Punk also took some shots at Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson and his struggling Hollywood career, and made a point of ripping into Pat McAfee following his return as Randy Orton's mystery ally on SmackDown (which has been met with an overwhelmingly negative response).
Branding him Pat "MAGAFee," the Best in the World also referenced WWE's recent decline in ticket sales, suggesting TKO drop the prices so families can actually afford to attend events like WrestleMania.
The whole thing is incredible, and while we're in the dark about how much of it was scripted, Punk's promo has got everyone talking today. There are also rumblings that, yes, TKO will begin dropping the price of WWE tickets over the summer after significantly increasing them in recent years.
You can watch CM Punk's explosive promo in the player below. We've also included a full transcript. That highlights some of the biggest mic drop moments from the Second City Saint.
Roman Reigns is not here tonight. Two weeks ago, shockingly enough with help from his cousins, he put me through the ringside announce table with a PowerBomb, and then he strutted out, very slowly I might add, like he was just the king of the world. And I couldn’t wait to get to Monday Night Raw at Madison Square Garden to get my revenge. And I showed up, cousinless, by myself, with the World Heavyweight Title and these two fists, and I got my receipt. And I put Roman through the ringside announce table, alone.
Roman Reigns says he hates me. And I say, good, because if Roman hates me, that tells me I’m exactly where I need to be: fraud checking goofs like him who hate me because I won’t trade my authenticity for approval. Being hated by losers is the price I pay by not being one of them.
Keep chanting, maybe he’ll show up. I doubt it, but maybe. What, are you gonna be mad at me because he didn’t show up because I damn near crippled him? I showed up, and I’m an old man. Old, not weak.
Roman Reigns says he hates me, and I understand. I know why he hates me. But now let me take a moment to explain to everybody who bothered to show up to Houston tonight why I hate Roman Reigns.
See that sign? It says WrestleMania: Las Vegas. That’s the biggest show of the year, the granddaddy of them all. And Roman, we both have the tools to climb the ladder and make it to the pinnacle of this king of sports. The difference is, my tools are self-made, and they’re sharpened to a deadly point through years of self-belief and hard work, and sometimes spite, but always sacrifice. And your tools, well, they’re store-bought and they’re hand-delivered, and they’re like you: they’re plastic.
See, back in the day, I was too young and stupid to really understand, but now I’m too rich and old to give a damn. But I understand why this company, why TKO sends you, your beltless ass to Jimmy Fallon. It’s because you’re safe and you’re boring and you’re plastic and you’re saccharine and you’re manufactured. And me? I’m dangerous. You never know what I’m gonna do or what I’m gonna say.
Why is it that I can film half a dozen television shows and movies and never miss a goddamn day, but you? You use it as a crutch to not show up and somehow these people are gonna boo me when I give them the news that you’re not here? You know I’m right. And when you do bother to show up, you show up late, you gleefully leave early, and you puff your chest around in the back like you’re The Rock. And at least The Rock is a Hollywood superstar. Oh, I’m sorry, was a Hollywood superstar. Just like you, Roman, were a champion. But that fairy tale is long over, because this is pro wrestling and not cinema.
See, my bloated cousin isn’t on the board of directors. I don’t surround myself with wisemen and advocates and yes men who want to protect me from the truth. My daddy wasn’t a pro wrestler who gave me a favored job because I sucked at football. No. I have paid my dues, and I have earned and deserved everything that I’ve busted my ass for. And you’re just a bucktooth nepo-baby who ate dog food for a weird old man. And that weird old man, for years, treated me like a dog, and he expected me to smile. But I had FU money, so I took that and my dignity, and I left. And that’s why you hate me. It’s because you can’t control me like you control some of the people, like you control your cousins in your family. They can’t control me.
Are we having fun yet? See, be careful what you wish for when people ask me for a pipe bomb without understanding what it means. This is what you get.
Roman, you can brag about how many times you’ve main evented WrestleMania, but if me or anyone else were afforded as many opportunities as you have and sucked at the first eight of them so spectacularly bad, we would be fired and blackballed. But you can’t blackball me. They can’t blackball me. And listen up: I can gleefully stand on the bridge and blow it up, because bitch, I know how to swim.
And you would think that I’m done, but I’m not, because everybody is getting it tonight. Pat MAGAFee. You buggy-whipped, no-brain hillbilly, you think you can come here to the business, my business of pro wrestling, and run your mouth? Well, you just wrote yourself a check that your narrow ass can’t cash. You want to talk about ticket sales? Do me a favor: call up that agent that was fooling you up with stuff to shoehorn you into this business and this show and tell him to lower the ticket prices. I’ll be damned if I’m gonna have you, somebody that kicked a football for a living, come to my business and talk to me about selling tickets and putting asses in seats. You got a receipt coming to you.
Houston, lower the ticket prices, because I want all of these families to come and watch me stand on Roman Reigns’ throat at WrestleMania. Because my name is CM Punk, and I approve this message.