Let’s Fucking Go!

Let’s Fucking Go!

Posted on October 7, 2021 at 11:39 pm by Scottywood

You took the fucking bait… I honestly can’t fucking believe it…

No, no… that’s a lie I can fully fucking believe it.  If there is one thing that you can #BestBet on… it is that Mike Best’s fragile fucking ego will always be his biggest weakness.

I mean I had the most obnoxious over the top party for the most technical win I could have gotten over you Mike.  I pinned Steve Solex after Sutler Kael cracked your fucking skull open with a HOF ring.  I almost thought it was too much… that you would see straight through all the bullshit for what my plan really was.  I mean I paid someone to bake a fucking cake with your face on it.  I dug up some retired titles just to imitate your non-sanctioned HOFC title run.

HOW much of YOUR brain did you lose when Sutler split you open Mike?

Must have been more than mine, cause I am stunned you thought for even a minute that this wasn’t my plan.  You think I don’t see that while I did score a victory against you… I didn’t beat you Mike?  Sutler Kael stole that opportunity from me… and I wanted it back.

And it was so fucking easy…

Because while you are the greatest wrestler ever to step foot into a HOW ring… for some reason you have the most fragile fucking ego.  That’s why when anyone even mutters your name… ats you in some tweet… or puts mayo instead of mustard on your fucking burger.  You have to track them down and beat into their ever loving mind that Mike Best is the absolute greatest fucking thing to ever walk this GOD of HOW’s given Earth.

All you needed to do was to drop a single fucking line again Mike.  Fuck you too Scotty.  Let me fuck off with my fake Tag Team Titles and my cake in my hand.  No one else would have cared about by dumb party or would have remembered your technical loss.  I would have just looked like a fucking idiot who shot himself in the foot again after gaining the slightest bit of momentum.  But you made those titles fucking legit again Mike.  You made my victory mean all that much more… because you showed everyone just how much it bugged you.  How it is eating you alive, bit by fucking bit.

So instead of focusing on your World Title match at Alcatraz… you are going to risk it all.  You are going to risk your health… your world title shot… your career just to prove that the greatest of all time, Mike Best, is truly better than Scottywood.  Because I baked a fucking cake with your face on it and threw a party.

I know I may have a pretty hokey façade outside of the ring… but you also know just who the fuck I am inside of it Mike.  I am The Hardcore Artist.  A butcher with barbed wire.  The God of Crucifixions.  The Anti-Christ of Anarchy.  You barely survived HOFC against me months ago.  You were nearly killed in a tag team match.  And you thought it was fucking smart to roll the fucking dice again and hope it doesn’t land on snake eyes?

Then… then… if you do manage to survive and win, your prize is to do it all over again next week at the go home show before Rumble at the Rock?  Holy fucking shit, did I just win the fucking lottery here?  

I know you spent a lot of time fighting in HOFC matches over the last year, but obviously the HOW doctors missed some severe CTE issues that are already degrading the second best wrestling mind in HOW… or in America!

What the fuck is stopping me now from coming down to that ring and breaking that precious fucking knee with a lead pipe and taking the fucking DQ?  Now not only do you have a broken knee, but then I get to face you again the next week and break his other one.  How well do you think a zero legged man will do in an ass kicking contest against Conor Fuse?

Maybe I just wrap that knee around the ring post and fucking shatter it with the steel steps.  I can already hear the bones and cartilage cracking.  Turning that mighty knee and leg into nothing more than a wet fucking noodle that I can then beat the shit out of you with.

Oh what about that new soft spot on the back of your head.  What if I claw the fucking stitches out and cram my own NGW Bottom Line pen into your fucking brain.  I know a thing or two about brain surgeries… I’m sure you’ll be fine.

How about I steal Jatt’s old golf cart and run your ass down on the entrance way?  What was Max’s old saying before he died too?  

Speed Bump!

Geez, your brother Max almost a year ago, dead at your hands.  Your father, dead less than a week ago from your knee at Bottom Line.  Seems like you’re almost begging to join them Mike, as you keep tempting the hands of fate by stepping into the ring once again with me.  In a match that I have absolutely NOTHING to lose in.  I again get to beat the ever hating shit out of you.  If I win, then I’ve truly beaten Mike Best and sent you likely literally crippled into your match at Rumble.  If I lose… then I’ve still likely crippled you and like I said before, I get to do it all over again a week later.

Plus what you and everyone else in HOW have failed to understand after all these years… it’s never been about the wins and loses.  Sure, I’ve collected many wins and plenty of title belts.  But it’s all about causing pain and getting to beat the fuck out of the person across the ring from me.  Something that because I’m so good at, those wins and titles have also come.  So don’t get me wrong.  I WANT to beat you Mike.  Because I know no matter how badly I torture you in that ring.  No matter how many bones I snap.  No matter how much blood I spill on that canvas.  That losing to me will hurt you more than anything I can physically do to you.  The breaking of bones and spilling of blood will just be a fucking cherry on top.

Phoenix, Arizona
October 7th, 2021

Cut to a hotel room near the Talking Stick Resort Arena… wait, is that really the name of the fucking arena?  That’s really fucking racist.  No?  It’s not called that anymore?  It’s actually the Footprint Center now?  Oh fuck, don’t tell Lee, he’ll have a fucking meltdown about the road schedule being wrong again.

Anyhow, Scotty, hanging out with Carey now, has upgraded his hotel accommodations to a place where it doesn’t look like you’ll get Hep C from the fucking floors.  Or where you need to pay by the hour… or in some people cases, the minute.  It has more than one star on Yelp… probably four actually.  We see Scottywood sitting on the bed and staring at his barbed wire hockey stick as he slowly twirls it in his hands. 

Bobbinette Carey walks over as she stares at Scotty for a few moments, trying to gain his attention.  But The Hardcore Artist is lost in the glistening beauty of the razor sharp barbed wire that he intends to plunge through the skin of Mike Best.  To let his blood flow like the Nile river across the ring.  Maybe wrap it around his throat and pull it until those barbs sever his fucking vocal cords and silence Mike Best forever.

One can fucking dream.

“Hey, you okay Scooter?” Questions Carey as Scotty has been unusually quiet and scarily sober since it was announced that he would once again face Mike one on one.

“You know you can’t legally use that against Mike, right?  This isn’t an HOFC match.  There are rules and you know this.” Sighs Carey lightly, palming her face in her hand.

“That would get you automatically disqualified. But you really don’t care about that, do you?” Questions Carey, really knowing the answer already.

Scotty stops spinning the hockey stick and looks up at Carey, also with the kind of looks that says she already knows the fucking answer.  Carey picks up one of the HOW Tag Team titles and tosses it down on the bed next to Scotty.  He looks at it for a moment before looking back at Carey.

“I honestly don’t know if we are really the tag champs or not right now.  We defend them if you lose… and if we win?  But to be uberly honest, I’d really prefer not to face Mike Best next week. Especially since I have to already have my ex asshole breathing down my neck.” Carey says as she hugs herself shuddering at the mention of the awful one.

“So I need to know that you are good to go for this. You’ve won your last few matches. I know it doesn’t matter but I’ll be there Saturday night, at ringside and make sure that…” Carey tries to reassure Scotty with her fully support, but The Hardcore Artist cuts her off as he starts shaking his head.

“I’m more than fucking ready for this.” Cut in Scotty, his tone sounding definite.

“Because this is all I wanted from the moment I pinned Solex, after I saw what Sutler did to Mike.  Another chance to massacre Mike… and utterly shake his confidence on his way to trying to claim his tenth HOW World Title.  Fuck us all if he gets to double digit title World Title wins.  Plus all the new merch we’ll have to watch him try and shill.” 

Scotty makes a sound of disgust almost gagging at the notion. He shakes it off and continues.

“Mike thinks he is invincible.  HOFC was a wonderful illusion.  But I am going to remind him just who the fuck I am in an actual ring come Saturday night.  A man who is concerned with nothing more than hurting people as much as he can.  Someone who is more than willing to see how the famous knee of Mike Best fairs against a fucking chainsaw.” Smiles Scotty as Carey just shakes her head.

“You can’t use a chainsaw Scooter!  This is a normal wrestling match… and even if it wasn’t, a chainsaw?  Seriously? You’re not Leatherface and pretty sure you can’t play that off as legal in any way, shape or form.” Ponders Carey as Scotty just stares back with a shit eating grin.

“One legged men don’t win Tag Team titles in reality Carey.  Maybe in some fantasy world where they eat their vitamins and say their prayers.  But not here in HOW.  Mike Best is not Hydra, if I cut off one limb, two more won’t grow back.  He’ll be Lieutenant Danning it down to that fucking ring next week and we’ll throw him around like a sack of fucking potatoes.” Prophecies Scotty as he reaches over for the bottle of water on his night stand and takes a long drink after his mini rant. Carey puts her hand to her forehead already feeling a tension headache.

“Don’t you start making Irish jokes, Scooter.” Scolds Carey as Scotty just shakes his head.

“Don’t be going and getting all a half offended.  I didn’t say three-fifths of a sack of potatoes.” Smirks Scotty as Carey wants to fucking smack Scotty, but realizes he is just trying to get a rise out of her.

“I’ve been in some shitty places the last two weeks Carey.  I almost lost just who the fuck I am because of some shitty booking… and people getting all butt hurt about me grabbing a couple of belts that no one was using.”  Comment Scotty as he looks over at the titles beside him. Those two belts that caused all this commotion before looking back to his partner.

 “But trust me, Scottywood is back to being the only thing he is truly good at.  A man that goes down to that ring and fucking beats the fuck out of his opponent and leaves them never being fully the same after it.  Mike Best will lose part of himself in that ring come Refueled.  He will not leave the same person he was when he talked whatever bullshit earlier today.  Sure he pretended to talk me up, lied about why he “really” needed this match.  It’s all grade A fucking bullshit.  All fucking lies to hide the insecurities that he HAS to shoot down, or else his entire world will crumble upon him.” Grins Scotty, taking some solace in his belief that Mike Best, despite being the greatest ever, is an insecure little bitch in reality.

“Scooter, I believe you. I’m also going to say one hundred percent honestly, I’m a little scared of this side of you.  This is a match at the end of the day… and not a reason to kill someone. Even if he is an uber douche”

“Do I have to also remind you just who the fuck you have gotten into the proverbial bed with?  I may have played your epic games of knighthood in the past… but that bullshit isn’t going to help me beat… and yes, if I fucking need to… murder Mike Best in that fucking ring.  This shit between us has gone far past simple business.  Well past some “match”.  It’s personal as fuck and I just want to hurt that motherfucker in every way I possibly can.” Explains Scotty as he picks up one of the HOW Tag Team Titles from the bed.

“At the end of the day, as much as I respect these fucking titles to death, despite what anyone fucking tells me.  I will gladly give them up so I can rip every ounce of fresh from Mike Best’s body and turn him physically turn him into a worthless sack of shit to match his fucking personality.” Drops Scotty as he tosses the Tag Team title onto the bed and grabs his barbed wire hockey stick again, staring at the glistening thorns.

“Just imagine it Carey.  Me taking this barbed wire and wrapping it around the fucking skull of ChristPlow and crucifying his ass in the middle of that HOW ring.  Driving those stakes through his hands as he screams.” Smiles Scotty as Carey is starting to truly get disturbed by Scotty as he looks towards the door in case she needs to make a quick exit.

“Scooter… there are other ways to beat Mike this week.  A Game Misconduct on a chair maybe?” Suggests Carey as Scotty cocks his head to the side.

“Don’t kill my fucking boner Carey!  I am going to rip Mike Best apart, bit by fucking bit until there is nothing left but a fucking carcass for Conor Fuse or whomever to pin at Rumble at the Rock.  Just remember Mike… you wanted this fucking match… and I’m going to make you fucking regret it.” Promises Scotty as he takes the Hockey stick and slams it against the hotel room before he storms out, leaving a visibly disturbed Bobbinette Carey to wonder what exactly has been unleashed upon HOW.