Please pay attention to me. I can’t stand it when you ignore me.
Please shut the fuck up, you pick-me bitch.
I’ll oblige though, since you’re so upset that I haven’t played your bullshit games.
Bro, we all get it.
You fuckin’ HATE the military.
You’ve made that perfectly clear.
Why would I avoid talking about the military? Because you asked me to?
Clearly, comprehension is an issue here.
The military is the part of my life that I’m most proud of. I’ve experienced things you only have nightmares about, and for some reason that offends you. I guess I’ll never get it, cause I’m not a coward-bitch like you. I had the balls to stand up and fight when 98% of the country – including you – didn’t.
When I saw the towers come down, I took action.
I did exactly what my country needed me to do.
You sat in your donut, you fuckin’ cream puff.
I thought you were better than dick and fart jokes, but I guess that was giving you way too much credit. That was my complaint. Not the jokes, but that I thought you were better than that.
Again, I was wrong.
You’ve also made it crystal fucking clear that the world championship means dick to you. The only thing you gave two shits about was surviving War Games and now that War Games is over, it’s incredibly obvious that you are too. Everyone knows that once you lose that championship you’ll immediately crawl back into the void you call your life and disappear from HOW like the part time asshole you are.
The difference between us though Chris, is that I’m here for the long haul.
It makes perfect sense that you would take the shortcut to a loss by challenging me for your first defense.
Where will you be in August?
You’ll be back on the couch like you were six months ago.
So, please…spare me the bullshit rhetoric about how great you are.
Know my history? The only reason I didn’t know you were on the Octane was because I was out taking a piss when your lame ass was on TV.
You’re that guy.
Hell, there’s no need for a women’s match when Christopher America is on the show.
Have you caught on yet?
Here, let me say it in plain English, you commie prick: You’re the piss break guy.
Your incoherent rambling has done literally nothing to bring value to the HOW World Championship. Quite frankly you’ve only brought it down a notch or two, and you managed to do that in only a few weeks somehow…which, considering the prestige of that belt, is pretty fuckin’ remarkable.
All of this has been rewarding though. Not because I’ve enjoyed it, but because I know how all of this will end.
It’s going to end with the start of the Summer of Dad, and that will officially begin when the HOW World Championship strapped around my waist for the first time, in all of its glory.
I don’t care about you, like…not even a little bit. You weren’t even on my radar until two months ago.
Remember? I was awarded a medal while your bitch ass hobbled around the ring.
Or did you already forget that night?
It would make sense that you’d try to rewrite history…that’s what y’all are up to these days anyway.
The only time the two of us have had ANY type of physical contact with one another, you were obliterated with a Solexecution and ran to the back with MY spit in your fuckin’ face.
I’m weak? I haven’t seen the TINIEST bit of retaliation for that incident.
Not one word, not one physical attack.
Kettle, meet pot.
Why would I put myself out there, when I already had the upper hand?
You wrote some fake letters into my show.
I put your bitch-ass down.
See the difference?
And when you had the chance at War Games, you didn’t do shit about it.
This is my summer, Chris. And there’s not a fuckin’ thing you can do about it now except for hand over that championship belt when the bell is rung and I’m declared champion of the fuckin’ world.
I’m gonna bathe in your bloo…oh, wait…you already said that lame shit.
I’m gonna break every bone in your…
I’m gonna rip off your arms…
Dude, you took all the good shit. You really are a self-centered, selfish prick.