- Event: Refueled XLVIII
Seriously?
Fuck off.
You can’t be for real with that bullshit. Can you?
No seriously, I’m curious. I’ll wait.
I’ve seen more shit talking and wittier comments at youth soccer games from overweight housewives than I saw from you, Mamba. And don’t forget…I’d know. I am the number one dad, after all. Shit, I’ll bet any one of those those stretchy-pant wearin’ soccer moms fight better than you to…in fact, I’ll stamp that statement with a fuckin’ guarantee like I’m fuckin’ Tommy Calahan in this bitch.
On the real though, Mamba…that was hardly worth tuning in for.
I don’t even know who the fuck you are and even I expected more than that bullshit…even from a British fuck like you. But I guess failing is just in your DNA; it’s been a British tradition for generations. I guess all that hype and flash Lee Best threw your way was all for not. He’s been telling me about “Mamba this” and “Mamba that” for the last six months, and I just expected so much more from you, and then I get to listen to you ramble on about “old man this” and “old man that.” It was disappointing to say the least. I can only assume that you are trying to convince yourself that you can compete at this level by repeatedly calling me an old man.
I might be old, but at least I’m not irrelevant.
Other than the World Champion, I’ve been the most featured wrestler in HOW these past 10 months. From #1 Dad, to soldier of the fucking millenium; I’ve lived at the top of the marquee. So, did you think that calling me old and pointing out a few gray hairs was going to force me into obscurity or even bother me one fucking bit? You should have known better, Mamba. But again, I think you’ve been given far too much credit.
These gray hairs are from experience. To be more specific, combat experience. That’s not something I’d expect you to understand, you limey fuck. I served with some soldiers of the Queen’s Army while I was in combat, and if you’re anything like those tea-drinkin’ shitbags…this is gonna be a walk in the motherfuckin’ park.
You seem confused and incapable.
Like a bird in Home Depot, you’re lost as fuck. You have no business in the DeNucci cup; you should have stayed the fuck home. What the fuck are you trying to accomplish? Did you actually think you would win? Let alone get out of the first fucking round? Well, you might have gotten out of the first round, but unfortunately for you…you drew ol’ number-one himself.
But that’s cool, if you’ve got something to prove to yourself…well, so be it. I’ll be there to welcome you back.
When was the last time your sorry ass was even in a wrestling ring anyway? Let alone a real-life fuckin’ fight? I’ll give you a few minutes to go to the web archive and find something worthwhile…even though we both know nothing you’ve ever done has ever been worthwhile, and was never archived in the first fuckin’ place. Must be hard when even an artificial bot won’t even recognize what you’ve done in a wrestling ring. But don’t blame me, Mamba. That’s just the way life is sometimes. Life just ain’t fuckin’ fair, and you’re going to find out on Saturday, that I’m not fair. I’m not just. And I don’t give a flyin’ fuck about you, your past, your future or your well-being.
On Saturday, while I choke the life out of you and the darkness begins to creep in, I’ll give you one last chance to apologize. I let up just enough to allow you to tell me that you’re sorry for ever thinking that you belong in the same ring, octagon or building as me. But don’t just apologize to me. Apologize to the thousands watching live. Apologize to thousands of people who thought that Black Mamba still had it.