There’s no such thing as happy endings.
Well, aside from the one I’m gonna clear coat your Mr. Clean chrome dome with when I’m done waxing you like a cheap tile floor. I mean that I’m not gonna get what’s coming to me. The good guys aren’t gonna win, and the bad guy isn’t gonna lose. This is the real world, so if you’re thinking “Boy howdy, that Mike Best is gonna lose for all these mean things he’s saying about Kostoff”, you must play a mean pinball cause you’re deaf, dumb and blind, kid. Wouldn’t it be nice if he kicked my teeth down my throat? Wouldn’t it be nice if he caved in my skull? Wouldn’t it be nice if we were older, then we wouldn’t have to wait so long?
Why the fuck would anything nice ever happen?
Sorry I’m not standing in a shitty living room looking into a camera, it’s just that it’s not 2001 and I’m good at this. The most original thing to come out of Kostoff’s head in a decade was the tip of my fucking shovel, so you’ll pardon me if I’m not impressed when he starts spitting Angelfire like a 56k year old dragon on dial-up. Everytime Kostoff speaks, I have to hang up the landline so he can stay connected long enough to not know how to log in to the HOW website. What I’m saying is that he’s got a floppy disk. He mega bytes at talking shit. These are computer puns, Kostoff– it’s the big scary box your wife reads you my promos off of, that you’re afraid is gonna steal your soul.
This is your THIRD DECADE in HOW.
Disco didn’t overstay its welcome as long as you have, big man. You’ve been retired more times than a bike in a minefield, so before you retread the same rusty chain of old insults, I’m gonna end the vicious cycle once and for all.
Yeah, you’re gonna beat the fuck out of me. Obviously. You’re Kostoff. The two things in life you know how to do worth a fuck are lift weights and punch people in the face. Doesn’t matter— I’m gonna survive it, and I’m gonna win, because those are the two things in life that I know how to do worth a fuck. That’s what defines me. I survive the storm, I survive the violence, and I survive ten years worth of Chris Kostoff cutting the same promo with different curtains in the background. I fight the bottom of the barrel, I fight the top of the heap, and I fight the urge to forcibly vomit every time Lee promises me a shocking return and it’s just you powerbombing a fired guy onto the hood of a car.
Joe Hoffman: CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?!
Yeah, I can believe it.
This motherfucker has never even had the common courtesy to go play baseball for a half season before muddying the waters of what it means to make a “return”. You’ve pissed on your own legacy so many times that Chicago sports bars have your face on the urinals– I assume you shaved your head just to get the stale smell of ammonia out. If I gave you a dollar and took a Nickelback every time you made a lackluster return to HOW, you’d have been broke before you murdered them on an aircraft carrier.
Yep, I’m the guy who is doing this.
Don’t call Kostoff old! Don’t talk about his record! Promote Kostoff! Fuck that, this is HOFC. If you don’t like what I have to say, big man, come prove me wrong. Come prove that your last seven losses to me were a fluke. Come prove to me that you’ve got one worth a fuck run left in you, because I promise you that you aren’t gonna beat me with the same five moves you’ve been doing since the Truman Administration. I promise that a powerbomb you’ve been throwing since drinking fountains were separated by skin tone is not going to be the end of Mike Best. I PROMISE YOU… that you are not going to end a year long undefeated streak with that same old “Kostoff is back for two weeks” worth ethic that you have these days, while you’re busy limping off into the sunset “just for fun”.
Sleep on me and see what happens, Icarus.
You’re flying too close to the Son.