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Cheap ass liquor.
You base most of your identity on local cheap ass liquor. You named your signature move after it. You probably use it for gasoline when you ride your lawnmower to the corner store.
Well, I think that’s perfect.
I think you’ve managed to marry the perfect liquor to your personality because there is nothing more cheap ass than you. There has never been a more pandering, ignorant blowhard than you are. You’re a poorly constructed action figure, and missing the rubber bands that would make your movements life-like. Someone should tear you down and put up a human being. Truly, I’m fucking jealous of all the people that haven’t met you. If you were twice as cool as you are, you’d be half as cool as you think you are.
What that means is… you aren’t cool.
Oh, I know you desperately want everyone to think you are – insert catchy bro punchline – Mr two and one is over here talking shit to me, but do you ever think about how much happier we’d all be if your mother swallowed? I mean, really, take your ‘I’m new here but I got some battles under my belt elsewhere’ bullshit and hit the bricks with it. For one thing, no one gives a fuck what you or I or anyone else did elsewhere. That’s something you need to learn real quick. And secondly, if they did, and you want to actually compare resumes, I’d be more than happy to show you mine if you show me yours, buddy. I’d like to entertain your fucking ridiculous comparisons, but OH SHIT… looks like I missed the last boat to Givafukistan.
But don’t be ashamed of who you are, John-John. That’s your parents’ job.
I wish I knew what it was like to be you. I wish I knew how to strip away everything interesting about myself and dumb myself down to a caricature of a Taqueria owner in South Houston. I’d put on my little mustache, always have tequila in every promo, probably have soccer… sorry, futbol on in the background of every shot.
Did it hurt when you fell out of someone’s ass into the toilet, you piece of shit?
It would be so thrilling to know what it’s like to bring joy to everyone in a room by such a simple act of leaving it. Somewhere out there is a tree, tirelessly producing oxygen so you can breathe, and I really think you owe it an apology. From listening to you speak, I’m guessing you’re one of those idiot savants I keep hearing about, minus the savant part. Seriously, how the fuck are you the sperm cell that won? Too bad this isn’t a swimming competition. You might have a fighting chance. I think calling you a dildo would be a perfectly acceptable insult for you. I’d call you a dick but you’re not real enough.
People have been looking forward to this fight, John. Some people have. I know you’re expecting some sort of fairy tale ending for you. And I guess that would make sense, because you kinda remind me of Rapunzel, except instead of letting your hair down, you let everyone else down. Hey, if a princess kisses you, will you stop being a bitch?
And me? I look forward to every fight. I simply cannot wait to get into that octagon with you, man. I can’t wait to take your oh so punchable face and repeatedly smash it with my elbow until you give up or die. Your face already looks like a baboon’s scrotum, but I think I’d like to make some renovations.
I’d like to leave you with some words of inspiration – some scripture or wise proverb. After all, I want you to feel like you have some hope this weekend. I’d like to, and I’d like to be able to tell you that I’m more insulted by your words, but ‘Thou shalt not stress over the opinion of an irrelevant little bitch’, Johnny. I’m sorry, but the best you’re gonna get out of me is a promise to finish you as quickly as possible. Trust me, you couldn’t handle me even if I came with instructions.
Go get your rest, buddy. You have a big day coming. That’s my cool-dad pep talk for ya. Drink all the Malort you can find.
The trash gets picked up on Saturday.
Be ready.