The Real Me The camera panned backstage to what looked like the typical jOlt interview backdrop. Unlike just about any other occasion where Donny Layne would be there to greet the audience with professional courtesy or Dawn Cassidy would flash her famous pearly-white smile, there was nobody there. Nobody, that is, except for a certain Maine native. A man who had made his career in jOlt thus far pissing everybody off by… well, calling himself the last real man in jOlt today. Nobody measured up to his radical expectations for what masculinity should be in jOlt Wrestling, so this man made it his mission to change the status quo to what he saw fit. A man with a viciousness seen by very few in the sport today and a man who greeted the camera with a cold stare. Jeremy Ryan. Just one man and a microphone. “Hello, pussies!” A smile crossed his face as he ran a hand through his goatee. “I was supposed to have made an appearance at the Wrestlecade Xperience show yesterday doing some bullshit Q & A, but to be honest, I don’t owe any of you fickle fans a damn thing, let alone gracing you with my manly presence. While you corpulent mounds of garbage were out in Seattle stuffing your faces and saving up three months paycheck in order to come out and meet people you’ll never be like on your best day, I was out doing something worth a damn… I was training for my match. While my opponent, Mack Brody, was out cracking tired-ass jokes and talking some shit that he can’t back up at his useless interview session, I was putting some actual effort into getting prepared for this match.” Ryan visibly clutched the microphone a little bit tighter, starting to seethe now. “Mack Brody. By now, you all know what’s been happening between him and I. I was ready to put that fucking circus clown Jon Le Bon out of his misery until Brody comes strolling up and stepping up to me like he’s some kind of a big man. He thinks he’s hot shit just because he won the genetic jackpot and sports muscles that I’m sure he achieved through questionable means, but in reality, he’s a scared little boy in the body of a three-hundred pound man.” “This man think’s that because he won a couple of tag team titles with the Heirs of Wrestling that I’m afraid of him, but he couldn’t be more wrong. I’ve never had anybody to tag out to or do the wrestling for me because I don’t NEED anybody to do the work for me. Never have and never will. Brody, you’ve bitten off more than you can chew, son, by thinking that you’re better than me. You’ve been on this quest the last several weeks starting this singles career away from the Heirs of Wrestling trying to prove to jOlt and to its fans that you’re a man, but all it’s going to get you is hurt.” jOlt’s Last Real Man continued his tirade. "What you see with me is exactly what you get – a bonafide shit-kicker. My aim isn’t to put this face on a t-shirt, a poster, or some shitty plastic action figure. I’m not a role model for your kids, I’m not trying to sell some hokey catchphrase to get the fans to play sing-along. My aim is to break bones, hurt people put in front of me and PROVE that the people you put on pedestals as your heroes are nothing more than fakes and pretenders who aren’t worth a damn when they actually get in between the ropes! What you get here is the real me and there is NOBODY that can touch the real me. Mack, I have submitted EVERYBODY in my path including Kayden Paulton, a man who just wrestled for the World Title himself and almost became champion. NOBODY is breaking my Dead Man submission and you will be no exception!” “What happens to Brody is going to be the start of something greater for jOlt Wrestling when I dismantle this kid and expose him for the coward he really is. This whole Wrestlecade Xperience is a fucking sham. We pay tribute to a bunch of washouts and has-beens who weren’t worth a fifth of what I bring to the ring. Kodiak Vic Greed is a no-good roidhead, Sylo is nothing more than a neutered monster now playing Mr. Mom, Eron or however the fuck he spells his name has always been a joke… Vince Jacobs has always been a man about fifteen years past his shelf life and the sweat off my ballsack has achieved more in this world than Brandon Blade. They can keep their own sham of a Hall of Fame which is nothing more than a hollow tribute to inferiority and mediocrity. Because starting at Wrestlecade and what I do to Mack Brody… you will ALL see that there is only ONE name that you need to remember for the REAL Hall of Fame in jOlt. The name that’s going to lead jOlt into the future and the one that will breeze past every last wanna-be poster-boy that think’s they’re worth more than a grain of salt in this business…” Jeremy leaned forward and shot a knowing half-smirk at the camera. “JEREMY FUCKING RYAN!”