I love it when you get all riled up, Mike.
At least then I know you’re not rehashing your favorite stand-up routine when it comes time for these promos.
I’m glad you took a few minutes out of your precious time to come up with something on your phone, but yet again you’re out here taking a sentence or two of what I said and missing the bigger picture.
Mike, you ignorant slut.
Do you really think I care that little about the HOFC division?
That’s your prerogative, not mine.
Look at you going off on your little rants.
First, to correct me about how long you’ve been running your school like I’m supposed to give a shit…and second, talking all this “behind the scenes magic” just to put yourself higher on this imaginary pedestal you’ve created.
First of all, I’ve been in this business for over a decade myself and I never heard of SixTime Academy until what, two or three weeks ago?
So no, it wasn’t a mistake calling it new…it’s new to me, and unlike the rest of your boring ass biography I didn’t feel like looking it up at the time.
Call the cops, I don’t give a fuck.
Now, let me ask you something Mikey…are you pulling my leg with your other little story?
Sometimes I can’t tell when someone’s being serious or sarcastic, and you rambling on about dominating the main event doesn’t help me gauge your tone either way.
Either your tongue was planted firmly in cheek as you tried to mock me for calling you out, or you’re serious about this need to make yourself the center of the HOFC.
The world doesn’t revolve around you, Michael Lee Best.
And it’s exactly that kind of arrogance that’s gonna cut your latest reign as champ short when we step inside that cage.
I did NOT come within earshot of beating you in the DeNucci Cup for you to dismiss me now, Mike.
And I sure as hell did not nearly bash Steve Harrison’s face in for you to treat me as anything less than a serious threat.
I’m sure you knew this, but your father signed off on that match…and whether intentional or not, your title reign has now been cursed.
Cursed to come to a screeching halt when I dismantle you in front of GOD himself, the audience at the USS Octane, and the world watching from home.
You thought your rants and rambling would cut me down, keep me off my game before I even stepped into the cage…but all you’ve really done was inspired me.
That’s right, Mike, you inspired me to renew a promise I had made during the DeNucci Cup.
I promised that every fight would go one of two ways…a quick dissection, or slow and painful torture.
You made me break that promise the last time we faced off…and the way you’ve been acting this week has me thinking you’re ready for me to come at you hard and fast.
Listen here, you little shit…you don’t get to dictate the pace this time.
I may be a disciple of chaos, but I know how to be methodical…how to be calculating.
I’ll give you everything I’ve got when I’m good and ready…because watching you get impatient is my new obsession.
I let you talk all this mad trash about everyone you could get away with, I even let you get in a few digs at me live on television…just to see you squirm when you realized I wouldn’t take the bait.
I watched the message boards and social media blow up with talk about how Xander Azula wouldn’t stand a chance against the almighty Mike Best…just to see you chomp at the bit to see how I’d respond when the time was right.
And here we are, Mikey.
Now it’s MY turn to have some fun.
Only I won’t stoop to your level…I don’t need to show my whole ass trying to come up with promo material.
That’s all you, buddy.
Coming out all hot and heavy, looking for a cheap shot to find a crack in my armor…but the clock’s winding down, and I’m still standing.
Ding ding, motherfucker.
I’m still here, still standing, still breathing despite all your promises of a different outcome.
So much for the blitzkrieg approach. You couldn’t cut me down in two rounds, like I did to the Miracle Man to get this shot.
And unfortunately for you, I’m just getting started.