- Event: Refueled XL
Ah man, the #1 Dad went and did it, didn’t he? He checked the fuck out, at least for now. And now I’ve been replaced and refined. I’ve been reinvented and reinvigorated. I’m a better man, and an even better husband and father. I’m a once in a generation alpha-male, a real-life war veteran, and a true fighter. I’m grittier than Chuck Norris’ beard in the Sahara. I hope that each and every one of you was ready for this, because it was just a matter of time…and I’m back, bitches. And you know what else is back?
The fucking Best Alliance is back.
And this version, just might be the best. No pun intended. Sure, the old man can’t see a fuckin’ thing, and sure a couple of the guys are a bit saggier in the chesticles than they were a few years back. But none of that shit matters, it doesn’t change the fact that Lee Best is the greatest mind the wrestling business has ever seen and saggy tits don’t change the fact that John Sektor and Jatt Starr are two of the best to ever lace up their boots. And good God almight, let’s not forget about the metal mouthed elephant in the room, Max Kael. I mean, holy-shit. The guys a fuckin’ assassin; a straight-up, legitimate killer. Who would have ever thought that he and I would be on the same page? Definitely not this guy. But here we are, better and badder than ever. I just had to get rid of a little problem some people like to call Section 214.
Section 214 might have been the catalyst that brought Joe Bergman the recent successes that he’s had, but I knew that ol’ Ordinary Joe and Section 214 were nothing but a stopping block for me. They stifled my run, and buried me back down into the middle of the road like some kind of Rick Dickulous. And don’t even get me started on that little Barbie Q. That little fuckin’ witch had that shit coming, and she knew it. Sorry Joe, I guess I just wasn’t ordinary enough for you and your crew.
It hasn’t been that long really. It was only a few months ago that I’d beaten this grossly overgrown, Canadian buffoon, and what’s worse, Rick…You were dominated by a side-act, comedy type, #1 Dad that was more concerned with soccer than he was getting into the ring. But that’s all changed, another side of me has been unleashed. A side to me, Rick, you most definitely aren’t familiar with. Now, don’t get me wrong, Rick. You being Canadian isn’t why I dislike you. No, Rick. It’s your cowardice. Believe it or not, I served with Canadian troops while I was in Afghanistan. Some of the bravest men I’ve seen on the battlefield were Canadian, but where the fuck were you, Rick? Not in the middle of the shit with the rest of us, that’s for fuckin’ sure. I have this gut feeling that your pathetic ass was probably sitting in front of a fire, enjoying some awkward warm bitch drink while staring at the Canadian snow, per usual.
Like it or not, this is the end of the line for you Rick. This is where my new ascent begins, and it starts with you and I just have to say it…it wouldn’t make sense if I didn’t. It’s relevant, and it’s important. The fact of the matter is that I whipped your sorry ass the last – and only – time you and I met in the middle of that ring. And while it surely wasn’t my finest work, it was definitely an honest day at the office.
If shit was going to be different this time around, I’d think we’d have heard at least something from you at this point. But not unlike your career, you’ve been silent. You should be the favorite to win this one, Rick. I mean you are what, “SIXHUNDREDSEVENTYTWOPOUNDS and NineFEETSEVENTYtwoINCHESTALL!?” I mean what in the actual fuck does something like you eat anyway? But that’s beside the point really. The p
All of the muscle in the world doesn’t make you a man, and soon enough you’re going to realize that. You’re overrated at best and the fact that you surround yourself with the company that you do isn’t very surprising, when you consider the fact that you are a total fuckin’ write-off as a competitor and basically a human being. You have no discipline, no warrior spirit, and you damn sure don’t have a single shred of dignity. I mean, how could you?
I really don’t know what you are expecting to accomplish by accepting this match, Rick. This isn’t going to be one of those ultra-competitive, high-stakes, “ER_MEH_GERHD, i hAsToWin THis Match!#!” kind of showdowns, Rick.
This isn’t what you think it is.
Granted, you’ll surely gain some moderate notoriety just for getting into the ring and standing twenty feet across from me…and I’m sure that will be plenty for you. It won’t be for me, but I’m not your normal type of cat, Rick. I’m the real fuckin’ Tiger King, minus the mullet and meth.
I’m like Kreese, Rick. I will strike first. I will strike hard. I will NOT show mercy.
Someone please, get Rick a bodybag.