- Event: Refueled XLVI
Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet.. your man can see a rainbow. Can you GOD? Can you open those little broken eyes and see those bonny archers? Naw mate, you cannot see a fucking thing. But lemme tell you: it’s magical, and if you look close enough.. you’ll get lost in it.
Your man will always be on the outskirts away from all the brown bullshit.. cos that’s just how it needs to be. But your man is always plugged into the support from his fans. Hughie Freeman could hear them when I was locked away at Uncle Sam’s Devil Island and boy can your man hear them all the way at this Fight Camp. When Neil sings.. you all sing. And lemme tell you: your man is The Full Fighting Irish, LSD Proud Fighting Champion.. but stick with me and we’ll make your color complimentary green. Not a problem.
Some people over complicate title success; game plans, tactics, diets and one percent advantages. But sometimes, all you really need is the damn belief. The roster is forever changing here in HOW and that’s not because of the lack of talent.. its cos they simply don’t believe. They get bogged down in all of those little fine margins on what everyone else is doing that the simple art of fighting gets forgotten. Lyndz, if your man didn’t think I could be number one then I’d not have wasted my time to park my caravan outside of the Best Arena. Your man could have had it on another site where I could live comfortably being a Steady Eddie all my life. But still, even that is too cozy for your man. Even that could make your man complacent. And that’s why your man Hughie Freeman is down in the belly of harsh nature itself; drinking sweat, feeding off the land, and living on hard graft.
You’re a kind heart, Lyndz. Your heart is without a doubt a lot brighter than #97Red. And even a Sick Pikey Fuck like Hughie Freeman can appreciate that. Fuck mate, it’s enough to melt Uncle Sam’s black heart in the way in which you babied Zeb. The dickhead down on his luck (and legs) needed the Princess to carry him out of the burning castle. Full of drool, shite and hopeless dreams. The man gave up on life and you offered a bosom for a pillow. You showed love. You girl.. showed your human side in all of this thick brown bullshit. You, Lyndsey Troy.. showed weakness.
Your man Hughie Freeman saw it with his own eyes. And fuck, mate.. even if I could only see the back of my eyelids for the rest of time like GOD. I simply don’t need to see it to know exactly what I saw. Cos your man can smell it. And as strong as you are professionally.. personally you’re weak at the knees just like Zeb. And my girl, when you fall down those castle steps with Lil Marty.. don’t trust The Pikey to catch ya. Cos as much as I respect you, your man simply cannot afford to be your knight in shining armour. For The Irishman already has his treasure, and it’s.. LSD baby.
But it’s funny, love.. cos of the amount of opportunities you’ve had for HOW glory you’ve always just come up short. You wonna mention tactics and game plans, that’s grand. But what a fucking stat that is: Lyndsey Troy naked and starved of HOW gold. It’s really quite remarkable, mate. But yet in the eyes of GOD’s disciples you’re still very much a champion. What you’ve achieved here in HOW, in and out of the ring.. it screams winner, babe. And you’re still making the right noises. But at the end of the day.. chasing rainbows.
You’ve trodden through muddy swamps and stormy blue seas to get to this point and that’s all gravy. Your man can respect that, Lyndz. And you’re no mug, you’ve been around the block a few times.. you get it. But love, that doesn’t make you yellow. Naw mate.. only vulnerable. You say you won’t quit but you will happily quit your emotions every time there’s a fallen soldier or whimpering dog. Aye, your man makes light of the situation, but it’s true. You have a charitable red heart which is commendable.. but it’ll never make you a champion. And if you know me, sweetheart.. your man doesn’t bullshit.
And where you wonna whipe babies arses here in HOW; Hughie Freeman punishes himself to be the very best. It’s that selfish streak in your man that’ll take this no good pikey straight to the top. I’ve managed to canoe through the bullshit waters to this very point. Never had to say boo to a goose, and your man wants to keep it that way. Your man just wants to burn skin, crack jaws and win championships. And if the HOW faithful want to cheer me and wave the orange, white and green flag in the process.. then so be it. Thank-you you my people.
But lemme tell you: Hughie Freeman wants nothing more than Lyndsey Troy to win gold…… just not at Refueled XLVI. Relative strangers in battle, but if you’re prepared to go to the wire with Hughie Freeman then all credit to you. If you want to pain GOD every last step of the way then you’ve got my full blessing. Just utter them two simple words.. quit me, quit the match, and quit the LSD championship. This isn’t your rainbow, pet lamb. You’re still out in the pissing rain.
But something you should never quit is that cod-eyed GOD. You’re out of sight now.. which means you’re out of mind. When he took the leash off you, and put it on that estranged mutt.. best ever feeling that must’ve been. I bet it was like how your man felt when he left Uncle Sam. The feeling of being free, and not a prisoner of bully-bullshit. Free to do whatever the fuck you want. First mission for your man: bringing pride back to the LSD heritage. That, your man will never quit my friend.
You’re motherly, and want to mother everyone else’s problems. But trust me, darling.. your problems need to come first. Not GOD’s, not Zebra’s.. just yours. To be number one you have to be a downright bastard. And, hello HOW.. alright lads? I’m your fucking man. I’m standing right here calling you all out and I simply don’t give a fuck. Your man can’t put it anymore black and white than that. Keep ducking, that’s fine. Cos I’ll catch ya.
Your man Hughie Freeman is in for a penny, in for a pound. Your man wants these big fights thick and fast. The talking, the bullshit, the games, the islands, the HATE, the LOVE, the romance, the blind ignorance, the fucking dogs.. are over. Your man quits them all; proudly and confidently. Hughie Freeman has gotten to the end of the rainbow and got his fucking treasure in the form of this belt. There’s no other direction apart from up, my friends. You can see it, your man can see it, and your GOD can see it deep inside of his fucking retina. Quit playing dumb as well as deaf and blind.
Let gold shine back on my face when The TaxMan comes to collect. There was no leprechaun before you say anything…… . cos your man laid him out already.
Quit chasing rainbows.. you’ll be blind outta luck.