“Let’s get one thing straight right now, Devin: I’m gonna fuckin’ dog walk you on Saturday night.”
Johnny leans up against his kitchen counter, arms crossed in front of his chest. He chews on the end of a plastic straw, because he could give a fuck about the whole “save the environment, save the oceans” movement.
Needless to say: he’s not a member of the Green Party.
DORN: I know you think you’re a clever boy. If nothing else, you’ve proven that you’re a real big try-hard in that department. I know you must’ve thought long and hard to come up with all that cute shit for HOTv, thinkin’ it’ll pop whatever fans are wearin’ their beer goggles on any given night.
Let me hit the Devin Desean highlight reel for those folks who watched your shit and retained absolutely none of it.
One: Made up a fake news article because “I ain’t tough like him.”
Two: Compared me to a chihuahua because “I ain’t big and mean like him.”
Three: Alluded to me bein’ mentally challenged because “I ain’t smart like him.”
Johnny snorts sarcastically.
DORN: Bro, how is it that Zeb Martin’s hick sister is better at this than you?
You need to read the fuckin’ room, shitbird. You’re out here playin’ kindergarten playground games, and grasping at straws with your dick in your hand, while I’m preparin’ to drag you around the cage like you’re on a goddamn choke chain. No positive reinforcement trainin’, no treats and a new toy after it’s all said and done. This is gonna be nothin’ short of an animal welfare case. Someone call up the Mayor, bring it before the courts, tell ‘em Johnny Dorn beat Devin Desean within an inch of his life and then threw him back on a plane to fuck cares where.
No jury would convict me.
No company would suspend me.
I’d say I might even get a ticker tape parade but I don’t want to get too ahead of myself, ya know?
But I wouldn’t be surprised if I got a “thank you” from the boys in the locker room for taking care of the poor, confused “Pretty Boy” by showing you the door. Don’t let it hit ya’ where the good Lord split ya’, am I right? You, the sad little punk who should’ve stayed in shallow water, where it only comes up to your ankles or knees. Not much danger to be found there, right? Stay where it’s safe, and you’ll always make it back home.
Instead, you got a lil’ too cocky, didn’t you, Devin? You thought you were ready to venture out a lil’ further than normal. Beyond the buoys, where the seas were just a bit more choppy. The lifeguards tried to tell you, but you ignored the warnings. You could handle it; you’re Devin Desean; you’re great at fuckin’ everything!
But you weren’t careful.
You went and got yourself caught in a riptide. Out of nowhere, you never saw it coming. It’s too late for you to swim to shore now, Pretty Boy, because I’m about to pull you under to the heart of the sea and watch you drown.
Lee Best said that the DeNucci Cup was where small fish meet the big pond, but you’re in the goddamn ocean now, Devin. I’m no shark like Mike Best and Dan Ryan; I’m no dummy, I know they’re the biggest of the big predators in this sea. I’m more like an eel, though: quick, slippery, hiding by day, hunting by night, and striking when you least expect it. I’ll bite the hand that feeds me and I won’t think twice about it.
I go out and hunt my own prey, Devin. You got too close this week.
The cage at Refueled 51 is my hunting ground, and it’s time for me to feast.
Johnny walks out of the shot, tossing the chewed-up straw over his shoulder as he does.