Anthony Kiedis once sung that underneath a bridge is where ventured to draw blood. Dean Ambrose was not under such a structure to draw blood. That was going to have to wait until Monday Night. No, he was under a bridge to fling venom in the direction of his trio of opponents. A dark night in Kansas. The relentless Ambrose stood underneath of a rail-road where he was illuminated by a drum barrel with a batch of flames rising from it. A macabre river wasn't too far off in the camera's shot and it looked like the kind the mafia might dump bodies into.
Dean Ambrose: I've got this match this week against Ryder, Hawkins and Barreta. Which is a little weird since I'm not sure I actually exist. I hear what people are saying. "Who is Dean Ambrose?" Hulk Hogan goes on twitter, because he apparently upped the dose of his alzheimer's medication, and he tells me to go back to the indies.
Mockingly, he places his hands over his heart as if the word's from the Immortal One had severely wounded him.
Dean Ambrose: And The Miz cuts a little promo and he says that he doesn't know who I am. Doesn't know who I am and yet he throws out an open challenge to the entire locker room. An entire locker room full of people that he evidently doesn't take the time to read up on because he's too busy trying to make it on TMZ this week. This is what I'm surrounded with. The dull and the insipid and the BRAIN DEAD.
Ambrose grips the sides of his head tightly like he's trying to prevent it from bursting open. But his hands quickly fall to his sides and he suddenly becomes very calm.
Dean Ambrose: So I took part in Miz's little gauntlet match. Or his own self indulgent personal hand job to himself. And predictably, I kicked the ever living TRASH out of him. He didn't pin me. In fact, I pinned him!
He began to tap a finger against his palm while counting at a methodical pace.
Dean Ambrose: ..One..two..three..four..that's what happens when you don't do your research. I laid Miz out with his own title and made him look like a complete IDIOT! And I guarantee you that he's not asking who I am any more. He knows exactly who I am. ON TOP OF THE WORLD!
The fanatical idealist spreads his arms and spins in a slow circle before pausing in front of the camera. His shoulders slump and he drags the knuckles of his right hand underneath of his nose.
Dean Ambrose: But I guess that all went to shit when I got pinned by Trent Barreta. I have no shame in it. I'm not like everyone else. I didn't call him a bitch, pussy, virgin geek. Even if he is all of those things. He can throw a punch. So can I! Except I learned to throw punches fighting for bread crumbs on the streets. Trent's right hand filled with jaw shattering power because he masturbates to anime all day. So maybe there is a little shame in all of it. But that's alright. Because the last thing I can recall was grinding his face against that big, fancy stage that Uncle Wes paid for with his blood money. The last thing I remember was that moment when me and that Arab guy were about to send Trent's useless scrawny ass sailing right off that ramp until Curt Hawkins decided to turn all boy scout again and save the day. And why was that?
He scratched a couple of fingers at the side of his head while lightly smacking his lips until an epiphany suddenly struck him.
Dean Ambrose: Oh yeah because Trent Barreta and Zack Ryder are COWARDS that can't fight their own battles. You can pin me every single night. I don't care. I don't. Because I will get back up every single time and take you down after that bell rings unless you put a BULLET IN MY HEAD!
Ambrose points to fingers at the side of his skull. His thumb acts if it's pulling a trigger and he violently jerks the appendage away.
Dean Ambrose: I guess you could also put it here..
He tilts his head up and places the barrel of the gun, or his two fingers, underneath of his chin.
Dean Ambrose: Or right here in here..
The pair of digits get placed into his mouth and he lightly gags himself as the tips wiggle at the roof of his mouth.
Dean Ambrose: But the point is..you can keep me down for three count. Sure. But that won't stop me. Because I'm here to safe the soul's of every last viewer, every last brain washed zombie that tune in every week. I have to save the souls of this roster filled with dead marionettes that Wes Ikeda makes dance with the pull of a few strings. And you would think I'm at a disadvantage in this six man affair. But you couldn't be further from the truth. Curt, Zack and Trent are all pals from way back. They all know each other inside and out. My team is just thrown together in some horrible, Frankenstein, patchwork mess. But that Arab guy! He wants, no, he NEEDS revenge on Zack Ryder because he stole his precious, big shiny belt. He was going to help me END Trent Barreta. I see potential in him. I see a bright, shimmering soul amongst a sea of dim, decomposing cold bodies. And he has something he fights for with such passion! He fights for equality! His people are being discriminated and spat on! He only seeks to make thing better for them. For himself. I see nothing wrong with that. And his name..his name..
Dean holds out a palm to the sky like's he reciting Shakespeare soliloquy. The arm drops and he exhales with disinterest.
Dean Ambrose: I don't know what his name is. Hopefully he tells me during the match during while we're standing on the apron. I don't know what the hell his name is but I know what he's all about and I know what he can do and I like it. And then we have Seth Rollins! My friend, my partner and a man who see's this horrible company in the exact same way that I do. He just doesn't know it yet.
Ambrose adjusted the black jacket he was wearing and grinned like a proud father.
Dean Ambrose: Seth is an unstoppable force. Just misguided. That's why I'm here. To show him his true path. To ensure that he doesn't go down the road that so many others have. He is, without question, going to aid me in my body count. We are going to liberate so many of these terribly unhappy 'superstars'. He may not think he has it in him and he may believe that his honor will not allow him to do what's needed. And what's needed is a difficult task to perform. But he will. And Hawkins, Ryder and Barreta will finally know peace when we break them free from the SHACKLES they've found themselves bound to! It runs deep. The brain washing. There really isn't any other way than to VIOLENTLY purge it from their systems.
Arms full of EBWF merchandise were tossed into the barrel. T-shirts, hats, posters, what have you. It caused the flames inside to grow larger.
Dean Ambrose: I can't even begin to imagine what they've had to do in order to reach the stardom they've sought so desperately.
He mimics performing felatio while flicking his fingers about underneath what is intended to be..well, you get the picture.
Dean Ambrose: If I was in they're position I would be BEGGING for someone like me to come along and help. They are. I can see it in they're eyes even though their minds and bodies can't illustrate it.
More items are tossed inside of the building fire. Action figures. Magazines. DVDS.
Dean Ambrose: I understand that disrupting autograph signings and tossing these things into this barrel aren't making huge contributions to my cause. I get it. But I'm so deep inside this nightmare..I'm right in the heart of this murdering corporation..it's the only way I can keep my sanity. And sometimes I think I'm the only sane person on the planet. The next stand in my fight continues at Warfare. I do care. I can help. Whether it's wanted or not.
His back pressed against the wall behind him as the burning flames flicked out of the barrel and eliminated the shadows around him. The most chilling part is that not only does he believe everything he says, he genuinely believes that what he is doing is completely just and right.
