I’m a Veteran of foreign wars.
I’m THE American Alpha.
I’m the #1 MERCDAD.
Those are the things that literally define ME as a man.
But, who the fuck are you?
You walk around with your chest puffed up, bitch tits perked, and your chin held high as you use your War Games victories to inflate your Russia-sized ego. I see right through the false confidence you hide behind.
You’re a fucking coward.
You have no backbone whatsoever.
And everyone fucking sees it.
You’ve been running around for two fucking decades in your bullshit costumes, cosplaying as a patriot. But in all that time, no matter how much you tried to suppress your true feelings, you knew that deep down, you were (and still are) a delusional fucking coward. A REAL patriot and man would have walked right into a military recruiting office, signed on the dotted line, taken the oath of enlistment, and headed downrange to get in the fight.
Oh, my bad, you fuckin’ civilian.
Downrange means to go to a combat zone.
That’s what I did, Chris. I didn’t stay back and play patriot and thank the troops like a little Captain America cosplay, bitch…No, I got in the fight when my country needed me to.
That’s the difference between us.
Not your War Games victories, not the size of your man tits, no…it’s the fact that you played War Games, but what I did wasn’t a game and I wasn’t playing.
I know your type, Chris. You’re the type of motherfucker who overcooks a steak cause you’re afraid of the blood, but posts on his Facebook page about how he only eats them rare. You’re the type of guy that I run into at the bar and shouts, “Bro, I was going to join the Army! I wanted to fight so bad! I almost did it, dude!” But then quickly sits his ass back down because he knows he’s full of shit.
You’re that guy, Chris.
And almost…almost doesn’t fucking cut it.
You either did, or you didn’t…and you fucking DIDN’T.
“But I won War Games three times.”
Cool, I survived real war.
I killed enemy insurgents.
I put rounds down range on enemy targets.
War Games deez nuts.
I’d rather hang my hat on the hook of combat than brag that I rode an 18 year old to victory.
And I don’t know what you’re so excited about anyway. Had it not been for Tyler Best, your ass would have been pinned before you ever had a shot of winning the match. You and I stood toe-to-toe, staring one another down. I was ready to rock and roll, and instead of bringing the fight to me…you let Tyler do it. And you let the little prick attack me from behind, no less.
Wow, you kinda sound like a terrorist. Sounds like a real American hero to me. It’s not surprising, but it speaks volumes about your character, Chris. Watching the two of you vote for one another at Refueled was so cute it made me grow a big rubbery one. I’m surprised y’all didn’t just have the ceremony at Pearl Harbor.
You may have been a misunderstood patriot before, but now the whole world has seen the type of coward you are. You made that painstakingly clear when you rambled on and on about your contractual stipulations about how you will defend the World Championship exclusively in HOFC matches.
Last I checked, the World Championship is a fucking wrestling championship. Mike Best, the single greatest HOFC fighter of all time, never insisted that the World Championship be defended in a HOFC match. And hey, what would he know…he only won…what, like ten of them?
But you…you think you’re special.
You might think this is just some cool shit you’ve managed to negotiate, but I see it for what it is, and that’s a lack of confidence from the boss and it’s a lack of confidence in yourself.
You’re good at two things. You’re good at War Games, and you’re good at HOFC.
But you’re not that fucking good.
This Independence Day, when you wake up beaten, battered and hungover, you’re going to realize the disappointment of losing your World Championship to the single greatest American to ever step foot inside a HOW ring.
Now let me get back to enjoying my Father’s Day, before I really lose my shit, you commie fuck.
Now thank me for my service, bitch.