An upcoming pro wrestling pay-per-view is meant to make you feel jazzed.
This feeling is meant to intensify by the week as the various storylines reach a crescendo of heat, excitement, anticipation. You are meant to not be able to think or talk about anything else. You are meant to unashamedly geek out. You are meant to panic, even, worried about your most anticipated match not getting a decent amount of time. You are meant to ask yourself if the in-ring action can possibly level up to the frenzy of the hype. You are not meant to ask if the upcoming opponents can co-exist as they tag for some reason. You are certainly not meant to ask this f*cking question twice, Jesus Christ.
Somewhere, in a town not too far from your own, there's a person. That person, clutching their Fiend replica belt and Liv Morgan sherpa blanket that doubles as something else, the sick freak, watches Monday Night RAW in a state of profound anxiety. They wonder whether Asuka and Rhea Ripley can put aside their differences and co-exist to win the prestigious Women's Tag Team Championships.
Everybody else - real people that Vince McMahon thinks do not exist, for they are capable of actual thought - thinks this build sucks sh*t.
If Daniel Bryan is the solution to a problem, that means a problem must have first existed. That problem was Edge, beloved babyface on the crest of his miraculous comeback, being dry and boring. Edge, and really this entire storyline, has mistaken storytelling that takes itself incredibly seriously for something worthy.
It is WWE's version of parodic Oscar-bait and proved so drab that Bryan, necessitating Edge's heel turn, was incorporated into the storyline.
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