[Foreword] Excuses, excuses. People constantly have to preach to the choir... Common symptoms of bullshit:
Nearly…
Almost…
Could have…
Should have…
These are phrases that people in doubt of their ability often use to cover up defeat. In Curtis Callaway's case he tries to use the claim that Ritchie Danko 'saved' me from defeat. If Danko had not 'interfered', he possibly would have defeated me. And hey, I'll be honest, he almost did accomplish a victory.. Then again, as the old cliché goes, almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.
[Scene] The scene opens on the patio of the Sutton estate. A grill is smoking as Josh Sutton stands before it wearing a chef's apron. The front of the smock object reads "Cannibal Cafe: Home Cooked Horror". It appears as if the sub-faction of the Controlling Factor, Current's Haven are having a ritualistic barbeque. Sutton lifts the grill lid and is met with a faceful of smoke. He coughs and rears back, revealing two watery eyes. He fans the smoke and gets to the 'meat' of the problem. He flips three juicy steaks over then recovers the surface.
Sutton: It's been a good long while since I've had a steak. But I tell you what, it's well worth it. I'm in quite the celebatory mood this week.
Fearinhell: As well you should be after winning the United States title. You basically have the week off. The guy seems more effecient in sniffing toilet paper and marketing his ailing vomit then picking up wins here in Chaos Heat Zone.
Sutton: Yeah, as if Slappy's wasn't lame enough, we've got another jack ass parading around trying to live off his name. Though, I'm not sure if it's much of a name persay. How fitting for Curtis Callaway to be apart of Team Superior.
Blood: I don't think it's a wise idea to be opting Team Superior into confrontation, Josh.
Sutton: Look, I'm not worried about the Snoops. I'm not worried about Bryce Stevens. I'm not worried about Acid Rain. But most importantly, I'm not worried about Curtis Callaway. Team Superior or SCWF, whatever they want to call themselves, they pose no threat to The Controlling Factor or myself.
[Scene] Sutton lifts the grillhead up and forks out the steaks onto three separate plates. Victor and Fear each grab a steak and apply their condiments to it as Sutton swoops his down, covering it in a special sauce(which I can guarentee you contains some form of alcohol). With a fork and knife in hand, Sutton cuts off a large chunk of the steak, smirking.
Sutton: You know, to be honest, this steak might even be a little bit more intimidating than Callaway.
{Scene] Sutton takes a bite, savoring the sweet beef. He wipes his mouth and continues with the rant, eyeing the camera with tenacity now.
Sutton: But let's get serious for a minute. If this guy thinks he's going to beat me, he's about to be caught dead in his tracks. I mean, first he's running with the Devil. He's talking in tongue and being a total tight-ass. Then he has a sudden change of heart and decides that the Devil is bad for him. He decides to follow that guiding light from the sky. He's now on the path of righteousness. Hey, I'm glad that you've found God, Curtis. He's going to be a real benefactor in this match. Because halfway through that match, you're going to be on your knees PRAYING to him, begging for the reasoning behind such a malevolent force that I contain.
Sutton: I want you to understand something. I'm going to keep it clarified for you, don't worry. Callaway, I take this business very, very seriously. I thrive to keep my mind out of the gutter. Large corporations are using wrestlers like cheap whores at a bus stop. And once again, another has fallen victim to a cheap dollar on the spot scheme. Dooper Pooper toilet paper? Do you think that's funny, Callaway? Do you find humor in that? Do your PEERS in Team Superior deem it hilarious? Well I don't, Callaway! I don't find it funny! I think it's bullshit!
Sutton: I've listened to you for almost two months now, Curt. I've watched you ramble on and preach to the choir about how you're underrated. About how you've been overlooked. You talk about how you're going to make a change for the better. You're 'sick of being held down', right? Well, you've done a total fucking three-sixty and went the opposite way of where you're supposed to.
Sutton: When the fans see those stupid little commercials, they aren't laughing with you, numbskull. They're laughing AT you. Do you think these damn fans really care whether they're wiping their asses with Charmin or Dooper Pooper? Furthermore, do you think they give a DAMN about you? Because they don't! They don't give a damn about you, me, or this business! You're in their web and they love it.
Sutton: But that's all coming to an end soon, Callaway. The fun and games are over. The sniffing of the toilet paper is over. The clowning around, it's fucking over, atleast if you desire the chance to even stand toe-to-toe with me. You still have time to turn this big rusty fucking machine around. Don't blow it to amuse your peers. Don't blow it to amuse these heartless fans. You're proving everyone right. Curtis Callaway will never amount to anything more than a fucking low card draw.
Sutton: Open up your fucking eyes and see the truth or the currents will be your curtains... for good. I'm done... The choice is yours.
[Scene] Sutton without further word steps off the patio and heads toward his driveway. A few moments later his car pulls down the lot and speeds off, heading northbound into Chicago. Victor Blood and Fearinhell eye each other in confusion, shrug it off, and enjoy their steaks as the scene begins to fade to black.