Thurston: “Well, I figure since Mr. Daher, the object of Drakestone’s masturbations, loves to cut promos, I should conform to his game. After all, he is the champion. For three more days, anyway. Then, it’s my turn. I think that there is very little question as to who is the better wrestler. And, as has become obvious to me over the last few days, poking around that shithole hometown of his, there is very little question as to who is the better man, period. How, I face Jim on Wednesday for the Falconer title. He says this is a matter of instilling respect and fear. Oh, what the hell would you know about respect? You want respect? It will take a lot more than beating me on Wednesday to gain respect. You don’t deserve it. Fury deserves respect. Ashram deserves respect. Jackson deserves respect. Hell, even Snoops deserves respect. You? No fucking way!”

Thurston takes a sip of coke, clears his throat, leans forward on the bench.

Thurston: “Regarding my work in Horn Lake of the past few days… don’t worry, Jim, you will see the fruitions of it in the near future. The raw footage is done, now it’s just going in for some editing as well as some splicing. It should be done within two weeks or so. I’m sure you’ll be pleased to see the results of it. Oh, yes, regarding your threats of legal action for my actions outside the confines of a GWA arena? I’d love to see you try and take legal action against me. Be my guest. But, you know, people can be bought, and I have the means to do so. You, you hillbilly piece of white trash, do not. You’ve got two things my friend, and that is jack and shit. So, please, be my guest and try and take legal action. It will just succeed in making you seem stupider than you have already made yourself look. And, if you want to get legal, I could file a suit as well for your threats of violence against me. While going through with the threats would be legal, as they would occur within the confines of a GWA arena, the actual action of making those threats occurred outside the GWA arena, thus I could bring action against you for terroristic threats, which those fall under. Have any more threats to make? Go ahead. Each separate threat you make can be brought against you as a separate count. Defamation of character and slander only involves money, which I have no problem with. Threats? That can lead to prison time. You make the choice. Do you feel lucky? Huh, punk, so do you? Of course, you could also be brought up for copyright infringement, concerning some of the phrases that you use, as you do know that some of them are copyrighted and thus cannot be used in such a manner that you are using them in without the expressed written consent of the owner of the copyright.”

Thurston: “Anymore threats of legal actions? Nah, didn’t think so you pile of steaming dog shit. Oh yes, as far as making out my last will and testament, I bequeathed the Falconer title to my brother, Ace, as there is no question that after Wednesday, I will be the holder of it. And you can deny everything that I have said, all the facts that I researched on you, but there is one thing you can not deny, and that is that you suck Drakestone’s dick.”

Thurston stands up and begins to walk, the camera trailing him.

Thurston: “I don’t know about you, Jim, but I’m on a bit of a winning streak as of late. Let’s see… I beat Craig Robinson. By myself. No help. I beat Azra’il. By myself. No help. You, on the other hand, got embarrassed in that tag team match, you and that fat pile of horse apples named Bedlam. And then, this last week, it took interference by not one, not two, but THREE people to get you to retain the title. First, I attacked Cane. Like I said Chris, nothing personal against you, just business. But no, that wasn’t enough. You still needed Fury and Ashram to come down, TIE Chris Cane to the cage, drop him down through all three cages, and then drag him to the back to win. Hell, it couldn’t have been much easier a win if Cane hadn’t even showed up in the first place, yet you still almost managed to screw it up. So who’s going to come out and save you this week? Who’s watching your ass this week? We know you can’t do it yourself.”

Thurston walks to the curb outside the gate of the park as a black Mercedes pulls up. He climbs in quickly and speeds off down the street.