I'm sorry, ECW... this is hard for me to say, but... look, I know we had some great times back in the 90's, and I know when you left I swore I'd wait for you, and I'd always be there for you, and I know I even said I loved you...
The thing is, you've changed. I'm not trying to blame you, but ever since you've been back, it's like you don't really care about me anymore. I keep making excuses to all my friends, saying stuff like, "They're booking shitty matches on PURPOSE so we'll all get really excited when they finally stage a Pay-Per-View and Sabu beats Big Show and the matches get good again and we'll hold each other's hands and kiss and it'll be just like before and...". I guess it does sound pretty pathetic. Everyone tries to tell me that you're just not that into quality wrestling anymore, and I guess that's pretty true. It breaks my heart to admit it, but the reason I haven't talked about this on Arabian Facebuster until now is that I've been ashamed. I knew I was being duped, but I just wanted to believe in you SO MUCH. I guess I let myself be fooled.
You can't even look at me, can you? It's alright, I know all about Vince McMahon. I know he can give you things I can't. Things like TV contracts, jobs, and a way out of total bankruptcy. All I can give you is twenty-five bucks for the world's ugliest Terry Funk t-shirt, the odd DVD sale if your merch is on clearance at Sam Goody, and a promise to buy every other Pay-Per-View as long as they don't get too shitty. It hurts me to know that Vince's money means that much to you, but I understand. I just want you to know that I feel betrayed.
Also, there's... um, I don't know how to put this, but there's someone else. Don't take that tone with me, it's obvious you don't even care about me anymore. I've been watching TNA pretty much every week, and it's been great. We make each other really, really happy. We can talk like adults. We can compromise (I put up with one Scott Steiner promo a week, and TNA gives me Christopher Daniels' bleeding head whenever I want). We can have a one hour TV program that contains more than six minutes of WATCHABLE FUCKING WRESTLING.
I'm sorry. I shouldn't have raised my voice. I'm just frustrated and upset. I thought we had something once, and it hurts me to have to let it go. I'd like it if we could still be friends. Heck, maybe I'll even get one of your Pay-Per-Views sometime, just so we can keep in touch. I just can't stand to watch your crappy show week after week. Not when there's a federation out there that gives me what I need. Not when you're hanging out with vampires, meth addicts, and convicts (actually, I don't mind about the convicts. Them boys got a bum rap). Not when Spike "Brother Runt" Dudley just had a Ten Thousand Thumbtacks match against The Monster Abyss that ended with Abyss going through two (!) tables laden with the aforementioned thumbtacks.
I know you'll be okay. You're going to make some new fans very happy someday. It's getting late. I have to go. Listen, I'll call you, alright?