Somewhere, enjoying the beautiful weather on his estate in Mexico, the WWFG Hall of Famer lounges out by his pool. The man who hadn't been seen since being run down in the parking lot of the XLL arena, Cyrus Leone. On one side of him sits a large bottle of the finest tequila money can buy, on the other rests his longtime lion companion, Mr. Pancakes.
"So here we are: the WWF once again being reinvigorated by the same English c**t that it died under." The Lion shook his head as he took a quick swig from the tequila bottle. "What better way to kick things off by offering up a tournament for a belt I won more than anyone, and by including a bunch of the rejects I can't stand. Well, the real question is which version of the belt are you battling for? The one retired on GWA, the one retired in EWA, or the one that theoretically should have been vacated when the Englishman decided to unceremoniously strip my family of their championships?" The King of Beasts waved his hand as if he swatted the question away. "Nah, you know what? It doesn't matter."
"Let's take at look at the competition for a moment. First you have a masked freak with lightning gloves, yeah that's the guy you want as champion. Please just ******** off!" Cyrus gave his beard a scratch before continuing on. "Then you have a guy everyone assumed retired or died. I guess he was supposed to be a ninja or something?" He pauses as he notices Mr. Pancakes looking up at him with a tired face. "I don't ******** know! But what I do know is that there is the comeback ham sandwich, that chump Salem Croft making his... hundredth return in the past decade." Cyrus rubbed at his temples as he gave his bottle a glance. "How bout no? Just no. There isn't enough alcohol in the world to deal with that."
"Last but not least we have the Englishman's faithful dragon sidekick, the one who has been shown a surprising amount of preferential treatment in the past. I forget exactly which one of the Dragon's that is. I think I might have worked for him at some point. Again, none of this really matters." The Lion pressed a hand to his ribs as he sat up and pulled himself from his lounge chair. "What matters is that the company will never have a true World's Heavyweight champion again." Reaching out he grabbed an item handed to him by his poolside attendant, and held up the big gold belt that had been christened the Power Heavyweight Championship during his last incursion with the WWF. "Last time I watched the kingdom crumble after leaving not so much as a whimper under Cartwright's management. I kept this belt as reminder that no one in that company has the Power to be truly be at the top of the mountain." Placing the belt over his shoulder Cyrus took one final swig from the tequila bottle. "Have your little tournament, then stay dead. I wouldn't want to have to make the trip up North again."
"So here we are: the WWF once again being reinvigorated by the same English c**t that it died under." The Lion shook his head as he took a quick swig from the tequila bottle. "What better way to kick things off by offering up a tournament for a belt I won more than anyone, and by including a bunch of the rejects I can't stand. Well, the real question is which version of the belt are you battling for? The one retired on GWA, the one retired in EWA, or the one that theoretically should have been vacated when the Englishman decided to unceremoniously strip my family of their championships?" The King of Beasts waved his hand as if he swatted the question away. "Nah, you know what? It doesn't matter."
"Let's take at look at the competition for a moment. First you have a masked freak with lightning gloves, yeah that's the guy you want as champion. Please just ******** off!" Cyrus gave his beard a scratch before continuing on. "Then you have a guy everyone assumed retired or died. I guess he was supposed to be a ninja or something?" He pauses as he notices Mr. Pancakes looking up at him with a tired face. "I don't ******** know! But what I do know is that there is the comeback ham sandwich, that chump Salem Croft making his... hundredth return in the past decade." Cyrus rubbed at his temples as he gave his bottle a glance. "How bout no? Just no. There isn't enough alcohol in the world to deal with that."
"Last but not least we have the Englishman's faithful dragon sidekick, the one who has been shown a surprising amount of preferential treatment in the past. I forget exactly which one of the Dragon's that is. I think I might have worked for him at some point. Again, none of this really matters." The Lion pressed a hand to his ribs as he sat up and pulled himself from his lounge chair. "What matters is that the company will never have a true World's Heavyweight champion again." Reaching out he grabbed an item handed to him by his poolside attendant, and held up the big gold belt that had been christened the Power Heavyweight Championship during his last incursion with the WWF. "Last time I watched the kingdom crumble after leaving not so much as a whimper under Cartwright's management. I kept this belt as reminder that no one in that company has the Power to be truly be at the top of the mountain." Placing the belt over his shoulder Cyrus took one final swig from the tequila bottle. "Have your little tournament, then stay dead. I wouldn't want to have to make the trip up North again."
