Boy ya really got me ‘bout my current livin’ situation, it cut me right down to the core. I’ll be veerin’ off the next overpass lookin’ for the 4th guard rail section and plummetin’ to my death before ya know it. I’ll just take a part out of the Stevens self immolation handbook, or maybe I’ll ask for an HOFC rematch with Mike Best.
Let’s talk ‘bout some things though, bein’ from a world apart we have quite a few things in common. I mean we’re two guys with all kinds of deceased parental based issues. Yours somehow fucked you on your inheritance, while mine happened ta spend mine on creating a wrestling school with scholarships for at risk youth. Your Dad’s ashes were sprayed all over the Coliseum in Rome by a clutz, my Dad is buried on the back acre of a ranch I own but don’t want to live in.
At least one day you’ll figure out what exactly happened to the Farthington family fortune. I’ll be over here dealing with my fathers mistakes for an eternity. Do you know how hard it is to sell a wrestling school with it’s dead founder buried on it? It’s like the Indian burial ground of the wrestling world. But let’s stop talking about my issues and start talkin’ ‘bout yers Cecil. Imma call ya Cecil, has a better ring to it anyway.
What I really wanna dig into though is what ya said when I first got a glimpse of ya in High Octane. There I was, off in the wilderness tryin’ ta find my way, dealin’ with punchin’ through the decades of history that surround this fuckin’ place. And I caught a glimpse of somethin’ beautiful, someone ‘round here finally was startin’ ta make some sense. What I had seen that day was rare: A hall of famer who wanted ta fuckin’ earn it, with a hankerin’ fer competition. Who wasn’t gonna rest on his laurels.
That was you. Ya ‘member that fella? The guy who wasn’t gonna be restin’ on his laurels? And yet here ya are, talkin’ bout 18 months of bein’ undefeated. Yer worse at this fibbin’ stuff than a big tobacco lobbyist from 1983. What’s next, yer gonna start tellin’ me how ya found out the earth was flat from watchin’ Tik-Toks? Or how Jesse Ventura is right ‘bout the Lizard men? I thought ya were gonna be somethin’ different, a new breed of hall of famer in High Octane. And ya almost had me, I almost bought the MRE’s ya were sellin’ at triple the mark up.
But just like every other ring wearin’ muppet here ya are talkin’ ‘bout all these things ya did over the span of yer entire career. And I ain’t here ta take that away from ya, ya had a fantastic wrasslin’ career. But this is different. This is fightin’. It don’t mean fuck all that ya beat Dan Ryan in a 97 minute iron man match. Sure ya persevered with rope breaks and count outs, but they ain’t gonna stop me from turnin’ ya inta The Elephant Man unless the fights fuckin’ over.
So instead of oh and oh you’re two and oh. Most of the men who stuck around from the DeNucci Cup made it to two and oh once. Ya ain’t done nothin’ special. Do ya have the potential? Sure ya do, ya got loads and loads of potential ta be how’d ya say it ‘gain? ‘Fight Belt Champion.’ But is a guy who looks and talks like a prepubescent boy gettin’ ready fer a swim meet really cut out ta be the fightin’ champion? Don’t forget yer swim cap lil Cecil, the water in the HOFC division is ‘bout ta get a lot fuckin’ deeper.
I need redemption, I need a mechanic like yerself ta tune up my now underwhelming HOFC career. I need ta make an example out of someone, and it just so happens GOD has given you ta me. So when ya wake up on the floor of the cage in Manhattan singin’ Yankee Doodle Dandy, just remember you’ll be the guy I’m talkin’ ‘bout beatin’ fer the next six months.
Is Cecil mad yet? Are you so irate that yer gonna pull an Armani vneck down to reveal yer next nickname on a tshirt? I don’t think ‘Clay Byrd Slept Me Like A Fool’ looks quite as good as ‘The Finish Line.’ But ya never know, it might catch on.