Here it is.
This here— on these satellite photos show all the misshapen mounds on Dan Ryan’s property. Such a shitty looking piece of land he lives on but not a surprise since it is owned by someone obsessed with nothing. Nothing…as in the equivalent of a child speaking to an imaginary friend.
Each mound is a hole that Dan Ryan has meticulous filled in after creating a six-foot chasm. Now, this is not for his murders…no, these are for each time he stood over an empty grave with a gun to his head as he contemplated ending his sad pathetic life.
Each time he stood there shaking with the gun to his temple but each time his hand was grasped by someone or something nobody could comprehend. It has stopped him, but it has not been able to stop his failed marriage or the doctors calling for him to be placed in a strait jacket.
This knowledge should make all competitors nervous because he has less to lose then Max Kael’s decomposing corpse.
Dan Ryan…does not care about anything. He doesn’t care about the titles he has won or a victory over some piece of trash like Johnny Dorn. No…he only cares about inflicting as much pain as possible. That is a true Dan Ryan victory and one I will not give him the joy of receiving. I am not some blowhard that will compare you to some cheap liquor or call you a choker because you lost a match. No…I look up to you, Dan.
All your accolades and all the people you have crippled…it makes me smile. I have sat and watched you rid HOW of Doozer and Scott Stevens and as much as I may have laughed, I did feel a little perturbed.
I felt slighted, Dan.
Each time you did that it was after I already demolished them but there you go taking all the credit. The truth is…you just took out the garbage after I filled the trash can. You are nothing but the HOW janitor while I am the new monster. I have said words that have made veterans pack their bags and head to shitty high school gyms. I would like to get the respect I have earned, but the villain is never given what they deserve. Heh, if I am a villain you may as well be a dictator in some despot.
This is most definitely not about good and evil. This is about who is more inclined to commit a crime inside a goddamn cage and The Miracle Man has never shown to care about another person’s health. I wouldn’t pause to put your daughter in my shitty STF, or you know…a corpse could work too.
I do not have anything but people on a payroll, Dan and that is by my own doing, I don’t trust Jack, I don’t trust Rebecca, I don’t trust Willian, and I do not trust Sandy. I trust the dollar bills that make their away to my hand. I trust my knee when it lands solid on someone’s neck. I trust my ability to toss anyone around a ring or a cage with a suplex.
I also trust that when it is over my opponent will be fucking bloodied and beaten. You are no different, Dan… just more respected. Respected in the sense his nickname is Murder Daddy not because he has any redeeming qualities. He is man who loathes himself more then any of us ever could. He doesn’t sleep, he doesn’t shower, and he doesn’t brush his teeth. He stares outside his home and watches locusts surround his dying crops with a smirk that haunts his maids dreams every night.
There is nothing left but a husk of man with a witty retort here and there, but he isn’t really there. His eyes are always glossed over and come after our match they will be shut because I will violently stick my index finger into each of his eyeballs while I grin back at him. I am doing you a service, Dan because now you will not have to see the face of Lee’s whore seeing eye bitch.
You will not have to see me walk up to her and wipe your blood across her face and let’s be honest that is good for both our sakes.
I do all of this for you, Dan… even if I do find an immense amount of enjoyment in doing it.
I’m absolutely giddy.