Let me explain something to you, in terms even a basement-dwelling, Funko Pop-collecting AEW fanboy could understand. I don’t own wrestling—I AM wrestling. I bought WWE, turned it into a global juggernaut, and now I’m supposed to apologize because a few fans can’t afford floor seats? Guess what—this isn’t a soup kitchen. This is the big leagues, baby.
WrestleMania in Saudi Arabia? Damn right. You think I’m gonna turn down nine figures because a few people with Wi-Fi and a conscience get the vapors? The Saudis came to play. They wanted the biggest spectacle in sports entertainment, and I said, "You want The Rock, Cena, Austin, and Roman in the same ring?" They said, “How many zeroes?” And I said, "All of them." End of story. You don't like it? Write a blog. Tweet about it. Cry into your Bullet Club pillow. The rest of the world is watching on 8K TVs from private jets while you’re arguing about work rate on Discord.
And while we’re at it—ticket prices? You think Beyoncé's charging fifty bucks? This is WrestleMania, not a Tupperware party. You want front row, you pay front row money. You want nosebleeds? Grab a telescope and enjoy. It’s not my fault your credit score starts with a three.
LLOYD!
Where the hell are my numbers for the Royal Rumble Saudi pre-sale? And why did I see Kenny Omega trending this morning? I don’t want that twitchy video game elf anywhere near my goddamn company. If he so much as steps foot in a WWE parking lot, I want him tased and launched into a crate labeled “Return to Sender: Jacksonville.”
AND GET ME ROMAN. NOW. I WANT THE TRIBAL CHIEF ON EVERY NETWORK BY FRIDAY OR YOU'LL BE RING ANNOUNCING NXT LEVEL UP IN A MASCOT SUIT!
If you EVER forward me another fan email complaining about our "lack of diversity in title runs," I will personally tie you to a turnbuckle and let Rhea Ripley superkick you into next week.
