Ho Ho Fucking Ho!

Nightcat looks festive. He's wearing a tall, red Santa hat. For some reason, he's wearing a huge fur cape. Red, of course.
There's a twinkle in his eye and his huge, toothy grin plastered on his face.

It's that time of year once again. Happy Christmas everybody.

I've just been going over the list. It's a huge responsibility for Nightcat Claus to decide on who's been naughty this year.

It's a long list.
Lots of research. Lots of checks.

Many close calls.

'Tis good that I've got the memory of a cat.

Nightcat taps the side of his head. Sweet Raptor Jesus, he's wearing red mittens with white trim.

A few of you have been good this year.
But most of you. Yes, most. Have been bad. Very bad.

Raising his hand, Nightcat shakes it slowly back and forth. What is with that stupid glove anyway?

Normally, I'd approve, but you've got to understand something.
It's Christmas time, and if there's one thing Nightcat Clause won't tolerate,
It's idiot wrestlers who lack the brain power to avoid pissing him off.

Honestly, killing each other is one thing. I'd watch and laugh. Maybe I'd even give you something extra for the holidays.

But some of you fuckers... I'm not sure how to break this to you.

I might just have to chew your stupid, ugly faces off.

Especially you, Steadfast.

I gave you a little taste of what's to come already.
Twice, in fact.

As expected, you keep begging for more.

Nightcat shrugs. His Santa hat bounces a bit and ends up facing the other way.

I'm not surprised. You really are a proud, stupid bastard.

But Hell, it makes my job easier. You're less likely to run away.

Nightcat kicks something at his feet. It's not quite in view, but it sounds heavy.

Don't worry. I've got something special for you.

For all of you.

That's right, Monkey. I didn't forget about you, so don't worry your old, shit-flinging head.
Can't have you feeling disrespected, can we? Oh no, that wouldn't do at all.

Your gift's here too.

Nightcat kicks again. There's a definite thudding sound.

No, Monkey, I'm not going to tell you what it is. You'll have to wait and see just like everybody else.
Nightcat doesn't play favorites.

No, that's not exactly true. Is it?
There's Lance, but he's a special case. A very special case.
A simple child trapped inside a man's body with the vocabulary of a street thug who attended Yale.
That combination of ultimate weirdness doesn't come along all that often.

No, Lance is a special case. It will almost be a shame to destroy such a goofy specimen, but I'll do it anyway.
For the laughs.

You, Monkey, well, let's just say that I'm not a fan of crazed talk shows.
Nor am I a fan of geezers trying for one last gasp of glory at my fucking expense.

Pick on Steadfast. Fine.
Fuck with Nightcat...

Nightcat shakes his head.

That can't be allowed.
Look at it from my perspective.
What kind of role model would I be for the children if I let some washed up douchebag who's convinced that he's Jerry Springer get one over on me?
Not a very fucking good one, I'll tell you that!

Nightcat rubs his mittens together.

Won't you think of the children, Monkey?
Maybe then you'll understand.

The grin returns.

All this talk about children and washed up douchebags has me thinking of someone else.

Still smiling, Nightcat waves his festive hand.

Hi, Steve!
Aren't you relieved?

I didn't forget about you!
But really, how could I?

Christmas came a bit early for you this year.
Didn't it, Champ?

The smile is gone, leaving Nightcat's face showing no emotion.

It's okay. I'm not going to threaten your family this time, not that your brat ever had anything to fear from me anyway.
You, on the other hand, fall somewhere between Steadfast and Monkey on Nightcat's Christmas list.

You've had a good year. A good run.
I'm sure your kid is proud of you.

It's win-win, Steve.

You've already accomplished exactly what you set out to do during your final run.
I'd applaud you, but I'm wearing fucking mittens. I'd look silly and sound ridiculous.

No reason for regret, right?

When I take the Universal Championship away from you, you can finally walk away forever.
Be a father. Give your brat back her daddy.

Isn't that what you want? What she wants?

Hell, I'm not a child psychologist, but it makes sense to me.

On the other hand, my father was rarely around during my childhood, and I turned out okay.
I mean. Look at me!

The toothy grin returns.

This is really simple.
How badly do you want to remain Champion?

You hold most of the cards for this match. Sure, you could try your damnedest to screw over Nightcat.
You could try to ensure that you face a lesser opponent in your next defense.

It's true. You might even pull it off.
But is that really how you want to play the game, Steve?

Wouldn't you rather prove to everyone that you're a man.
A stupid one, but I digress. That's not really the point I'm trying to make here.

You can stay the fuck out of my way.
Raise my hand after I'm finished dealing with my other friends.

And then.
I'll claim what is mine, and you can retire to the next stage of your life, the proud parent.

It'll be my gift to you.

Merry Christmas.

Reaching down, Nightcat lifts a large, canvas bag that is definitely filled with something, or several somethings. Grinning, he slings it over his shoulder.

Ho Ho Ho.