The Punching Bag Chronicles: Volume II

The Punching Bag Chronicles: Volume II

Posted on July 10, 2023 at 8:06 pm by Mike Best

Tick tock, you stupid fuck. 

I’m not waiting around all day for you to nitpick every last note of whatever symphony of failure you’re composing. You insignificant little fanboy. You’ve been on my nuts like a jockstrap for a decade and you never shut the fuck up, but now all of the sudden mum’s the fucking word from Darin “Who Gives An Actual Fuck” Zion. You asked for this, Lenny, so why don’t you tell us all about the rabbits one more time before I put a knee to the back of your head and pull the fucking trigger. 

You awkward simpleton. 

I almost feel like I owe this match to High Octane Wrestling. After all, it’s my fault that we’re here in the first place. I’m the idiot fuck who heralded you as the next coming of Mike Best when you waddled in here from Penguin Country. I’m the one who sang your praises on the radio, and called you one to watch. People have been wrong before, but fuck, I don’t think anyone has ever been as wrong as I was. The single biggest L you’ve ever handed me wasn’t in one meaningless tag team match in 2014, Darin, it was simply being yourself. Simply living your simple, try-hard, “please like me, guys” Darin Zion truth, and making me look like Nostradumbass for predicting you’d amount to literally anything in this fucking company. You peaked at the bottom of the top, and even at the smallest our roster has ever been, you’ve continued to fail to reach even the top of the bottom. 

But now you want to “prove yourself”. 

Prove… what, exactly? 

You’re fighting to get a match with Brian Hollywood into a lower card match on HOW’s least famous pay-per-view. There are Lifetime movies less sad than this, that end with less murder. Don’t get me wrong, if you want to end up in the ICU over a piss break match that gives our hard working Australian fans the opportunity to buy my fucking merch, by my guest, but I just… I don’t get it. It’s like the booking of a PRIME main event– it makes absolutely no sense to me in a way that makes me equal parts sad and angry.



Maybe if you had an iota of hunger amidst all that thirst, you’d have made something of yourself by now, Zion. But you’re so fucking thirsty. I’ve never seen a motherfucker gargle two gallons of my piss and still look parched, but you just keep drinking and drinking and drinking. Did your parents hug you too much? Did they not hug you enough? I’m starting to think that “REAL LOVE” isn’t a nickname, it’s just a desperate cry for affection that doesn’t automatically renew on your credit card on the 8th of each month. Darin Zion is jealous of OnlyFans because it’s plural, and he’s still just fighting every day for one single fucking fan. 

God, I fucking hate you. 

You’re just an ugly little weeble that wobbles but is too dumb to fall down. I don’t like that we breathe the same air. I don’t like that we’re allowed to eat from the same table at catering. I don’t like that there is even the smallest part of you that thinks that you have even the smallest chance of getting the smallest win against me this week. More than anything? I don’t like that you’re gonna get even an iota more famous just by stepping into the cage with me on Sunday night. That you’re gonna have more eyes on you than ever. Losing to me is going to bring you more clout than any victory you’ve achieved in 2023, and that fact is actually going to cause me to lose a little bit of sleep this week. 

Once again, it’s my fault. 

I’m fueling this insufferable bullshit. 

But here we are, Darin, we’ve all made our beds and we have to lie in them. So drop your stupid promos. Tell me about respect. Sing me a song about proving yourself. Play me the greatest hits, so we can get to the part where I use your skull as target practice and leave the scraps of you to keep begging the roster to give a fuck about your stupid pay-per-view match. I mean, I already mangled Hollywood. 

A cripple versus a corpse. 

Shit, maybe I’d pay to see it.