In Which Our Hero Accepts A Guest Spot

In Which Our Hero Accepts A Guest Spot

Posted on April 6, 2021 at 4:56 pm by Mike Best

EEYYYOOOO OCTANE FREAKS!!!!

It’s ya boi Gino “CHOO CHOO” the motherfuckin’ G-Train Giordano, a little blast from the past for your lil’ dreadlocked ass. Whassup Pottywood? You still sitting down to drain that snake? Little bitch ass, knew you’d never learn to stand up for yourself. Figured I’d drop in and pop some shit at an old buddy of mine who wanted to cry about burial this week. Seems awful ironical of a little ass boy of your magnamatude to forget about the single greatest burial in the historical anals of HOW… the burial of the greatest HOFC Champion of all time. 

MICHAEL’S NOTE: I’m the greatest HOFC Champion of all time. Disregard that. 

Remember when I beat you fuckin’ fair and square, Scotty? Five promos to three, because your nappy ginger ass couldn’t even bother to max out? Told the whole world I was a no name Jersey Jobber and a one note fuckin’ joke. Talked so much shit and sprinkled so much dirt on my fuckin’ grave, but there was only one problem. You knew I had you, bro. You fuckin’ knew you were dunzo, so you pissed and moaned and then jumped me like a little bitch. Threw the HOFC Championship at me and walked away crying because you had a little bitch ass burial tantrum. 

But yeah bro, Mike Best is holding you down, amirite? 

My dude, you been a wrestler for like a hundred years and most of ‘em been about as fruitful as an orange tree in Canada. All the sudden the G-Train rolls into HOW and you gotta protect your spot. Gotta protect your image. Gotta bury the brand new champion. I had to go back to developmental until people forgot what you did you me, my dude. Even when I came back to team with DANOOCH (RIP BRO), I still had that stink on me. You didn’t just bury me, dog, you took the entire fuckin’ wind out of my career and a big win. 

You buried me so hard it almost broke HOW. 

Remember when Rob Michaels walked, because your weak bitch behavior made him sick to his fucking stomach? Remember when he took me, and DANOOCH (RIP BRO), and Mike, and Townsend with him? Remember when half the roster was about to bounce like your head off a headboard, because you cried so hard that the company started taking on water and couldn’t bail you out? 

MICHAEL’S NOTE: JOKES ABOUT SINKING SHIPS

My dude, you been crying for over a decade. 

Ain’t nothing ever fair enough for Scottywood. Ain’t nothin’ ever his fault, either. Life is fuckin’ hard, bro, but you don’t see everyone else staining their fuckin’ American Apparel t-shirts and looking for sympathy. These abs dont’ run, but your mascara does. Fucking pussy. Fucking dreadlocks pulled back so they don’t drip in the toilet when you get morning sickness. That’s a pregnancy joke, my dude… cause when I fuck your ex-wife, the hormones out of control. 

MICHAEL’S NOTE: WHORE MOANS, SCOTTY. HOMONYMS. 

Fuck you, you’re a homonym. I’m straight as fuck bro. 

Scotty, I been waiting for this match for like nine years bro. 

This week I ain’t just jacked and I ain’t just tan. I’m also gonna be in the corner of the MOTHERFUCKING GOAT when he beats that ass like yous a submissive donkey. I wanna see that shit with my own two eyes. I wanna watch him run G-TRAIN on Scottywood, and when it’s over, I got a big fat custom HIPPO-CRIT championship to throw at you like I’m paying my whore. Keep that fucking change too, my dude. 

Hard love to throw change on sluts. 

And it ain’t just the G-TRAIN pulling into the station either, bro. Whole SixTime staff is coming down to watch Mike Best eat a pussy like his name was Alf. Alex Beckman. Durango. We’re all coming to ringside, but you don’t gotta worry about a double team– like you sitting outside Kelly Woodson’s window jerking off, we just comin’ to watch a bitch get pounded. Ain’t gonna be no hardcore clinic. No crustyfictions, no Battledomes, no fuckin’ gimmicks. Just the motherfucking Son of God, bouncing a knee off your skull like a toddler on Santa’s lap, while you squirm around on the ring looking for someone to blame. And EYYOOO kid, don’t look at me when you’re looking for sympathy, neither. 

You buried me.

Now you want flowers on your grave? 

The fuck outta here, bitch. 

CHOO CHOO.