"There's garbage on the street that's tellin' you you ain't shit
And you almost believe it"
The Roots, "Something In The Way Of Things (In Town)"

The following is a transcription of an MP3 file available for download at GZW.com

"Are you blind, Seven?"

"Has that hair dye seeped so far into your brain that you've become blind to the world around you?  Can you not see how things operate?  Are you still unable to comprehend the fact that you've never beaten me, in two tries?  Did it just slip your mind that I've pinned you twice, and were you able to measure up in the Lord Of The Coliseum first round against Pimp Bizkit to progress to face me, that certainly would've been three to zero.  Oh well, if Crimson serves as nothing but another notch in the 'win' column for the Lone Gunman, then so be it.  I know from experience that it simply isn't feasible for one man to take centre stage every single night..."

"Seven, I see that it gets to you so that nobody on my side of the card even gives you the time of day...  They don't take you seriously, Seven.  As far as the top guys are concerned, you're, frankly, of no concern.  You're the guy that picked up where Maxx Pain left off - Inane, needless shouting, no direction, no story...  Nothing to set yourself apart.  Nothing to make people care.  Nothing to make people watch.  Nothing.  Slow the fuck down and think about what you do and say before you do or say anything, unless you want to give yourself a heart attack before you get the chance to prove to an indifferent world that you are 'championship material'."

"Forget the indifferent world...  Forget those that don't take you as anything more than a cartoon character...  Think about me for a minute.  Think about John Taylor.  Use your words to try to put me down all you like - at the end of the day, nobody's listening - but you must acknowledge exactly what I have become.  Call me GZW's poster boy if it makes you feel like a more credible villain, but let me remind you that you, along with half the roster, are on every official poster that I am...  In fact, it could be argued that you're more of a poster boy than I, what with all of those glossy graphics, banners and Zerotron videos you rely on to disguise the fact that you've yet to achieve anything in nearly a year with the company.  You know, I think I will argue that point!  Tell me, do those video packages that air during GZW programming cushion the blow of knowing that everyone from Tonya Glory to your buddies in the DisOrder to yours truly have all gotten nice big slices of the proverbial pie while you're stuck battling Jimmy Williams over a ranking spot?  Do you think that the expensive, elaborate entrance and ring attire makes up at all for the fact that you're as green as grass in the ring and below average on the mic?  Well...?"

"...However, I've allowed myself to go off on a tangent here.  Excuse me, number three contender.  Actually, wait.  Does the fact that you've been in the rankings, almost by default, since day one of the Restart, and you're yet to be recognised as anywhere near contention to the World Heavyweight Title do anything for you?  Before you blame me for never getting 'your' shot, take a look at that.  What, exactly, is it that makes you think you deserve a shot?  Are you a better technician than Edwin MacPhisto?  Are you a more intimidating big man than Phillip Tytan?  Are you crazier than Electric Sharpe?  Are you quicker than Kaine or Kid X?  Are you tougher than Reject or Zander Frost?  Are you better all-around than Mychael Lord?  Are you more exciting than Vyle?  Cockier than Jay Jameson?  Have you been around longer than Jimmy Williams?  The answer to every one of those questions is a resounding 'NO', Seven...  So why did I bother to ask?  Why, for a bit of perspective, of course!  While you're here complaining about the booking committee being against you and how you deserve shot after shot at the belt and how I'd been ducking and dodging defending my title against you, I beg of you to stop for a minute and just think of those people.  Any one of them could be argued more worthy of a World Heavyweight Championship opportunity than you, yet not one of them has seen a shot this year.  What does that tell you, Dark Angel?"

"It tells me that there's a queue, Seven.  A pecking order.  Sure, on paper you're third in line for a shot, but do you honestly believe that you are?  You asked me why I denied you what you saw as your title shot during my two-month reign.  See for yourself!  It took Justin Sharp the bones of an entire career to finally get his first title shot.  I gave it to him.  Sean Fiery, despite being one of the company's most invaluable assets, hadn't seen a shot for years because of political red tape.  I let that slide; I gave him a clean slate and gave him his fair shot in the final of the Lord Of The Coliseum tournament at Crimson's "At Our Best"...  For fuck's sake, as HKWF Champion I defended against the likes of Albert Wuchie and Bane...  These are people that would never have gotten a shot at the gold if it weren't for my willingness to put it on the line.  Whilst most of them are bitter about a loss at the moment, every single one of them will, at the end of the day, turn around and thank me.  Now, you might accuse me of playing favourites.  That was not the case, Seven.  I agreed to defend against anyone I saw as deserving.  I defended that belt as FREQUENTLY as I possibly could, and I had a 100% success rate until the last second thanks to Electric Sharpe...  And you've got the audacity to call me a PAPER CHAMPION?  If I ignored your threats in the past it was simply because I had more important matters at hand and more deserving competitors to defend against first.  Not to mention the fact that not one of your threats or challenges was in any way official or legit.  But Seven, if you want to make it so big so bad, what stopped you from sucking it up back in November when the Lord Of The Coliseum tournament rolled around, progressing further than the FIRST ROUND and FORCING me to put my belt up against you?  For not reaching out and grabbing such an opportunity, you've only got yourself to blame..."

"I've never called myself the Lord of the Masses.  Never once have I claimed to fight for them.  I've never been obliged to fight for them.  Don't misquote me, number three.  How can you spew such bullshit and keep a straight face at the same time, Death?  Need I remind you YET AGAIN that I've already stared you square in the eyes, square in the middle of the ring, and walked out the other side VICTORIOUS!!?  I've beaten you, Seven.  I beat you once.  I beat you twice.  I'll do it again at Crimson with relative ease.  I have no problem with persistence, Seven, but when he who persists also happens to possess the memory of a goldfish, then it gets a little irritating.  Seven, do I need to spell out the fact that you've got NOTHING on me.  You're not in my league.  You're nowhere NEAR my league, for that matter.  Until you can back up your mindless words with consistent ring work and a legitimate victory over me, then you keep your mouth firmly shut.  Do you hear me?  I'm your superior.  I don't need to prove to you how mighty I am, nor do I need to prove how much mightier than you I am.  Simply by being, I am better than you.  If you fail to see that, then our third singles meeting might be a particularly educational one.  You fail to see how things work...  You're an average competitor, Seven.  It could be argued that you're below average.  That alone prevents you from making any sort of demands to anyone near John Taylor's level.  When you become Wrestler Of The Year, Lord Of The Coliseum and CCW Unified Heavyweight Champion in the space of two and a half months, then you can come to me and tell me that I have something to prove to you.  Until then, mind your own business and keep your nose out of my affairs."

"I asked you earlier to think about me for a minute, to think about John Taylor.  Think you can do that, Seven?"

"Good.  Now...  Take a look at me.  I'm a thirty-four year old man.  Although I believe I haven't even reached my prime yet, I stand out head and shoulders above the rest.  I'm a seasoned veteran and I've been around CCW as long as any Old Guardian...  At any time, anywhere, I can both talk the proverbial talk and walk the proverbial walk.  Unlike so many before me, so many today and so many to come, there is no imbalance when it comes to my wrestling ability versus my mic and PR ability.  I took the mould of the perfect champion - Billy Bond, Zac Sharp, Sean Fiery - and I made it my own.  I refused to secede to the preset limits of exactly how much a particular champion can attain based on his affiliation towards the crowd, his behaviour or his gimmick...  I set a new standard for stamina and consistency in GZW2K1.  I took the year 2004 and made it mine.  In doing all of this, however, I also picked up my fair share of enemies and rivals - Pimp Bizkit.  Sean Fiery.  Monarch.  The Hellions.  Nathan Williams.  Sincere, apparently.  The list is ever growing, Seven.  Of course, there's the lesser competitors that try to get noticed by simply dropping my name every once in a while.  I pay those no heed.  Those that I named a second ago all have a reason, and arguably a just reason, to have sour grapes with me.  In most cases, it's because I've beaten them.  Said something about them that they would rather jump me over than allow me to prove that I can back up what I say, that I can and do practice what I preach.  Now, put yourself in my shoes for a minute..."

"...There you are.  A busy man.  GZW's Franchise Player.  You've got a hundred and one things to think about and that need doing.  However, there's just something in the way.  Something that shouldn't be there.  Something that is afraid to show it's true form.  Something that likes to linger in shadows and put you down, but is never there to back its words up when the time comes.  Let's put a name on this 'something', shall we?  How about 'Seven'?  Yes...  Good.  Seven has gnawed at your feet for months.  Seven, despite failing to even give you a run for your money in either in-ring competition or in verbal sparring, persists to gnaw at you.  He's down on the floor, on the street, clawing at your shoes and trousers.  He's the homeless bum that pisses on you and then on himself.  He poses no major threat but is constantly there to annoy you.  He doesn't get under your skin as much as he gets under your fingernails and on your clothes.  He's dirt.  He's filth.  He's a piece of shit.  He's trash.  Garbage.  You're above him and he's not worth your time of day, but he's too blind to realise it so he keeps up the act.  You've already beaten him twice.  You've out-talked him whenever the need arose.  He's a female dog in heat, you outrank him in every single way, but you still can't seem to shake him off your leg.  This is a problem.  As John Taylor, what would you do to solve it?  What would you do to rid the world of yourself?"

"I'm dying to hear..."