Seth, Seiger, Trendkiller, Mancuso. One of these things is not like the others. One of these things doesn't belong.

Me.

I'm not a juggernaut like Trendkiller. I'm not a "machine" like our boy Seth. And I'm not a 2nd generation superstar like Seiger.

But I don't have to be, and I wouldn't want to be.

Trendkiller, you've made a career out of destroying each and everyone that has stepped in your way. Every week, you've ran roughshod over the WWA, doing whatever comes to that sick and twisted mind of yours.

You've injured people like Mal Somers...and possibly Watkins last week. You've tortured people like Rachel Beckett. You've had it easy because you've had no one in front of you that could STOP you.

I can stop you, Jason.

I'm not dumb enough to think that someone walks out of a match with you the same as when they walked in. And I'm not stupid enough to think that someone of your size can be dominated or contained.

Absolutely not.

You're without a doubt the biggest, the strongest, the most brutal man on the WWA roster...if not WWA history. You could grab any man on this roster and snap them like a twig, and that is just your style. You get off on it. You enjoy it.

But there is one problem, Jason.

My skillset is far more different than anything you've come across. Your biggest asset, plays right into my advantage.

If you grab me, I will submit you. And my submissions can come from anywhere at any time.

In the blink of an eye.

So you may very well hurt me, Jason. I realize that. But then again, you wouldn't be the first man that has, and you damned well won't be the last.

Everything we do in this industry, we do hurt. It's part of the job description. The show must go on, right? But you know what, Jason?

It only takes three quick seconds to snatch a win away from you, and it only takes 4 seconds to choke your gigantic ass out.

I'm the one with nothing to lose, Jason. I'm the one that already isn't supposed to beat you. I'm supposed to be your next "victim", and to be honest with you, I may very well be. But in his immortal wisdom, Vince Lombardi once said...

"I firmly believe that any man's finest hour, the greatest fulfillment of all that he holds dear, is that moment when he has worked his heart out in a good cause and lies exhausted on the field of battle - victorious."

And I will do just that. It doesn't have to be pretty, Jason. It's not judged on style or beauty. It just has to be a very breif three seconds of your life.

And I will lay exhausted on the field of battle...victorious.

And for you Seiger, your heritage and blood line is undeniable. You've been given a gift that most people would die for. Opportunity. And on the flip side of opportunity comes expectations.

The name Seiger comes with pressure that no one else could possibly understand, and with expectations that are nearly unmeetable. It's truly no wonder you've aligned yourself with the likes of Denrol and Shaman.

I've already beaten Shaman twice now, and would gladly go through each and every one of The Franchise Players to win this tournament.

The limelight and expectations of your father's name have rattled your confidence. So much, in fact, you've taken a pack mentality to disguise your short comings.

You told RJ Stone that you were better than him, and you may very well be...

...someday.

But right now, you're one of twenty others trying desperately to climb the ladder and steal the spotlight.

To be better than RJ Stone, you've got to start by beating me, and deep down inside, that scares the Hell out of you. And it should.

And then there is our good buddy Seth and his voice.

The Voice says that I'm right, and you're not a monster...I clearly agree. But he also says that you're far more than a monster. A unstoppable and indestructable machine. One in a billion.

Seth, the worst thing you could possibly do while you walk this Earth is believe your own hype. One in a billion? Please. If by "one in a billion" he means just like every other no talent, masked, big man that wrestles in every single backyard and fairground across America. Seth, there are a million of you. You're a dime a dozen.

Strong? Sure. Physically gifted? Absolutely. Million dollar body? Yes. Ten cent brain? You know it.

Hell, if you're a Machine, Seth, then I'm the mechanic. I can take you apart far easier than you'd care to admit, and you know that, Seth. And behind that wanna be Slipknot mask of yours, your face isn't contorted with burns inflicted by Jaymz Watkins, but by the fear of knowing that I'm your Kryptonite.

There is nothing you can throw at me that I can't beat. You're wrestling is a joke, and I pray to God above that in the finals, you're the one standing across from me.

I'm a nice guy, Seth. But for some reason, I really don't like you. You irk me. You make me sick. Your bio is a laundry list of lies. And your supposed bad assedness is nothing more than an illusion.

I will expose you, Seth. I will expose you as the fragile little bitch you truly are.

And I will do it after surviving against the TRUE monster of the WWA. The REAL unstoppable and indestructable machine around here...Trendkiller.

I will win this tournament, bank it.

This is MY time, and I feel sorry for whichever of you three try to stop me.