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“IM GONNA HURT-CHA AND MAKE A NAME FOR MYSELF!”…
That was pretty much the entire premise of your promo. You ought to have just used that one sentence because that’s all I took away from it. The most hurtful thing you said was calling me ‘Johnny.’ Not gonna lie, that shit made my toes curl. But I’ll let you have it.
I gotta say, when I threw my name in the mix for this tournament I began to imagine what epic battles may await me in the first round. Perhaps a blood war with Kostoff, who surely is gunning for my head after what Jatt and I did to him. Now there’s a big guy I am afraid of. You know, I didn’t think I would ever meet another ‘big guy’ with less charisma than Christ Kostoff. Then I heard you talk..
Perhaps a match with Mike Best himself, oops! Shit, I just can’t his damn name out of my mouth now can I? Especially when I spent the back end of last year making a conscious effort not to say it so that he can’t get his little pecker hard watching one of my promo’s. Thing is, he is indeed the man to beat at the moment. When it comes to HOFC? He’s the king.
Maybe a fight with Harrison? I ended his streak in the ring and now I would have the chance to beat him in the Octagon.
There are no words to describe the disappointment I felt when I saw I was going to fight a man called, ahem, Clay Byrd. Before you go rambling on for another five minutes about me making mistakes and overlooking you, please note that I acknowledge what you said and one hundred percent agree. I shouldn’t get too far ahead of myself and I’m not.
Obviously I realise Hudson Hughes waits for me in the next round.
Now, while I appreciate you offering me, a twenty plus year vet Hall of Famer, advice? What am I saying, shut the fuck up and know your fucking place.The more you pretend to know about me the more I realise that you have no clue who I am or what I am capable of. You should trust your first instinct when you gazed upon your name next to mine in the bracket. You drew the short straw, papa.
See I don’t need to know who you are. I mean I tried to do some research, but I just kept staring at the google search bar in fear of what ugly ass free website waits for me with your name affiliated to it. I just can’t stomach that shit, it’s nauseatingly amateur. Besides, I know all I need to know about you from your pathetic attempt at a promo.
You’re big and dumber than a bag of bricks. The End.
I’m sure you’ve held a hundred World titles in every corner of the world and are probably in five different Hall of Fames. But I really couldn’t give a fuck.
The only thing I fear about this match is the environment. See, I’ve never stepped foot inside the Octegon or had a HOFC match, ever. as a true upholder of the art of technical wrestling? I’ve always sworn off it.But the ego wants what it want’s and now I want the only title I have never held. I need the HOFC title to complete my collection and the Dennuci cup will look peachy in my display cabinet back at the beach.
To do that I have to step out of my comfort zone and attempt a new sport. It’s daunting, but i’m up for the challenge. I’m certainly not about to allow an overgrown bag of meat like yourself to fuck it up for me. I don’t need to beat you with fists. All I have to do is take away your legs and tie you in knot’s as I listen to the, oh so wonderful, sound of your sausage fingers pounding on the canvas.
Then it’s bye-bye Byrdie..
A lot of new faces in this tournament. One or two might stick around when it’s all over. That’s how things are here in HOW, only the strong and thick skinned survive. Foam at the mouth and day dream about caving my skull in all you want you walking ‘Big Man’ cliche. It’s all over after our match. But don’t worry, Papa..
I’ll show you where the door is on your way out.