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Rank：Diamond Member
- Score：643
- Posts：643
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From：Canada
- Register：12/07/2008 01:08 AM
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Date Posted：07/24/2016 16:17 PMCopy HTML
Who. THE FUCK. Are you? This is the question I ask myself every time I step into the ring. Because… really. Who the fuck are you? I don’t know anything about the personal lives of my opponents. But they seem to know everything about mine! As if I’m an open book or something. I kind of am, I guess… But it’s the times when people spit out bullshit that I haven’t even heard myself. Things I didn’t even know about myself! In a way, though, it’s nice to know people pay enough attention to my life to be able to tell me things I don’t even know about myself. Are your lives that fucking boring that you have to take that much fucking interest in mine? Honestly. WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?!
I’ve got some fucking shitty match going down at South Beach Brawl. A tag team match with Cyrus. It’s been WEEKS since we won those titles. You’d think we’d have defended them before now. But clearly we have a dumbass creating the fucking cards here. Oh… does Perry do that? Sorry, sugar. You’re still a fuckwit.
We’re up against two random dudes I don’t even know. I even had one of them follow me on twitter. Still no idea who he is. I think his name is Brian. Likely just as fucking sad as the old Bryan. But I’m not going to talk too much shit about these guys, since… who the fuck are they, even. All I remember is hearing Cyrus tell me that one of them was talking. He turned up the TV and voila! I tuned him the fuck out within a minute. But that minute I heard? Boring as fuck. I think he called me a slut or something. Well if you did, sugar… good on you. You’re opponent number 753 to say that exact same thing! You win a kick in the dick, you dumbass.
Okay, honestly… at this point, I’m just talking fucking gibberish. Because I don’t give a fucking fuck. Since when does the shit I say out here determine how well I do in the ring? Look at that cuntrag Brock Lesnar or whatever. He literally can’t even talk because he’s so stupid, yet he dominates in the ring. Mostly because people just lay their asses down for him. Dude is only around to get paid big money. So they give him shitty fights that he wins every time. Fuck that guy. He’s almost as shitty as Leonardo DiCaprio. The cunt.
As I was saying… he has another person who talks for him. And that other person has a really terrible voice and makes me want to claw out my eardrums. But dude still wins. Not because of what his man-let (man valet) says, but because he can smash people to the ground with a fist. So who’s to say Cyrus and I won’t do the same? Or just me, because I’m talking about myself.
So let’s just say for a second that what I say right now determines if I win or not. Hypothetically speaking.
I will fucking win.
There. Nailed it. That means I win, right? I spoke a truth, so shouldn’t that automatically deem me the winner? I’ll bet if you go and listen to… that one guys promo, he doesn’t once say what I just said. ‘I will fucking win’. Know why? Because he doesn’t BELIEVE. Or BO-LIEVE. Whichever one you feel fits better. I’d go with the latter, since the guy seems just as special as that Bo-dude. In less than a minute, I realized that one little thing about him. Impressive, right? I know. I’m fucking perceptive.
So what does it mean to be a tag team champion? It means you only take part in half a match. It means you use another person to help you win. It means you can’t do shit on your own. Or that’s how I see it. I have a weird thing about two people who call themselves a ‘tag team’. I think it might be PTSD or something from W2K. Either way, people who just do tag matches and only win that way are fucking sad to me. And that’s most ‘Tag Teams’. I have personally never been much of a team player. You think I made this decision myself? I was still ‘slave’ to Cyrus when we decided to take these titles from bitchtits and his girlfriend Liam the firecrotch. I was hesitant. I didn’t want to be part of a tag team curse. Only good as a team, shitty alone. Fuck that shit. But I was half forced. And the other half wanted some swanky gold for a little while. Just to say I could have it. Then move on with my life. If moving on meant keeping the title that touched someones rabies infested belly, then so be it. I was going to make sure I had the back reinforced before hand, of course. But still. If I’m meant to keep this title, then killer. It’s fucking mine. If not… I’m pulling off that reinforced backing and making sure it’s touching bare skin on the next person that holds this shit.
Good luck. You’re getting fucking rabies and belly button lint from a dog as congratulations.
Cyrus and I have shown we’re actually pretty decent in the ring together. We beat the ‘Alpha’. Wasn’t she supposed to be the best in this place? That’s what I heard. But we also do well on our own. We never got the curse. We never turned shitty as singles competitors. Or I didn’t. I don’t care what Cyrus does outside of when we’re together in the ring. We’re partners on screen, yes. I’ve done some nice shit for him. Sure. But fuck if I don’t care what he’s up to. Fuck if I don’t care what he’s doing tomorrow with his girlfriend. Fuck if I don’t care about Omerta. Fuck all of that shit. Not my business. What is my business is stepping into that ring and showing why we’re the champions. We’re here for a reason.
Anyways… fuck these two dudes we’re up against. I don’t give a fuck who they are. I don’t give a fuck if they are big shots. I don’t give a fuck if they are visiting from the special Olympics. At least you’ll all get a fucking wicked show.
But really…. WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU!?!??!
Kay. Fucking. Bye. |
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