“Shut the fuck up.”

No complicated set up. We get right into things. APB is standing in front of a TFWF camera. Somewhere backstage. Somewhere with pipes in the background. He’s in street clothes. Some damn tech guy is trying to stick a mic on the collar of his leather jacket.

“Get the fuck off me. Here, I’ll just fucking do it.”

He does.

“Let’s just get this the fuck over with. I’m not in the mood for any of this damn bullshit.”

Tech Nerd backs up and tells the camera man to start. They do.

“It can’t all be ME…? Right? It just can’t. It can’t all be my fault.”

APB runs his hands through his hair, then frowns at the camera.

“I’ll be the first to admit it. I’ve got some god damned problems in my head. I seem to go through mood swings like a f—king teenager.

But………

It just CAN’T ALL be ME. Look, last week it looked like Martins and I were at least on the same god damned page… but after Mayhem I don’t think we’re even reading out of the same damn book!”

APB continues to stare into the camera.

“Now, I’m just going to damn well rip the stupid f’n book up and throw it away. This week, It’s a f’n handicap match. This week I’ve no partner. It’s me on one side vs. Crème de la Crème and Stevie Swing… then on a third side… off in his own little corner is S.G. Martins, waiting to stab me in the f’n back.”

APB points to his eyes.

“I’m on to you S.G. I’m on to your game plan. You’re buttering up to me so you can have a damn freaking fall boy for you and your little pity party. You’re going to use me as the damned freaking fall guy for anybody that wants to come after your lame freaking tag titles.”

APB punches his hand with his fist.

“I won’t be your freaking tool! F—k you guys. F—k the Commonwealth Connection. I’m done with you punks.”

APB stops. He takes a deep breath, then continues.

“Now Crème… Stevie… don’t think this means I’m not going to be coming at you two in our match. I am and I will. I’m in this to win it. I’m tired of freaking losing every god damned f’n week. I’m tired of being pushed aside for the freaking flavors of the f’n month. Every tod damned week some new fly by night prick comes into this company and Ian Monks and the rest of the higher ups.. the board and the media give them verbal f’n blow jobs….

Only to have these self righteous, self inflated walking f’n ego’s ride high on a wave of f’n hype…. Only to fall to the ground in disgrace as they turn out not to be the god damned mother f’n saviors to this Mother F’n SPORT THAT THEY THINK THEY ARE!”

APB stops and stares at the camera for a few moments…. Then he takes a deep breath and shakes his head.

“Heh… Sorry I don’t quite know exactly where that came from. It’s not what I meant to say…..”

APB just continues to stare at the camera.

“Seriously guys. Maybe we should stop rolling. I meant to say how I wasn’t going to let Stevie’s being a female get in the way of giving her a fight. Then I was going to go into a speech where I would allude to Crème being ‘gay’ and how I don’t like people ‘like him’… Only to reveal that ‘people like him’ are… Desert Sex fans… But I don’t know……”

APB looks down at the ground.

“After that tirade I don’t feel like making jokes.

After that tirade, I just don’t feel like laughing.”

Yet again APB pauses, then goes on.

“After the last few months… maybe the only joke here is me.”

APB begins to walk off… he turns back to the camera before leaving.

“Cut the fucking tape. Take it out and burn it……”

APB leaves. The camera man looks at Tech nerd…. Tech Nerd smiles.

“Nah, let’s show it.”