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You know, before this week, I had no idea just how much of a dipshit you are. I had a thought you might be, but you are a dipshit’s dipshit, Sutler. A true bonafide phony pile of shit. It’s really hard to describe exactly.
Here, I wrote a haiku about what a little dipshit you are:
You are a dipshit
dipshit dipshit dipshit dip
shit dipshit dipshit
You are such a dipshit that if you looked up “dipshit” in the dictionary, you’d see a picture of MJ Flair. But if you look closely, MJ Flair is holding up a picture of Sutler Reynolds-Kael.
I tried to be nice, relatively speaking, but you done fucked up S-S-Sutler.
You’re doing your little comedy routine and mixing up the locations like it changes how utterly lazy and uninspired your bullshit gay jokes are, you find a new random place to be all wacky, and say the same shit again because you think it makes you super creative, but your shtick is shallower than the Martin family gene pool. That’s Zeb Martin because just like you, people have to further explain who the fuck he is and why anyone should give a fuck.
So, instead of reading your dad’s shit on stage, you decided to pop off with Darin Matthews’ shit instead this time. More basic bitch shit with some dipshit talking shit to me about something someone else did. Yes. I lost to Mike Best. I lost to Cecilworth Farthington. Please, by all means, direct me to footage of the time you beat Mike Best or Cecilworth Farthington. Show me the time you beat anyone or did anything of significance other than winning a thrown together by Lee Best “just get the rest of these guys on the show” match, which led to nothing other than getting your face broken by me. Show me what’s special about you that makes you anything more than just the fastest swimming sperm cell from a hall of famer’s balls as he made your mommy a mommy in the back alley dumpster behind some shithole arena in Florida.
You want to be Mike Best so bad, but if I wanted to see a bad cover band I’d go to that shitty comedy club you go to and listen to the latest collection of all the rest of the little Hot Topic rejects just like you stand on stage, looking like something I drew with my left hand, and sing used up shit out of someone else’s notebook. I’m sorry. There’s something not so intimidating about a kid who isn’t old enough to buy alcohol trying to pass off snarky shit talk like a seasoned veteran who’s actually done some real shit themselves. You’re not Mike Best. You’re Sutler Reynolds-Kael, and as of this moment right now, you are, inarguably, nothing more than a scared shitless teenager wrapped up in thinly veiled confidence and unearned snark, and you’re about to get your fucking ass kicked.
Go use your big man on campus routine on someone who gives a fuck. Go hunt down Old Man Best’s latest greatest Best Alliance army, those recently rolled out of a Krispy Kreme donut shop motherfuckers who he laughably threatens me with. Go tell those Gravy Seals all of your stupid little insults and gay jokes. If you’re really nice to Jatt he’ll give you a nice ride on his lap for free. He fucking loves it. Get Aunty Elenore in on it, so maybe she can live out her pathetic dominatrix fantasies on someone other than you for a change. Then again, don’t. They clearly already have enough on their plates, despite John Sektor’s recent Jenny Craig sponsorship. And I wouldn’t wish on anyone the sheer headache-inducing, nausea promoting hack shit you’re throwing at me.
So go ahead, tell me some more shit, Sutler. Tell me some more bullshit about things other people have done that you hope to match someday. Let’s hear all about how old I am while you flip your little strand of red hair from one side to the other with your hands in your pockets like the little nugget from a hipster’s ass you are. Or just get in the fucking cage and take your lumps, and then you can fuck back off to your twitch stream, or whatever the fuck you kids do these days.
Such a shame. Sequels never can quite match the original, can they?