Cuatro Equis

Memo to 2 Guys, 1 Biff's Mouth Inc.

Futurequis is driving while promoing, which is always a potentially dangerous combo. The camera is situated in the passenger seat to capture his final thoughts before the Cleveland House show.

FUTUREQUIS: So let's get this straight, Li'lDave. Your solution for my two minutes of "endless ranting" about you is to respond with eight minutes of ranting to prove that I'm ranting too much? It's so amusing that a guy who goes on and on, repeating someone else's "puppet" and "hypocrite" material to the point where NFW fans are seriously considering piercing their own eardrums, that you're able to pass judgment on anybody else's words that they actually thought up themselves without watching RAW.

FUTUREQUIS: What's the matter, David? Can't attack the messenger, so you attack the method of delivery? Seems like many people in NFW are falling into this trap of late, and, as your future stablemate Spazz – you know, Tazz's second cousin's ex-nephew's great-grandson – told me, "You're just another victim, brotha. Beat off if you can…aim for Biff's mouth if he'll let you." Oh, and sorry if my words are too adult for you. Some of us have an IQ higher than 70.

FUTUREQUIS: As for ring time, boys, are you in for a surprise. For the last 10 years of my life, I've ended careers and made life miserable for people who decided that they're above me, or hell, have just annoyed me. Welcome to the party. Get drunk. Stay a while. Just don't blame me after you've fallen down the stairs and are choking to death on your own puke. Because if it's a choice of sending you to the hospital or the morgue, well, it really doesn't matter to me. Yeah, I'm fucked in the head, and I'm damn proud of it. It's what drives me to smile when you inflict your most devastating moves on me. You two can't pin me. I simply won't let you, no matter what you throw at me. Don't believe me? Test me. Cleveland. Boston. Minneapolis. San Diego. Miami. Austin. Pittsburgh. Indianapolis. Throw a dart at a map and Cuatro Equis will meet you there.

There's a muffled screaming from the trunk.

FUTUREQUIS: (Toward the back of the rental car) Shut up, X, I'm trying to promo. (Looks back at the road) That's Dos Equis screaming in the trunk. I just tied him up for the ride back to the hotel. I'm toughening him for his own good, just like the past 10 years of life have hardened me. Oh, and to clarify for the geniuses over at 2 Guys, 1 Biff's Mouth Inc., I didn't say I'm over in NFW. I'm not. Yet. But I will be, and for much longer than your careers even last before the fans revolt or the writers get bored of you.

FUTUREQUIS: It's funny, your tactics are very similar to the Bush administration. They attacked people for being unpatriotic for questioning a bullsh!t war and wondering why they were carving up our Constitution while they did the most unpatriotic things in U.S. history. So you attack me, when in fact you have the patent on "stupid, lame ass crap that nobody gives a sh!t about and that will never get over." Pipe in all the heel heat you want at the shows, but it will never mean you're over. You can't hide the fact that everyone is yawning, can't be bothered to stand up in your presence, looking at their watches, or taking a bathroom break whenever you come around. So great, thanks for giving me another reason to hurt the NFW's version of Bush, Dick and Colon.

FUTUREQUIS: And Iron Sheik Jr.? I thought his name was Spiff Dumpster. Now look, Spiff Dumpster, feel free to stick your penis into other men and yell and swear at me if you want, but just because you're talking loud doesn't mean you have anything relevant to say. Trying to stick your dick in me won't humble me, but it will sure as hell leave you a dickless asshole and in prison for attempted rape. Where you can get humbled for many, many years.

FUTUREQUIS: To make it simple for you: we fight, you lose, you suck. Promo over. Hope to bash in your faces in Cleveland.

Static.

XXXX

Black.

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