(Butch): Ronnie McNeil, I will make this quick and to the point, because I'm really beyond caring now. You can harp on all day long about our upcoming match, if you can really call it that, coming down to the last slam or the finishing moves or your *Butch punctuates the next words with sarcastic quotation marks using his fingers* flashing lights or whatever other idealistic bullshit that continuously spews from your mouth whenever you feel like dropping in and making an appearance. It just falls on deaf ears, Ronnie. Your sentiments for me outside the ring, they mean nothing. Nobody gave a shit before and I didn't care then so why should I care for the opinions of others now?
Butch takes a drink and laughs through a mouthful of vodka as if something funny just popped into his head. He swallows the drink and starts again, wagging the index finger of his left hand.
(Butch): Funny though how before when we've faced off you were so quick to dismiss me, claiming you had some sort of moral victory over me or that you'd left me lying in the ring after hitting me with one of your signature moves, when in fact you've actually yet to best me in the ring. But now, all of a sudden, it magically doesn't matter anymore about who beat who in the past all that matters is what's happening now? I found that quite funny…
Butch shakes his head, smiling ironically before he continues.
(Butch): Your opinions on Hans' title reign, on AC James, on Senester, they mean absolutely nothing either Ronnie, just like you. You let a has-been like Buff Bridges take your title; I mean a guy who hasn't done shit in years just turned up and took your belt. And from what I've gathered, Senester hasn't really shown much interest for what you supposedly have in store for him. No one cares about what is "coming down the line" to HWA, Ronnie and personally I couldn't give a rat's ass about most things right now the frame of mind I'm in if I'm being perfectly honest. In fact, the only reason I'm actually turning up in Boston this week is to unleash some of the rage that's been building up inside me like since Blood, Sweat and Tears.
The end result of our match means nothing to me though Ronnie. I don't care if I actually beat you, or if you beat me, I really couldn't give a flying f**k, it's that simple Ronnie. So don't bother wasting your breath about how you hope my mind is clear and not wanting me to have any excuses because I really won't have any and won't need to give any. You and the rest of the world can go to Hell.
Butch picks the bottle up and takes a big drink from it as the light bulb finally dies out and the scene fades to black.
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