I can feel it rippling through my body now. The urge is still strong and still relentless in its pursuit of ‘happiness’. Happiness, defined as being the faltering heart rate of Cyclone. At this point in time, that can be accomplished not soon enough. However, on Sunday, that all changes as I finally get that chance that has eluded me for so long: A one on one match, with special stipulations, for my UE Championship. I get to go toe to toe with the man who believes I am a lightweight, a chump, a loser. I get to go face to face with the guy whose only claim to fame was having a new guy named Omega job to him, claiming it was a very legitimate victory.

Yes, I realize that has been one of my main points of focus this week, in my very limited amount of spoken words. But, it is for good reason I focus on that particular detail of our feud. It is because of his exclaiming I was beaten fairly by him that I thirst for this fight. Not because I want to show people I’m better then he is, it’s because I want to just show him that I’m better. Once the buffoon realizes it himself, it can become the main point of his recovery from the shock of having been pinned twice in a row by me. I have realized that he was suffering from post traumatic shock after I pinned him last Saturday night, but this Sunday, he’ll be going Code Blue, just as his monkey suit lets us know.

But again, I reiterate, the man is delusional when it comes to me. The reason? It’s just that he’s so sure he’ll win this Sunday. All he talks about is how he’ll do this and that, and about the nWf and why pumpkins are orange and his suit looks really nice out of the dryer. Oh wait… He doesn’t talk. He’s mute. People with no voice speak volumes more then he does, the stupid jackass.

It’s kind of silly in a way, because I rarely find myself being so careless with my words, but the time for being stuffed up and grammatically correct is past, because now it all boils down to this Sunday at WWC. It all comes down to him versus me, in the ring. It all ends Sunday night. I can guarantee that it won’t end how he would like it too, however that is since the guy doesn’t speak. Does he know sign language?

“I can't stand the sight of you. I can't stand what you put me through. Your life's a lie, that you hide. Is it that terrible being you inside? I can't stand, oh, the thought of you. I can't stand all the things you do. What do you try to justify? You were just too scared to be you inside.”

It’s true. No, really, it is! Cyclone, I cannot stand the very sight of you. You make me want to vomit, because you are what gave putrid its definition. I can also understand why they didn’t give a visual description in the dictionary, poor ol’ Webster would’ve had medical bills coming out of his ass. Why would I say something as mean as that? I figured I’d just give you the down low now, so I could save you the trouble of having the cops tell you when they bust your ass for the world’s first hygiene related crime. Ohhhh, in lower circles they call that a burn. But that is nothing compared to the fire in my fists as the velocity increases by the punch.

So stop it man, stop hiding from me. Stop playing these games, these childish games. We’re not in grade school, although you might have the mentality of a five year old kid, you’re still in a 70 year old body. Sure, I know what you’re thinking now: Why am I hurling all these insults at you, and for what reason? Unless, of course, you’re blind and mute at the same time, or perhaps you’re one or the other whenever the need suits your situation? Regardless, I throw these insults at you because it’s been more then two years in the making. I finally have you Cyclone, right where I want you. And this Sunday, my friend, you’ll see what it is exactly that I want.

”Let it all out... Let it all go...”

Let it go, Cyclone. You’ve lost, so just give it up. You can sit there, pout, do the whole four year old thing you’ve become accustomed too and then snot and bawl. But then, think it over some, what does it get you besides an addition to your already famous reputation? I’ve even come up for the perfect motto for you, “If you don’t lay for me, I won’t talk for you!” In that case, I refuse to ever lay for you again, provided you keep up your end of the bargain and never utter another word in this lifetime, because trust me when I say this, you’d be doing EVERYBODY a favor.

So Cyclone, let it all go. Just let it go man.

“I look at you, all I see, is a man too afraid to really be…”

It’s so true. I look at you and all I see is fear. What are you so frightened of man? Is it me? Do I make your knees weak and wobbly? Do I make your heart skip a beat every time you see me? I better fucking not then, because it’ll be another reason to beat the shit out of you this Sunday. Now, you’d have a better chance of persuading a duck to lay an egg for you then beating me one on one this weekend. But I’ll let you in on a little secret man, I’m going to trim your scalp a notch or two and then let this dandy virus of mine infect you for good. You will not have the opportunity to get back up, because I’m going to make sure the virus eats you from the inside out.

That, my friend, is cause for some serious indigestion problems.

”I can't stand what you put me through. I can't stand even the thought of you. Your secret lies that you hide. Is it that terrible being you inside?”

Three stages of hell. For you, I’ll make it seem far longer. I’ll turn it into an eternity just so I can hear you scream louder and louder as the match progresses. Man, I’d even throw myself through the glass table for the sole purpose of burying your skanky ass six feet into the ground. Isn’t that a wonderful thought, Cyclone? Just picture it, the dirt coming off my shovel and onto your face, which will be squashed in as a direct result of the shovel. Talk about a multipurpose tool!

I really don’t know what else I could say about you though, Cyclone, because you say it all… You’re NOTHING.

”You try so hard to be wanted. False emotions tells you fronted. I think being a person relies on one thing: Be yourself, let you come through. You're too afraid to really be, Someone who isn't false, who doesn't care to be. Be yourself, let you come through!”

Now, Cyclone, before I go any further, let me tell you what I’ve said earlier on was me letting it all hang out. I’m usually much more reserved with my words, but tonight I felt I could just let it all hang out since it’ll be the last time I plan on talking about you ever again. This Sunday, I’m quite intent on proving a point to you, and even more intent on driving that point through your thick skull.

My point?

Really, just that you are no longer in my league. I left that back in the dust a long time ago. The Omega of old is gone forever, but the Cyclone of old is still going strong. Congratulations on that, by the way. I figure it’s the only thing you’ve got going for you right now, which is better then nothing... I guess.

But let me tell you what it is about losing to me again will do to you this time. It will torture you for the rest of your ill life. It will haunt your dreams, your nightmares, your days and minutes, even the very seconds that make your essence real. Losing to me may make you want to die, it may even make you wish to never look in a mirror again. Because after all your talk about defeating me, about taking my hard earned belt and about making me cry out for you to stop the horrific beatings… You’ll have to look into your own eyes and realize you’re nothing but a big steaming pile of… You know what I mean, man! I guess, in its own right, that’s a fate far worse then your pitiful death could ever be. So I hope that’s what ends up happening to you instead.

”Fake!”

Fake is what you are, Cyclone, and it’s what you will always be, without fail. Fake…

”You'll regret it, you'll regret it... “

You’ll come to regret facing me again. You’ll regret everything you’ve ever said about me, Cyclone. You’ll regret ever thinking you were better then me. You’ll always live this life of yours, with regret. Regret it all, my friend, regret your miserable, pitiful existence. Regret while succumbing to your soon to be full fledged infestation. You’re so fake, it sickens me.

Everything I’ve said tonight, everything I’ve done. You, Cyclone. You disgust me and I will take that disgust and forge it into a new kind of fury, aimed in your direction. Be prepared, because it’s the only thing you can do at this point. I promise you, I’ll bring a whole new meaning to suffering when we fight for the third and final time this Sunday. Because when our two worlds collide, Cyclone, only one of us will be left standing. It will not be you, I promise.