Okay fine, I’ll pause my Madden game real quick.
I’m up 14-0 over the Pats right now and my rookie QB is a fucking stud, but I can take a second to respond to you… I’m pretty sure… implying that you and I have had sex. I can’t say for sure that you said that, because your grasp over the English language reminds me a lot of a paraplegic trying to give me a hand job, but I’m like 97% sure that you said you’re my permanent Pick Me girl and that banging you gave me an itchy dick.
Anyway, neither here nor there.
You’re the best wrestler I’ve ever recruited to HOW? This is the weirdest, dumbest flex you’ve ever attempted against me. It’s a meme, Stevens. It’s ALWAYS been a meme that everyone I have ever recruited to HOW has been an abject failure. Everyone washes out and disappears within weeks. So yeah, Scott. I guess you’re right. By absolute, literal default, you are the best wrestler I have ever recruited. I know it wasn’t your intention, but that’s maybe the hardest hitting line you’ve ever dropped on me.
Please stop telling people about that.
I don’t know man, I half read through your nonsense because Solex texted me a screenshot of you talking about my penis, and then he made fun of me for losing a World Title match to you in 2015. No seriously. Check discord after I post this, I will be sourcing a lot of my claims with evidence that you can save to your weird Flickr account that has every graphic ever made for HOW in it, along with some pictures of my ex girlfriend Erin FOR SOME FUCKING REASON. Seriously. Actual pictures of my actual ex girlfriend. I didn’t give them to him, but they’re just… saved in there.
It’s super fucking weird, dude.
Almost as weird as this insinuation that you’re my biggest rival. Batman and the Joker? C’mon. C’mon. You’re fucking with me at this point, right? You can’t possibly be that delusional. Maybe I was too kind with my words before. Maybe I didn’t make myself clear. So let me just, once and for all, set the fucking table for you here:
You are absolute, indisputable dogshit.
You could not draw a dime if I gave you crayons and a book called “How To Doodle US Currency For Absolute Morons Who Think Too Highly of Themselves”. I had to be on my literal deathbed for you to NARROWLY beat me in ONE MATCH almost TEN YEARS AGO, and you did almost twice as many promos for that match as I did. And it was still close, Stevens. It was STILL FUCKING CLOSE. What’s wild is that you have only gotten worse since then. I’ve never seen anything like it before.
You are aging like milk.
Everyone else in HOW is better now than they were a decade ago. But you? You’re radioactive. You have a fucking half life, and every year you get twice as bad as you were last year. You’re an actual joke. You have this inflated sense of self worth, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why because it is COMPLETELY unearned. I roll my eyes at literally every word you say, because even the mildest hint that you and I even eat at the same fucking table at Thanksgiving gives me douche chills that could counteract global warning.
You’re bad, Stevens.
This ain’t even trash talk anymore. It’s a fucking intervention. You are bad at trash talk and bad at wrestling and bad at social cues. The Unabomber had better conversational aptitude than you do, and the Columbine kids had more friends. You are a useless stat monkey who continues to be allowed to roam the halls of HOW because Lee Best has a soft spot for special people, and no one else wants to keep a spreadsheet over who Kirsta Lewis beat in 2012. I’m not the Joker to your Batman, dickhead, I’m the Tom Cruise to your fucking Rainman.
None of this matters.
You’ll learn nothing.
A year from now, we’ll be doing the same match, and you’ll be cutting the same promo, and then I’ll knee you in the face and leave you to die. Over and over. I don’t know, man. Maybe we really are destined to do this forever. It’s the definition of insanity.
Cut your promo.