The camera comes on as the US champ makes his way from the back. He is glaring as he has just heard what the Ghost has to say. He steps near the entry way.

"The Way I am" plays on the PA and strobe lights blare as Ichabod steps out under the tron. He stands on the ramp and raises his hands and belt in the power stance. Ichabod walks to the far side of the ring to get a mic. He notices a fan holding an "Ichabod fears the Ghost" poster. He grabs the poster and sets fire to it with a book of matches. He pulls the fat fan over the guard rail.

Look at me you fuckin' choad. Look in my face, do you see any fear? Do you see the slightest hint of the fact that i might even be remotely afraid of that two bit pansy ass? Do you, you fat piece of trash?

He shoves the mic into the fan's distraught face.

Well?

The fan stutters and spits fumbling for words as Ichabod gets in his face.

You're damn right. No one, especially me, you little prick, is scared of that ass-kissing, no skill, rookie, trash talking, two-bit, half-retarded, 7 liner ghost. What? What did you say?

Before the blubbering fan can speak he gets a quick bitch thump from Ichabod. Ichabod doesn't stop, he climbs into the ring and stairs directly into crowd.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I want you all to put tapes in your VCR's, those that will be in attendence, i want you to bring camcorders. I want the whole world to never forget the night that Ichabod put the hero Ghost six miles beneath the lowest jobber in this fed. The night that Ichabod bitch thumped yet another choad into meaningless obscurity. You want to talk about embarassment, Ghost? Let me explain embarrassment to you. Embarasment is making empty promises to a crowd about your pointless hopes and dreams of gaining a belt that a real talent holds. embarrassment is walking into a ring with every intention of winning when the person before you is more talented, a better wrestler, a better roleplayer, a better champion, more experienced, and a hell of a lot better looking. But mostly, embarassment is falling to the mat time after time under the nonstop barrage of right hands from the man you tried to destroy.

You see, Ghost, this isn't about this title anymore,He throws the belt on the mat this isn't about your redneck fans anymore. It is about pure skill. It is about who is the better man. Ghost, this match might mean a hell of a lot to you, because it is the match in which you try to win back your highest honor, the highest championship you ever or will ever achieve. For me, this match just means another chance to get into the ring and give one more half wit the Euphoria. And you want to tell me about how you wear the belt over your shoulder and not on your waist, or two belts on your waist, or one on each shoul--aw fuck it. I know there will be a day when you have this title won again, but that will be long after I have already gone on to World Title status. When that day comes, you can wear the US belt halfway up your ass for all I care. For now this title is only gonna exist near you in two cases, first in your thumbsucking, drool marked wet dreams, and second when i defend it against your white sheet wearing ass, and completely beat the living hell out of your already half dead ass.

He tosses the mic and raises his hands in a power stance again. He picks up his belt and rolls under the ring and exits as the music hits once more. The strobe lights take over the arena's appearance as he goes up the ramp and out the entry way. Ghost, you will witness my greatness as you slowly fade to black. . . goBack

Email: ichabod00x@hotmail.com