Scottywood Is A Goober

Scottywood Is A Goober

Posted on April 6, 2021 at 2:14 pm by Mike Best

IT’S NOT A TUMOR. 

I think that YOU think your promo was honest, but what a pack of True Lies. You might be Hercules in New York, but I’m a God in St. Louis. You think you’re a Terminator, but I’m a Terminator Too, and you’d better start Running, Man. Cool investigative skills you Kindergarten Cop, but I’m a Predator and your match against me on Saturday night is gonna be your Last Action, Hero. I’m coming with fucking bells on, Scotty– I’ll Jingle All The Way to the ring just in time to herald your End of Days. I’ve got Red Heat, and you’re colder than Christmas in Connecticut. You’re thirsty, but I Stay Hungry. I’m the Eraser of HOW, and I’ve become board of you.

JOKES USING ARNOLD SCHWARTZENEGGER’S IMDB PAGE.

ONE PUN ABOUT ERASERS AND BLACKBOARDS. 

YOU WON’T BE BACK.

Fucking boo hoo, Scottywood. You have a little bit of a rough year, buddy? Fuck you, Clifford the Big Red Dud, I’m going through a divorce too. I’m still here every Refueled, doing my fucking job– Lee doesn’t have to text me to see if I’m gonna make it to the arena this week. I leave you a million loose ends to pick apart, and you decide to mock me for the single greatest World Title run of all time? SICK BURN, BRO. Please stop complimenting me. It hurts my feelings. 

What a bunch of crybaby nonsense

“I WANTED TO HELP RUN HOW BOOOOO HOOOOO”. You didn’t step up. You sat back like the passive little bitch that you are, waiting for someone to give you something to do. You have the drive of Princess Diana’s town car, so it’s no surprise the wheels fell off two minutes into that wreck of a promo. Appropriate too, because all you’ve managed to do in your fiery rebuttal is complain about being left out of Royal events. 

JOKES ABOUT BRITISH NATIONAL TRAGEDIES. 

Oh, Mike Best held me back. 

Mike and Lee buried The Order! They’re the reason I can’t get over! 

Then beat me, Scotty. It’s so simple. Just beat me. Shut me up. Get me into that cage and end me, like you’ve been threatening to do for years. Or hey, just keep being another generic midcarder complaining that I’m the reason they haven’t been successful. The fuck interaction have we even had this era? I put you on my War Games team in 2019, on purpose. The eMpire was EXPLICITLY instructed not to bury Jobber Nexus, because even Lee knew it was going to be a cringefest the second you made yourselves into a glorified ring crew. You’ve been given opportunity after opportunity, just in time to hit yourself in the face with a rake and then curse the name of Mike Best for the injustice of your own underwhelming stupidity. I didn’t eliminate you from War Games first, like a fucking goof. I didn’t make you fued with all your own stablemates. I didn’t put a bottle of booze in your hand because LIFE IS JUST SO HARD. Unless I’m living so rent free in your head that you’ve literally named your own half-a-brain “Mike Best”, you’re pointing the finger at the wrong guy. 

What have you even done this run? 

I’d love to have something contemporary to make fun of you for, but I’m stuck with the greatest hits. You’ve accomplished a cumulative “fuck all” since HOW came back– you’re ranked twenty second on a roster of twenty three. You’re not gonna do surgery on HOW and remove the tumor, Scotty. You’re gonna lose steam after a strong start, flake out after three promos, and disappear for a couple of months until whatever self-esteemless trollop who’s charity banging you this month gets bored of dating a metal clown with a drinking problem. Can’t wait to see what shitty stable you debut when you hobble back into HOW, promising that “this time things will be different”. 

They’re never different, are they Scotty? 

Maybe you can call this one “ANGST” or “ANGER” or “AGGRESSIVE EMOTIONAL NOUN”. Maybe they’ll get super over for a week or two, before you announce the triple threat at the pay-per-view. Maybe Hughie Freeman can join, just to shake things up a little bit. You can even bring in those hockey players who existed for three weeks, just to disappear like the ass end of a Sam Adams at 7:30 in the morning.

Eastern Scottywood Time.