Alright Scotty, let’s get it out of the way.
Ronald McRasta ass bitch. Pepperoni nippled ass bitch. Juvenile hall tattoo having, cums when he smells an IPA, piercings done at a Claire’s at a Connecticut mall ass bitch. Why the fuck is this generic ass Buffy villain carrying a hockey stick to the ring? How you gonna be six foot five with a Napoleon complex? How you gonna have theme music with the line “SLOWLY COMING FROM THE REAR” in it, but still look like you have recently opposed gay marriage from a trailer park in Candy Land? Maybe if I write the name of an obscure brewery on my ballsack, you’ll spend all night gulping my Yeungling instead of returning Lee Best’s text messages, you stupid, unreliable drunk.
i’M a CoRpOrAtE aNaRcHisT.
A STATE OF DISORDER DUE TO ABSENCE OF AUTHORITY.
While you’re sucking my dick, add a “tionary” to the end of it and look up what that fucking word means, you world class dunce. A violent rebel against society who owns a chain of corporate breweries– bro, you are so metal that you aren’t even allowed to wear your fancy leather jackets with sleeves anymore. You’re so metal that you have patches on your skinny dad jeans. You’re so metal that you can conduct electricity without actually producing any heat whatsoever.
Honestly, this match is an honor for me.
Normally, people don’t get to punch you in the face repeatedly without having to be in a stable with you for three weeks first. How many bad relationships you gotta be in before you realize that you’re the problem, Failure Swift? HATE, Twisted Reality, Cool Reality, Jobber Nexus (The infighting started before I bothered to learn the name, my bad), just to name a few. Shit, if you got a bad tattoo every time one of your HOW tag teams broke up, you’d have– ohhhhhh.
OH! THE ORDER! JUST ‘MEMBERED.
Sorry. Legit couldn’t remember what that giant failure pile you led was called, and now I feel like a trivia master. How long was it before you guys started fighting eachother? Fucking… instantly? Turns out when you take a bunch of guys who can’t beat anyone but eachother, the only people it makes sense to fight are EACHOTHER. Fucking weird, that. And how many guys have you fought from HATE, Scott? All of them? Literally all of them?
Man, I miss dunking on you.
It’s been a long time, Scott.
Remember the old days, when winning the HOW World Title was still a dream down the road, and not a distant memory of a time when you still had potential? Remember when getting into the Hall of Fame was the beginning of something special, not the actual end of your resume? Remember when you were just a reject from the 1990s, relying too heavily on washed up Offspring lyrics and… oh, sorry, this tape is labeled “ICONIC 2020”. I see a kid talking about a Sega Genesis fighting a grown man with a lip piercing and suddenly feel like every woman you’ve ever been rejected by on Tinder.
You guys are just hard to date.
REFERENCES TO ANTHROPOLOGY.
COUNT THE RINGS TO SEE HOW OLD YOUR SCHTICK IS.
Truth is, I requested this match because you need to wake the fuck up, Scotty. HOW is your fucking family. We were here when you needed to get your little dick wet and it was making you an angsty little bitch all the time. When you donated half your brain to science and they politely declined. When your life world started to crash in, to give you something to take your mind off of life. We brought this company back– you and I. We dragged Lee back kicking and screaming, because this was something we needed. And now? You’re fucking around and not even coming into the office. Disappearing and acting like you aren’t letting everyone down.
Get your shit together, dickhead.
Go update the fucking title histories. I broke records this year. A fucking LOT of them. You’re challenging me for a title that doesn’t even exist on the website– DO YOUR FUCKING JOB. Stop texting Lee Best pictures of beer cans– DO YOUR FUCKING JOB. And then drag your ass down to the cage this Saturday night and step into the ring with me– DO YOUR FUCKING JOB.
Or do *the* job, and leave on a fucking stretcher.
Your choice, Scooter McGavin.