A Scourge takes on Entitled Frauds.

[Donzig]

'Now is the winter of our discontent, Made glorious summer by this sun of York.' The voice of Donzig purrs, and then the camera flares to life. Donzig sits in an empty locker room, and his Two Kingdoms title hangs from the chair beside him. He leans forward, rubbing his hands on his knees before he shakes his head. Then he rises, pacing slowly before he gestures at the camera with a wagging finger. 'You know I am not one to put a lot of stock in titles. You see a title in wrestling just says look at me I suck the dick of the brass. I am marketable, I play the game like a good little soldier, it says one night I was so good some joker got beat so I could lift a strap. Oh, I get it. I get people love them, and they walk around telling anyone who will listen they were champion ABC of promotion XYZ. They did this or that, and they were the cocksucking champion of StarFucker Wrestling Federation. They were the World Champion of some place in Des Moines no one gives two flying fucks about.' A pause, and Donzig tugged at his beard before he shrugged. 'You know the type, three of them were in the ring with Sean Bean a few hours ago. They are the Circle Jerk Champions of the World, the Bastards Centipede, feeding off their own shit while Bean jacks off on his own toes.' A wild grin, and Donzig clasped his hands together before his mouth. He took a deep breath, and he frowned. 'Forgive me, I am going through a transitional period.' A hand waved, and he paced again. 'You boys gave yourselves your very own title. How creative, how very original, how trite and novel! Taz would be so proud! I did the same thing back in 2007, it was pretty amazing. Mine had more skulls as I recall, I was very fond of it. It was the 'Fuck the Industry' Championship, because frankly? I happened to think then, like I do now that I am better than this business. That I am better than the industry of wrestling, that I am beyond the Sport of Kings. You see the business has flaws, it is riddled with them, normally in the shape of men. Self-entitled pricks, who think they are the best thing going. Who only care about themselves, you know the type right.' A pause. 'We are blessed with three of them.' Donzig lifted his own title, staring at it as he started to pace again. 'You boys want to create controversy? Maybe declare yourselves 'Co-World Champions' AJ and I did that once, people hated it. We dragged that on for six months, it was great.' Donzig lowered the belt, staring at the camera. 'Here's the problem though, boys. I don't care what you did to the title, I don't give two fucks what you did to a belt that frankly Rob Riot built, I don't care if Rob Riot power bottomed to Frank Windsor and let him throw shit all over his legacy. I get that Eron Hunter, Ronnie Long, and Rob Riot made that Championship mean something and Rob was not man enough to stop his boy from pissing on it. I just don't care, I am not even surprised.' A few more steps. 'I get that Billy Fowler is all bent out of shape, and is super sad because he is emo-daddy now? But if he wants to piss on a championship that he built! A fucking championship that he made the most desirable title on the XHF Network? If he wants to throw all that away because he can't handle that he got his ass beat by Crane? What is it to me? Billy Fowler took a belt that was made up of the Championships of two great companies, and he made it mean more! He made a belt that a man gave up his fucking eye for a chance to compete for! He held that belt against all challengers for nearly a year, and now he says 'No, no, no. This belt isn't shit?' And I am supposed to respect that? Sure, okay.' Donzig snorted, grinning as he shook his head before he gave a wild laugh. An oddly human laugh. 'No, my problem was your little fingerpoke of doom shit. Your little fucking display of whatever that was. You see the entire XHF Network is made up of people who mock this business, who mock this sport, who sit there and spit in my face! Who spit in the face of what we do because they are cool or edgy. Well, no. Fuck that. Not here, not on my fucking watch. You want to be Steve Mediocre? Do it on your own time, not in the ring where I bleed. At least, Steve had the decency to be fucking stabbed for something.' A frown. 'You three walk around like you are so put upon, like you have it so fucking hard. Woe is me. Please, fucking get real. The Bastards are fucking overly indulged, self important, man children! And you cry and whine as you are given opportunity after opportunity! Handed title shot after title shot, handed this or that! And then when you don't get your way, or the going gets a little too hard? We get this spoiled frat boy fucking bullshit, about how you have it so hard! That we are all paper champions or some shit?' Donzig leaned forward, eyes narrowed as he tapped a finger against the lens of the camera. 'Does it bother you that you come off as less of a man than Armand Von Krauss? I bet it doesn't because your heads are shoved so far up your own asses.' Donzig straightened, and he waved a hand. 'And now I am in a ladder match at Dominion? Some TLC shit? Boys, I have bad news for you. I hate ladder matches, and we all know what happened the last time I was in one.' Donzig reached inside of his pants pocket, and flung a jagged piece of metal covered in dried blood on the floor. 'See you soon.'