The logo for HOTv flashes across the screen, followed by the logo for High Octane Wrestling. Instead of cutting directly to the show, however, the HOFC logo fades into the screen, and the live crowd in attendance is on their feet for the inaugural edition of the new High Octane Fighting Championship show, live on HOTv!
The camera pans around the arena on the way to visit the announce team, and yes, folks… the signs are back.
ROB FUCKING MICHAELS
I STILL DON’T GET LESTER MOREGRIMES
IS THIS SHOW CANON?
I’LL FIGHT YOU, MIKE
SUTLER IS THE YOUNG GOD
REESE IS A QT
Finally, the camera settles on the Hall of Fame announce team of Joe Hoffman and Benny Newell, who are ready to introduce tonight’s show.
Joe Hoffman: Hello everyone, and WELCOME to the first edition of HOFC here on HOTv. I’m Joe Hoffman, joined as always by my broadcast partner “Big Buff” Benny Newell, and we’re coming to you live with five exciting matches to kick off the HOFC era of HOW.
Benny Newell: Four exciting matches and a con artist versus sentient lettuce, Joe.
Joe Hoffman: Agree to disagree, then. To top things off, tonight’s main event features an exhibition contest between Clay Byrd and Cecilworth Farthington, followed by an announcement as to just WHO will be the next challenger to the HOFC Championship. I’m told that the answer may legitimately be shocking, Benny.
Benny Newell: Pissing on an electric fence is shocking, Joe. I bet it’s Drunk Zion.
Joe Hoffman: All this and more tonight folks, so stay tuned as we head down to the ring for our opening match between Lester Moregrimes and Xander Azula.
The camera cuts down to the ring, and it’s evident that tonight’s test show is running streamlined and on a smaller budget. Entrances have been foregone, and the competitors have already made their way down to the ring in preparation to fight. As the cage is secured, both Xander Azula and Lester Moregrimes take their respective corners. Rick Stevens explains the rules, and now both men signal that they’re ready to fight.
DING DING DING
The moment the bell rings, Xander Azula all but roars his way across the octagon, the smaller man immediately laying into Lester Moregrimes with lefts and rights! Thanks to the element of surprise, Lester is driven back against the wall of the cage as he tries to cover up.
Joe Hoffman: In the promos leading up to this match, Xander Azula called himself a force of nature. It looks like he’s decided to live those words tonight!
Benny Newell: Pffff, who cares what that Scientology Lite dickhead has to say? All that matters is that they beat the Hell out of each other while I drink. Speaking of–CHEERS!
After absorbing some more punishment, Moregrimes makes the decision to break his guard by throwing a wild elbow. Luck is on his side, it turns out, since it connects soundly with the side of Xander’s head, dropping Azula to the mat! Xander’s not down for the count, though, by any means–and this time, when he goes back to the well for another bumrush? Moregrimes is meeting him, a flurry of punches and elbows exchanged between both men!
Joe Hoffman: While the tale of the tape may have you believing otherwise, this is proving to be one Hell of an even bout so far!
Benny Newell: See, you SAY that, Joey… but what’s happening says otherwise!
Indeed, even though both men are throwing bombs at one another, Xander is slowly being driven backward. Azula senses this and ups the aggression of his offense, though it’s clear that he’s got one Hell of a mountain to climb. As a matter of fact, the larger Moregrimes is pushing the advantage of his superior size and reach to keep Azula’s brain scrambled–enough so that after a couple of stiff punches? Lester’s lifting both his hands into the air before clenching them into fists.
Joe Hoffman: Moregrimes is loading his 12-Gauge–
Instinct–or perhaps lingering rage from their heated war of words–has Xander ducking behind Lester, arms encircling his opponent’s waist before Moregrimes is bodily lifted and slammed to the mat in a rolling German Suplex!
Benny Newell: CHAOS THEORY OUT OF NOWHERE! I can drink to that!
Quickly releasing the hold, Azula drops to one knee. One hand seizes Moregrimes by the hair while the other drives itself into his face, Xander’s features locked in a snarl as he does all he can to beat his way THROUGH the other man’s head. Try as he might, Lester can’t cover up… and it’s not too long after that when Stevens intervenes, calling for the bell.
Winner: Xander Azula via TKO
Joe Hoffman: I think I see a pattern emerging–
Benny Newell: What, that I’m already a third of the way through my bottle? No shit, Sherlock!
(The following is a paid advertisement for Reesemart.)
As QT Reese cannot afford actors or a decent camera, the set for this apparent advertisement is simply him standing in front of a green-screened image of a row of chainsaws and axes for sale. The background looks familiar to that of any Home Depot with an abundance of orange decor. Because it is. Reese himself has a goofy grin smeared on his equally goofy face, decked out from head to torso in Reesemart-branded swag. A pair of cheap pleated khakis and clunky black dress shoes round out the eyesore.
QT REESE: Hi everyone, Christmas Reese here, and let me tell you that you’re gonna FLIP…
QT’s body begins to crudely rotate upside down and back onto his feet in the same position. It is a very bad attempt at incorporating animation within the low-budget video that he apparently thought would look cool. It doesn’t.
QT REESE: …for all of the great death match accessories we have RIGHT HERE at Reesemart!
A “pop” sound effect is heard, introducing the second piece of awful animation in the commercial. Appearing from thin air next to QT is a smiling cartoon hacksaw.
QT REESE: Look who it is! It’s the official Reesemart mascot, Tom Sawyer! What in the world are you doing here, Tom?
TOM SAWYER: Guhhh hey there, Christmas!
The cartoon’s voice bears a striking resemblance to QT’s squeaky-pitched tone, only attempting a poor impersonation of Disney’s Goofy.
TOM SAWYER: Everybody knows Reesemart’s got the lowest prices around, but what about their selection? What in the world do ya got here anyway?
QT REESE: Well, I’m glad you asked that, Tom. Here at Reesemart, you’ll find everything you need, such as hammers…
As Reese begins to list off the items, additional stock images of each piece of merchandise appear on the screen.
QT REESE: …chains, light tubes, steel chairs, aluminum chairs, wooden chairs, Belt Pencil Holders, and more. And Tom, we’ve even got hand-crafted SHANKS made by real prisoners!
TOM SAWYER: Yeah, right! How do we know they’re made by real prisoners?
QT REESE: Simple! We include their rap sheet in every package, so you know you’re getting the authenticity that you pay for! Like these two craftsmen right here!
The scene is replaced by a screenshot of two of those “rap sheets,” which feature photos of Bobby Dean and Cancer Jiles that have been doctored to look like mugshots. Underneath them lists their crimes, although it would be hard to validate the legitimacy of “DIDDLING THEMSELVES IN A MOVIE THEATER” and “CLIMBING INSIDE A PORTABLE TOILET TO FULFILL STRANGE FETISHES” as actual charges.
TOM SAWYER: Wow! I guess Reesemart is the real deal!
QT REESE: You bet, Tom! So come on down today because…
There is a fade to the Walmart-ripoff logo that accompanies a familiar saxophone tune. A soulful chorus provides yet ANOTHER potential copyright infringement claim, only this time from fast food chain Popeye’s.
𝄞Love that weapon from Reesemart!𝄞
Officially a sponsor of HOFC, we’re pretty sure.
As we return from commercial, Adam Ellis and Wabid Wabbit are already inside of the cage and ready to start this one out. After the typical introductions and bell, Wabbit and Ellis circle each other.
At first, Ellis looks apprehensive but lunges forward anyway, although Wabbit steers him right into the cage. Wabbit kicks Ellis in the back numerous times, working him to the ground and then meets Ellis down there, taking the rookie’s head and slamming it off the canvas. Wabbit tries for a punt kick but Adam rolls out of the way at the last possible second! Ellis tackles Wabbit to the ground and reigns a fury of punches down on his “happy” looking bunny mask. Ellis drives five knees into the side of Wabbit’s skull and then whips him into the chain fencing. Wabbit bounces off, walks right into a STIFF kick and an implant DDT.
Ellis deadlifts Wabbit to his feet and half nelson suplexes the New York native into the cage. Wabbit wobbles around before Ellis charges at him but Adam is surprisingly put down by a Samoan drop. Wabbit struggles into position but finally applies an arm bar to Ellis. Ellis shouts in agony.
Benny Newell: What a fucking moron, what is this, Looney Tunes?
Joe Hoffman: Ellis may be about to tap, Benny. This could be over!
However, able to shift his weight, Ellis rolls onto his side and escapes the submission. Both men get to their feet and even though Wabbit is up first, Ellis leaps and drives his right knee forward, catching Wabbit under the mask and almost knocking it off!
A small trickle of blood rolls down Wabbit’s neck as he tries to swat Adam Ellis away but isn’t able to. Ellis drives Wabbit back-first into the cage before drilling his right elbow into the bunny’s skull over and over and over.
A t-bone suplex follows and puts Wabbit square in the center of the octagon. Ellis slides into position, hoping to apply a modified STF but Wabbit gets an elbow up, nicking Ellis on the temple to buy Wabid some time. Once to his feet, Wabbit hits a short-arm clothesline to Ellis. Wabbit takes Ellis, throws him into the cage and looks for a bicycle kick upon return but Ellis spears Wabbit to the ground…
…And locks in the STF.
Joe Hoffman: Ellis locks it in! He’s got it!
Benny Newell: Wabbit Season is on, folks. Next.
Wabbit tries to fight out of it but it’s no use. He taps.
Winner: Adam Ellis via Submission
Ellis’ hand is raised, proudly winning his first HOFC match, and first ever HOW match, here on HOFC 1.
The camera switches to backstage as “The Vintage” Conor Fuse stands.
Conor Fuse: Hello Gamers and Gamettes! Last week, I secured my spot as the number one contender to the High Octane World Championship at Bottomline. Well shit, hey Sutler, it’ll be really good to see you again. I haven’t seen too much of you recently. I thought we were supposed to do this forever? Or was that something I’ve just been saying? Anyway… rumour has it you’ll be in a World Title defense next week and I can’t wait to get an up close, personal view of that. In fact, I’ll be playing as you to make sure you pull off the victory against whatever god-forsaken BOT is thrown in your direction.
Conor takes a moment to reveal he’s holding a wireless XBox controller. Fuse pretends he’s playing a game on it for a moment before laughing, lowering the controller and looking into the camera intensely.
Conor Fuse: All fun and Games aside, buddy, I still have to congratulate you man-to-man for winning War Games. It’s a hell of an accomplishment and I mean that. No sarcasm, no bitterness, no nonsense. You did great. And you seem to get whatever the hell you want outta this place because you’re extremely talented.
Conor takes a moment before continuing.
Conor Fuse: Well I’m talented too, Sut. The guys in the back can make all the snide virgin jokes they’d like but I didn’t ONLY grow up on my discord channel. I didn’t ONLY grow up with a controller in my hand [shows off controller while talking] or with an LCD screen in my face. I also grew up inside that ring. You know, getting my teeth knocked down my throat by a bunch of Bosses. I’m not a one-dimensional walking man-child, I am so much more. I PROVED this when I lasted until the bitter end at War Games. I PROVED this again when I took down Cancer Jiles, a BOSS I’ve NEVER defeated before. But you, Sutler, my newfound friend, YOU are the chosen one and you are on a totally different Level.
Conor nods to himself.
Conor Fuse: Good luck next week. I’ll be right there Playing.
Fuse gives a wink into the camera.
Conor Fuse: After, we’re gonna have a little coronation… crowning Sutler Reynolds-Kael, THE Level 8 ruler of HOW. And me, Conor Fuse? We’re gonna coronate me, too.
Conor Fuse: As the hero, the protector of High Octane, who ends his quest by defeating SRK in a glorious, final boss battle, worthy of all the rendered video game cutscenes possible.
Next week, HOW Refueled returns with Lee Best himself.
We cut to the ring fresh off the opening bell, as Doozer and The Miracle Man begin to circle each other in the cage, feeling each other out. The two exchange range finding jabs, neither connecting with more than each other’s arms.
Benny Newell: Harrison is a scientist in HOFC Hoffman!
Harrison takes the lead shooting in for a single leg, Doozer sprawls. His larger frame making him difficult to take down. Harrison drives through taking the larger man to the cage wall. Doozer sensing the danger he’s in and starts looking for a guillotine. Harrison’s bald head makes it difficult and he is able to slip out.
Benny Newell: Look at that! Right where Harrison wants him!
Harrison goes to clinch but Doozer stomps on The Miracle Man’s foot. Spinning the smaller man into the wall of the cage. Doozer having created separation during the transition begins peppering the body of the covered up Harrison. Harrison manages to retreat off the cage wall, battered and nursing his ribs.
Joe Hoffman: Doozer using his weight to his advantage.
The two resume combat with Doozer circling. His right arm locked back looking to send a Dan Henderson sized missile at The Best Alliance member, while Harrison switches his approach. He fires off a leg kick into the inside of Doozer’s thigh. Doozer takes the punishment, and stubbornly walks through it.
Benny Newell: Look at this idiot! Harrison is going to chop him down like a fucking tree!
Dooze, finally sees his moment and uncorks a heavy right hand smashing into the side of Harrison’s skull. The Miracle Man tries to back off but Doozer keeps coming. A left hook and a right cross later and Harrison moves away from the exchange. Doozer continues to stalk Harrison, and takes a swing, but Harrison manages to get his hand into Doozer’s face pushing him backwards and poking him in the eye.
Benny Newell: Ha! Now Doozer can’t see Harrison. DRINK!
Doozer tries to prevent himself from blinking but Harrison drives a right hand into Dooze’s midsection. Doozer stumbles back, and Harrison smelling blood begins to deliver vicious forearm shots to Doozer’s neck.
Benny Newell: He’s gonna kill the old man!
Doozer manages to push Harrison away from him, and takes a swing with a left hand slamming into Harrison’s cranium. Harrison stumbles, but powers through the blow and keeps smashing Doozer with forearm shots. Doozer goes to a knee and Harrison delivers a knee strike right to Dooze’s mouth. Doozer tries to shake the cobwebs out but Harrison drives another knee into his face.
Joe Hoffman: Harrison getting cocky here!
Harrison tries to come from behind Doozer looking for The Enlightenment, but at the last second Doozer scoops him up onto his shoulders looking for the EggU! Harrison manages to kick himself free and slide down Doozer’s back locking in a cross face chicken wing. He lifts Doozer up.
Benny Newell: IT’S A HARRICLE!
Rick Stevens reaches a 7 count and Doozer starts trying to get to his feet. Doozer looks like he’s going to answer the count, but suddenly he topples back down to a knee– Rick Stevens reaches a ten count, and it’s over.
WINNER: Steve Harrison via TKO
Before the night is out, the next HOFC Title challenger will be revealed.
We get a quick glimpse of the Hall of Famer announce team and ringside as QT Resse, Bobby Dean and Cancer Jiles go through last minute checks from referee Rick Stevens inside of the cage.
Joe Hoffman: And as we continue on what we hope to be the first of many HOFC events, we once again test the rules of the division with our first triple threat match.
Benny Newell: That disgusting dude with the pencil belt that Rick Stevens is currently removing gave me this coupon and it smells like dog shit!
As there is uncomfortable dry heaving from Benny Newell on his headset, Rick Stevens signals for the match to begin. In the immediate opening moments, Bobby Dean does not waste a single second and rushes towards his old friend, current enemy Jiles. Dean swings wildly as Jile tries to block the blows. QT Reese for his part takes a step back and allows the two to fight, occasionally trying to throw out coupons for Reesemark to the crowd, none of which escape the cage. Dean’s mass is too much for Jiles to hold off for too long and one stray fist causes Jiles head to snap back against the cage.
Joe Hoffman: A lot of pent up rage on display from Bobby Dean here.
Benny Newell: It should be illegal to be that girthy in the cage!
QT Reese spots an opening and drills a knee into Bobby’s back, as he hops on one foot for a moment, he is finally able to remove it from the slippery folds of Dean. Jiles backs up into the corner as Dean turns around to face Reese.
Benny Newell: Peanut buttered moron.
For a couple of minutes, Reese and Dean circle each other, each trying to find an opening for a jab or kick but neither are in their athletic primes and this proves to be difficult on either end. Jiles sees Bobby move towards him and from his place in the corner and drills a boot right into the back of his knee. Bobby staggers for a moment and looks incredibly pained at Jiles’ sneaky move. Reese is quick to take advantage, grabbing Dean by the arm and drills a kick straight to the man’s kidney. Dean lets out a horrendous howl as he staggers backwards, eventually collapsing on top of Jiles.
Joe Hoffman: I know everything goes…
Benny Newell: I’m not staying here if he pisses all over the mat.
With both men in place, Reese mounts the second rope and drops down with all his imaginable weight with his Brown Star Press. He uses the ropes to quickly pull himself back to an even footing as Rick Stevens begins the count. Reese keeps his eye on Dean and he assumes the crushed Jiles underneath. As Stevens reaches the count of seven, Reese is surprisingly spun around and kicked firmly in the dick. As he reactively grabs his crotch and goes mildly cross-eyed, he’s hit in the face with Terminal Cancer. A quick replay shows Jiles rolling out of the way as Reese brought his weight on Dean.
The count is elementary from there, as Rick Stevens counts to ten and hands the victory to Jiles.
WINNER: Cancer Jiles via Knockout
Joe Hoffman: Jiles demonstrating that he is still a wily veteran. Whether that will work against Cecilworth Farthington at Bottomline remains to be seen.
Benny Newell: We haven’t even seen the best of Jiles yet, Hoffman. Lee Best knows talent, and this guy broke two undefeated streaks in the same year. This is only the beginning.
The show finds itself backstage in the company of Cecilworth Farthington, stopping his warm up for the night’s main event for a few seconds. Cecilworth gives a cheeky grin and looks towards the camera.
Cecilworth Farthington: Clay, baby, sweet child of mine, you’re meant to be an educated guy, I thought you’d be able to read between the lines. I didn’t say you didn’t DESERVE your eighteen thousand title shots, I just pointed out you failed every single time. Due to being a big fat failure. Next week, if I feel merciful, you will fail against Sutler too. That’s what you do Clay, you get hyped up, get cocky, think you’ve finally cracked this whole High Octane thing and then when the lights go up, you’re standing in the ring with piss stained underwear.
Cecilworth scrunches up his nose, clearly imagining such an odor.
Cecilworth Farthington: Tonight, inside that cage, my dad is not fighting your dad. My dad was a piece of scum and had less value than a shite encrusted shoe, I’m certain your dad could have beat him up. Sadly, neither of us are our father’s men. I’m a grafter, you’re an entitled brat who thinks cause he talks like he just got out of a dentist’s chair that he’s common folk. In case you haven’t noticed, I have a fight card all booked out at the moment and tonight I aim to demonstrate to Mr. Jiles what happens when he can’t get in a sneaky roll up.
He shrugs his shoulders.
Cecilworth Farthington: Sorry you have to be the example.
Cecilworth gives a hearty chuckle to himself.
Cecilworth Farthington: Let’s see your precious Leecifer stop you from having a broken arm. Maybe when you’re locked tight in the Article 50, you’ll realise who your GOD actually is…
You better pray he’s merciful.
The camera fades as Cecilworth returns to his warm up.
The next promos I read about guys NOT wanting to fight eachother ends in a three way murder, Bobby and QT.
Joe Hoffman: It’s time for tonight’s main event, a highly anticipated HOFC match between Cecilworth Farthington and Clay Byrd.
Benny Newell: I don’t even know how you call this a match, Joe. Clay Byrd takes thicker shits than Cecilworth’s waistline. That arm breaking fuck, I hope he gets prospected.
Rick Stevens is tired. It’s been a long night, and he’s an old man– as the only referee on tonight’s show thanks to Mike Best’s oversight, he’s ready to go home. He half-heartedly checks both men for contraband, but it’s no DQ, so he doesn’t really care.
Once Cecilworth and Clay have both signed off that they’re ready to fight, it’s time for the opening bell.
DING DING DING
The monstrous Clay Byrd steps to the center of the cage, beckoning Farthington forward, but CMF shrugs his shoulders and audibly says “Nah”. There is some laughter from the front row, but Clay isn’t laughing– he hastens his steps, bounding toward the much smaller Farthington and throwing a brutal haymaker to start the match.
Farthington barely gets out of the way, and grabs hold of the arm in an attempt to lock in the Article 50 early. Clay powers out from sheer size and strength, and literally throws Farthington into the cage with all of his might.
Benny Newell: Oh, not this again. TWO MEN DIED LAST TIME, BYRD BRAIN!
Joe Hoffman: Don’t you like Clay Byrd, and hate Cecilworth Farthington?
Benny Newell: I DO NOT HAVE CONSISTENT OPINIONS, JOE. NO ONE UNDERSTANDS ME.
CMF goes face first into the cage, bouncing off and turning back into a hard right hand from Clay Byrd. Clay grabs Farthington by the scruff of his hair, once again smashing his head into the side of the cage with sheer brute force. Farthington bounces off, and this time he’s down on the canvas like he’s been shot.
Farthington is up on his hands and knees, pulling himself to his feet. Clay doesn’t waste any time, though, and smashes a huge boot into the side of CMF’s ribcage, sending him skittering back toward the center of the ring. Farthington rolls several times, now holding his ribs as he scampers back to the other side of the cage to get back up.
Joe Hoffman: Size matters, folks. This is why proper MMA fights have weight classes.
Benny Newell: They also don’t have powerbombs or dick kicks. HOFC is fine.
In a groove now, Clay Byrd stalks toward Farthington and lays another boot out to continue doing damage. CMF avoids it this time though, and allows Clay to catch his boot in the cage! The titan is stuck, and Farthington nails him with a rolling elbow to the side of the head as he struggles to get free. Another rolling elbow, and now Byrd awkwardly falls to the canvas, having no balance from his trapped boot. Farthington begins laying in hard soccer kicks to the side of Clay’s skull, showing literally no mercy as the big man is forced to stop trying to get free and cover up for his own safety.
Rick Stevens steps in to try and reset the fight, but Farthington is incensed. He shoves the referee out of the way, warning him it’s No DQ in there, and now the Hall of Famer throws a hard kick to the side of Clay’s knee, bending it awkwardly in the cage. Byrd lets out a roar, but the kick accidentally frees him from his confinement!
Joe Hoffman: CLAY BYRD IS FREE! And he’s PISSED!
Benny Newell: Ol’ Murder Pants fucked UP, DRINK!
Clay is hurting, but he rolls onto his stomach and pulls himself up onto a wobbly leg. Not giving Farthington any extra time to capitalize, the giant Texan rushes from a three point position and barrels into CMF, taking him down with a huge shoulder tackle and setting up for the knockout! Farthington hits the canvas but pops right back up, falling into the trap!
Joe Hoffman: THE TEXAS LARIAT!
Benny Newell: FUCK YOU, YOU ARM BREAKING… FUCK!
At the last moment, Farthington sidesteps the lariat, and this time, he manages to latch on the cross armbreaker! He drops Clay Byrd into the center of the ring, clamping down on the Article 50, as Clay tries to fight against it!
Joe Hoffman: He’s gonna tap… he has to!
Benny Newell: FUCK THAT! A BROKEN ARM IS WORTH THE WIN, CLAY!
Clay looks around, and he’s in the middle of the cage with nowhere to go for help. The tension in his arm is building, and he has no choice– he taps against the mat, as Rick Stevens calls for the bell.
DING DING DING
Farthington is seeing red– he doesn’t even appear to acknowledge the tapout, as Rick Stevens dives into the fray to try and break it up. Security makes their way into the cage as well, and eventually Farthington is pried off his opponent.
WINNER: Cecilworth Farthington via Submission
As he is pulled away, Farthington raises an arm, his eyes still bloodthirsty as Clay Byrd rolls toward the side of the cage, shaking his head. He made the smart move and saved his arm, but at the cost of a very close match against a man who could be the next number one contender to the HOFC Championship.
Normally, the first episode of HOFC would come to an end… but we have a bonus segment.
We cut backstage, to a single shot of the HOFC Championship on top of a large wooden desk. As the camera pans upward, we can see that clearly the Son of God has made himself at home here tonight in his father’s absence. For the first episode of the monthly HOFC show, the champion has his legs kicked up on the desk, with his hands behind his head.
Mike Best: I’m gonna make this short and sweet.
He pulls his legs down from the desk, straightening up in the chair with a smirk on his face.
Mike Best: Tonight’s show was a tremendous success, and I’d like to thank everyone for giving their all to make this run smoothly. I really and truly believe that the HOFC Division was made stronger tonight, and I have faith that this will be a recurring event that makes it the most entertaining and consistent division in High Octane Wrestling. But you don’t give a shit about any of that, right? You just wanna know who the next contender is, and I promised you that you’d find out before this show was over. Well, folks, I have to be honest with you– despite the success of tonight’s show, and despite the promising future of this division… I think it’s really clear that the top contenders for this title are already booked at Bottomline. Cecilworth Farthington and Cancer Jiles are going to fight it out to see who gets a shot at this belt… so who the fuck is going to face me in the meantime?
The champion lets out a dramatic sigh, clearly for the cameras.
Mike Best: We’ve heard you, people. You think that the HOFC Title is just a prop we used to stick me into matches against underwhelming opponents. That I’m just stroking my own cock over here. No one can fathom that I’m the GOAT, so they try to make me sound like a chicken instead. But hey, since we already have a theme for BottomLine… nobody calls me chicken. You wanna see a real match? You wanna see something that is gonna sell some tickets? You’re all shit fucking contenders, so to choose an opponent for BottomLine, I had to go off the radar. Had to go off the beaten bath. Had to go off the active roster. I’ll say these words, and then that’s all you’re gonna fucking hear about it until the next Refueled so… ladies and gentlemen, at BottomLine, Michael Lee Best will defend the HOW HOFC Championship against….
He throws the belt over his shoulder, grinning into the camera.
Mike Best: Lee Best. God of HOW.
HOFC 1 comes to an end.
Talk amongst yourselves.