We find king Clinton at the very top of the Rose Bowl stands behind the stage. The fans are looking up at him.
So James Jackson wants to start talking about me and my apparent predictability and whatnot...yet when I tell him exactly why I do what I do suddenly he disappears for a few days. Meanwhile, I've been sitting around waiting for him to make his next move. Walking around the back, sitting down, waiting and waiting, and what am I getting? Precisely nothing. Nothing. And if there's one thing that I don't like, it's to be kept waiting.
I've become really really pissed off lately about the way things have been going lately. I don't even get a chance to take back what is rightfully mine because the general manager of Assault doesn't have enough balls to do the right thing. Instead I have to face Enigmah in a match that meant what, exactly? And then I have to face off against James Jackson, who doesn't give two rat turds about this match.
You want to talk about how I'm too damn predictable? How you want to see me cut promos in other places? Where the hell were you, James? Not paying attention to me, just like everyone else when I was that damn shell of a man in black clothes. You see, you wanted me to go back to where I was...sucking wind. And in case you haven't noticed, James, I've not only gone so far beyond that, I've done what you weren't able to do...win the Universal Championship and give enough of a crap to hold on to it.
And in the meantime here I am fighting you and you again vanish into thin air. How the hell do you expect me to deal with this, James? You tried to bring out something in me that's been dormant, and now that I won't do it you hide away in your little hole in that abandoned building you were calling home waiting for me to do something that I just am not going to do. Who the hell do you think you are, James? What are you trying to do?
You can say you want to bring out the monster in me all you want, James. It just ain't happening. That Jack Clinton is long dead, don't you understand that? In his place is a brand new Jack Clinton...a man who knows no limits and who isn't willing to let any mortal man climb over him for something that belongs to him. A man who knows what he's worth to UHW and who isn't afraid to remind everyone just how much that is.
I'm going to make one thing perfectly clear. After I defeat James Jackson down in that ring later on tonight, you better get used to the postmatch celebration. Remember how I said two weeks ago that I was going to hold this company hostage until I got another title shot? It begins after the match. I will not allow another person to be champion other than Mitch Norton, just so I can rip my championship out of his unworthy hands and claim my crown once again. But it has to start somewhere, and it starts with my match tonight.
James Jackson, when the bell rings and you're going face to face with a 350 pound buzzsaw set to tear through whatever is in his path...where will you go? What will you do?
Nothing. And deal.
So sayeth...the king.
Clinton hooks on to a rope and rappels down to the field.