I want you to picture something with me. It's
the present day, February 2nd, 2026. We are sitting
here in the studio and between us is a stack
of paper that is Honestly, a little intimidating.
It's more than a little. It's a mountain. We're
talking court documents, industry reports, billboard
charts, police reports, and marketing case studies
stretching back over 15 years. And what's wild
is that if you split this stack right down the
middle, you'd swear we were researching two completely
different people. 100%. It's a true Jekyll and
Hyde situation. Totally. On my left, I've got
the file on a global icon. A guy who can slap
his handwritten logo on a box of cereal and it
sells out. minutes. A guy who just last year
in 2025 dropped Jack Boys 2 and watched it debut
at number one like it was nothing. He is a corporate
darling for Nike, for Oakley, you name it. The
Midas touch, everything he puts his name on turns
to gold. That's one side of the staff. And on
your right. On my right, I'm looking at mugshots,
plural. I'm looking at lawsuits involving millions,
maybe billions of dollars. I'm seeing terms like
mass casualty event, inciting a riot and disorderly
intoxication. And of course, the reports on the
bridges he absolutely torched in the corporate
world just a few months ago. And yet. It is all
the same man. Jock Bramon Webster, too. The world
knows him as Travis Scott. Or The Flame. Or Cax's
Jack. The man with a hundred nicknames and, like
you said, two distinct realities. That is the
mission today. We aren't just reading a biography.
We need to figure out how a college dropout from
Houston managed to become a cultural monolith,
an entity that is equal parts musical genius
and corporate branding magnet, while simultaneously
navigating a career defined by incredibly volatile
highs and some really... tragic, controversial
lows. It's a fascinating case study because it
defies the standard laws of celebrity gravity.
Usually chaos is a liability. You know, if you
are a chaotic element, brands run away from you.
Oh, for sure. They want predictability. They
want safety. But for a very long time, for Travis
Scott, chaos wasn't a liability. It was his currency.
Chaos is currency. I like that. But looking at
the headlines from late 2025 and early 2026,
it feels like inflation might finally be hitting
that currency. That is the big question, isn't
it? Has the value of the rager lifestyle finally
crashed? Has the bill come due? We have so much
to get through. We're going to talk about his
sound. And I don't just mean he uses autotune.
We need to really get into the weeds of how he
constructs these sonic landscapes that sound
like nothing else. And we'll talk about Bjork.
Yes. The Bjork influence, which I still can't
quite wrap my head around, but we'll get there.
We're going to talk about the time he broke the
McDonald's supply chain. Not figuratively. No,
not figuratively. He literally caused a meat
shortage. And we absolutely have to discuss the,
well, the train wreck that was his stint in the
WWE last year. The WWE situation is honestly
the perfect lens for where we are right now.
It's where the immovable object of corporate
structure finally met the unstoppable force of
Travis's chaotic indifference. Ooh, well put.
But before we get to the body slams and the burgers,
we have to go to Houston. Because you can't understand
the rager without understanding where the rage
comes from. Right. 1991, Jacques Bermond Webster
II is born. And his origin story is interesting
because it's not a straight line. It's a tale
of two childhoods. Lay it out for us. So his
father was a soul musician and entrepreneur.
His mom worked for big tech companies, Apple,
AT &T. So there's professional ambition in the
bloodline. OK, so a solid professional background.
You'd think. But for the first six years of his
life, from ages one to six, Travis lived with
his grandmother in South Park, Houston. And for
anyone listening who isn't from Texas, we need
to be very clear. We are not talking about the
cartoon. No, not at all. South Park Houston in
the early 90s was a notoriously rough area. High
crime, high poverty. And Travis has been very
explicit about this time in his life. He credits
it with giving him his edge. I remember reading
an interview where he talked about seeing mad
bums and seeing random crazy shit just walking
down the street. Exactly. He described seeing
people who looked hungry and grimy. He said,
and I'm quoting here, I saw people looking weird.
I was always like, I got to get the fuck out
of this shit. Wow. When you are four or five
years old and that is your daily visual input,
it wires your brain differently. It installs
a survival drive, a sense of urgency. But then
at age six, the script flips completely. He moves
to Missouri City. Right. A middle class suburban
area bordering southwest Houston. Suddenly the
environment is different. It's safer. It's quieter.
It's, you know, manicured lawns and two car garages.
So he gets both worlds. He gets both worlds,
but he still has that memory of the hood etched
into him. He has the edge, but now he has the
resources. It's a contrast that I think defines
his art and his whole persona, really. He's got
that gritty survivalist drive from South Park.
Right. But he also had the suburban resources
to actually explore his creativity. He wasn't
just on the corner. He was in the drama club.
He was. He participated in musical theater at
Elkins High School. That's a detail people often
gloss over. The guy known for starting riots
in mosh pits was a theater kid. It makes sense,
though, when you think about it. His shows are
theatrical. They're performative to the extreme.
Precisely. He graduated high school at 17, and
he actually headed to the University of Texas
at San Antonio. He was on the correct path. the
one his parents, with their professional backgrounds,
probably wanted for him. But this is where the
divergence happens. The rebel narrative kicks
in hard. It really does. Sophomore year, he drops
out. And not just, I'm taking a break, he drops
out to pursue music full time. And he tries to
hide it from his parents, which is a classic
move. Which never works for long. When they found
out he was using the money for school to buy
music equipment and plane tickets, they cut him
off. And I mean cut off. No money, no support.
Get out of the house. This kicks off what we
call the homeless phase. And I think this is
crucial context. A lot of people look at Travis
Scott today, the private jets, the jewelry, the
mansions, and they assume it was easy. But he
spent a significant amount of time sleeping on
floors. He moves to New York first, right? Washington
Heights. He's sleeping on a friend's floor, spending
all his time at Just Blaze's studio. Just Blaze
is a legendary producer, massive in the Rockefeller
era. A giant. And Travis was just hovering, you
know, trying to be useful, trying to be seen,
trying to absorb everything he could. But New
York is a meat grinder. It chews people up. It
is. And it didn't happen for him there. He got
frustrated with the lack of movement. So after
only four months, he makes a bold move. He goes
to Los Angeles. And this is where the story gets
really dark for a minute. This is the low point.
It really is. He went there because a friend
promised him housing. Come to L .A. I gotcha.
Travis flies out, lands. and the friend ghosts
him. That is a nightmare scenario. You're across
the country, no money, parents aren't speaking
to you, and your one lifeline just vanishes into
thin air. He was truly on the edge. He had to
crawl back to Houston briefly, where his parents
essentially kicked him out again because they
were still furious about the dropout situation.
So he's got nowhere to go. Nowhere. So he goes
back to L .A., this time sleeping on the couch
of a friend who was a student at USC. He was
living on the margins. He talks about having
no food, no car, just a laptop and a vision.
And that desperation, you have to believe, fuels
the work. He wasn't making music for fun at that
point. He was making music to survive. And then
the lightning strike happened. The discovery.
It's almost cinematic. T .I., the king of the
South, the head of Grand Hustle Records, hears
a production Travis did called Lights Love Sick.
Now, T .I. hearing a track is one thing, but
what happened next is... The aha moment. TI's
representative contacts Travis. They get him
into a studio. TI walks in, doesn't say much,
just listens to some beats. Then Travis plays
a track called Animal, and TI just starts freestyling
over it. In that moment, he must have known.
Oh, absolutely. In that one session, Travis went
from a homeless kid on a couch to a Grand Hustle
affiliate. His entire life changed. It's wild
to think how fragile that chain of events is.
If TI is in a bad mood that day or if the rep
doesn't play that one email, we aren't having
this conversation. Not at all. And that's where
the name Travis Scott starts to really mean something.
It's a constructed identity. Right. It's not
his birth name. Travis is a tribute to his favorite
uncle and Scott. That's from Scott Mascuti. Kid
Cudi. Exactly. And that is a huge signal. If
you name yourself after Kid Cudi, you are telling
the world, I am not a traditional rapper. You're
signaling a different kind of artistry. Let's
dig into that because Travis has famously said,
I'm not hip hop, which sounds insane for a guy
who headlines rolling loud. What does he mean
by that? He means he's not a lyricist in the
traditional sense. He's not Nas. He's not Jay
-Z. He's not trying to tell you a linear story
with clever wordplay. He is an architect of sound.
A vibe curator. It's more than a vibe. It's a
texture. Vulture described his sound as unremittingly
dark, syncretic, hires, and above all, unnatural.
Think about that word, unnatural. He leans into
the artificiality. He's not trying to sound like
a real person in a room. He embraces it. Look
at how he uses autotune. For a lot of artists,
especially in the early 2010s, autotune was a
crutch to hit the notes. For Travis Scott, it's
a distortion pedal. It's an instrument. He treats
his voice like a synthesizer. He layers it with
so much reverb and delay that it sounds like
he's broadcasting from inside a cave on Mars.
Exactly. And that's before you even get to the
ad -libs. A lot of credit there goes to Mike
Dean, the legendary engineer who helped sculpt
that sound with Travis. Mike Dean is a genius.
A legend. They sculpt the stereo field so the
ad -libs... aren't just background noise. They're
popping out at you from the left, the right,
behind your head. It's that psychedelic trap
sound. It's druggy. It's hazy. It's disorienting.
And this is where the Bjork influence comes in.
Because on paper, Travis Scott and Bjork have
nothing in common. One is an Icelandic art pop
icon. The other is a Houston trap rock star.
But sonically, they share a philosophy. Bjork
uses her voice as a texture, often blending it
with electronic chaos and unconventional song
structures. Travis does the same thing within
the trap framework. So it's not about the content,
it's about the approach. It's all about the approach.
He also cites Bon Iver, Tame Impala, and Tom
York from Radiohead. He's taking indie rock and
avant -garde pop textures and slamming them against
these earth -shattering 808 bass lines. That's
the formula, and it worked immediately. Let's
walk through the discography, but I don't want
to just list dates. I want to talk about the
evolution of this sound and his career. Okay.
So you have the mixtapes, Owl Pharaoh in 2013
and Days Before Rodeo in 2014. These established
the sound. They were dark, raw, and incredibly
energetic that built the cult following. D's
Before Rodeo is the one that just got an official
release on streaming 10 years later in 2024,
and it still went to number one. Which tells
you how foundational that project was for his
fan base. Then you get Rodeo in 2015. The major
label debut. And honestly, a lot of purists will
tell you this is still his best album. It was
hungry. It felt dangerous. Antidote was on there,
peaking at number 16. It showed he could make
a radio hit that still sounded weird and dark.
It wasn't a pop sellout. Not at all. Then Birds
in the Trap sing McKnight in 2016. That was his
first number one album. This is where he solidified
his status as a legitimate superstar, not just
an underground king. But the true explosion,
the moment he went from superstar to cultural
monolith, was 2018. Astroworld. Named after the
defunct theme park in Houston. That concept is
so important. He wasn't just selling an album,
he was selling nostalgia. He was selling a world
you could enter. It was an experience. And the
music backed it up. Sicko Mode. I mean, Sicko
Mode is a masterpiece of production. It has three
different beat switches. It features Drake at
his peak. You couldn't go outside in 2018 or
2019 without hearing that organ intro. It went
diamond, which is 10 million units, and then
it just kept going. It's now 15 times platinum.
It was a cultural phenomenon all on its own.
That whole album felt like a carnival ride. It
was chaotic, loud, and incredibly fun. And then
we waited. Five years for another solo album.
Which in the streaming era is an eternity. Most
artists would be forgotten. They would. But he
came back in 2023 with Utopia, a much darker,
more serious concept album accompanied by a film,
Circus Maximus. And it was his fourth consecutive
number one album. It proved the gap didn't matter.
The fans were still there. And even now, looking
back at 2025, Jack Boy is two. the compilation
with his label artists debut at number one the
musical output is undeniably consistent it is
bulletproof you can criticize the man you can
criticize the behavior but you cannot claim the
music doesn't connect he has an ear for what
the youth want to hear before they even know
they want to hear it but and this is a huge but
travis scott isn't just a musician if he were
just a musician he'd be rich but he's not just
rich he's a tycoon We have to talk about Cactus
Jack. The brand whisperer. This is where the
story shifts from art to commerce in a way few
artists ever achieve. Lots of rappers have merch
lines. They sell T -shirts, hoodies, maybe get
a sneaker deal. Travis Scott created an ecosystem.
He did. He launched Cactus Jack Records in 2017,
claiming he wanted to help other artists and
avoid the industry bullshit. But Cactus Jack
became a seal of quality that transcended music.
It became a lifestyle brand. And we have to talk
about the McDonald's collaboration in 2020. I
feel like business schools are going to be teaching
this case study for 50 years. They absolutely
should. Think about what it was, the Travis Scott
meal. What was in it? A quarter pounder with
cheese, bacon and lettuce. BBQ sauce on the side
for your fries. And a Sprite. That's it. It wasn't
a new burger. He didn't invent a new sauce. It
was stuff they already had in the kitchen. Exactly.
But it was the first celebrity meal since Michael
Jordan in 1992 that nearly 30 year gap created
an event. It gave it relevance and the market.
Oh, my God. It wasn't just a commercial. It was
a cultural takeover. The memes, the tick tocks
of kids pulling up to the drive through and just.
blasting sicko mode. They turned buying a quarter
pounder into a hype beast activity. It was cool
to go to McDonald's again. And the result, they
literally broke the supply chain. Explain that
for people. They ran out of beef. They ran out
of the specific ingredients for the quarter pounder,
the beef patties, the bacon, the lettuce in multiple
regions across the country. They had a shortage
because so many people were ordering the Travis
Scott. It wasn't a hunger thing. It was a participation
thing. People wanted to be part of the moment.
And the merch drop alongside it. I remember seeing
the McNugget -shaped body pillow. A three -foot
-long body pillow shaped like a chicken nugget.
And it sold out instantly for what? It's absurdist.
It's brilliant. It showed that Travis, or at
least his team, understood Internet culture.
They knew that if they made something ridiculous,
it would go viral and that virality drives sales.
It's the drop culture of streetwear applied to
fast food. Precisely. And he did the same thing
with Fortnite just a few months earlier in April
2020. astronomical. Their virtual concert right
in the middle of the pandemic lockdowns. 27 million
unique participants. He debuted a song with Kid
Cudi the Scots inside the game. A giant Godzilla
-sized avatar of Travis stomping around the map
while players floated in the air. That changed
the game for what a concert could be. It showed
that a digital event could feel like a real cultural
moment. And it sold digital merchandise, skins,
emotes. He was making millions of dollars on
pixels. And we can't skip the sneakers. Yeah.
Nike. Jordan brand. This might be the most powerful
part of his brand empire. The Cactus Jack Jordan
ones. The mocha. The reverse mocha. Yeah. Ask
any sneakerhead. These are the holy grails of
the 2020s. They retail for maybe $170 and they
resell for $1 ,500, sometimes $2 ,000 the second
they drop. It's instant arbitrage. It's like
printing money if you can get a pair. It's not
just Jordans. Air Force Ones, Dunk Lows. Even
recently in 2024 and 2025, he launched his own
signature silhouettes, the Jumpman Jack and the
Zoom Field Jacks. He is Nike's golden goose.
And looking at our notes for 2025, he was named
chief visionary officer of Oakley. What does
that even mean? It means they pay him a lot of
money to be associated with their brand. And
he designed a special kit for FC Barcelona as
part of their Spotify deal. He is everywhere.
Fashion, sports, food, gaming. So you look at
this resume, you see the number one hits, the
burgers, the shoes, the corporate titles. You
think this guy has won the game of capitalism.
Yes, no question. But most. There is a cost.
There is a dark side to the rager energy that
powers this entire machine. You can't monetize
chaos without creating chaos. And that is the
pivot point of his life. The energy that makes
a Travis Scott show exciting, the mosh pits,
the stage diving, the screaming, is the exact
same energy that makes it incredibly dangerous.
And it's not an accident. It's a pattern. A documented
legal pattern. We have to be clear about this.
This isn't just bad luck or things got out of
hand once. Let's go back. This started way before
Astroworld. Way before. 2015, Lollapalooza in
Chicago. Travis is on stage. He tells the fans
to climb over the barricades and rush the stage.
Security is trying to stop them. And he's on
the mic telling them to override security, chanting,
we want rage. He was arrested for that? He was.
Charged with disorderly conduct. He later pled
guilty. He basically shut down a major festival
for an hour. Then you have this Switzerland incident,
also in 2015. This one is ugly. A fan tried to
take a shoe while he was crowd surfing. Travis
stops the show. He points the guy out. And he
tells the crowd on the microphone, fuck him up.
And then he spat on him. He told the crowd to
attack a person. Yes. For trying to steal his
Yeezy. That is, I mean, that's incitement. That's
unbelievably reckless. It is. Then 2017, Arkansas.
Arrested again for inciting a riot at a concert.
Same story. Encouraging fans to bypass security
and rush the stage. Several people were injured,
including a security guard and a police officer.
And then New York, Terminal 5, 2017. A fan. Kyle
Green falls from a third -story balcony. He's
paralyzed. He later sued, saying he didn't jump.
He was pushed by the crowd surge that Travis
was encouraging. Travis's team then dragged him
on stage while he was injured and offered him
a ring. So the warning signs weren't just flashing.
They were screaming sirens for years. But the
industry ignored them because the show sold out.
The chaos was profitable. The brand was built
on this rage aesthetic. Until November 5, 2021.
Astroworld. The Astroworld Festival in Houston.
It was supposed to be his crowning achievement.
A festival in his hometown named after his most
successful album. A pilgrimage for his fans.
And it turned into an absolute nightmare. A mass
casualty crowd crush. Ten people died. The youngest
was nine years old. Ezra Blount, ages nine to
27. Hundreds were injured. It was one of the
deadliest concerts in U .S. history. And the
controversy beyond the horrific loss of life
was about what was happening on stage. while
people were dying in the crowd. Right. The show
kept going for nearly an hour after officials
declared it a mass casualty event. There is video
footage where you can see an ambulance trying
to move through the crowd. Travis acknowledges
it. He says there's an ambulance in there. But
then moments later, the music starts again, and
he's telling the crowd to get wild. You can hear
people in the crowd chanting, stop the show.
Chanting stop the show, trying to climb the camera
platforms to tell operators what was happening.
It was chaos. Now, legally, this is very complex.
Very complex. In June... 2023 a grand jury in
texas declined to indict him criminally explain
that to us why no criminal charges to charge
him with a crime like criminally negligent homicide
you have to prove intent or extreme recklessness
that amounts to intent you have to prove he knew
people were dying and chose to keep playing And
the defense? The defense argued that from the
stage, with the bright lights in his face and
the loud in -ear monitors, he couldn't see or
hear the specific distress. He claimed he didn't
know the severity until after the show. The grand
jury found there wasn't enough evidence to prove
criminal liability beyond a reasonable doubt.
Which is a legal standard, but the civil lawsuits?
Massive, hundreds of lawsuits from the families
of the victims and the injured. Most have been
settled out of court, but the reputational stain
is permanent. He launched Project Heal in 2022,
a $5 million initiative for event safety. Which
was viewed by many, perhaps cynically, as a PR
move, reputation repair. But the real question
remains, did he actually learn? Did the behavior
change after such a profound tragedy? You would
think after 10 people die at your show, you would
become the safest, calmest performer on earth.
You'd be stopping the show if someone tied their
shoelace wrong. You would think. But if we look
at the timeline from 2023 to 2025, the volatility
is still there. The aggression is still there.
Let's run the rap sheet for the last couple of
years post -Astroworld. March 2023. Nebula nightclub
in New York. He gets into an argument with a
sound technician who asked him to lower the volume,
allegedly punches the guy in the face and causes
$12 ,000 in damage to the equipment. Over the
volume being too loud. Allegedly. He settled
that one. No charges were filed. Then June 2024,
Miami Beach. The yacht incident. This one made
all the headlines. Arrested for disorderly intoxication
and trespassing. He was on a charter boat, got
into a dispute, was asked to leave multiple times,
refused, and got aggressive with the crew. The
police came. And this is the moment that really
tells me where his head is at. What did he do
the next day? He immediately released a t -shirt
with his mugshot on it. For $45. It's not tragic,
it's branding. Exactly. He took a moment of personal
failure getting arrested while drunk on a boat
and turned it into a profitable ski -you. He
even edited the mugshot on the shirt to make
himself look cooler, adding sunglasses and the
artwork. It shows a lack of remorse. Or maybe
just a total commitment to the outlaw a bit,
no matter the cost. It suggests he believes he
is untouchable. The intoxication charges were
eventually dropped, but the trespassing charge
remained. Then, just two months later... August
2024, Paris. A fight with his own bodyguard at
the George V Hotel. He then allegedly attacked
a security guard who tried to intervene. It's
just constant aggression. a pattern of it. It
is. And that brings us to the most recent chapter,
the one that happened just a few months ago in
2025, the WWE crossover. This one is just bizarre
to me. Yeah. On one hand, it makes sense. On
the other, it shouldn't be that bizarre. WWE
is a massive global brand. They love celebrities,
Bad Bunny, Logan Paul. They've had huge success
there. On paper, it was a natural fit for Travis
to bring in a younger, cooler audience. So January
2025. WWE Raw moves to Netflix. It's a huge premiere
for them. Travis Scott provides the theme song,
4x4. He walks Jey Uso to the ring. The crowd
goes wild. It looks like a win -win. It started
well, but wrestling requires discipline. It is
a scripted performance that relies entirely on
trusting the other person not to actually hurt
you. It's a dance. And Travis isn't known for
discipline or restraint? Not at all. March 2025,
the Elimination Chamber event. For the non -wrestling
fans, that means he became the bad guy. Right.
It's a scripted betrayal. He helps the rockin'
John Cena attack Cody Rhodes, who is the biggest
babyface, the biggest hero in the company. Okay,
that's good TV. Creates drama. Great TV. Until
Travis throws a punch. In wrestling, you pull
your punches. You make it look real, but you
don't actually connect. Travis reportedly threw
an improper punch. He clocked Cody Rhodes for
real. Ouch. Busted his eardrum. Gave him a black
eye. This is the face of the company, their top
star, who he just injured because he was sloppy
or didn't care to learn. And wrestling locker
rooms are protective of their own. Very. But
they kept going with the plan. They set up an
angle for WrestleMania 41 in April 2025. Travis
Scott and John Cena versus Cody Rhodes and a
partner. It was going to be a marquee match on
the biggest show of the year. But it never happened.
No. Travis appeared at WrestleMania. He interfered
in the main event, took a finishing move from
Cody called the Crossroads, and then he vanished.
Why? What happened behind the scenes? He was
scrubbed. Completely removed as a playable character
from the WWE 2K25 video game. The tag team match
was scrapped. So what came out in the wash? Reports
surfaced that WWE talent and staff found him
lazy and difficult to work with. But the real
kicker was the corporate gossip. It turns out
his spot wasn't earned. It was a favor to Ari
Emanuel. Ari Emanuel, the legendary agent and
CEO of TKO, which owns WWE. Right. Ari Emanuel
is the ultimate Hollywood power broker. He allegedly
forced WWE creative to include Travis. So when
Travis showed up late, didn't want to rehearse
and then injured the top star. The creative team
and the wrestlers revolted. They spit them out.
They did. And that is so significant. WWE puts
up with a lot. They build a superstar out of
Logan Paul. They work with Tyson Fury. If you
are too difficult for the carnival of pro wrestling,
you are in a very dangerous spot reputationally.
It's a barometer, really. It shows that corporate
tolerance has a limit. Even for a star of his
size. Exactly. Ari Emanuel's favor could get
him in the door, but it couldn't keep him there
when he became a liability to the actual product.
So here we are, February 2026. Let's synthesize
this entire chaotic career. We are looking at
a true paradox. We have a man who has topped
the charts in three different decades now. Jack
Boys 2 proves the music is still as viable as
ever. The Nike deal is still active. The money
is flowing. The cultural relevance musically
is still there. The money is flowing. But the
walls are closing in on the behavior. You can
be a rager when you're 25 and coming up. It's
part of the brand. Can you be a rager when you're
turning 35, entering middle age, and you have
a history of lawsuits and botched corporate deals?
The rager lifestyle is high maintenance, and
it has real -world consequences. It does. And
the WWE incident shows that brands are watching.
If you become uninsurable, if you become too
much of a headache, the cool factor stops being
worth the risk. Eventually, the numbers on the
risk assessment sheet outweigh the numbers on
the sales sheet. Which brings us to the final
provocative question. Travis Scott has turned
chaos into a currency. But as he gets older,
does that chaotic, rager lifestyle sustain the
brand? Or does it eventually become a liability
that even the biggest corporate partners can
no longer stomach? Is the Cactus Jack empire
separate enough from the man to survive him?
Right now, they are dangerously intertwined.
And if he doesn't figure out how to separate
the chaos of the art from the chaos of his real
-life conduct, the empire might just crumble
from the inside. A heavy thought to end on. From
sleeping on floors in NYC to breaking the McDonald's
supply chain to getting fired by the WWE, it
has been a wild 15 years. And I have a feeling
the next five will be even wilder. We'll be watching.
Thanks for taking this deep dive with us.