So, that’s why they didn’t let you speak last week? I totally get it now, bro.
First and foremost, let’s get this outta the way: ditching ‘The Taxman’ schtick was a dick move on your part. I had a clever line about Nevada being a tax free state, and now it’s completely ruined. Like, I could say it still, but what’s the point? I hope you’re happy with yourself and are able to sleep at night. Your little bitch fit robbed the High Octane universe of pure comedy gold…
…a half decent zinger at the very least…
So enter ‘The Famous Gypsy Warrior’.
Why don’t you go right ahead and cross out ‘Famous’, mate. Hell, while you’re at it, throw a dash through ‘Warrior’ as well. ‘The Gypsy’ is much more suitable, be it you’re a fuckin’ nobody and all.
We’re here though, so let’s put that sweet ass moniker to use and get you some mileage outta it for the hot minute you’re still around these parts. Take that vast nomadic knowledge of yours and please enlighten me. Help me decipher a very confusing and troublesome threat that was all too frequently directed at me during my childhood. You see, when I was a wee shithead doing shithead like things, my Nana used to threaten that if I didn’t wisen up, she was gonna sell me to the Gypsy’s. What the fuck was that all about? Do Gypsy’s really buy people? If they do, what is their specific interest in little rapscallions? Knowing me as well as you do, are you able to accurately estimate how much I would have fetched Nana? Would said purchase be…taxable?
Great! Another tax pun ruined. Asshole…
Truth be told, I really don’t know much about you at all. That admission on my part goes hand in hand with my request you ditch the ‘Famous’ from your new self given nickname. At best, I know of you. I know what you did your first run here before you took your ball and went home. I know when you returned, your approach was vastly different from said first run. I know you like shoving your hands down fellow employees pants instead of handing them their receipts like a gentleman. I know that when a group of eight wrestlers are brawling, your goto move is suckerpunching the lone female of the bunch.
All in all, it’s not much to go off, but what’s there paints a pretty clear picture.
And my oh my is it fuckin’ ugly.
Or is it fookin’?
I’m supposed to brag about my victories over you, right? Everytime I speak, I should proclaim that I defeated the almighty Hughie Freeman not once, but twice. Do you know what would happen if I did that? I would hear a court of owls chirping back at me. Who? Who? Who? Go back a few sentences, and I believe my exact quote is ‘you’re a fucking nobody’. That applies right here too. Do you think you’re Mike Best or Dan Ryan or Max Kael? You’re not, bro. Believe it or not, bragging isn’t in my nature. I could mention my accolades, or the fact I’ve beaten five HOW Hall of Famers in singles competition, but I don’t. Well, except right there, but I don’t count that as a brag so much as a point.
But just so we’re clear…
I should consider beating you to be a point of pride, right? What the fuck do you know about pride my good man? You tossed pride out the window just shy of 8:30 this morning. Unfortunately, you just so happened to package your self respect with it too. You also tried your damndest to squeeze that petty little ball of yours through that stubborn window, but it didn’t quite fit, did it? That’s because this time is much different. You don’t get to leave like that. You leave when I say you fuckin’ leave, and when that time comes, you’ll leave empty handed because I’m keeping your ball you little bitch.
Like seriously, what in the fuck do you have to be mad about? For a fleeting moment, I thought I was the one who decked your girl. You’ve got this shit ass backwards, changing the narrative for…reasons? It’s obvious to anyone with a pulse I’ve gotten under your skin, that goes without saying. The only question that remains is: what was the final straw?
a.) My use of Fisher Fucking Priceless?
You can keep it, it’s not that clever. I’m more of a Hasbro guy anyways. Infact, I am Has-Bro. The Bro who Has the Championships, Has the girl, and most importantly, Has a set dangling between my legs.
b.) Mistaking you for Ben Affleck?
I’m sorry, but how is this not a compliment? If you had half the talent this man had in the pinky on his right hand, you’d be able to creatively put something together a tad bit longer than two hundred and twenty two words.
c.) Making fun of your hat?
It’s a stupid hat. No getting around it. I’m not sorry. Oh, and why’s your hair grey? Do you dye it?
d.) Calling you the number eight?
If you don’t like your lot in life, change it. You get what you put into it. And no, I’m not talking about you putting your hand in a dude’s pants without consent. That’s super weird. Please stop that.
e.) My proclamation that and I quote “Hughie’s a fuckin’ dead man.”
^ Between you and me, I think this is the one. ^
I mean, it was the last thing I said to which the first thing you said was “Aye, congratulations mate. You’ve retained.” Well that was fuckin easy, I should try that against everyone.
Hey Jiles, you’re a fuckin’ dead man. Just like that, I’m World Champion. Prove me wrong.
I know you had your heart set on calling this match off, because, you know, I’m a pussy and all, but I actually need this match. I need it because I need to set a precedent. I need to prove a point. There seems to be this misconception that my relationship with Lindsay Troy is or will be my achilles heel. That saying or doing something to her will send me in a blind fit of rage and I’ll fuck up and fall down.
Did you cheapshotting her piss me off? Fuck yeah. Did it add fuel to the fire? You know damn well it did. Did I lose sight of the fact that she’s a more than capable competitor who if I’m not mistaken won this very title from you in an I Quit Match? No, I most certainly did not. I’m entering Saturday’s fight with one goal in mind, and that’s retaining my LSD Championship. I just so happen to have the privilege of giving you a receipt in the process of doing so. And no, don’t get too excited, it’s not in paper form and my hand ain’t going anywhere near your waistline. My fist will however find its way to the ridge of your jaw, and trust me when I say that unlike Lindsay, you will see this one coming.
You just won’t be able to do fuck all about it.
You think you live rent free in our heads? Well pack your shit, cause I’m serving up your eviction notice.
I’m Champ. You’re Chump.
Technicality or not.
I Win. You Lose.
And yes, I might wank off after.