Latest Roleplays
I get to retire Scott Stevens!
I get to retire Scott Stevens!
I get to retire Scott Stevens!
Jesus Christ Mike.
Did you say this to yourself while tugging at little Kneesus while listening to Lonesome Loser on repeat?
Peter Pan jokes.
Really?
Should I do what I do best and Ctrl + V the Robin Williams suicide on myself?
No?
Let’s continue.
Giving me play by play of what you did to me the last time we stepped inside the squared circle like I was in a Ray McAvay promo.
Yawn.
Using my kid as rage bait.
SMH.
If this is the best you have Michael, it’s flopped harder than the 3 on 1 advantage the Best Alliance had over Darin Zion.
I expected more from you Michael. I expected something more clever and harsh than tongue and cheek clichés. If I wanted toilet humor and standard clichés I’ll just watch your loss to Adonis Smyth or your Battlemania loss. Meh.
You had to have seen this coming because it was always going to come down to this Mike.
Not Kostoff.
Not Solex.
Not Hollywood.
Not Scottywood.
Not Max.
Not America.
Not Jatt.
You and I were always going to end one another, it was inevitable.
We have a long and bitter history with each other and ever since you stuck your nose into LPW we were going to gravitate towards one another once I came to High Octane Wrestling.
War Games matches.
Solitary Confinement.
Rarer than the eGG Bandits not flaking singles matches.
And I’ll give credit where it’s due and you have the edge when it comes to wins and losses, but when there is ever a need for someone to step up and face Mike Best I’m always right there because I’m not scared of you. Maybe I’m still concussed from the knee to the head and I’m not in my right frame of mind, but when a champion is begging for people to face him and when the pity defenses look even more pitiful that’s not good. Lee had to make a call to the bullpen and bring back old reliable, Scott Stevens, from the unemployment line because no one has the balls to face the big bad wolf at War Games.
I know I’m the stats guy and people call me Mr. Data, but I guess the concussion is still affecting me, but could you please inform me when you took my dignity? I may have hit rock bottom, but no one can take my dignity. NO ONE. If the shit that has happened to me throughout my HOW career hasn’t forced me to quit you claiming to have taken my dignity is faker than the tits on Kirsta Lewis.
Since you mentioned my kid and people in HOFC like to peel back the Fourth Wall, shall we pull back the curtain a little? You tell me what time he needs to be at your house so he can be dressed like you for the pay-per-view.
Spoiler: It’s going to be just too SWEET! When I’m standing victorious over you and my son is crying crocodile tears as his real dad defeats his “new dad.”
Better tell Uncle Sutler to pack extra pizza Lunchables and video games because it’s going to be a long ride home after you’ve suffered your final defeat.
For the people that don’t know what we are talking about Mike doesn’t own my son. It was an idea he had to make himself more of a douche bag than normal and I thought it was a great idea. So when Mike says he owns my son, he does when the cameras are on. I don’t abandon my children like John Sektor and Shane Reynolds.
You claim you only lost to me because you wrote a poem. Well I recycled, A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens to beat you.
Which is worse?
The Poem? Or the fact you got Scrooged?
You make these haikus look so easy so let me try.
You can tempt fate.
You can revisit your HATE.
But this isn’t a recycled promo from Four Corners or more.
At War Games, you’ll be left flat on your back like a whore.
Not quite the level of a Mike Best poem, but he can help me improve my HOFC game when he’s retired.
So again, what time do you need my son at your place?
Does next Saturday at 7 PM work for you?
See you at 7, bitch.