Nothin’ but fuckin’ jokes.
EYYOOO GINO IS FROM JERSEY herp derp derp, shut the fuck up, little corny ass redheaded Stepchild of Anarchy. You wanna talk about some shit that’s played out? Jersey Shore got cancelled in 2012, bro, almost as long ago as that one World Title you was just bragging about after telling me to get over a single victory ten years ago. That the best you got? More jokes? Better to have a set of orange abs than a yellow belly, but keep making jokes about hair gel and gym, tan, laundry. My dude you fell into The Gap in 1997 and never crawled out— you been keeping ‘em separated for over 20 years because nobody fucks you long enough to give you real Offspring.
The fuck out of here.
You think I’m SOFT?
My dude you think hardcore is barbed wire and setting shit on fire but that’s because you dabble in being tough. Fuckin’ pretender. I know you see these abs and this tan and you think I’m just some goofball clown show, but I think you forget where I come from. The streets I grew up on ain’t like nothing you ever saw in Connecticut. Little Bristol Bitch playing tough guy with all that metal shit in your face and your afternoon detention tattoos. Where I grew up, you didn’t light a hockey stick on fire to prove you’re a tough guy– when someone puts disrespect on your name, you break their fuckin’ jaw, and I don’t need no barbed wire to teach you that running that mouth has consequences.
But keep talking that shit, tough guy.
The hardest shit you ever did in your life was blow a fuckin’ .09, and you begged a buncha high priced lawyers to get you out of prison after two fuckin’ weeks so you could go back home and play video games. I was a gay teenager on the streets of Jersey City– it hits different when people are screaming “FAGGOT” in your face in a fist fight, instead of commenting it on your Untapped posts. But yeah, keep talking like you’re the toughest motherfucker in the game, when you’re barely ever the toughest motherfucker in the room.
And you ain’t no anarchist, neither.
You held twenty six fuckin’ titles in a company you owned and gave yourself a lifetime achievement award. You put yourself in your own Hall of Fame. I ain’t even gotta make up reasons you’re a bitch, Google did it for me in five minutes. You tryin’a fight the power? Bitch you ARE the power. If I got a fist up my ass, you got your whole head up yours, maybe that’s why everything that comes out that metal mouth is a buncha shit.
NGW stands for Now Gino’s Wildin’, my dude.
On Saturday night we ain’t about to play pretend hardcore wrestler, Scotty, we’re about to have a fist fight and you’re about to get knocked the fuck out. Dudes like you and Mike, you like to talk shit and milk it out, but not me, bro. Refueled can’t come fast enough. I can’t wait to get my hands on you. I can’t wait to break your fuckin’ jaw, bro. And you’re sitting there laughing like I’m the one out of my element.
You think I’m the pretender here?
You don’t belong in HOFC.
My best friend, rest his soul, invented this division. My mentor perfected it. Two dudes who fought their asses off to keep it alive and prestigious, and you’re the only motherfucker to ever kill it dead by throwing the title down like a bitch because you were “embarrassed”. But lemme give you a shot to redeem yourself, my dude. Take the earrings out of those busted ass lips. Retire them whack ass, patched up JNCO jeans. Leave that hockey stick backstage and FIGHT ME, BRO. No weapons. No barbed wire. No shitty gimmicks. Put your fuckin’ fists up and see how silly that discus lariat looks when I CHOO CHOO you up and spit you out. See how funny that kimura is when your arm cracks like your weak ass teenage toddler voice when you call Lee again to complain that losing to me is too embarrassing for your career. Fight me, Scottywood. Like a fuckin’ man.
Or gimme 750 reasons you won’t fuckin’ do it, bitch.
That mouth sure likes to run.
These abs don’t.