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Such hate, and visceral from Harrington. Must have hit a nerve. Play a whole game of Operation on you, didn’t I?
Listen, here’s the deal. There’s a difference between a con man and a con artist right? A con man leaves his mark angry, a con artist leaves them happy. Perhaps you lost the subtle nuance. That being said, you’re a moron. You can’t use my face to hawk some shitty product without my approval. Lee can, cause that’s what he’s paying me whatever he’s paying me a year to do. But you? Nah – uh. You sell ONE of those mats to a paying customer, and if I can prove it, I’ll shut your business down faster than a Mike Best comeback. Miracle Enterprises will be no more. Sure, you can rebrand, you can even maybe rebuild… but Harry?
Don’t fuck with my money.
You should know that better than most. That’s why most wrestlers are covetous of their position. They gotta earn their keep. They gotta keep bringing home the green. I’m sure that’s why you’ve come back for the fourth time. I can’t imagine I’ll start seeing Miracle Enterprises on the Dow Jones. Hell, if I can buy legal stock from NASDAQ for Miracle Enterprises ANY time in the next FORTY years, I’ll eat every hat that exists.
Every hat. Ever.
I’ll probably start with the big sombrero’s that are filled with nacho cheese. You know, for vitamins. Probably end with the hats made of denim,
You think I’m just going to start shitting on Lee Best because he sent Sektor after me? I’m still standing. I’m still breathing. Sektor gave me a hell of a fight, and I tried my best but came up short. No reason to hold that against Lee. I hold that against myself. I wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t ready. Lee just wants the man I was, he wants the investment he expected. I intend to provide it to him, for my OWN sake. But listen, he doesn’t need my defending. He doesn’t need anything. He’s Lee motherfucking Best. He signs your paycheck, you should be grateful he even knows your name, gives you a platform to sell your shitty knock off Wish.com bullshit. Find some random farmers goat and milk it and slap a label on an old Pepsi bottle, that’s what stands for a miracle these days?
At Refueled, it’s Steve Harrison vs. High Flyer, Round 2.
You remember that time your neck just started hurting for absolutely no reason?
At Refueled, you’ll find out why, when my locomotive hits you so hard in the present your past and future feel it.
Look both ways before you eat the boot, see the lights, count the pretty birds.
I named the pink one Frank.
Also, fair warning. Do lock your car. I’ll take a shit in the radiator if you don’t.