The scene opens focused on Tony Santos's face and upper body, the background black as a light shines down from above. Tony sits, his arms resting on the table, his left hand sitting on his right hand. Tony is adorned in an ugly red and brown sweater with a caricature-esque picture of a turkey slapped in the middle. The sleeves are rolled up to just before his elbows. Tony's hair lays on his back as a slight grin, heavily favoring the left side of his face, makes his expression.

Santos: People of the XWF. Fans, wrestlers, management, even Rose Smith and Egyptian Snow Pharaoh's ominous guide with a poor sense for fashion and subtlety, I come to you all today...

Tony pauses, diverting his eyes to the bottom left corner of his vision, apparently in thought.

Santos: Well, most of you. Not Smoke Man, Archie Lawson, Casey Jones, or Mystica.

However, for the rest of you...

...and if I missed out on naming any other non-Americans, just exclude yourself from this conversation and proceed with watching videos of people signing the Star Spangled Banner while eating hot dogs and scrapple, all while wondering where your ancestors went wrong to exclude you from the great spectacle that is Americana...

...but for the rest of you, I'd like to wish you a happy and healthy Thanksgiving. Cherish the great deeds of the countless generations of white men who, through much bravery and perseverance, wiped out countless droves of Native Americans, while relegating the rest to second-class status, in order to claim this land for a bunch of stuck up, spoiled shits like Theo Pryce and millions of millennials. This land is our land, so let's savor the history of persecution as we devour innocent birds that were hung by a hook in a chicken coup in GofuckyourselfweallhavelungcancerfromourthreepacksofMarlborosperdayhabit, Iowa.

Sit down with your families around a home cooked meal, barely talk to them while tapping away on your smartphones and sucking down mashed potatoes as gravy runs down your cheeks, and consider how lucky you are. How lucky we all are. Then go out to your local Walmart and stomp on a pregnant woman while you look to grab that new HDTV that's made with cheaper parts so that you think you're getting a good deal. Then, when you injure yourself, head to your local hospital, get yourself treated, and revel in the thousands of dollars you'll pay in medical fees when you realize that your insurance only covers the cost of the doctor's shirt.

Take it all in today, Americans. This is our day. Our Thanksgiving. The only Thanksgiving that matters, because I'll bet you didn't know that Canada celebrated their Thanksgiving last month. Fuck Canada.

The lights behind Tony turn on, showcasing a bunch of diners in a Shoney's in Morgantown, West Virginia who, yes, willingly waited in the dark for Tony to give his spiel.

Santos: I'll be sitting here in fucking West Virginia, eating processed turkey from the all-you-can-eat buffet to my right, which is nicely seasoned with some fresh chunks of black lung that our local coal miners coughed up while sticking their noses in it to get a good whiff, and I'll finish it off with a block of fudge, covered in fecal matter from the hands of unemployed, 300 pound women who just took a shit and didn't wash their filthy hands, who also proceeded to plant their sweaty palms on said fudge to gain leverage when cutting a piece.

Good thing I snuck some backwoods moonshine in to this joint to forget every second of this agony.

Tony lifts a Sprite bottle, which, yes, is filled to the top with 190 Proof, quality West Virginia water. Tony takes a swig, then immediately braces himself as the molten lava burns a trail down his throat. He looks up at the camera, a look of pain on this face.

Santos: Happy fucking Thanksgiving, America.

The scene fades to black as a woman has a heart attack in the background.

September 2013 and May 2019 Star of the Month
1x Hart Champion
1x Television Champion
1x Xtreme Champion