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Re: UWF Royal Rumble - Rumble Trashtalking
Eddie, having stood there patiently and listened to what everyone that has spoken since he stopped speaking has had to say, walks over to where Edge and his army are standing and raises his microphone to his mouth for the final time
Trish, clearly you've forgotten your place, not only in this profession but in this world, so let me be the one to remind you. In this line of work, you are useful for eye candy and nothing else. No one wants to hear you speak, and no one wants to watch you wrestle. Even if that weren't the case and Smackdown still had a Vixens Division for you to defend that title you're carrying around, you'd be playing second fiddle to the real athletes, people like me.
And I'm not saying that just because of what I am, I'm also saying it because of who I am. The name Guerrero is synonymous with unmatched in-ring prowess, impeccable match psychology, and charisma that's impossible to ignore. I beat my opponents like dogs, you get on your hands and knees and bark like one. You are below me, Trish, I want you to remember that every time you raise a microphone to speak to me or even consider looking at me wrong.
If you want to step into my world and try to play my game, I have no problem treating you like an equal player and inflicting physical, mental, and emotional damage that will having you longing for the days of UCW when Stone Cold let you off easy with a Stunner. But you can't play my game, Trish, because you don't belong in the ring, you belong in a red light district.
There is a difference between depression and my frame of mind, depression is what you see when guys like Rhino bawl their eyes out on NXT because they don't feel like they're good enough. Or if you're looking for an example I haven't already used, depression is the realization that more people are doing DDP's yoga program than yours, has that sunk in yet?
I am not depressed and my state of frustration is not in any way tied to something as insignificant as the need for sexual release, as you suggested, and just in case that was an offer, I would but I'd rather dip my juevos in a fondu pot, it'd probably burn less.
The crowd responds with a mixed reaction, some appreciating the insult and others booing it as Eddie turns his back to the trio for a moment.
But the only thing more pathetic than these gaping girl parts with legs trying to be more than a valet and attempting to be taken seriously as a manager is the fact that Edge has become so insecure with himself and his ability to hold onto the European Championship or have any form of success on his own, that he hired her and this vato(Eddie points to Umaga).
Eddie turns to face the Samoan Bulldozer, not standing far from him at all as the two lock eyes.
If it weren't for the breast augmentation she had, your titties would be much bigger than Trish's, ese', I just thought you should know that. In terms of the managerial service you've sought, going from Rico to Armando Estrada to Trish is admittedly a trade-up, but if you ever feel froggy holmes, it'll still only take me three minutes to beat your ass, because I don't snap like a cigar and it takes a lot more than a taped thumb and a running Stinkface to keep me down.
Edge, I know that you think you've got this won, ese', but adding a set of breasts and Samoa Joe with face paint isn't going to tip the scale in your favor, it just takes you from the dominant competitor you make yourself out to be to a spineless gringo that needs to take shortcuts to survive, or in your case, someone to hold his title and someone to hold his manhood, I didn't assign names because I'm sure those roles are interchangeable.
You're overlooking the reality of what I've been saying all along, and that's the fact that despite your European Championship victory and your capturing of the number thirty spot, I beat you before all of that happened and I will beat you this Sunday with all of that going for you. These people forget things like that, they forget the temper tantrum you threw last year that led to your departure from Raw and the company, but I don't, vato. I remember it all.
This Rumble is my match to win and mine alone, holmes. If you win, Christian wins, Miz wins, you're Wrestlemania bound but if you don't, what do you really lose? You'll still main event your respective shows each week, you'll still make it onto the Wrestlemania card, and it'll be as if the loss never happened.
Me on the other hand, I have everything to lose. This is my one chance to shine in UWF, my one chance to prove that I'm not a mid-card act or lower. I can hang with the Steve Austins and the Jeff Hardys of this company, I can have a respectable championship reign, I can do ANYTHING.
The question is, what are any of you going to do to stop me? The answer, is nothing. From those of you with someone that can get involved on your behalf like Edge with Umaga to those of you that simply think you can outwrestle me, NO ONE can stop the well-deserved rise of Eduardo...Gory...Guerrero.
Eddie drops his microphone to the mat as "Coma White" begins to play again. Eddie takes one last look at all of the participants in the ring before exiting the ring, and as he heads up the ramp he makes eye contact with Rhino one last time from where he's standing, before stopping at the top of the ramp and looking at Robert Roode. After a moment, Eddie turns away from Roode and walks through the curtain.
Trish, clearly you've forgotten your place, not only in this profession but in this world, so let me be the one to remind you. In this line of work, you are useful for eye candy and nothing else. No one wants to hear you speak, and no one wants to watch you wrestle. Even if that weren't the case and Smackdown still had a Vixens Division for you to defend that title you're carrying around, you'd be playing second fiddle to the real athletes, people like me.
And I'm not saying that just because of what I am, I'm also saying it because of who I am. The name Guerrero is synonymous with unmatched in-ring prowess, impeccable match psychology, and charisma that's impossible to ignore. I beat my opponents like dogs, you get on your hands and knees and bark like one. You are below me, Trish, I want you to remember that every time you raise a microphone to speak to me or even consider looking at me wrong.
If you want to step into my world and try to play my game, I have no problem treating you like an equal player and inflicting physical, mental, and emotional damage that will having you longing for the days of UCW when Stone Cold let you off easy with a Stunner. But you can't play my game, Trish, because you don't belong in the ring, you belong in a red light district.
There is a difference between depression and my frame of mind, depression is what you see when guys like Rhino bawl their eyes out on NXT because they don't feel like they're good enough. Or if you're looking for an example I haven't already used, depression is the realization that more people are doing DDP's yoga program than yours, has that sunk in yet?
I am not depressed and my state of frustration is not in any way tied to something as insignificant as the need for sexual release, as you suggested, and just in case that was an offer, I would but I'd rather dip my juevos in a fondu pot, it'd probably burn less.
The crowd responds with a mixed reaction, some appreciating the insult and others booing it as Eddie turns his back to the trio for a moment.
But the only thing more pathetic than these gaping girl parts with legs trying to be more than a valet and attempting to be taken seriously as a manager is the fact that Edge has become so insecure with himself and his ability to hold onto the European Championship or have any form of success on his own, that he hired her and this vato(Eddie points to Umaga).
Eddie turns to face the Samoan Bulldozer, not standing far from him at all as the two lock eyes.
If it weren't for the breast augmentation she had, your titties would be much bigger than Trish's, ese', I just thought you should know that. In terms of the managerial service you've sought, going from Rico to Armando Estrada to Trish is admittedly a trade-up, but if you ever feel froggy holmes, it'll still only take me three minutes to beat your ass, because I don't snap like a cigar and it takes a lot more than a taped thumb and a running Stinkface to keep me down.
Edge, I know that you think you've got this won, ese', but adding a set of breasts and Samoa Joe with face paint isn't going to tip the scale in your favor, it just takes you from the dominant competitor you make yourself out to be to a spineless gringo that needs to take shortcuts to survive, or in your case, someone to hold his title and someone to hold his manhood, I didn't assign names because I'm sure those roles are interchangeable.
You're overlooking the reality of what I've been saying all along, and that's the fact that despite your European Championship victory and your capturing of the number thirty spot, I beat you before all of that happened and I will beat you this Sunday with all of that going for you. These people forget things like that, they forget the temper tantrum you threw last year that led to your departure from Raw and the company, but I don't, vato. I remember it all.
This Rumble is my match to win and mine alone, holmes. If you win, Christian wins, Miz wins, you're Wrestlemania bound but if you don't, what do you really lose? You'll still main event your respective shows each week, you'll still make it onto the Wrestlemania card, and it'll be as if the loss never happened.
Me on the other hand, I have everything to lose. This is my one chance to shine in UWF, my one chance to prove that I'm not a mid-card act or lower. I can hang with the Steve Austins and the Jeff Hardys of this company, I can have a respectable championship reign, I can do ANYTHING.
The question is, what are any of you going to do to stop me? The answer, is nothing. From those of you with someone that can get involved on your behalf like Edge with Umaga to those of you that simply think you can outwrestle me, NO ONE can stop the well-deserved rise of Eduardo...Gory...Guerrero.
Eddie drops his microphone to the mat as "Coma White" begins to play again. Eddie takes one last look at all of the participants in the ring before exiting the ring, and as he heads up the ramp he makes eye contact with Rhino one last time from where he's standing, before stopping at the top of the ramp and looking at Robert Roode. After a moment, Eddie turns away from Roode and walks through the curtain.
