This Last Post Won’t Be Necessary

I guess it’s time to sum it all up. 

We had fun, Brian. Well, I did– it’s 7:56PM EST as of this writing, and you’re still just a little ghosty boi waiting for Pac-Man to come eat your lunch. Maybe you forgot about the deadline. Maybe you’re basking in the humiliating realization that a monosyllabic, grunting former slave is better at trash talk than you. Maybe you’re already crafting a promo for Refueled’s bonus segment, where you tell us how much you learned from this loss and how it’s time for you to reclaim your throne, once and for all. 

I don’t know man. 

But it was fun to do it one last time. 

I wasn’t kidding about that– I know you “always love” to throw down with me, but the truth is that my desire to not face you anymore isn’t just about being bored of it. I’m running out of material. It’s not fun to drag up the past all the time, and you have just done a giant pile of fucking nothing this era. You’re part of Camp Stevens, these guys still riding the coattails of the past, and it gets sadder every single year. You know that magic time in history that you desperately want to rewind to? 

It was five fucking years ago, Brian. 

Five years is a long time. That’s half of a decade– you haven’t done a fucking thing worth noting in a half a decade. This isn’t even trash talk, it’s just an explanation of fact. There ain’t shit to talk about someone who you have literally talked ALL the shit about. Since the restart, you have screamed at a waiter at Olive Garden for Zion, been a tag team with Zion, feuded with Zion, and it’s mostly just… Zion. You keep trying to reset your own goalposts and have these gritty fucking reboots every couple of weeks, but we all still remember who you are. We don’t have goldfish memories. You’re the same guy who used to be a hitman. The same guy who used to cut promos from the foyer of a mansion every week, talking about Executive Promises. You don’t get to just wipe that stink off you, Brian. 

You gotta earn it. 

And you don’t fucking earn it by talking about “getting back to where you used to be”. You earn it by shutting the fuck up and actually getting back there. You don’t change. You don’t evolve. You just keep doing the same bullshit over and over and expecting it to finally be a success. Remember “Brian Hollywood, Professional Problem Murderer and Certified Badass? Remember the “Blaire Moise is being stalked” segments you bailed on after nine seconds. Because I do. 

I spent years being asked not to make fun of you. 

Years, being told to take it easy on guys like you and Zion and Stevens. Years being told to behave myself and be a locker room leader. And this era? This era, I’ve finally stopped holding back. And you have taken ass whooping after ass whooping from me as a result. I’m tired now, Brian. I’m over it. I’m spent. I’ve said everything that I will ever need to say about you, and it’s now time for me to put a knee to your head, pull the trigger, and watch you die. I’m done playing with my food. I’m done batting you around like a half-dead mouse. It is time for you to cease to be, and it is time for you to go into the good night. 

I’m gonna spot you about a hundred twenty words. You need it more than I do. Only so many ways to call a failure a failure, and I’ve hit my limit. 

The floor is yours. 

Good luck, Brian.