God damn boy, ya are a special kind of fuckin’ stupid.
Ya’ll boys see a big feller with an accent and go to Kostoff right away, I think Sektor called and asked ya fer that part of his promo back. Wonder why Vegas had odds on that one? It’s probably because you inbred morons have been ‘round the bush so many times ya’ll go after the same thing. That’s why I called it low hanging fruit Michael, incase ya were wonderin’. So yes, I was right, ya are predictable.
Michael, in my travels I’ve come across hundreds of idiots just like yerself. Full of angst and vigor that only comes from a teenage life full of sittin’ in a basement cuttin’ yerself and listenin’ ta My Chemical Romance while mommy fucks lucky feller number seven. Did ya think ya were original? Ya think yer the first guy ta come out and be an edge lord talkin’ ‘bout how kneein’ peoples skulls in gets him off? Yer just like every other prick with a big mouth whose had a half ounce of success. Ya got everyone ‘round here’s number. ya beat up the same twenty or so guys and ya declare yerself a livin’, walkin’ God. It’s the same story that every half decent six-foot vanilla clown fuck has ever decided ta tell.
Here’s the big reveal though Mike, I ain’t from ‘round here.
I’m not every mongrel on this roster shakin’ and shittin’ themselves when they end up comin’ ‘cross Michael Best. I just ain’t wired that way, it just ain’t in me ta be afraid of some feller I could toss inta the upper deck like a nerf vortex football. See Mike, ta me, yer some feller named Mike. Sure yer the baddest guy in this yard, but the truth is, what does it say ‘bout the yard? Seems like ya’ll have really gotten’ that gene pool pretty shallow.
Mikey, ya faced Dan Ryan, physically were prolly the most alike. Hell we’re from the same damn state. Ya know, entirely different upbringings and backgrounds, but I’m sure at least some similar pleasures and enjoyments. I enjoy punkin’ fucks like yerself, and I ‘magine Dan enjoys it too. Mike, ya talked ‘bout yerself bein’ a superior athlete. And it made me question a couple of things ya said earlier. See Mike, yer stupidity became a puzzle ta me.
Ya do realize I’m an absolute freak of fuckin’ nature, right? Dammit, I thought John and I already went over this. They actually gave me an education, like fer free, because that’s how big of a fuckin’ freak show I am. Legit, without a shadow of a fuckin’ doubt, I’m goin’ ta be the most terrifyin’ legitimate human specimen you’ve ever been in an octagon with. I make guys like Dan Ryan look like they move in slow fucking motion. They don’t make them like me Mike, so I don’t know what misconceptions ya seem ta have, but I’m done educatin’ you.
Michael, we talked an awful lot ‘bout what gets ya off. Simple minds, simple subjects and all, but lets talk ‘bout what’s gonna get me off on Saturday night. It won’t be the moment where I crush yer larynx, that’ll just be what finally gives me a lil bit of wood, ya know, that tinglin’ sensation in yer balls that ya like ta talk ‘bout. It won’t be watchin’ yer eyes flutter and roll inta the back of yer dome, and it won’t be when the referee stops me from smashin’ yer skull in with a few bonus rounds from my anvil sized fists.
It’ll be the fuckin’ quiet Mike. The deathly silence of that arena when I break that fuckin’ streak. When their God is rendered a fuckin’ mortal, that moment, that’s when I’ll cum in my shorts. It’ll be right before the eruption, during the calm before the storm. When ya can hear an actual pin drop in the upper deck, when the hot dog vendor turns ta look and see what the fuck just transpired. While yer on the mat and yer concussed brain is still tryin’ ta match up what both yer eyes are seein’ inta one fuckin’ picture. When yer ears are ringin’ worse than an infantryman on D-Day, and ya have that cold realization that with out the streak yer just ‘nother sorry lonely pathetic sack of meat livin’ out his piss ant existence on this small fuckin’ earth.
That’s when I’ll get off.