No. You did not say something worth caring about. It’s a habit of yours to not say something worth caring about.
I can’t win the big one in HOW.
I am dangerous but you are going to be the spoiler.
And I have a big vocabulary…. I guess is also meant to be an insult? I suppose it would be in your head.
You’re all but admitting that beating me in the octagon would constitute something of a major miracle, and on that point, I agree with you. It’s the only implication in your speech that makes any sense at all, given your incredibly limited track record and my recent proclivities toward making people disappear.
Man, I know I shouldn’t be giving you tips, but every one of your ‘points’ has already been used, and recently.
I recognize you, and by that I mean, I recognize the type you are. You’re another of these low-life dipshits who’s got nothing to lose, talking out of his ass and never pronouncing the letter “G” in any of his promos because it’s the most clever thing you’ve come up with to inject some ‘character’ into who you are. There’s a long line of people who said this exact same stupid shit to me and ended up counting the lights, if they’re lucky, staring into their own closed eyelids if they aren’t.
Your dopey comment about taking you seriously is irrelevant. You don’t fucking get it. I do the same thing to whoever gets in the ring with me. Sometimes I lose, most of the time I win. And if I never reach the pinnacle of HOW and win a World Championship, it certainly sure as fuck won’t be because of anything you have ever done to stop me.
You’re a fucking spoiler, huh? Well here’s a spoiler for you: you are going to get hurt really, really badly this week. There’s your spoiler. No tags. And I’m sorry, but choads like you don’t have the cachet to stake a claim to ‘fighting underdog’ spirit, buddy. Generally, you need to be a hell of a lot more interesting and a lot more talented. At best, you embody the same try-hard spirit that you mock, only you paint a bunch of Chicago references over it to pop the locals. But even the locals don’t give a shit about you. They just wanna get drunk and yell shit, and that’s something you’re very good at, Mr. Malort. Fuck your umlauts and shitty Northsider stories. I don’t give a fuck about any of it, and not one bit of it will make a difference in how I treat this fight.
But sure, keep doing what works for you, big man. Keep calling me bro, keep throwing your far less creative trash talk at me while you try-hard to keep from soiling your pants, you spray-tanned, greasy-haired fuck. Or just go the fuck back to Sluggers with the rest of your douchebag buddies and do a line of coke off the cock of the Ernie Banks statue. I don’t much give a fuck either way. As I said, I am who I am, buddy, and just so you know, sticking with what brings you success is a fucking smart move, not a dumb one.
Cool story, bro!
Yeah, cool story.
Your shallow ineptitude at anything resembling a real human being has certainly been a force in your moderate success so far. But you can’t insult me, because I don’t want your respect. Having no applicable skills in this situation, in any possible area whatsoever, effectively makes you the master of redundancy. All of your info is overused and obsolete, like your insults dictionary, which you probably stole. You think you’re exposing my weaknesses, but all you’re doing is exposing your own, and the incredible inability you have to find a rock to stand on in this fight. You have none, and your efforts are useless. But I know what I’m fucking doing, Johnny, and absolutely nothing you have to say will have any impact on my doing this. You don’t know what the fuck you’re doing, just throwing bullshit out into the wind and hoping it hits something. But you couldn’t find your dick in the dark, you tiresome, skeezy, sleaze-mongering cum wad.
I’m about to kick your ass so badly, your vertebrae will pop out of your mouth one by one like a Pez dispenser.
Stick with the mid-majors, pal. That’s where you belong.