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Congrats, Steve.
You, and your infinite boredom have done it.
Meaningless victory is firmly in your grasp.
The world is now your oyster.
Good luck doing the things I could only dream of…
Like winning the LSD Championship.
I look forward to watching the top of your head while you continue to climb the High Octane mountain.
That said, I’d like to take this moment to applaud your heroic effort. I don’t care if Cracking News is reporting how mundane and idiotic it might have been. I for one laud your wit; ranking amongst the likes of Max Stryker and Chet Dakota.
Good. Job.
Really.
You’ve turned some heads.
I wouldn’t know, but I assume it’s not easy playing third fiddle.
My friend, you have managed to pull it off.
And to the victor goes the spoils. You will get to see Doozer slam his hand on the mat three times, and then raise yours in victory all while standing over my corpse. Maybe the two of you will take a selfie. Maybe you’ll play pattycake. Or Rock, Paper, Scissors. Whatever you do, I hope the moment isn’t lost on you. I hope you realize just how big of a deal it is.
Your accomplishment.
.
.
Oh.
.
What’s that?
No one cares?
Well I care, Steve.
Kind of.
And that’s with me knowing your incredibly momentous victory over The Maestro of COOL will be overshadowed by the eventual turmoil to follow between Doozer and myself.
Yup.
There goes all the air out of the room.
Sorry for that, Steve. I don’t like being a Debby Harrison, but you should know it comes with the territory when dealing with the top of the card.
You’ll get used to it.
Maybe.
—
Congrats, Doozer.
You fucking rat.
I hope you’re happy with your new alliance. I hope the bagels are nice, and oiling Lee’s eyes is more fun than it sounds. Tell everyone I said hello, and I hope they find you as pathetic as I do.
That said.
You better make sure the job is finished, old buddy of mine.
Because if you don’t…
I have suffered for your sins long enough enough.
PUCKER.
KISS.
Your momma.