(Senester): I understand the word on your lips these days Mr. McNeil is “remorse.” Come…fall on your knees and confess your sins to the Messiah so he may bring them to thy ears and I shall ponder divine forgiveness for your soul. Look at your hands, and follow the ridges in your palm. See how they twist like wild vines. You are correct in your assessment of Ms. Lang…your hand in her fate is far from clean. Only now do you begin to smell the taint of your gold, when you so willfully dished your greed upon her and Hans in order to obtain it? For Shame! You’ve managed to defend the title well to the naked eye, but I and Talon know differently. It is your own pride you defend and nothing more. Your kind of pride does not shine Mr. McNeil, there is no wonder you see no glimmer in your gold.
In the eyes of the fans and many of your peers you are indeed “The Man.” Who would question a nearly 6-month reigning champion? Enjoy it while it lasts. You can count the days before that championship comes homes to the towers. I will place it around Talon’s waist myself and christen it with your blood you loathsome wretch. I’ve been waiting for this McNeil. The moment when you are knocked off your high horse and the poor lame stag is put out of its misery. What now “champ”? Another children’s charity basketball game in the old neighborhood? Another talk show interview with the title sitting by your side? How bittersweet are these things as you hear the last grain of sand fall upon the walls of the hour glass? It is not Talon, nor I who are your enemy…it is merely time.
It’s been a fair run I’d say. You’ve grown adept over the years at crushing the dreams of others, I hope those you’ve tried to and indeed have swindled are watching when your day comes. You needn’t be coy, you know quite well of whom I speak. There was a time when your lovely Toya had just reached success in her law practice, in which time you had stayed away from the ring. The moment she was set you “got the itch” as you called it. What was it…some six years ago now? There was a young man you called “Fred X” with wrestling ambitions of his own, yet to support your own return to the ring teased him with some poor man’s letter of reference to HWA and made him promise that when he retired he’d run your pathetic gym. If memory serves me right, and it always does…you were quite worried how the misses would take your intended return to the squared circle after ten long months. A pity young Fred never quite made it to HWA. I suppose he’s still a mere gym manager in your employ as surely even with your alleged tutelage he never made it in the wrestling world. I daresay you personally dashed all his hopes, as I never saw any inquiry come across my desk with his name on it. There are of course many others, but we needn't expand the entire list. Needless to say....Well done…Mr. McNeil…well done.
And then there are the times when the true Ronnie McNeil surfaces. The lone wolf and whiner. Once upon a time you said “The world never wants to see me succeed. That's why I’m always looked at as the bad guy. I've never really understood this concept, but I've accepted it and moved on.” Although you never move on do you? No…not you. You’re controversial title reign in MXCW, your questionable claim to the VCW championship and how you attempted to itemize the scorecard between yourself and Killer Instinct. More eager you are to express you’re rightful shortcomings to be blamed on others, than you are your accumulated accolades. What stories will you tell when you lose the HWA Championship to no fault but your own and the superiority of my great seraphim?
Would it surprise you that I’ve had great respect at times for you? However, such as love, there is a thin line between it and its opposite upon which you constantly teeter. Look no further than Herr Hans your own rival or ally when you find it convenient. I hold him dear to me, but I shall not abide his insolence. These times are not as forgiving as those of old. It is not an infant you spank, nor a toddler, perhaps not even a young child but when the one you have nurtured matures and comes to defy you, to question you…your hand you may not stay. My hand is the shadow you feel but do not see McNeil. My right hand is closing in on you, and there is nothing you can do about it but prepare you accompanying statement…Your usual, pitiful, face-saving gesture that fools none but your dimwitted plebeians. When you go to bed at night, when you bless your food or even a common sneeze it is to I you pray. I am God Ronnie McNeil, and in due time you shall be delivered to the hem at my feet and be humbled before me.
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