Thank you for stating the obvious, Michael. I had no idea our HOFC match was personal…
Take 9.7 seconds to search your damn heart and soul. If you must ask me WHY I wanted this match; you’re as dumb and naïve as Scott Stevens acted before last night.
The moment our paths crossed back in November 2014; we’ve always hated each other. We’ve been the anthesis to each other’s careers. Complete polar opposites destined to beat the ever-loving shit out of each other. I’ve always hated your fuckin’ guts as much as you’ve hated mine. Don’t gaslight me with your story about believing I was the second incarnation of you. That is the most deceitful lie I ever heard your disease-ridden mouth utter.
Of course, It was ALWAYS personal, Mike.
Seriously, what a waste of 749 words from someone who isn’t a part of the 11:59 club. But hey, at least you tried and didn’t CTRL+C, CTRL+V your dumb “lUlz dis POST not NECESSARY” bullshit. I’ll commend you for exerting some effort.
Let’s be real for a second; YOU were the one BEGGING for someone, ANYONE to step up and challenge you in the Octagon for years. You pounded your chest like a rabid gorilla, asserting your dominance on radio, stating no one was brave enough to fight you in an HOFC match.
I took the opportunity YOU personally handed to me and everyone else on the HOW roster. Go ahead and stand in front of a mirror; pointing the finger at your own egoistical, narcissistic ass. The spineless sins of Jace Parker Davidson, Steve Solex, Bobbinette Carey, Dan Ryan and others don’t fall on my shoulders.
I can’t help it if the other, SHINIER toys wanna keep cowering in the safety of Lee’s toybox. If they want to act like chicken-shit cowards; that’s THEIR FAULTS.
I’ll fully admit the fact I used to think that way. For 4 years, I wanted to avoid you like the plague to avoid the nuclear fallout. Maybe I’m that dense, smooth brained performer that when someone offers up a challenge. I jumped into the deep end headfirst without assessing the consequences.
But I’m tired of sitting back and waiting for Lee Best to book me in high profile matches. I’m grow weary of sitting in the kiddie pool with floaties on my arms, begging for safety from GOD. Hell, Lord knows I didn’t want your father to book me and Hollywood in a tag match against you and a Final Alliance member…because based on the last two weeks Mike; it was bound to happen. I wanted to jump into the deep end of the pool for a change.
I wanted to roll around in the dirt with the dirtiest, filthiest pig HOW has to offer. You’re THE STANDARD to strife for here in HOW. As you’ve said you’ve won HOW many times over. It’s the chance of a fuckin’ lifetime to throw fists with you. Call it Carpe Knee’Em; seize the Best.
I want to scratch and claw my way up the card, desperately avoiding having that ball and chain known as Brian Hollywood weighing me down, sinking what I’ve worked on since returning to HOW. I don’t want his tiresome ass stealing MY chance at getting the damn spotlight. Plus, let’s face it—if I tried to get revenge and sandbag, taking the week off and feeding Hollywood to the damn lions like he deserves—it wouldn’t set well with you and your father.
There’s a part of me that hopes and prays I can pull off the impossible—do something Brian Hollywood could never do. Maybe I could beat Conor to the punch…knock your ass out and get 10 seconds plus 72 hours of solace from your mouth. Any reprieve from your shitty Mean Girls Xanga blog bullshit for me and the rest of the roster would be a gift from GOD at this stage.
Call me stupid; tell me I’m smelling burnt toast.
I have nothing to lose and everything to gain from this encounter. It’s painfully obvious where I stand here.
But at least I won’t have avoided you like Jace did. At least I become a pain in your ass. As Christopher America so eloquently put it; I’m here to TAKE THAT RESPECT.
I’m not asking for your permission or validation. I’m here to fuckin’ throw down, box with Kneesus Christ, and prove I’m better than Brian Hollywood.
Put that shit in your pipe and smoke it, asshole.