- Event: Refueled LIV
I really must not own…
What fuckin percentage is it even anymore?
Thirty-nine percent.
Like Simon says… hahaha… it really doesn’t matter. It’s a useless percentage and my title of COO is fucking meaningLESS. It was useless from the start since we all know that even a blind Lee Best would rather die five times over before he ever gave up a single ounce of control of HOW.
We can all talk about how Mike, Max, Mario and others have and do own parts of HOW. But it was all bullshit. We all know Lee has never had anything less than one hundred percent control of HOW at all fucking times.
Because if he didn’t… if my thirty-nine percent had any kind of fucking pull… I wouldn’t be stuck wrestling someone like Simon Loveless.
Either caring too much about a marriage that is obviously ruined beyond repair… or dumb enough to think that HOW HR could give a flying fuck about your dreams or how you or your wife feel about them. It’s obvious you aren’t serious about this HOW shit… so why are you wasting my fucking time?
Sure, pad my record with another win. Yes, multiple wins. Something I’m not even sure if you’ve gotten here in HOW. One HOFC victory and can anyone even remember what you did in HOW before you fucked off before. HOW the fuck do I keep getting saddled with these revolving door mother fuckers.
Oh, cause that’s just about everyone in HOW cause no one here has actual passion about this shit like I do to.
Yeah, I’m old… and I think I have tattoos that are older than you are. Congrats, I guess you passed your math class in high school this year. But this old man who should have retired some eight or so years ago made it just as far as you did in the DeNucci Cup. I’ve won as many matches as you this year… and I’ve had matches on the past two pay per views. Yes, I lost both, but what the fuck were you doing for Rumble at the Rock and ICONIC? Complaining about conspiracy theories?
What other crazy conspiracies do you got?
Lee Best wasn’t born in Chicago?
Maybe it was me that killed MFK… Max Fucking Kael, instead of Michael Harvey Bestwald.
Maybe that JEPW lasers… lasers owned by former HOW talent John Eric Peter Watson are keeping you from being HOW World champion and causing that fire in your asshole.
Fucking get real Simon Qless.
I’m gonna crack open a fucking beer man… and I’m not gonna waste that shit to make some lame as fucking joke about my love of beer that doesn’t taste Clydesdale Piss Light.
Oh I’m sure that one will go over well with Lee… but what the fuck is he gonna do?
WHAT LEE? WHAT?
Take away my worthless ownership of HOW? Book me against worthless HOW nobodies?
To be totally honest man. I don’t wanna wrestle you. I have zero fucking interest in this match and the number isn’t much higher for my overall interest in HOW. I blew my shot to reclaim the most important woman of my life, the LSD Title on my fucking island at Rumble at the Rock.
I failed to beat a video game character… or whatever the fuck Conor Fuse is to try and climb myself anywhere off the rock bottom level I was after Alcatraz.
Then I lose to… no… that one was fucking bullshit. I should have beaten Teddy Palmer. That motherfucker had nothing on me… he stole a win he didn’t deserve and then blew it all against the fucking milk man.
You say I should have retired a long time ago… and honestly I don’t have a fucking argument against that. At least not when it comes to the year of twenty-twenty.
I called my shot against Mike Best in the DeNucci Cup finals… got loads of shit from anyone who could open their fucking mouth… and then I fucking failed. There will be no Scottywood vs Mike Best match… not only because Lee and Mike fear the match up… but cause I apparently am missing something. Something about twenty-twenty and the start of this year which is no fucking different has me just off my fucking game.
YOU’RE OLD
That can’t be the only fucking reason. There has to be something I’m missing… something I can do still to get to a place in HOW that isn’t just the discount pity bin with Chris Kostoff and Darin Ziotthews.
Yeah, Kostoff is a fucking monster still… no matter what… but when has he beat anyone in the last five years? Even he can count that high I’m sure.
And while Zion-Matthews-Zion may have got a win this past week… that’s like catching a lightning bolt in a bottle and then figuring out a way to jack off with it. It seems great… but what did it actually accomplish?
It’s the same with this match Simon. If I beat you… what the fuck will it accomplish for me? You nailed down my resume pretty well… and beating you won’t crack it in the top hundred of anything i’ve done here in HOW. Fucking easily!
I’m still not playing the game that beating you has any meaning. Cause it’d be a fucking lie just to try and stroke my own dick a bit more when I murder you in that ring. Cause that is what I can do to you Simon… and I’d love it more than your last name could ever imagine. The extra paperwork… fuck it. I’ll happily coordinate the coroner to pull your dead carcass out of that ring and haul you to the Chicago morgue.
I’m past seven hundred and fifty words? And I can keep going? Fuck!
HOFC was so much easier. I could have been done with your ass by now but HOTv has so much more time now so they aren’t limiting the fucking rant I can unload on a man with such a emotionless name. That is despite having a word that some fucking saps believe is the strongest emotion in the world.
H…
HAT….
Nah… fuck that word to.
It had meaning back in the day… and it was gonna be something again. But all you fuckers in HOW shat on it like you do everything that isn’t apart of your fucking circle jerks. If it has the name Scottywood, Zion or Stevens… It’s open season for everyone in HOW to open their gaping assholes and shat all over it.
You think your little marriage problems are tough Simon? You think a few “bad” dreams about poker games if fucking rough? Well then fucking leave now. Turn around and get the fuck out of Chicago as fast as you can because shit is gonna get WAY fucking worse for you. To a point you can not even dream about handling.
Your left eye is twitching? Imagine it getting stabbed with a fucking pen cause your father won a title belt from someone’s stable bitch.
This place is no fucking joke… cause trust me… after twelve years I have never come close to finding a fucking punch line around here. And while I’m going to fucking destroy you Simon… it will not bring me any closer to finding out what is fucking wrong with me that I can’t seem to gain any fucking steam here in the new HOW.
Maybe it’s because I have woman problems… and the one I had all the faith in the world in… the LSD Title… fucking betrayed be like some uber fucking cunt who I’d love to lessen the connection of her head to her body… to the point of zero… and behead that bitch.
Ok.. that was some violent language…. Of which I meant every fucking word.
I’m done being apologetic to the LSD title… and everyone else. I am who I am and while I don’t give a fuck what a single one of you think… something does need to change. Something is not right on Planet Scottywood and I need to stop the global warming on it before shit gets uninhabitable and there is nothing I can do to save it… to save me.
Here is me drinking the craftiest fucking IPA and enjoying every bit of it. What the fuck do you wanna drink? Mass produced swill that thrives on shitty bro-centric commercials to falsely drive up the so called COOL factor of their tasteLESS crap.
Or maybe you are the wannabe wine mom? Not sure where that random fucking comment came from man… maybe you’re learning how to project your shit onto others from your shitty therapist who obviously is just waiting for you to separate from your wife so he can fuck her. Or at least that is why I would become a couples therapist. Fucking gold mine of women whoa re ready to get some fresh dick in their dusty vaginas.
When’s the last time you fucked your wife Simon? When she wasn’t scrolling on Instagram and looking at men she wished were on top of her instead. Maybe I should go like some of her posts. Show her what a real man looks like… instead of the fucking boy you are. Twenty-Three… no wonder you don’t like craft beer… probably can’t even afford it. Buying Natty Light thirty packs with the change you pulled out of your couch cushions so you can get hammered off four of them and in puke your buddies shoes.
I’m assuming you have buddies. You’re married… or a couple… or whatever, I could care LESS to find out… but it’s likely you have no friends of your own.
Or maybe you like to liquor in the front and poker in the back?
Such a classLESS tag line for an actual fucking place… ugh. Plastic bottles of borderline rubbing alcohol are cheap though… and I hear they’ll fuck you good. Better than your girl will I bet.
Who I beg you to bring to ringside… because I have never walked away from a match with another man’s woman to date… so that actually could make this match more interesting and crack my top hundred HOW moments for sure.
Then it’s March to Glory… at the mecca of entertainment, Madison Square Garden. I’m gonna make a statement with you Simon and then somehow I will get on that card to compete the world’s most famous arena… the NYR holy ground… the only sacred land I believe in. What… if anything Lee will give me… we’ll see. But if… when I’m on the card. I’ll remember you Simon. I’ll have a production bitch buy me a Natty Light and I’ll pour that water out for you in your memory.
I’d say that HOW will remember you… but I won’t lie to a dead man walking. And if I don’t finish the job on Refueled… I have no doubt your woman will. I’m almost sure she is masturbating to the thought of your dead body sitting in a casket and her being free from the fucking mess you are.
KETTLE!
Hey! I don’t pretend to not be a mess… or that I wanna maybe change something to make someone else feel a little less shitty. He’s still a weak fucking boy who can’t comprehend shit. Just watch as I literally blow his fucking brain from his skull and smears the remains across the fucking mat.
This is not up for debate… it’s not a question. Just know I’m gonna fucking humble your ass and show you just what this old man can still fucking do in that ring. Then you can fucking comment on if you think I should have fucking retired back when I got that HOF ring.
Simon should have said to shut your own fucking mouth… cause now The Hardcore Artist is going to fucking shut it for you… for good.
This Natty Light will be for you Simon… all for you.