The Handicap Line Is Fire Tho

The Handicap Line Is Fire Tho

Posted on July 5, 2024 at 11:49 am by Mike Best

Free at last, free at last.

God almighty, she’s finally come out to play. And hitting hard, too! I… didn’t know there were… oh God… SIDE CHATS about me! Are you serious? Like… does that really.. say it ain’t so…

You fucking dummy.

There are side FEDS created because of me.

I’m in the last year of my career. I don’t give a shit who wants to be my friend. And I don’t give a shit about the big red belt anymore either, you know why? Because I OWN that shit. Anyone else wearing that belt owes me monthly fucking rent. Fuck it, I won’t even compete for that thing again. I don’t want a THIRTEENTH reign. Because after awhile, it becomes just as repetitive for me as it does for everyone else.

But you all walk on egg shells.

You know, so you don’t “incur my wrath”.

Everyone is always fucking telling on themselves. “Hey bro we all hate you but we’re afraid of what you’ll do if you find out”. EL EM EFF AYY OHHH. That’s the softest shit I’ve ever heard in my life. You can break every bone in my body before you can hurt my feelings, Bob, and that’s why I’m so fucking good at this. Because I see your little pew pew shoot promo and I go “hey, good, she’s finally firing live ammo”. Because that’s what I want, ALL THE TIME, and I don’t care who gets in their feelings about it.

You’re all adults.

Grow the fuck up.

Words don’t hurt. Knees do. Punches do. Having the side of your skull rocked against a steel cage over, and over, and over again until someone calls the NAACP does. So you can rub America’s achievements in my face, have fun. You can rub ANYONE’S achievements in my face. Because people like you, that’s your move. Brag on shit other people have done, because it’s hard to brag about being eliminated by me halfway into fucking War Games.

I had my worst War Games in ten years.

And I still bronzed that motherfucker.

My worst performances outshine your greatest hits, so I’m gonna suggest that you bring as many of your tired ass personalities as you can find to our HOFC match. You’re gonna need the handicap, and not just because walking the whole length of a Walmart parking lot hurts your fucking knees.

But oh, think of the side chats.

Fuck, that really sent me.

A bunch of two faced motherfuckers who don’t have the balls to say it to my face, and telling me about that is supposed to do what… make me feel bad? Mad? Sad? It’s just pathetic. High school shit. And hell, since this is the final title I feel like competing for in my career and it’s just a consolation prize anyway, maybe that’s the plan.

All you side chat bois?

Step up to the plate.

You wanna talk some shit, do it for a title. Because Carey might be cornier than a post-KFC bowl colon purge, but I at least respect that she says the shit to my face. This was fun as fuck, once she actually grabbed her little lady balls and squeezed a decent promo out of them. But the rest of you can fuck off. We’re gonna go back to conscripting opponents. And I’m gonna kick little Bobbie Nettie Harriet Tubman in the skull one time for each of the fucks I don’t give about anyone on this roster who talks shit about me, but only after looking both ways first to make sure I don’t run their asses over in the crosswalk.

This isn’t even a challenge for me.

I wrote this walking around a bookstore.

“Oh, Mike killed HOFC by taking all the fun out of it”. Good. Go join PRIME, with everyone else whose definition of fun is “winning matches and not having to fight Mike Best”. Go be a Conor Fuse, or a Clay Byrd, or a Max Kael, and talk your shit safely away from my prying eyes.

I thought this was wrestling.

My bad.

At CHAOS, after I formally inflict Carey with flying knee induced CTE, I’ll be sure to give her really strong feedback and ensure that she’s feeling valued. And then we can all make fucking S’mores. This business has become so soft that I’m amazed you aren’t all wearing helmets and thumb wrestling eachother.

I’m “mean”.

God, I fucking can’t anymore.

I’m killing everybody.