Welp, here we go again.
Let me just rehash your promos real quick:
- This division sucks because I have no challengers.
- I’ve lost my fire and you’re gonna bring it back.
- You’re the big bad end boss I’m afraid to face.
That about sum it up there, Stevens?
Wait, I’m not facing Scott Stevens? Then what did I just… oh, you mean it’s just another derivative Texas hack spouting the same bullshit that all those other guys did? The same guys he said were embarrassing challengers for me? Alright, let me go ahead and do what I’ve been doing all year now, and try to answer the exact same promo with something new and creative, while a guy tells me I’m repeating myself.
You fuckin’ missed, bud.
If you’re gonna line up a double barrel of Byrd shot and fire them both prematurely, try hitting the target. That’s the hot take? Motherfucker, I can’t name three things you’ve done in HOW outside of taking a knockout from me and being eliminated literally first from the War Games match. You couldn’t beat Lindsay Troy’s backup boyfriend two matches in a row for a title I stopped caring about a decade ago, and you have the actual audacity to step up on a soap box and tell me I’m fucking soft? To tell me that I’m afraid of you?
Bitch, I BOOKED THE MATCH.
I begged for this match. I booked it live on radio, since we’re making the HOR canon for this one. I’m as thirsty for a good opponent as you are for a knee to the skull this week, problem is that EVERYONE IS FUCKING SCARED, CLAY. How many more of you stupid fucks are gonna play that off like it’s my kryptonite? You think I wanted to face Scott Stevens at a major HOW pay-per-view? You think I wanna coast? No, dickhead, I want hard matches and dangerous opponents. So find me one. Cause it ain’t you, homie. I knocked your ass out already, and I’m gonna do it again. Since you sent me a cute little Discord message this morning asking if we were playing with “No Butthurt” rules, lemme be real honest with you, cause someone needs to start being honest with this roster.
You aren’t as good as you think you are.
None of you are. A bunch of Fisher-Price imports who Lee didn’t expect to stick around longer than a cup of coffee, cause we needed to fill space in the DeNucci Cup. You know what you are, Clay? You know why Lee is so “high” on you? Because you met the bare minimum requirement of not getting butthurt and quitting after you lost out of the tournament. That’s your whole bitch ass resume, Clay– you didn’t quit after I knocked you out. Fuckin’ bravo, dude. Top marks. You are the future of this company.
The fuck out of here, Prospector Pete.
You thirsty little cornball dickhead, always blowing up my DMs looking for my approval like you want me to be your new Dad. Where the fuck is my Father’s Day card, Clay? OH MIKE, YOUR TWITTER ACCOUNT IS SO FUNNY LMAO. OH MIKE, WHERE DID EVERYTHING GO WRONG FOR ME AT WAR GAMES? OH MIKE COULD YOU TELL ME HOW I DID ON MY PROMO THIS WEEK? But now you wanna flex nuts because you’re going toe to toe with the champ, and you’re gonna pretend like you aren’t making me a mix-tape with your pregnant girlfriend tied up in the back of your pick-up truck.
Easy Stan, try to understand that I DO want you as a fan.
You wanna bring an infected arm into the mix, don’t think for a second I’m not gonna bring out your thirsty ass 2:00AM messages asking if I’m up. The fuck am I even gonna do to keep this interesting, now that you used up all your underwhelming material? You wanna have a deathmatch, Clay? Go career versus career? Loser shaves his balls live on the air, and has to follow Lindsay Troy to a Proboard fed where y’all can be co-World Champions together?
I really had high hopes for this one, Clay.
I set such a low bar, and you cringey fucks just keep limboing under it like HOW is the rent free party you all enjoy but don’t appreciate. At least put me over, moron– now you’re just gonna lose to a “coasting, fireless Mike Best”.