Sandbag

Heh.

Heh heh.

Heh hahahahaha.

Oh, Christ, Hurse. You have to be the most pathetic pile of garbage I’ve ever seen.

I’m not even going to pretend that I’m doing anything besides sitting at my home, having just completed viewing the atrocity you just inflicted on the IWC public. Yep, it’s the day of the show, and I’m just putting a promo together now. This is more or less the exact thing I would hammer Christian Savior for, a textbook sandbag. You could literally stack a bunch of copies of this promo together and block a flood. I’ll leave it up to you to speculate as to why I’m being so callous, especially given how considerate and personable I am most days. It could have something to do with the fact that, since I’m apparently not competing in matches anymore until I cash in the ultimate incentive, it really doesn’t matter what I say here. It didn’t matter last week, after all. I mean, honestly, who would want to have both the Ultimate Incentive and the legitimate Number One contendership? It’s not as if I’ve ever implied that I wanted to take this company over by the throat, and that would have been the perfect way to do it. And, I mean, it’s not as if I walked out from the back with both competitors in the number one contendership match last week basically unconscious, then proceeded to brutalize them even further, and set myself up to essentially plant a boot on the chest of one of them and take the win for myself. Clearly, the best thing I could have done was what I did, hand the number one contendership to Jackson Adams, someone who doesn’t even sort of deserve it, basically doing the exact thing I’ve been criticizing the IWC management for doing since I came back.

Maybe this is my idea of playing mind games.

It could be I’m distracted. After all, I did imply that I was murdering someone in my last promo (something I’m surprised didn’t come up in your usual recapping and mocking portion. I mean, you go after the running promo? Really? I basically left it out on a platter for you!) Plus, the World Cup’s on, and for whatever reason I seem to be interested in soccer all of a sudden. It’s also just possible that I don’t really care about you or this stupid match, no matter that the booking office is trying to sell it as something of an attempt at reckoning between us.

I mean, does the world really need another Hurse/AWOL rematch? Haven’t we done this dance enough times? What incentive is there for me to even participate in this farce? I’ve got nothing to prove where you’re concerned. I don’t even remember how many times I’ve beaten you. I’m apparently comfortable just having the Ultimate Incentive. Nothing’s on the line. And despite that throwaway line I put out there about you “tarnishing my legacy,” I really couldn’t care less what you do from one moment to the next. The slow decline of your career has frankly been a source of amusement to me up to this point, Hurse. My loathing for you personally makes watching Robin Brooks twist you around her fingers something I’ve thoroughly enjoyed.

In case it isn’t clear, I don’t like you.

But that doesn’t mean I want to compete in a match with you either. Neither of us is going to enjoy that, are we? No, I didn’t think so. I mean, let’s run scenarios for a moment. Let’s say, hypothetically, things go cleanly and the match ends predictably, with me beating you. Ok, neat, the world keeps spinning, Hurse lost again, and life moves on with no real changes. Or, more likely, any of the numerous people who just flat out don’t enjoy my company could turn up during the match, climbing out with tasers or handcuffing me to something as has been the case, recently, and I’d end up losing. And again, nothing would change. So why bother?

Bravo on choosing Too Mag as a partner, by the way. Well done, there. I shouldn’t have to really explain my opinion on that particular move, given that I just dismantled my entire stable a few weeks ago to avoid having to associate with that waste of oxygen, so well done on picking up the scraps. It’s almost as impressive as your ability to find a stand in for him to use in a promo (I could tell it was an actor, as he wasn’t screaming and actually put together decipherable sentences.) But, really, I suppose you can’t fall off the floor, so he can’t exactly make you any worse, can he? And if we’re being fair, Too Mag did perform the feat of convincing some people he was an actual legitimate contender recently when Simon Cagero was pushing along behind, getting his wins for him.

But if you’re pinning your hopes on Too Mag getting a win for you, well, I don’t need to tell you how sad that ultimately is.

You’re a broken shell of a man I used to know, Hurse. I don’t know where exactly you lost what measure of talent you had, but it is gone now. Stunt promos can’t get that back. At this point, I’m not convinced anything can. If I can be bothered to come down to the ring, I’m just going to beat you and move on, a speed bump on my way to…wherever I’m going. More likely, I won’t bother.

After all, if I don’t even care enough to compete for a number one contendership, why should I care about finishing off a broken down has-been like you?