Hi Deena.

Bobby frowns, then looks at the camera in front of him. He could name drop everybody in the XWF or even ask an AI to help him write his promo, but he wasn't a GM and wasn't going to fight for the Universal Championship anytime soon anyhow, so why bother.

I'm just the guy running Global Culinary Championship these days. In my past, I've won the Universal Title, the Tag Team Championships with 3 different partners, the TV Title, the Hart Championship, I think I might have the most eliminations in War Games history but Ghost Tank might, who knows, Ghost Tank won't fight me. I have pinned Doc, I scare Alias, Dolly, Charlie, and Mark, and now I'm booked against you.

Lucky you!

I didn't opt in hoping to face you, but here we are. And I want you to know, ahead of time.

You will never compete in GCC, because it's really evident you can't cook.

So, now I'm facing you in a match on Anarchy, mostly because someone shat their pants that I called them out, talked with the office, and thought that meant I wouldn't beat their ass.

I'ma beat your ass.

Then I'ma beat Solomon's.

If he doesn't sacrifice another competitor to face me.

Which is chickenshit.

Absolute chickenshit.

Cowardice.

Well, you're going to suffer for Solomon's cowardice. Then, if you bring it up to him, he'll launch an absolute beta bitch session saying you shouldn't complain he didn't step the fuck up like a grown ass man.

So, to be clear...

I'm going to whip the shit out of Deena Hixx.

Because Solomon was too chickenshit to face me.

Solomon fucking sucks assholes and deserves nothing. I'll give him nothing this week.

I will give Deena Hixx a fucking Bobbybomb, and the Global Culinary Cabal could care less.

Christ on a cracker, the first waste of space riding a nostalgia kick from when the XWF wasn't competitive can die in pain. I am that pain.

Bobby smirks.