And after the promotional videos are done airing, the cameras all return to the ring, where Jimmy Monera is standing, clad in his entrance clothes, in the middle of a sea of booing people. He's in the middle of the ring alone, with neither Nathalie or Lester in sight. He paces the ring for a moment, a smug look on his face, as he raises a microphone to his lips.
"You know, I had a very bizarre dream last night," he begins, as the jeering dies down a bit. "I was right here, in the middle of the ring, receiving pretty much the same reaction that you all just gave me. But there was something wrong. You see, right over my head, there was this countdown clock, slowly decreasing, number by number. And somewhere deep inside of me, I knew that once that timer ran out, no matter what happened in the meantime, or how hard I fought, my WWF Tag Team Championship was going to disappear, and wind up around the waist of someone who kisses a lot more a** than I do.
"And when I woke up, confused as all hell, I suddenly realized something. That my and Lester's days as Tag Team Champions are numbered." He takes a deep breath, waits a second, and then exhales. "And they're numbered because the higher-ups in this company don't WANT The Notorious G.O.D. to be the champions. Which is why even if we come out successful in the impossible challenge they've put together for us tonight... Competing in a Battle Royal against somebody who can lift me clear over his head without breaking a sweat... they're probably going to throw more and more impossible circumstances at us until we're dethroned. And they're doing it... Because of this."
He holds up his microphone for the world to see, while pointing to it with his left hand. He brings it back to his lips.
"They want us to lose the titles because they don't like the things we say. They don't like it when I speak to you people directly, and openly criticize the show that these corporate tyrants try to shaft you with. They didn't like it when Lester took a stand, and spoke out about the unfair treatment he suffered at the Royal Rumble. They want to teach us a lesson about obedience, because they know they can't control our voices otherwise. And that's why they're going to punish us.
"But there's one thing they don't understand, and it's one thing I should hope you people understand by now. I can't speak for Lester, but making us lose the titles wouldn't deter me one bit. I don't even need mine... Sure, I like it. It's very pretty. But in the end, it's just a material possession, which doesn't actually say anything about your talent level. At least not in this federation. See, in the end, I'm not here to win titles. Hell, I'm not even here to win matches. I'm here for you. To entertain you, to give you your money's worth, and if at all possible, to save you from a life of sin. And whether or not there's some shiny belt around my waist, that will never change."
This last statement actually seems to have drawn some respect from the crowd. There's still an audible level of booing, but the amount of cheers under them has picked up quite a bit more than usual.
"Now, like it or not, I can't guarantee victory against our steroids-for-breakfast opponents tonight. But I can guarantee this; Even if they do manage to take our belts away, it will not. Be easy. For them." He speaks these last few words with an intense focus in his voice, as if he's practically growling them. He moves to the ropes, and out to the apron. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go rejoin my team. Our match is in less than ten minutes."
He tosses the microphone out to the audience... It'll make a nice little souvenir for someone... And heads to the back.
"You know, I had a very bizarre dream last night," he begins, as the jeering dies down a bit. "I was right here, in the middle of the ring, receiving pretty much the same reaction that you all just gave me. But there was something wrong. You see, right over my head, there was this countdown clock, slowly decreasing, number by number. And somewhere deep inside of me, I knew that once that timer ran out, no matter what happened in the meantime, or how hard I fought, my WWF Tag Team Championship was going to disappear, and wind up around the waist of someone who kisses a lot more a** than I do.
"And when I woke up, confused as all hell, I suddenly realized something. That my and Lester's days as Tag Team Champions are numbered." He takes a deep breath, waits a second, and then exhales. "And they're numbered because the higher-ups in this company don't WANT The Notorious G.O.D. to be the champions. Which is why even if we come out successful in the impossible challenge they've put together for us tonight... Competing in a Battle Royal against somebody who can lift me clear over his head without breaking a sweat... they're probably going to throw more and more impossible circumstances at us until we're dethroned. And they're doing it... Because of this."
He holds up his microphone for the world to see, while pointing to it with his left hand. He brings it back to his lips.
"They want us to lose the titles because they don't like the things we say. They don't like it when I speak to you people directly, and openly criticize the show that these corporate tyrants try to shaft you with. They didn't like it when Lester took a stand, and spoke out about the unfair treatment he suffered at the Royal Rumble. They want to teach us a lesson about obedience, because they know they can't control our voices otherwise. And that's why they're going to punish us.
"But there's one thing they don't understand, and it's one thing I should hope you people understand by now. I can't speak for Lester, but making us lose the titles wouldn't deter me one bit. I don't even need mine... Sure, I like it. It's very pretty. But in the end, it's just a material possession, which doesn't actually say anything about your talent level. At least not in this federation. See, in the end, I'm not here to win titles. Hell, I'm not even here to win matches. I'm here for you. To entertain you, to give you your money's worth, and if at all possible, to save you from a life of sin. And whether or not there's some shiny belt around my waist, that will never change."
This last statement actually seems to have drawn some respect from the crowd. There's still an audible level of booing, but the amount of cheers under them has picked up quite a bit more than usual.
"Now, like it or not, I can't guarantee victory against our steroids-for-breakfast opponents tonight. But I can guarantee this; Even if they do manage to take our belts away, it will not. Be easy. For them." He speaks these last few words with an intense focus in his voice, as if he's practically growling them. He moves to the ropes, and out to the apron. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go rejoin my team. Our match is in less than ten minutes."
He tosses the microphone out to the audience... It'll make a nice little souvenir for someone... And heads to the back.
