The scene opens to a country back road. The darkness of night makes the details hard to make out, but a bonfire burning in the background illuminates a pick up truck and a silhouetted figure. The unidentified figure lifts a glass to his face and (assumingly) takes a drink of its contents. He paces around a bit and As he speaks, his identity is revealed.
Jay Briscoe: In case you forgot, I'm still fucking here. Much to the displeasure of a few people in the back. A lot of people have been asking me the same damn question for the past few months. Asking me what the hell is going on. Why was I on the marque for my first EBWF pay per view, and then cut from the card on the next? Why am I not seen on TV during the week? To sum it all up, the question asked is: What the fuck?
And, quite honestly, I don't have an answer for that. Let's not kid ourselves, I think it's pretty damned obvious that I was not supposed to make it to the final four of the King Of The Ring tournament. The people in the back know that they fucked up giving me that opportunity and allowing me to ruin their EBWF veteran circle you know what when I took out Miz, HHH, and Edge.
Jay took another drink from his cup (of the red, solo type, if you were wondering)
Jay Briscoe: So, the only justification I can think of to explain my recent absence is the powers that be don't want to put themselves in that situation again and just flat out cut me from everything all together. No TV; no PPV. Oh, but it's perfectly fine to put me on the traveling schedule so I can bust my ass and break myself every night at a house show. Which I love, don't get me wrong. I'll take any excuse to whip someone's ass inside that ring. But at some point you have to question if leaving behind my creation in ROH and coming here was such a good idea. But I kept my head down and bided my time. And lo and behold, them boys in the back fucked up again and put me in this match at Summerslam. And not only did they put me in a match, but the fucked up royally and put me up against the so-called future of the EBWF in Trent Barreta and one of the greatest of all time in Bret Hart.
And yes, I did call him Trent Barreta because I refuse to put the question mark in my voice to call him that stupid ass name he's going by now. Because the only question that has anything to do with him is why the hell people are considering him the future of the EBWF. Why the hell is this boy getting countless chance to make something of himself? Because he won the Money In The Bank match? If memory serves me, that match was made up of people who didn't make the final four of the King Of The Ring tournament. So that would make it's winner just the best of the boys who weren't good enough to make it in the real match. Excuse the fuck out of me for actually training and preparing for one of the biggest events in pro wrestling and succeeding in that same event. But this kid sits at home and plays video games and drinks energy drinks and suddenly y'all want to fucking crown the next Shannon Moore. Well y'all can crown his ass all you want, because to us that matter, we know that hype will only get you so far.
And you can't talk about hype without mentioning the legend Bret Hart. Now, unlike most of the people that have faced this dude since his return, I'm not going to kiss his ass. I'm not going to do that because it would be disrespectful to him. I know what he did in the past. I know the titles and tournaments he's won. But none of that means a damn thing these days. The only thing Bret Hart has been good for in the last decade is promotional appearances and mentoring his kin so that they don't become as big of a fuck up as he did. Can Bret Hart even make it to the ring without taking a rest top and another tube of ben gay to grease the wheels? We all know that this is just a paycheck match for Hart so that he can put away money for his future rehab stint for either himself or one of his fucked up kids. Bret Hart is not anything to be worried about, and neither is Trent Barreta, as far as I'm concerned.
But, I didn't make it as far as I have in this business by taking fools lightly. And I tried to do my homework and research this Barreta cat, but I needed to call my 8 year old nephew just to understand half the shit that comes out of this dude's mouth. When did we get to a world where video games and cartoons were all you needed to know about in life. Suddenly, it doesn't matter if you can perform a suplex or arm drag anymore, but if you know the cheat code to ninja turtles or have the pac man pattern memorized, you're fucking dandy. Trent Barreta is a perfect example of what is wrong with today's kids. No work. The only thing on Trent's body that gets a workout are his thumbs and his mouth. Yet he's the damn future? Man, what the hell is wrong with you people?
But none of that matters this weekend. Bret Hart can have his Vietnam flashbacks and talk about the good old days when people used to call spots and blade themselves for the good of the show. But I'm going to show him what real pain feels like when I make his titanium knee and cartilage-barren shoulders the least painful parts about him. And Trent Barreta can compare me to Donkey Kong or bombard twitter with dumb ass photos and AJ Lee love poems, but come Sunday, I'm gonna whoop your ass. And there ain't enough rounds of Mike Tyson's Punch Out that you can play to prepare you for that. Cuz at Summerslam, your balls won't be the only thing that drop in that ring. Your kiddy games are over and it's time for you to Man Up.
Jay Briscoe takes another drink from his cup and walks off camera as the focus blurs because of the fire's glow. The scene fades to black.