I don't really know what to say here. We are a few mere days away from what could very well turn out to be one of the biggest pay per views of the year, and I'm nearly speechless.

It isn't without reason, though. Think about it. Do you know how hard it is to beat ONE man to win a WWA Championship? Multiply that by three.

The numbers don't get any easier, I'm afraid.

But you know what? I wouldn't have it any other way.

I'm the guy that went out and beat Shaman, Copeland, and the indestructable Trendkiller to win the 2010 Harrington Cup, in case you all forgot. And I'm the guy that lasted the longest in the 2010 Labor Day Brawl, just in case you forgot about that one too.

In my very breif career, I've been doing things that people said I couldn't do.

Make the transition from MMA to wrestling? Check.
Make an impact on the WWA? Check.
Win the Harrington Cup? Check.

What's to stop me from walking out of Meltdown with that US title strapped around my waist?

Shaman? He's as tough as nails, I won't deny that. And the death grip he's had on that US title has been nothing less than impressive. A champion wins. Ugly, pretty, whatever. It doesn't matter. The ends justify the means. And Shaman has wrapped his hands around that belt like an anaconda. Nothing makes me think prying it from his hands will be easy, fun, or enjoyable.

So don't get me wrong.

I've beaten him, and he's beaten me, but the difference is that it didn't take a stickfigured psychopath and his gigantic manequin to interfere for me to make Shaman tap like frantic little girl.

And that is a fact. And that is something Shaman sees behind those blackened mirrors he calls eyes every morning when he wakes up to fix his pretty black hair.

And to be perfectly honest here, I'm still a bit pissed about that "win" he has over me, so maybe this time, instead of making him tap like a frantic little girl, I'll make him tap like a crying little bitch.

What about Korver? Is he going to stop me from taking that US title?

Colby, as much as I respect you, and as much as I actually like you, this isn't going to be a stand up comedy special, guy, it's going to be a pier six bloodbath. Of everything that can and probably will take place in this match, I seriously doubt a rip roaring joke will be one of them.

You've got all the tools. You've got all the abilities. And you've got all the talent. Anyone that ever questions that deserves to be open handed slapped across the face. There is absolutely no circumstances on this planet that would ever make me question any of those attributes.

BUT...

...as good as you are, bro, look at your record in high profile matches like this. You lost at Rage in the Cage, you went to a No Contest with Shaman twice with the US belt on the line. Tell me what makes this any different, Colby. Explain to me exactly how all of a sudden you develop the razor sharp killer instinct it will take to snatch that belt from not only the hands of Shaman, but from myself, and from that bag of ribs and elbows, The Cog?

One day, you will be at the very top of this business, Korver, and while I am proud to call you a friend and an ally, that day sure as Hell will NOT come at my expense. I will not hesitate, not for a second, to snap an arm or a leg or whatever in two if it comes down to it, Colby. I beat up my friends all of the time. It's kinda what we do. It's nothing to me. Know that.

I will shake your hand after the fight, and we can go grab a beer after the show, Colby, but as long as you stand across the ring from me, you are my enemy. And an enemy deserves no mercy.

And then there's the Cog...

...

...

...

...you know what? *beep* it. Cog, after all these stupid little games, after all these little charades, and after all these crafty little set-ups, all-in-all, you are a living, breathing, version of The Emperor's New Clothes. Because behind all this bullshit you've managed to put together, you are perhaps the worst wrestler I have ever laid eyes on.

Ever.

You're undersized. You're weak. You're not talented.

Title Eater? *beep* you. That cute little tattoo is probably as close to a real title as you've ever come.

You listen to me, and you listen very closely. Don't show up. I beg you. Please. You are the only person in this match that can keep me from the US title. I'll admit it. Freely.

But wait, wait, wait. Not because you can actually BEAT me, Cog. No, so wipe that smug little grin off of your face. It's because if I get my hands on you, guy, I'm not letting go until you're in the ground.

And I'm not stupid, Cog. I know you have something up that boney little sleeve of yours. Bring it. Put together one more pretty little smoke and mirror show. It will be your last, I promise.

You wanted to piss me off. You wanted me mad. You wanted me angry. Now you've gotten it. And now I guess you could say that I'm not myself.Congratulations.

To me, not you.

Because the real Marcus Mancuso could never sleep a wink at night knowing the depraved, painful, and brutal things that I plan on doing to you.

This Mancuso, the one that will stomp you into a pulpy mess in front of thousands in attendance and millions watching at home, this is your own doing. You're very twisted form of suicide.

And I'm going to smile every...single...second of it.