Well, I guess I gotta put you over now, right?
I kid, Woodson. Look, I know I’ve got you all up in your feelings, but the truth of the matter is that I picked you as my first HOFC title defense because I wanted it to be a banger. I wanted an old school original who I knew could still go. Despite the utter ridiculousness that is “Scottywood”, fact is that you’re tough as fuck and you’re not the kind of guy who is gonna fold up like an accordion when I start popping off at the mouth. You’ve got the most total days as HOFC Champion, the longest title reign, and you’re the only other guy left who was ever worth a single fuck in the HOFC division back in the day.
So yeah, it was always gonna be you, Scotty.
You’re absolutely a real dumb motherfucker with a clown head. You absolutely look like Ron Weasley discovered heroin at Hogwarts and stopped believing in magic. The letters NGW do absolutely legitimately make me throw up in my mouth a little bit, and I would believe you if you told me it was a sexually transmitted disease. But at the end of the day, there is no man but you who was suitable to get the first shot at the title that sparked my whole HOW career. You should be honored by that. You should take that as its own reward. Celebrate that as a victory in and of itself.
Because make no mistake, that’s the only victory that’s coming for you.
I AM going to beat the shit out of you.
I’m gonna kickfuck you until it’s over, Scott. I’m gonna elbow you in the face until you look like ground beef. I’m going to slam you into the cage and punch you until I can’t anymore. And then, bud, I’m going to smash my knee into your skull and knock you unconscious. Bryan McVay is going to yell “AND STILL” and the crowd is going to boo. That’s how these matches end. You aren’t going to change that, and that’s fine. You were picked. You were chosen. You’re the guy. Of all the sacrificial lambs, you were my favorite, and the real HOFC Championship was the friends you made along the way.
Cause you ain’t leaving with mine, Scotty.
This really has been fun, throwing down with you again. You’ve done a better job than I expected, but let’s be fair here, like the Planet Scottywood in New Orleans, your bar is pretty low. And you can call me Katrina, because when the levee breaks on Saturday night, even FEMA can’t stop your hopes and dreams from washing away. I’m going to leave your career hanging out on a roof waiting for a rescue that will never arrive. I’m going to put you out of the misery that you seem to be wallowing in, because the Scottywood I invited to participate in this match would beat the shit out of you if he heard you whining and crying and making excuses.
I don’t want this Scottywood at Refueled.
Figure it out, Scooter. Tap into the beast that gave me a run for my money back in the day. The lame cheesedick who wasn’t afraid to die in the fucking ring. Somewhere, behind all the tears you’re crying about what a bully I am, there’s a Hardcore Artist ready to spray some Johnson & Johnson in your eyes and tell you to be a man. A stone cold killer who wants to tear the house down on Saturday night, and who REALLY believes he has a shot at beating me.
I want that guy to get into the cage.
I want that guy to fucking bring it on Saturday night. I want a gritty, bloody war. I want to make Rob proud, and prove that I deserved to win the DeNucci Cup. You and I can do that together, if you stop being a pussy and complaining about your fucking life. You and I can do that, if you shut the fuck up and fight me. I want to make the HOFC Championship the hottest fucking title in HOW, and I know you have that in you, Scotty. I fucking know you do.
That’s why I picked you.
That’s why you’re the guy.
Now man the FUCK up and stop crying.