The snow fell heavily from a clear, white sky. The sudden change in climate from the trip to Canada didn't seem to bother Dean Ambrose a great deal. His mind was still focused upon one thing. Even though he had become a champion, it did nothing to deter his mission. The brick wall he was pacing in front of looked about as inviting as a punch to the throat. Some bits of it were frozen but that didn't stop Ambrose from running his fingers across it as he marched side to side. The cold wind blew as he began to address the camera in front of him.
Dean Ambrose: I guess because I'm in Canada right now that my match with Christian should have see an entire arena full of people cheering him on. Never mind the fact that Alberta isn't even close to Ontario. Just because Christian is a Canadian, he should have the whole audience chanting his name. If you use that kind of logic that should mean that even though I'm from Cincinnati..I should get cheered just the same in front of a Nebraska crowd.
He stepped closer to the camera and stared into the lens with a patronizing sort of expression upon his unkempt face.
Dean Ambrose: You aren't coming off as all that bright right now, Canada. Because I know living in America that it's populated by fat, stupid, blind morons. And evidently it's the same here. If not worse.
One half of the newly crowned Tag Team Champions took a step backwards and threw his arms outwards.
Dean Ambrose: Oh but Canada has such a rich and illustrious wrestling history. In the 90's Bret Hart was literally covering your eyes to the horrors of this business with his neon sunglasses and dead smile. In the last decade you all followed in the footsteps of Edge and his idiotic rockstar persona. And in 2012 you suck down every last drop Christian forces into your mouth from his pulpit. I don't have a big, fancy talk show like Christian to warp and hypnotize you. And, God knows, I'm never going to have one because I'm the only person on this roster who speaks the truth whenever a microphone is in front of his face. But I'm the one you should be listening to. Christian is, very literally, a puppet. In every single sense of the word. They give him his talk show because he panders and he makes bad jokes and he pushes the EBWF agenda. You all applaud and grin just eat it all up.
The thought alone seemed to nauseate him and it was clear by the look of pure disgust upon his face. He shook his head a few times before continuing.
Dean Ambrose: This man is responsible for the corruption of countless souls. Christian helped to popularize one of the most barbaric and violent matches in the history of this industry. Tables. Ladders. And chairs. Not just once. But multiple times. How does he sleep at night? Knowing damn well that his hands are covered in blood. How many people attempted to copy that suicidal match or something like it? Because of Christian, wrestlers and would be wrestlers had to up the ante. Ten foot ladders became thirty foot ladders. Crashing through one table wasn't enough. It became three tables. One chair shot wasn't enough. You had to take five.
The crook in his neck gave a sharp twist to the right side. Bringing up this level of violence seemed to drag out the worst in him and it showed in his movements.
Dean Ambrose: And yet he has the audacity to call me unbalanced. There's nothing unbalanced about me. I'm perfectly sane. I am good man. A good, righteous human being. Christian and people like him are the twisted one's. I am here to present a clear, tranquil mind. I am here to avenge everyone who has fallen victim to this kind of barbaric way of thinking! Christian is just a pawn. Someone used as a voice to reach the masses like some kind of corrupted politician. I'm going to silence Christian. I'm going to give this company one less weapon to use in it's disgusting plot.
He had been dragging his championship along behind him in the snow by it's strap during the entire duration of his promo. He lifted upwards and gave the gold plate a few pats which knocked some of the glistening snow off of it.
Dean Ambrose: You see I already have something belongs to this federation. One of it's precious tag titles. Held by the likes of CM Punk, Ted DiBiase and Randy Orton. And it's sending Christian and Rhyno to try and take it back from me.
Ambrose began to grin widely as he motioned his fingers in his own direction, a taunting mannerism.
Dean Ambrose: Try. I want to see them take this away from. Christian and stupid ass Ryan Seacrest haircut. And Rhino..
His voice trailed off while shrugging his shoulders upon the mention of the former ECW World Champion. His pointer finger circled in the air. A lot of people were weary of the intense, long haired man from Detroit. But not Dean Ambrose.
Dean Ambrose: I'm sure I'm going to get to you eventually, Rhino. But for the moment one word springs into mind. "PUSSY". You're just Christian's comedy act sidekick. But don't you worry. When I'm done with Christian you are going to get yours next. I'm not sure if I can liberate the two of you. You've spent years and years and decades exterminating the lives of everyone who has had the misfortune of watching you on television.
Ambrose smiled at the camera. Not a grin or a smirk. Just a smile. It was cold and very unpleasant.
Dean Ambrose: But luckily for both of you..I'm going to try.
That psychologically unnerving smile remained plastered on his face as the falling snow began to pick up. The camera lingered on the image a few moments longer before fading away.
