What Upsets Me Is Considerably Simpler Than That

The Ghost of Death By Me has spent a fair measure of this week informing anyone who will sit still long enough that I am a hypocrite, a loudmouth, a milkshake boy, a rabid pile of something unpleasant dragged in from a back alley. I have read every word of it with great care, the way a man reads a contract before he signs it, looking for substance, looking for terms worth honoring. There was none to find.

You tell the room I cannot keep your name out of my mouth, and in the very same breath you have devoted two separate addresses to the subject of me. I notice you stopped mid-sentence in the second one. Ran short of material, or ran short of nerve. Either way, the audience noticed what was absent, and audiences keep ledgers whether you believe it or not.

Here is what I will tell you plainly, Ghost of Death By Me. The ring at Reject Wrestling Federation is a worksite. Men come there to settle a question. The question is not who speaks with more volume or more frequency. The question is who walks away with the territory. I intend to answer it.

Under a minute, you said. I have been underestimated on a schedule. It has never changed the outcome. Not once.