In a moment that had the Phoenix crowd screaming “Holy s**!”* louder than a Brock Lesnar tax audit, R-Truth officially snapped the funny bone and reintroduced himself as the man, the myth, the rebranded legend: Ron Killings.
Fresh off his interference at Money in the Bank, where he helped Jey Uso and Cody Rhodes, Truth returned on Raw—but this wasn’t the dance-happy, mixed-up, 24/7 title-chasing trickster. No, sir. This was Killings, dressed in black, striding through the crowd like a pro wrestling Johnny Cash.
He climbed the commentary desk and told the Phoenix faithful what “they” (aka WWE’s corporate class) wouldn’t:
“You brought me back. Not just R-Truth. Me.”
Then came the truth bomb buffet:
“We all love R-Truth… but R-Truth is too funny. Too nice. Too forgiving. Not me.”
And with that, in a promo that somehow doubled as a personal reckoning and a one-man stage play, he produced a pair of scissors—yes, actual scissors—and cut his own locs on live TV. One. Two. Three snips later, the arena lost its collective mind.
“The Truth has set me free. I am Ron Killings.”
“The whole Truth. Nothing but the Truth.”
Legal oath? Wrestling rebirth? Dramatic slam poetry? You decide.
This was no comedy skit. This was a man shedding a decade-long identity, publicly rejecting the “sideshow” label John Cena threw at him earlier in the night, and walking back into the crowd not as a meme—but as a movement.
For years, fans and critics alike labeled R-Truth a joke. But Ron Killings just rewrote his punchline—and delivered it with scissors, heat, and a name that finally demands the respect he’s earned ten times over.