'Boy, my last couple promos sure have caught a lot of bites. Let's see...

'Picasso called me an egomaniac. I'd kick your ass, Vinnie, but I've got more important things to do than go over you yet again.

'Brimstone says that I haven't done anything in the last couple months. It's called 'having five star matches that bring the house down', Brim. Maybe you should watch the tapes and see just how much more reaction I get than you ever have, can, or will. I honestly don't know what to make of you calling me out besides assuming that you didn't see what I did to Duel, who's just as strong as you and can actually wrestle.

'Think you're special, Brim? Think there's even the slightest trace of greatness? I've seen dozens like you come and go over the years. Dozens. Not a one could manage to get it through their skulls that over the long run it's the guys with skill and technique who make it in LCW while the musclebound lugnuts pad their records. You know, like you did with Akujin last week before the E-E-I-O-blivion beat him down for you.'

Herb holds up the index finger of his right hand.

'Is that why you want the match? So that I'll be out there in the open so your pals can punk me out? Sorry, I'm not going that easy, and you don't annoy me enough for me to request a match. Besides, after this week you'll have to earn a match with me... because you'll have to earn a title shot.'

Herb switches the weight to his right hand after retracting the finger.

'Twenty-four hours and it's mine again. That realization has to be sinking in by now for you Jeff. All that agony you've been through just so you could be runner-up. After all, this is a sport, and most sports are ruled by those who can squeeze out every little advantage. Every last inch, every precious second. Like... that second between when you think of a move and when you actually do it. For me that second doesn't exist; they're one and the same, because to me the only consequences a move can have is if it gets countered. There's nothing moral or immoral about the Evolving Dreadlock, dearest Slate; it's a friggin' TOOL! I spent the time coming up with the 5.0 so that I could have a guaranteed finish every time I pull it off! Since I don't worry about leaving a tide of bodies in my wake I can spend more time finding more efficient ways to incapacitate my opponents.

'You can philosophize about it 'til the cows come home. Whether I'm right, or you're right, or Krazy Keith is right, and none of it will get you an inch closer to retaining that title. If I beat you with my two hands, mymoves, and my effort, then I'm the better man in the eyes of the sport, and this I'm more deserving of the title I established in the first place.'

Rest period for Herb's trikes. On the tape, Aja gets spiked with three straight death valley drivers.

'You can beat me if you hit me with enough of your big moves. Hell, you just might be more capable of putting me down than any other man in LCW... but there's a problem with that. Until you've actually done it, you've accomplished nothing. And as you attempt to do it, I will drive you, I will prod you, I will do everything in my power to push you over the edge of the limits you've imposed on yourself. Win or lose, you won't be able to get away with holding back when that belt is on the line against this man.'

Suddenly, he seems to get emotional. His brows knit, his eyes soften, his hands go limp.

'The day that there's a man who can beat me with anything less than his absolute best effort is the day that I have no more value to this sport.'

His lip curls ever so slightly.

'There's no f**king way I'm going to let you ruin me like that Geoffrey Slate. I'd rather die than be your inferior. If I'm not really Deadly Herb...'

His voice dims to a whisper.

'I might as well be Dead Herb.'