Butch slow claps in a contemptuous manner.
(Butch): Five f***ing stars guys. I hear Vince was shitting himself when he seen you, Talon and Ronnie climb on a f***ing plane. But listen to me, rambling on like a parrot, let me get back on point. There is something I'd like you to clarify for me Eddie, if you would be so kind. Tell me, apart from these incredible, roof-shattering ratings that you're so good at keeping track of and shoving in everyone's faces before they've had a chance to tell you whether or not they care, what you have and your band of merry men actually accomplished since you decided to bring the NWO back? What great waves have you made in the HWA? What titles have usurped from their previous holders? Hmm?
Butch raises his eyebrows in a questioning manner, as if waiting for Eddie to provide him with an answer. After a brief moment of silence, Butch cups one of his hands to his ear, Hulk Hogan-esque.
(Butch): What's that Ed? Nothing? I thought so! The only thing you've done is given some Seven-Eleven a tasty profit on spray paint tins, and swiftly made enemies of about seventy-five percent of the HWA roster.
A pitying sigh flows from Butch's nose and he throws a couple of punches onto the bag again before speaking again.
(Butch): The fact of the matter is this Eddie. I hate you, purely and simply because you're an insufferable, egotistical, pretentious prick. You hate me because I'm here. No matter how many times you complain about me being over-hyped, over-rated, under-proven anything with the word "under" or "over" preceding it, but I'm always there, Eddie. In the main event matches, in the segments in between matches, in the Havoc introductions, on the lips of the fans, the commentators, even your own, because I deserve to be here Eddie; I've paid my dues and earned my stripes. You think I'm under proven and a product of my own hype, then why don't you man up f***ing prove it? Put your money where your damn mouth is and step into the ring one-on-one with and f***ing prove it Eddie? If I'm such a goddamn blight on this company and you're so much better than me then destroy me Eddie! Hit me with everything you've got, with every move you have in your arsenal and pin my shoulders to the mat for a three-count before I've even known what's hit me.
Butch stops for a moment, his chest heaving.
(Butch): Oh I'm sorry, is this me beating my chest again Eddie? Forgive me!
See, Eddie, you can't stand the fact that HWA management still values me as a big drawing attraction for this company; you can't stand the fact that despite what happened during my time with Senester that some fans still cheer my name at the shows. You hate me with an unbridled passion but you don't have the balls to try and put your theory of me not being good enough to the test and put me down.
You're a pathetic lowlife Eddie with only the power to drag those around down to the slums of degradation. You have nothing on your scope now Eddie, nothing. What are you going to do now that your little plan to commandeer Buff's reign as ruler of the All Star division has been foiled by Senester taking the belt? Because we all know damn sure you're not going to attempt to embroil in a feud with Senester and seeing as you and Talon seem to think that Ronnie's "next in line" to be World Champion, what are you going to do? Try and nudge yourself in front of your token black friend for a shot at a man whose defeating of you seems to have become nothing more than second nature. It would be an awful shame to see Ronnie's nose pushed more out of joint when you've just got him laughing and smiling again wouldn't it? So what now Eddie, what now for you and the NWO?
Butch smirks again, narrowing his eyes slightly.
(Butch): You're turn, Eddie. You're turn mate.
Butch turns away from the camera and begins to work on the heavy bag again as the scene fades to black.
OOC: Sorry guys, had to put post this in two parts, couldn't fit the whole r-p into one post!
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