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The crowd has to be beyond sick of Cartwright at this point, and fortunately, someone is going to save them from this. Ain't About the Money hits the PA and the fans erupt in cheers. The new WWFG World Heavyweight champion steps out onto the stage, the championship belt on his shoulder and dressed in street clothes for the moment as he'd arrived a short while before.

JR: Finally, maybe we'll get some kind of order restored here.

King: From the champion? The Damones know nothing about restoring order.

Drako heads down to the ring and steps inside, taking a moment to look around the ring at all the decorations before he takes up a mic and the music dies out.

"So, let me get this straight. You want me and all of these people to believe you threw this celebration for me being the champion? You honestly think that we'll believe you'll do anything to celebrate the guy that kicked your a** and pinned you a month ago, then turned around and beat a living legend of WWFG for the World championship?"

Drako chuckles.

"Carty, none of us are stupid. That's why you didn't want me out here. You say I don't like parties and celebrations? Where did you get that idea? I love a good party. And we've got plenty to celebrate. Did I mention I am the World Heavyweight champion?"

Drako raises the belt to the cheers of the crowd while he grins at the boss.

"Now I know the idea of me being the champ scares the absolute ******** out of you. It's pretty much your worst nightmare, and how appropriate that it's October. Spooky month and I'm your champion. You tell me what could possibly be spookier for you."

Drako takes the glass he's offered with a raised eyebrow.

"You know, this looks pretty good and what you said sounded real nice. But my big brother used to tell me something as a kid and it applies here today. You can slather it in as much honey as you want, but at the end of the day, it's still bullshit. So, here's my counter suggestion..."

With that, the champion would look to throw the champagne in Cartwright's face, literally. It's a setup, of course, to the Soaring Dragon looking to kick him in the gut and drop him with the Raining Fire

Drako stops part of the way up the ramp and brushes his hair out of his face as he examines the photo displayed on the titantron. For a moment, he's surprised, then pissed off, but then, something changes again.

"Wow."

The Soaring Dragon asks for a mic.

"So, person in the truck running this crap, do me a favor and zoom in on this here photo. Specifically on Janelle."

The production crew do as asked, zooming closer on Janelle in the photo and therein becomes a very obvious problem.

"Who in the hell photo shopped this? I got kids that could have done better than that. You put Janelle face on a random girl's body but this girl has tattoos that Janelle ain't got. But if pissing me off was the goal, you are successful, you dumb, dumb, son of a b***h!"

Drako turns around and heads back to the ring, dropping the mic and the belt before sliding inside. He quickly goes to pull Cartwright up, but another Raining Fire just doesn't serve his purpose. No, instead he would attempt to plant him with a Uranage through his own buffet table

"Try harder next time, b***h!"

Drako's music hits the PA as the champion leaves the ring with a smirk on his face. He picks up the belt again as he heads to the back, turning to look back at Cartwright in the ring with a laugh. Drako warned him that him being champ was his personal nightmare