A red EBWF logo lit up the screen overlaid with snow flurries and the jingling sound of bells. As the logo faded out, Dean Ambrose was revealed, standing in front of a festive looking table. Cookies, chocolates and candies littered a candy cane patterned table cloth. Ambrose popped a chocolate into his mouth, and chomped away, talking as he chewed.

Dean Ambrose: Apparently, I am on the naughty list this year, because Santa came and put a big ole lump of coal in my stocking.

He shook his head and went for a little cookie decorated to look like a snowman. Biting off the head, he again, spoke while chewing.

Dean Ambrose: Because imagine my surprise when I awoke this morning, on this, a blessed day. The day of Wes Ikeda Presents: Christmas Eve of Destruction! You wanna know what that overweight, overhyped, CONMAN, Santa Clause gave to me? Huh?

He ate the rest of his cookie.

Dean Ambrose: Another match against Tomasso Ciampa. Excuse me while I pretend to be so surprised and especially grateful for this turd of a gift. Honestly, that’s what the powers that be should have done. They should have put a turd into a box, and wrapped it up with a big bow and handed that to me AND CALLED IT CHRISTMAS.

Dean angrily grabbed another cookie and chomped down on it.

Dean Ambrose: But okay, fine, it’s an honor just to be included and all that stuff I’m supposed to say. And it’s a chairs match. I really can’t tell you all how excited I am to put my body on the line the night before Christmas, because the man who owns this company is a total sadist who couldn’t even bother to BOOK HIMSELF. This whole thing is out of control. I honestly can’t even believe I have to be a part of it. So, I’m just going to stand here and eat these cookies and think about how the hell I GOT HERE!

He picked up another cookie.

Dean Ambrose: Fuckin’ Ciampa! AGAIN.

Dean took a frustrated bite, and the scene faded to black as he shook his head.