[Python steps out of the cage at his local gym, having just finished a vigorous round of strike training against the bags. Clad in a pair of basketball shorts and a black sleeveless shirt, he throws a sweat-drenched towel over his shoulder and collapses onto a bench. After a quick swig of water, he hoists himself up to a seated position and speaks into the camera, still breathing hard from his workout.] 

Python:
Dragon Jones... what the fuck, man? I've been waiting THIS WHOLE TIME to hear from you. You have the coolest name on the entire roster, you finally speak up after a long, mysterious silence... and that's all you bring to the table?

I was so ready for some "yeah, you're just a little snake and I'm a DRAGONNNN" kind of shit.

Or "in ancient... Asian civilizations (or whatever)... the dragon was worshipped as a god! Rahrrrr!"

But what do I get? I get "hey... I had no idea you could use Powerpoint."

[A long, silent beat while Python allows the gravity of those words to really sink in.]

Python:
I get "cool t-shirt, bro."

And "you have a tiny brain."

Yeah man. Excuse me while I get some ice for those burns.

[He sighs.]

Python:
So disappointed. You have no idea. The one cool thing you said was about a bull in a china shop, and that's the wrong fucking animal. You are literally a disgrace to wrestlers named after animals. In fact, if I I had the power to strip you of your animal name, I would do so right now.  But I don't, so a simple "fuck you" and a Pay Per View ass-kicking will have to suffice. In fact, I think I'll give 'em both to you at the same time.

You think I don't know Chance von Crank isn't worth a damn cent of my attention? You think I'm jawing with him because I think he's the biggest threat in the battle royal? I train to deal with threats. I speak to deal with assholes. Which, incidentally, is why you're getting a lot of speech right now. And speaking of assholes and attention...

Chance von Crank. Dude, I swear to god, when I see your face at Untouchable, I will probably literally hurl. Thanks in entirety to your "promos", you've managed to achieve some sort of weird mental association with piss and dead animals and male genitals. Which pretty much sums up your personality, to be honest. I just... I don't understand. I clearly pointed out the whole "you called me gay but then showed me your dick" thing and why it was a fail on your part and I don't understand why it needed to happen again. It's like calling someone a thief and then stealing their TV. But you're obviously really into showing your nads to other dudes and, seeing as how sound logic has failed here, there seems to be absolutely nothing I can do about that. Outside of, you know, drumming on the mat with your face at Untouchable and laying you up in a hospital bed. I guess I could do that. And, not that this matters and I'm not sure what your point was or why you brought it up, but... did you really imply that there aren't any Python merchandise t-shirts? Like... what? Did you miss the part where I've been around for years and years and years achieving more before the age of 25 than you'd be able to in 25 fucking lifetimes? Dude, I'd bet a grand that there will be more Python t-shirts on fans at that one single Pay Per View event than you will sell over the course of your entire career. Which, in lieu of this approaching battle royal, may not be particularly long anyway. But at the end of the day, none of this matters. The name calling, the shirts, controversy, the publicity. It all goes away when one person leaves that ring a winner and the other a loser. You talk enough shit, Cranky. I hope for your sake that you can back it up. If you want to be an asshole and survive in this business, you'd better be good enough to deal with the consequences of your attitude. At the rate you're making friends, you'd better be the fucking second coming of Jesus in that ring.

[Python picks up his gym bag and slings it over his shoulder, pausing for one final thought.]

Python:  
And on a related note... I'm already an atheist.

[He smirks and turns to leave the gym. Alas, his otherwise badass exit is ruined as he stumbles over something on the floor on his way out.]

Python:
Woah! Whose ballbag?

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