT ME!

And you will not beat me. because I'm on a whole other level than you and the rest of the bottom feeders in Thy WWE. Guys like Tetley... Guys like Jamine Creed... Guys like Mark Greenburg, and after tonight, you'll know where you belong. You talk about how this is the beginning of the Troy Motor Era, and it's hysterical. What's that? The era where people get built up as a legitimate contender only to get completely and utterly destroyed when the time comes to fight? Sounds fun, Troy, and you have fun with that. I'll be sitting in my fucking castle, sipping Scotch, and polishing my two Championships belts while you try to discover who you are, you parasitic low-life rat...

{The Bastard chuckles to himself and holds up the IC Title...}

JTB: White trash, eh? Where's your castle, Troy? Do YOU have your very own personal butler? I don't live in a trailer, you moron, I live in a fucking castle, and I'll be damned if I let you take that away from me. Years, and years, I've worked my ass off to escape shit holes like trailers and back alleys, and you wanna call me trash? Troy, you're the biggest piece of garbage that I've ever come in contact with, and I've dug through my fair share of dumpsters...

GARBAGE, TROY!

That's what you are, you want the intelligent fans to respect you? You want them to cheer you on? Well, first of all, an intelligent fan would never cheer for you... You hear those fans out there who cheer for the Knights? Those are the smart fans, Troy. They know what is good for this company, and it sure as hell isn't you being the Intercontinental Champion, and being in the Knights of the Round Table... I think you might be getting our roles reversed there, big guy, cause after tonight's slaughter, those white trash fans you talked so nice about are gonna be the ones cheering YOU on. They're gonna feel bad for you, Troy, and they're gonna wish that you could do the impossible, but, just like you, they will be let done. Because you actually defeated me for this title is just that...

Impossible.

You walking out of Anarchy the same man you were when walked in...

Impossible.

You even walking out of Anarchy on your own two feet...

IMPOSSIBLE!

Cause after tonight, you certainly won't be the same person who walked through that curtain and stepped inside the cage with the most hardcore sonovabitch in Thy WWE today... Troy, tonight you walk in to Anarchy a wide-eyed ambitious little boy who has high hopes for his career... And you leave a beaten man who will then know that his dreams will never be a reality...

On a stretcher, Troy... You're leaving a stretcher.

I took so much joy in beaten your face in last week, and, oh good heavens, I get to do it all again tonight... I can't wait, Troy. I can't wait for Kevin Nash to be sitting at home nursing his leg, and watching his friend, Troy Motor have his career shortened by ten years... I can't wait for the world to see just how much of a worthless one hit wonder you truly are... And I can't wait, Troy...

To hurt you.

Bad.

So, put your big boy shoes on and meet me out in that ring in front of the world, and I'll put on one hell of show... You're just along for the ride...

If you don't like me...

BITE ME!

{The Bastard drops the mic and heads of to the gorilla position for his IC Title defense against Troy Motor...}

The End.