FADE IN.

We are at Dan Ryan's ranch, which of course, is only slightly larger than the state of Texas. The grounds, far too expansive to pipe music through, instead is divided into musical sections, among them classical, country, merengue, salsa, classic rock, 14th century Franciscan monk rap, and industrial. We're thinking of installing a modern rock section, but we're not sure. It's still up in the air.

There are no books here, but Dan is fond of Dr. Seuss and Michael Crichton. He has a library card with no unpaid fees.

DAN RYAN:

NICE HOUSE, Edward. I'm not gonna lie. I mean, I'm rich, you're rich, and I don't impress easily. I figured you'd insist on some vulgar display of wealth and you certainly don't disappoint, do you? Books as far as the eye can see, animals all over the walls. You even have a barely-English-speaking maid to round out the visual.

The motif is all a little bit late-19th century adventurer for my taste, but who doesn't like a nice old-book smell? When I take my car to have it detailed I always ask for a spray or two of that shit from a bottle because I like it so much.

I want to let you and Bronson both know that just because you jumped into the middle of our fight when it became clear that I was beginning to get the best of our kilted friend, I by no means consider either of you to be akin to cowardly bitches, which is what you would be called here in Texas if you required a friend to jump into one of your fights when someone started to beat your ass. It wouldn't be very friendly of me to suggest that just because the two of you have collected a small army of ladies and gentlemen to hopefully overwhelm the roster and for the fifteen millionth time in wrestling history, DOMINATE AND MAKE SOME CHANGES AROUND HERE!!!11!!~!@!.... that the two of you are, ahem --- bitches.

It wouldn't be SPORTING of me to suggest that had the match continued without being interrupted by you Edward, the Platinum Dusted fairy, Bronson Box would be sucking his thumb and quoting Hemingway while staring at his knees in the corner of a sanitarium, so you know what? I WON'T.

I won't disrespect either of you that way, and besides, having watched the two of you at dinner, with you Edward, plying Bronson with expensive whiskey like a child predator, and Bronson embodying once again his best Daniel Day-Lewis in There Will Be Blood impression, I'm only now realizing that Python and I will not be facing professional wrestlers Edward White and Bronson Box at all, but rather Teddy Roosevelt and Allan Quatermain.

Well, let me tell you something about you and your league of less-than-extraordinary (ladies and) gentlemen, guys.

After fifteen years of weathering the best that this business has had to throw at me, after enduring just as many collections of ne'er-do-wells that would gang up on some poor sap and supposedly dominate with fists of iron and hearts of ice, there is nothing about the two of you with your family of diminutive women, a big dumb oaf and Nicky from Jersey Shore that makes me think that this will end any differently for you than it ever does in situations like this.

You underestimated me before, but you won't do it again, will you? You'll call on whatever muscle you can find to try and stack the odds in your favor, but it won't matter. You don't think I belong here?

I belong wherever there's a fight.

And that, my dear friends, is what will ultimately be your undoing. Everything you say, everything you do, plays right into everything I've ever been about. I've always wanted the fight brought straight to my doorstep.

Others will stand up against you too, and they're happy to do so. If Python wants to fight by my side, he's more than welcome. I'm not intimidated by your 'Two Proud Kings' strolls through mansions, like I'm supposed to see either one of you present yourself as anything more than professional wrestlers with an over-developed sense of the theatrical and a particular interest in gilded age nonsense --- and cower.

May YOUR downfalls be quick, painful and full of mercy for my poor ears having to listen to that bullshit anymore.

I'll be in Washington in a few days, and after all this talk, and after the LOVELY first salvo of blood and sweat in New Orleans, if you want a glorious fight for the ages, I am much MUCH more happy to oblige than you can possibly imagine. Sometimes, fellas... you JUST need to be careful what you wish for. I think I read that in a book somewhere.

But then, maybe your copy is dusty.

FADE OUT.

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