Post by Amy Jo Smyth on Nov 26, 2016 23:01:37 GMT
Whoa, Black Betty, bam-ba-lam
She really gets me high, bam-ba-lam
You know that's no lie, bam-ba-lam
She's so rock steady, bam-ba-lam
And she's always ready, bam-ba-lam
Whoa, Black Betty, bam-ba-lam
___________________________
In 1521, a man from Spain by the name of Hernan Cortes decimated an entire culture, wiping it clean off the map and nearly eliminating it from the annals of history. Senor Cortes failed to realize that human curiosity conspires with the earth to remind us of what has been torn down and lost to time. More importantly, he could never killed the warrior spirit. Though he conquered this nation and its people, he faced an epic battle and much resistance. The spirit of the noble Aztec warrior held strong and fought until its very last breath, refusing to surrender though nearly all had been lost. No one, not even his massive army, could defeat the fighting spirit.
It lives on.
It lives on in people like me.
In September 2007, nearly a decade ago, my most recent world title reign came to an abrupt end. This reign broke records for that organization and for myself - I just didn’t know it at that time. I had made history, for myself. Notice how I said most recent. Simply put, I have not held a world title since then, since 2007.
That is nine fucking years.
Who else in active wrestling today can say that?
Yes, there was a long gap when I took time off to finish my PhD. and do work in the lab, to resolve some personal issues, help friends, and heal up from injury, but that doesn’t explain my most recent return to the ring. I’ve been back in this sport - the sport I love more than I could have ever anticipated - for three solid years and I have yet to come up with the highest championship in an organization. It’s because while there was not so much a drought in opportunities - there was, kinda - but it’s because I couldn’t come through with a shot.
Not anymore!
So many times with the so close but no cigar. Got my rock damn near the top and got to watch it roll down again. That's life, though, that's this sport. I got back up and I kept fighting. Even if I wasn't winning titles, I was still wrestling and that was profoundly important to me. There was a need, a deep desire in me to keep going, the knowledge that I would find the glory of gold again.
The fiery spirit of a fighter. It blazed a path for me once and it will it again. I realize now it just took me a little bit longer for my spark to turn into a brush fire.
Hell, it took me three years just to get ahold of a singles title. I'm not known for giving up and I'm sure as shit not know for giving up things get a little too hard. The spirit within me stayed alive and it kept me going. It could not be quelled or quieted. It has done me a lot of good. It's that competitive streak in me.
I've had it since I was a kid. Since I took up gymnastics, since I took up fencing, police work, then came wrestling. I've always seen wrestling as fun and that's all I've ever tried to make it. Surprisingly enough, I was good at it. It fit me and I fit it. Not ever did I dream I'd be doing this - it was not something I wanted to be as a child or in my family history. Some of the wrestlers out there today have wanted to do this all their lives. Not me, though.
However, I couldn't see myself doing anything else.
I don't want to do much of anything else right now. I want to wrestle and be the best fucking wrestler I can be. I refuse to be held back, whether by myself or others, and I will not be stopped by anything - including an injury. Fuck what anyone says, I'm having my fun and my fun includes winning and championships.
I'm still just trying to have fun and just me, I'm having more fun now than I have since I picked this up again three years ago. That spirit is just there, always. It has been a mighty ally to me. Above all things, it has helped me heal from injury that much faster, helped me refuse a fate that does not belong to me, and has gotten to me where I am today.
It has gotten me a shot that I have waited a long time for.
___________________________
In the Continuing Adventures of Our Hero...
◀◀ Be Kind, Rewind
Mexico City is pretty nice when you actually get to enjoy it and not have to worry about double agents or gang members trying to kill you. It’s full of all kinds of old buildings, things dating back to the Conquistadors and the colonizing Spaniards. Even amongst the massive Spanish Catholic churches and golden domed government buildings, there is an old feel to it, something like a ghost haunting these streets. If one knows her history, and this one does, she knows exactly why there is this ever present wraith looming large in this fine city.
This now modern city was built upon the very substantial ruins of a proud and ancient civilization. The Spanish were quick to destroy everything that even remotely looked Aztec or Indigenous peoples. Temples devoted to Aztec Gods were torn down, brick by brick, and replaced with Catholic churches built by slave labor. The angry spirits of the warriors that tried in vain to defend their homeland, the civilians that lost everything and perished from new diseases, tyrannical rule, unrelenting labor, and poverty, and, all haunt the core of this place. There was no revenge for them, no retribution, and absolutely no respect. The Conquistadors did not match care for traditions or ideas of old. They took what was already there and through the means of bloodshed, turned the entire thing to their favor. Hell, the people were ripe for the picking right down to the governmental system of ruling nobility and kings.
The ceremonial center of the Aztec Empire became the city square. The layout of the original city was followed. For as much as they wanted it, the temples they tried so hard to get rid of were not completely razed. In fact, this city is so old and so rich with the ways of the Aztecs, that Tenochtitlan makes up the majority of downtown Mexico to the point that the remains of Templo Mayor can be seen, dug up and exposed. Things are not as lost as they may seem. The physical reminders, like the temples and artifacts kept in the museum, are nothing compared to the mood here. No one has forgotten. How could they?
A culturally rich and advanced civilization, complete with complex social classes and governmental code, city planning that rivaled the Romans, modern amenities like fresh flowing water, sewage, and sanitation, paved roads, schools, public entertainment like sports auditoriums, zoos, gardens, and places of worship, and a booming economy and trading system that brought in goods from all over the world, had been clean wiped off the earth by a heinous man who was terrified of this city’s beauty and power. Oh, and you know, the whole spreading of that loving and tolerant religion known as Christianity. Shit, how can we forget about gold, too? Greed, fear, and Christianity helped kill off an entire race of people and put an end to an advancing culture.
This is not to forget about or wash over the whole human sacrifice thing by the Aztecs but let’s be serious here, Christianity did it’s own fair share of killing in the name of God. Same coin, different sides.
Allison, my ever patient wife who gets to fulfill the dream of many writers to travel the world on someone else’s dime, stares down at the ruins of the Templo Mayor. “This is crazy. It’s like, smack dab in the middle of everything and it just… Disappeared.”
I glance down at the brochure given to me at the entrance. The whole thing is written in Spanish so poor Allison has to use me as a translator. See, there’s more benefit to learning Spanish than just dealing with foreigners and talking shit about people so they can’t understand me. I can insult morons in four, no, five different languages now. Some better than others, but still, it brings joy to my day. It can also get very confusing. They all start mixing together and pretty soon, I’m speaking Italian, French, and English all in the same sentence.
I look at Allison. “It originally stood two-hundred feet high.” My eyes return to the brochure, a little more reading, and then my eyes return to the wonderstruck Allison. “And just because I gotta bring it down… The Spaniards massacred upwards of ten-thousand defenseless, celebrating Aztecs in this temple. It gets better, though. The Aztecs got revenged, capturing seventy or so Spaniards that would later be sacrificed where you stand, flayed, with their faces tanned and sent to their allies as a warning.”
“Oh. That’s just… That’s just so beautiful.” Allison presses her hand over her heart and mockingly coos. “So inspiring.” The woman I love steps back to get closer to me and take in a more expansive view of the ruins. “Do you think they'd still be around if it weren't for the Spaniards?” she asks.
“Who, the Azteca?” I ask to her question.
“Yeah.”
“I don't know. Maybe. They would have to have gotten rid of the human sacrifice thing. I think any country or culture that is too into their God or Gods hasn’t much of a chance at survival or advancement to survive. If they didn't…” I answer and then break to think. “They'd just be invaded one way or another. Whether by an army or by advancement. No country can survive long on religion alone. It's too - too restrictive.”
“I see,” she says and then wraps her arms around my waist. We are nearly the same height so our faces match up perfectly. I think of the times that I dated someone shorter than me and how with them, this moment was never really possible. Former lovers of mine would have to stand on their tippy toes just to get in range for a kiss. Even then I'd have to bend down some to make it work.
It isn't as if I’m some kind of pro basketball player from China. She isn't either. We're of average height. Except for when we wear heels. I can reach five-ten in the right pair. That’s about the only time I stand above my lover and even then that’s rare. We will often coordinate outfits to make sure we aren’t too far off.
Our similar heights makes me feel like her equal.
A good relationship and an even better marriage is built upon equality. Even though I’m the breadwinner, she is never allowed to believe she is my lesser. Allison very much contributes just as much as me. Without her I’d be nothing. Her warmth, laughter, ability to challenge me intellectually, willingness to travel with me, and support me without question, is worth more than the things I bring into this marriage. We could live in a shack with nothing to our names and I’d still be happy.
“I wonder what it was like back then,” she asks, releasing me and turning around to look at the temple remains and the Spanish buildings surrounding it. “I wonder if I’d be a princess. The people would bow to me, sing and celebrate me. I’d wear pounds of gold jewelry and this beautiful feather headdress with all kinds of colors and some kind of gown.”
“Not really sure the had gowns back then,” I quip.
She gently slaps my arm. “Don’t ruin my fantasy.”
I chuckle. “Sorry. Continue.”
“You…” she drones looking at me, thinking, her eyes tightening as they do when she’s picturing something and getting ready to tell a story from her imagination. “You… You’d be a great warrior… What’s the word?”
“Guerrero,” I answer, smiling. “Guerreros are Aztec warriors.”
“You’d be a great warrior. A high ranking one. Fully adorned with - with those medals they give warriors.” She shakes her head, unconcerned about the right word. “You’d be strong, unafraid. You’d wear one of those jaguar outfits, too, with a huge headdress. Carry a bat thing like we saw inside. Yeah - yeah.” Her voice grows excited and her pace quickens. “We would meet in the ceremonial square. You would woo me. I’d fall in love. You’d already be in love, having fallen in love upon first sight. Within weeks, we would get married… My warrior lover would go to war but always return to me. The two of us will go old together…”
“Which, in those days, was about thirty five,” I interrupt.
“Damnit,” Allison shouts, throwing her hands up. “Can you ever just be… Let me have my fun.”
“What?” I shrug. “I’m just bringing some reality into the story.”
She gives me a look, eyes tight and annoyed but good natured. “You’re such a spoilsport.”
I grab her ass and pull her into me. “Shall I get a cat costume for later then?”
Allison playfully pushes me away, laughing. “You’re such a jerk.”
“We can make your fantasy a reality,” I say. “The best of both worlds. I don’t see a problem here.”
“Sometimes, I just can’t with you.” She rolls her eyes and walks away from me, heading toward another section of the ruins.
“Going full white girl on me now, huh?” I shout.
She waves her hand at me, brushing me off. For a long time, I wonder, too, what it would be like to live in this land during those times. Would I be a noble warrior? In order for that to happen, I’d have to be a man. More than likely, I’d be born into some kind of peasant farmer or craftsman family, married at thirteen to another peasant farmer or craftsman in an arranged marriage, and while pumping out kids, I’d be tending house and hearth. That would be my role in life - nothing less and certainly nothing more. If I didn’t die in childbirth, I’d die at thirty-something, having accomplished nothing with my short life. It’s a frightening picture, actually. I suppose it could be worse.
I could become an offering to the gods.
It’s frightening when I think about the fact that I could be chosen as a sacrifice, killed in a religious ritual in this very temple to appease some invisible god.
↼ ⟡ ⇁
My phone starts ringing, playing that familiar tone. It can only be one person. I smile at my wife and take a few steps away from her. She doesn’t seem to mind, having become accustomed to my constant phone calls. If it isn’t Birdie, who she doesn’t know a thing about, it’s an employee from the lab with results or questions, or something wrestling related, or someone with a crisis because somehow I’m the girl who you call when shit hits the fan.
“Hey, Birdie,” I answer.
“Having fun being a tourist?” he asks. “How’s the temple?”
There’s a roll of my eyes. “Quit trying to butter me up. Cut to the chase.”
“Wow. I can literally hear you rolling your eyes,” Birdie answers. “Don’t roll your eyes at me.”
“I will do whatever I want…” I assail.
There is a long pause between us. Dead air on the line. I have to pull the phone away from my ear and check the screen to ensure the call hasn’t dropped.
Then he speaks, “Would you mind…”
“I would mind, yes,” I quickly interrupt. “I am on vacation with my wife. For once, just once, I’d like to actually sightsee with her without being embroiled in some kind of… incident.”
“It’ll be easy. You’re about two blocks away. Meet with a contact, obtain some paperwork, and that’s it,” he says cheerfully. “In and out. Done and done.”
“Oh, oh, I think I’ve heard this one before - does it end with me getting shot at?”
“C’mon, don’t be like that. The last time you met with a contact it went perfectly fine,” he says, remaining upbeat and reassuring. “And besides, you always manage to turn it around when it goes wrong.”
“Honestly, Birdie,” I say then pause. “Seriously, I think you guys are trying to get me killed. You want me dead. That's the plan for me, isn’t it?”
“No,” Birdie quickly rebukes. “No.”
“Tell me something, will I get a star on that special wall when I’m dead?”
“Will you stop? Please?” he asks, damn near pleading with me. “Must you always be so dramatic?”
“Yes, yes I must,” I answer.
“La Parroquia. One hour. Your contact will be Mario. I sent a picture to your phone,” he explains. “I’ll make sure you get reimbursed for your meal. Live it up!”
“Oh, free food. That totally makes up for the danger I’m putting my wife in.”
I quickly hang up on him. There’s a text message waiting for me. Right on cue, a picture of Mario takes over my screen. God, I hate when Birdie does that. He has no respect for my privacy.
[/i]The pictures he’s seen…[/i]
↼ ⟡ ⇁
La Parroquia, which literally translates into the parish, is a small cafe-style restaurant chain with franchises throughout Mexico, including a flagship in the resort city of Cancun. While they specialize in delicious Mexican coffee, they do have a menu of decent edibles. Quick and easy things, mostly. They serve, in a somewhat upscale but casual setting, a variety of easy to eat but filling traditional Mexican food with an international flair. There’s is the classic carne a la tampiquena alongside an Italian style spaghetti dish and an American club sandwich. They’ve even got milk shakes.
I’m okay with this.
Kinda just wish I was here under different circumstances.
Allison sits across from me, sipping on her weird, very local soda known as Zaraza Vargas. I can’t really describe the taste but it’s different. Sickly sweet. Which is probably why Allie loves it so fucking much. I, personally, can’t get over how the waiter served my coffee. He poured the milk into my glass staring from down low and slowly, carefully pulled it up high, letting it pour out in spectacular fashion to create this thick foam on top. If that wasn’t enough, I’m completely hypnotized by the off putting mural on the wall behind the coffee bar.
Do those people have coffee beans for heads?
They have coffee beans for heads.
They have no faces; no eyes, no mouths, no noses. There are fish flying through the sky. Some no-faced coffee bean-head vaquero in a hat is creeping on a stereotypical Spanish peasant lady. Wait, is that a mermaid in the background? It’s a mermaid. A man might have a harp for an arm with another faceless freak right next to him who has what I think might be a bunch of star shaped balloons in hand but I can’t be sure because these people don’t have faces and nothing can be trusted!
It’s fucking nightmare inducing. Somebody thought this was a good idea. How did anyone think that this was a good choice for the centerpiece of a restaurant’s decor?
Half of me wants to say it ruins my appetite but it smells too good in here to have anything quiet the rumbling in my tummy. Allison and I had our stomachs do all the talking when we ordered. It also didn’t help that the United States government is footing the bill. That’s probably why our food is talking as long as it is. Pretty sure we ordered everything we could. Soup. Nachos. Steak. Some kind of pie stuffed with meat.
“Can you please stop staring at that - that,” Allie says, pointing her hand in the general direction of the painting.
My eyes turn to her now. “Why don’t they have faces? I don’t understand!” That’s when I see the waiter coming toward us, carrying a tray of food. Right on his heels is another waiter with food.
“Fooooood!” I celebrate.
↼ ⟡ ⇁
Oh, my God. I’m so full. I couldn’t eat anymore even if I wanted to and I really want to. It’s all so tasty. They even brought us these coche cakes. Lady Sweet Tooth across from me somehow managed to down some ice cream on top of everything else. But that’s why I love her - she’s a healthy woman who needs to maintain that ass and those hips that I love so much.
Still no Mario. I may have been sent on a wild goose chase here. There are worse missions I could have been sent on. This mission shall be titled, ‘Operation Eat Until You’re Sick.’ Fully government backed and funded.
The waiter drops off the check and gathers up the rest of the dirty plates before leaving us. I don’t even look at the check before sliding my American Express inside the black holder and hanging it off the edge of the table to signal to the waiter that it is ready for him.
“I’m so full,” Allie moans, leaning back in her chair. “I don’t understand, why did I eat so much? How did I eat so much?”
“If I have ever needed a nap, it’s now,” I say. My stomach physically hurts from the amount of food I crammed into it without regard for the calorie content or ingredients. The hours in the gym it’ll take to burn this off… “You wanna go back to the hotel?”
Allie gives those puppy dog eyes that make me do anything. “Can we walk around some more?”
“Okay,” I answer. How can I say no to those eyes?
That’s when I spot a large man walking toward me. He is relatively nondescript; just another average resident of Mexico City. His eyes meet mine and we exchange polite flat smiles. It’s Mario, only with a different haircut and about ten pounds lighter.
He moves closer, without a word and without even looking at me, and shoves his hand in his pocket. For a minute, my heart beats faster and a small surge of adrenaline kicks in. There is the fear that he may pull a gun and shoot me dead. A day in the life.
I hold my breath and wait. He pulls out his phone and continues walking. A small note falls to the floor. After a few seconds of waiting, I reach down and pick it up.
“What’s that?” Allie asks.
“Dunno.” I open the note, read it. ‘We’ve been made. Get out.’
“Everything okay?” my wife says, concerned.
I guess I make a face or spend too long reading the small message. I quickly smile. “Yeah, yeah, fine. Just a receipt.”
“Oh.”
Nonchalantly I throw the crumpled up ball of paper on a dirty plate for the waiter to take away and dump in the trash. Once in the kitchen trash and within a few minutes, it’ll get covered in any manner of liquid, food, and refuse.
The waiter needs to come. I have no idea who knows who I am and what I’m doing but it’s not a comfortable feeling and I want to get out. As soon as I get up, the eyes on me will get up and follow. After that, I have no idea what I’ll do.
“Do you wanna go over to the art gallery?” Allison asks.
“Absolutely,” I quickly say. It’s public, it’s busy, it’s well-lit - it is the perfect place to stay safe until I can figure out what’s going on and get in touch with Birdie.
The waiter comes, takes my card. Two more minutes pass and listening to my wife chatter about art that I know nothing about, he’s returned with the slip for me to sign. A quick slash of the pen and I’m up on my feet, ready to go. Allison does the same. We make our exit, my wife wrapping her arm around my arm as we walk. As we come to an intersection, I glance behind me.
I see no one from the restaurant behind us.
This might actually be okay.
Or not.
Two very recognizable men follow us, just on the opposite side of the street.
...To Be Continued…
Ha!
This is the moment I've been waiting for, fought so hard for so long for. It has been a long time coming and I have no fucking desire to wait any longer. Waiting is over. I'm leaving Mexico City as the new Reyes de Reyes Champion.
Did you hear me, Mr. Miles?
I'm coming for your title and I won't be denied. I want this in ways you don't understand. I need this in ways that even the smartest of humans could not comprehend. This is not to say you aren't smart - quite the contrary. I happen to think you're an intelligent man, probably more than most. Though there is the strong chance that I'm jumping the gun here and setting myself up a plenty of lost yardage.
One of the few ways you can show your intelligence is by not underestimating me. Not now, that's for fucking sure. You of all people have had a front row seat to the spectacular that has been my time here in Guerreros of Lucha. One has to admit, albeit begrudgingly, it has been one for the record books of this upstart organization. Aside from my loss to Roxi, it has been a wild ride. Even with that mark upon me, what I've done has impressed all the right people and I haven’t squandered my shots. I keep on impressing and surprising.
Is it really surprising, though?
Just imagine, I signed up for the Soaring Eagle Title Scramble on a whim, thanks to an offhand comment from Roxi, the current Soaring Eagle champ. I signed up for one match and look where this whim got me. It not only got me a title but it got me a Reyes de Reyes Championship shot. Really, though, it was only a matter of time. That puts you in a tough spot. Here we are and that spirit has something to fight for and not just the love of the sport and competition.
And this is exactly what I've needed. That most recent fight here could not have come at a better time. Injury and all. Then again, I did have a little bit of help. Ladies and gents, let this be example to you as to what happens when arrogance and assholary does the speaking for you and why you don't talk that much shit about an entire nationality of people.
I digress.
Last month, I walked away - yes, walked - the winner and the new number one contender to the Reyes de Reyes Championship with the honor and privilege of facing a man that I've seen around, in limited doses, throughout the year, a man named Avery Miles the Third. Let’s take a moment to give this man some credit. He survived a tournament to get where he is and he has successfully defeated every single person he has faced. Now that’s worth its weight in gold. There is no question that Mr. Miles has earned his spot, the right to hold that title. Anyone stupid to question that is just… They need to take a long walk off a short pier.
Let me say this, though: screw you, Mr. Miles, if you think for a hot second that I'm going to let that stop me or let you stop me. I have come a long, long way to get this. Climbed a lot of mountains just to slip back down again. I've waited nine years for this moment - does this alone make me worthy, no. But it does me fucking hungry and there is more dangerous animal in this world than one that is hungry.
I’ve had to overcome things that many never face in their entire careers. Mind you, I was doing this back in the day when women wrestlers were a minority and rarely, if ever, held world titles and they surely didn't hold them for as long as I did. There have been minor setbacks to huge walls that have stopped me dead in my tracks until I could figure out how to jump them. Ha. I overcame a brain injury to get back into this sport because, well, that’s who I am. Just recently, I wrestled with a bum ankle, one that will always be bad, because I had to do. I came back. I overcame. That is what you do when you want something that badly - you power through.
Mr. Miles, allow me to inform you something important… My time off has been good to me. My ankle is much, much better. It will never be perfect but I don't need a brace and it will be no problem come Sunday. I had to get well. There was no other option for me, heal or no longer wrestle. That's a no-brainer.
As dangerous as I was with my bad ankle, I am more problematic now that I'm healed. Yes, Mr. Miles, I'm back in top form. No more ankle to worry about. At least for the time being. That match you saw, where I was injured, should be proof to you that I'm fucking determined to get myself that title.
Nothing can hold me back.
I want this in ways you don’t understand. I need it in ways that even the smartest of humans could not comprehend. Screw you, Mr. Miles, if you think you’re going to stop me. Not to degrade you or play down what you've done because what you've gone is great - but sad truth is, you're another thing for me to overcome.
Listen, I have beaten reigning champions before never has it been for a title. I suspect this will be no different, save for me taking the title for once. You see, I'm in a fighting mood, I'm in a winning mood, and I am absolutely good god damn ready to get my hands on that. My most recent match in GoL could not have come at a better time. It revived me, gave me new life, and reminded me that I can do anything - including defeat Mr. Miles for that-there title. Yet I still ache for a real fight and I know in my heart that you'll give me this.
You're not going to go down easily. This much I know and this I’m ready for. What man, or woman for that matter does not fight for the thing he loves and cherishes? You are no different than anyone else when it comes to that. The champion is the top of the heap, the best of the best, the one who is going to give a challenge to all comers. That is why I cannot wait to face you.
I cannot wait to defeat you.
It isn't anything personal, Mr. Miles, but you have something that I want and that is the nature of the sport we compete in and love so very much. I'm fully prepared to leave to leave it all in the ring on Sunday. As I suspect you are, too. It will be, in no uncertain terms, a match for the highlight reel. That's the kind of woman I am. That's the type of man you are, Mr. Miles.
That is why I respect you, Avery.
That is why I admire you.
That is why I am going to give you a fight you have not experienced. That is why we are going to give this match absolutely everything we have and not just give the fans a show they deserve, but the battle we both deserve. We may not be the main event on that card but you'll be damn sure that you're about to be a part of a main event caliber match. Without overstepping my boundaries, we just might overshadow the trios title match. This much I promise you. I cannot, however, promise that you'll be leaving with that title when we're through.
Because you won't and I don’t make false promises.
That's coming home with mama. The Reyes de Reyes Championship will be on my shoulder very soon. Why? Because I am that much more determined, strong-willed, and ready - oh, how I'm fucking ready to wear that gold. It’s because I will not take no for an answer. It’s because when you want something badly enough, you’ll keep fighting until you have it. While I'm by no means an Aztec warrior who fought for golden rings, I've got the spirit to defeat everything that gets in my way, destroy it if I have to. If that means I gotta destroy you, too, Mr. Miles, so be it but I will do it fair and I will it do in the center of the ring. I will not have this moment marred or tarnished.
Nine fucking fruitless years comes to a goddamn end on Sunday and I'm finally reaping what I've sown. For every end there is a beginning and that beginning belongs to me. The drought is fucking over and I shall have my feast. I did not risk a permanent limp and the end of my career to lose my shot. I almost feel bad that it's you, Mr. Miles, considering we have no beef between us and we barely know each other. No better way to get acquainted, I suppose.
Sorry that your reign must come to end. Wait, I'm not sorry.
Sorry, not sorry.