So it’s come to this, then.
A big multifuck match at ICONIC, directly spitting in the face of the most anticipated wrestling match in HOW history. Lee Best begged like Keith Sweat for eight years to see Mike Best and Cecilworth Farthington on opposite sides of the ring from one another, and now he’s going to listen idly from a hospital bed as the last true dream match in High Octane Wrestling is pissed down the drain because of a bunch of crybabies who didn’t want to wait their turn.
Good evening, gentlemen.
So glad you could join us.
So glad that Jace Parker Davidson managed to lose two different matches that could have earned him a title shot, only to get thumbed into the ICONIC main event like a soft dick. So glad that Conor Fuse is so special that he becomes the only guy to get a title rematch this entire era, while my nephew sits at home eating sour grapes for being denied a rematch of his own. So glad that Clay Byrd’s reward for almost ruining the entire main event to ICONIC is, for some reason, still getting to be in it. So glad that instead of defending his own championship, HOTv Champion Jeffrey James Literalmurder gets a World Title shot for reasons. Who the fuck else did Uncle Mike bookfuck into this nonsense match?
Sure, why not invite Jatt, too.
I mean, he lost a championship match to the guy I beat for the title, and THAT guy is getting a rematch, so why not? The more the merrier.
I literally don’t even know how Michael Oliver Best is alive.
I carried his head around in a backpack for a calendar year and eventually gave it to James Varga, who I’m pretty sure had sex with it. This isn’t me being funny. He shoot fucked my dead Uncle’s skull, through the empty hole where his eye was before Max Kael literally took it and had it surgically implanted into his own face. Michael Oliver Best is a zombie on a powertrip and I am having absolutely none of it.
THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE THE ICONIC OF FRIENDSHIP AND HONOR.
I don’t know what kind of hell dimension HOW has become, where men are literally being decapitated or stuffed into coffee cans and keep coming back again and again, but I’ve absolutely had enough. If Max Kael shows up at ICONIC and starts handing out foam fingers, I’m not even going to be surprised. A literal corpse just booked me and my best friend into a match with a cannibal, an arsonist, a ghost prospector, a video game character and Jatt Starr. This isn’t me telling you about a weird dream I had… this is the main event of ICONIC, and Uncle Mike is calling it a “cleanse”.
Call it a juice cleanse, because it’s the drizzling shits.
So what, every time a hard luck cowboy bats a boo-boo lip at my Undead Uncle, we throw away six weeks of television? Six fucking months of television? Broke ass Clay Byrd and his broke ass arm come sobbing back to HOW in the eleventh hour trying to ruin a man event that would have defined PROFESSIONAL WRESTLING for years to come, and his punishment is to GET ADDED BACK INTO THE FUCKING MATCH?
WITH FOUR OTHER IDIOTS?
NO ONE ASKED FOR THIS.
Except maybe for Jace, who has become so ruthlessly needy since returning to HOW that he negotiated twenty four hours of PTO after every show night. If you’re already trying to beg your way into the Hall of Fame, why not try to shoehorn yourself into the ICONIC main event while you’re at it? Jace is great at trying to force himself into places he doesn’t belong, just ask literally any woman on the HOW roster.
This is what you wanted, right Jace?
An opportunity to see if you’re still 75% the wrestler that I am? Here’s a hint, dickhead– just because the best part of you took the hyphen out of her name doesn’t mean the key to success in HOW is just to aggressively try to stick your dick in every bitch who doesn’t say no fast enough. You’ve lost more number one contendership matches this year than I’ve lost matches since the last time you were in HOW. You and Sutler Kael had a match for a guaranteed World Title shot at Rumble at the Rock, and somehow BOTH LOST. Since the day you opened your mouth and talked shit on my HOW return, you have lost the HOTv Title, two contendership matches, and the respect of wrestling fans in the 18-34 demographic. Yet somehow, you’re still on television every week talking about how you’re the King of Everything… I guess the only thing you haven’t lost is your sense of humor.
Little edgelord ass bitch.
A fucking wet yule log of a human being. You Rudolph the Brown Nosed reindeer begging for a spot in our Hall of Fame while trying to stuff your package down every chimney in HOW just because your former Mrs. Clause got sick of you only managing to come once a year.
Set yourself on fire, see if it draws any heat.
I’d tell you to eat a dick, but people bite my shit so often that I can’t in good conscience step all over Jeffrey James Roberts’ gimmick. Boy, what a generic murder boy ol’ JJR turned out to be. Boreman Bates. Hannibore Lecture. Jeffrey Duller. Jason Borehees, Inbreddy Krueger. Squint hard enough and you’ll swear Dan Ryan came back but his personality didn’t. Oh boy, do you have an anger problem and some kind of inner evil you’re dealing with? Thank God, we’ve never had one of those in HOW before, I’m really glad to see that HR is finally following the road not goddamned taken for a change.
Easy hangry, I hear your tummy rumbling.
You’re really really good, and in truth, I really really just don’t care. I tried to. Your inclusion in this match feels weird because it IS weird. You’re absurdly talented, but you feel like a midcarder so you stick out like a sore thumb in this match. Can I come up with a bunch of funny shit to say about you? Sure. Am I moderately afraid that you’re going to eat some part of my face at ICONIC just to absorb some of my championship aura via the digestive process? Absolutely.
But you don’t want beef with the GOAT.
For one thing, it isn’t made out of human meat. I don’t know you, you don’t know me, and as far as I’m concerned we could have both walked around HOW with two different belts that mean two different things. Looks like that’s not gonna be the case. If it wasn’t bad enough that the second coming of JPD has been absolute midcard garbage, now I have to take out the white trash, too? I went 12-0 fighting people beneath me too, Roberts, but if you insist on making a run for the champ, I can promise I’ll make HOW’s season finale the most disappointing end to a wannabe serial killer since the last episode of Dexter.
Watch where you lumber, Jack.
Who else is in this fucking thing? Oh right, the video game kid who went AFK for six weeks but still wants a shot at the loot box. Conor Fuse got cheered for an entire pay-per-view period because big bad Mike Best came back to HOW as the number one contender, having “done nothing to deserve it”. Then, he lost the HOW World Championship to me and promptly proceeded to not bother to wrestle for an entire pay-per-view period, just to “earn” his way to a rematch at ICONIC.
Can’t wait to hear those boos for Conor Fuse.
Oh, nevermind, all the babies and morons are going to cheer for him because they’re inconsistent fucking marks who really like that he screams out video game words and seems relatable to virgins in their mid-twenties. This fucking tweenager sat on Santa’s lap and told him what a good little boy scout he’s been this year, and what do you know… old Kris Kringle gave him an ICONIC main event. Ho ho holy shit is this main event a fucking mess. I may be the star at the top of the tree, Conor, but this title around my waist isn’t just an ornament. When I Blitzen to the ring, I’m gonna sleigh everyone that’s present– that’s a wrap, bitch.
Oh and speaking of Starrs.
I credit Simon Sparrow for all the success I’ve had in High Octane Wrestling this era. Sincerely. Jatt is a Hall of Famer, a legend in his own time, and is the man I was constantly compared to when I first joined HOW. He was the guy. The benchmark. A man legitimately in the GOAT conversation. And I credit him in part for my success, because he is the sole reason I am so goddamned terrified about my legacy someday being forgotten. Because Jatt, watching you go out there every week and do an Off Broadway version of what Jatt Starr used to be is the most depressing thing I have ever seen in my entire life.
The fuck happened to you, Jatt?
There was a time that you were all four faces on HOW’s Mount Rushmore. I used to get so sick and tired of hearing my dad verbally suck your dick on the radio, about how funny and clever and talented you were. You didn’t feel like a Hall of Famer when I beat you in seven seconds in a Rumble at the Rock opener, and you don’t feel like one now. The only reason you got thumbed into this match like a soft cock through an iron keyhole is because my Uncle Mike vanished for ten years and still thought you were a top star. I didn’t realize losing two consecutive title matches canceled out and made you a number one contender, but congratulations on limping past the velvet ropes to an ICONIC main event that apparently forgot to hire a fucking bouncer.
Sincerely, what do you all think is going to happen at ICONIC?
You all keep singing the same songs about me, but all your greatest hits came from my knees. I’m an instant classic. I top the charts for KOs– call me a one hit wonder, but I’ve gone gold ten times. You think you’re stealing my number one spot? Shit, I’m about to tattoo this title around my waistjust to save myself a fucking carry on. Everything I do is Ten-Time. Ten times the man, ten times the wrestler, ten times checking ten timers to see when your time is up– fifteen minutes of fame goes fast when you’ve already failed to beat me ten times. Ten times ten, that’s two sets of five fingers smashing five skulls, but if that leaves you feeling shortchanged, let me just keep it one hundred with you and double that shit up.
Fifty times two is a hundred, dickheads.
Follow along in your workbooks.
We’re having fun with Christmas puns and dismissive trash talk, but you want to know the truth? This match is about the least fun way I can think of to spend my Christmas. The birth of Kneesus, being commemorated by five unwise men who don’t realize that I’m already the one with the gold.I couldn’t have one fucking match with my buddy? Couldn’t fulfill one fucking dream match, without you all trying to pounce on it like desperate little whores?
Cecilworth Farthington legit earned this main event. The entire reason that he came back to High Octane Wrestling was to square off against me for the HOFC Title– we were meant to have an HOFC Championship match at Rumble at the Rock, that he EARNED. But no, I had to come back and be the number one contender, because no one on this roster was reliably worth half of a single fuck. Because it’s a company full of crybabies who need their twenty four hour rules and quit when things don’t go their way. Lee Best needed a champion he could trust, and I was the only guy who could get the job done.
So we pivoted.
Mike Best versus Cecilworth Farthington, headlining ICONIC. Literally the most competitive possible match in the world, and what could have been the single highest drawing match of all time. Sure, we pissed around and did the Gentlemen’s Games. Sure, we were trying to pop ourselves and didn’t really care what anyone else thought of our “feud.” Guess what? WE DIDN’T FEUD BECAUSE WE’RE FRIENDS, DICKHEADS. Sometimes, you can just have a really good wrestling match against your FRIEND, without having to make a goddamned blood feud out of it. You think that match wouldn’t have been a banger? You think we wouldn’t have gone all out to entertain, and to beat the hell out of each other in the interest of winning the most important title in wrestling?
Oh, and guess what, morons.
He might have beaten me one on one.
You might have finally be rid of me and seen me cast off the fucking mountain. I haven’t spent the last eight years wondering the same thing that the world has– am I better than Cecilworth? Can I hold my own against him in the ring? Does he have my number? Cecilworth Farthington has lost less matches in the last five years than I have. He has won more dominatingly. He is, in my opinion, the single greatest wrestler on the planet not named Michael Lee Best.
Honestly, just fuck all of you.
Fuck Jace, and Clay. JJR and Conor. Fuck Jatt and Uncle Mike. You took something from Cecilworth and I that will not be forgiven easily, and you stole from the entire world of wrestling fans who wanted to see an ICONIC match at ICONIC. You created the biggest What-If in the history of the sport, and it was absolutely not worth your time. Maybe he would have been the Billy GOAT to my GOAT. The Scar to my Mufasa. The song about learning how to walk to my Winter Warlock, but no, you idiots put one foot in front of the other and barged your way into a match that has now DRASTICALLY improved my odds. Now, I get to pin any one of you shambling disappointments without ever having to test myself against my best friend. Congratulations, the world will now never know which of us is better.
Hope it was worth one last loss for the year.
Merry Christmas and go fuck yourselves.