What You Are Owed, Ghost of Death By Me

The Ghost of Death By Me said I cannot last in this territory, and I will grant him the one thing he has earned from me: a direct answer. He is not wrong that I have come up short of late -- I am aware of the scoreboard, I do not require a reading of it from a man who wraps himself in theater and calls it a championship.

What I object to is the framing. You speak of drowning me in tears, Ghost of Death By Me, and you deliver it like a man who has mistaken noise for weight. I have stood across the ring from I Am a Tickler on the largest stage this house offers and come away without the count in my favor. I know what a loss costs. I paid the full price and I did not flinch from it.

What you are is a man who opened his mouth and found the experience agreeable enough to do it again. That is not competition. That is a habit.

The audience here did not purchase a seat to watch a ghost deliver theater. They are owed an honest accounting of two men in a worksite, and I intend to provide it. Every cent of their attention will be returned with interest.

Come to the ring, or do not. Either way, I will be there on time.