Post by Dandy DiVito on Mar 12, 2022 15:15:48 GMT -5
So here we is...the match that gon’ decide who spendin’ the time ‘tween now an’ Evolution holdin’ the biggest prize in the game...the match that gon’ show the world who the face of the comp’ny is...the match that defines a career…
Fo’ the first time ever: Dandy DiVito defends his World Fuckin’ Title ‘gainst Corey Black.
This is the kinda match that seals the fuckin’ deal fo’ a mo’fucka bein’ a firs’ ballot Hall of Famer. This is the kinda match that makes - or breaks in Black’s case - a whole ass career. When mo’fuckas talk ‘bout somebody’s ability to win the big ones? These the matches they talkin’ ‘bout. This shit ain’t the kinda thing where bad blood or grudges or history come to fuck shit up. No, this is a match where it’s just two mo’fuckas who want nothin’ mo’ than fo’ the world to see the kinda heavy hittin’ shit we capable of, the kinda damage we can inflict on a mo’fucka, the reality that they ain’t a soul in the fuckin’ world that can do what we do better than we do it.
Pro’lem fo’ ol’ Corey Black though is that I’m better than he is or than he ever was, an’ Battlebowl is where I’ma prove that shit once an’ fo’ all.
I had a main event match at Evolution befo’ when I beat Roy Speede’s legendary ass in the middle of the ring, an’ after I put the fuckin’ boots to The King, THE Action Wrestlin’ Original is gonna have THE Evolution Main Event I been deservin’ since I first stepped foot in this place.
At the DiVito compound, Dandy is sitting in his designated chair across the desk from his father’s in Mr. DiVito’s office. Dandy stares absently into the distance, clearly deep in thought that troubles him. As the door opens behind him, Dandy cranes around to see Richard coming through the door with RONAN trailing close behind. Richard’s eyes meet Dandy’s and the younger DiVito shakes his head.
“Look at you, Winston… Head wrapped in gauze, a thousand yard stare at nothing, all regrets and nothing to show for it. Jesus, man.”
Dandy’s absent look turns to a snarl.
“Shut the fuck up, Dick.”
Richard lets out a long sigh.
“No, no. Not gonna do that, bro. I need you to tell me you at least learned something from this monumental fuck up of yours.”
Dandy grits his teeth.
“Nothin’, huh? Well, shit.”
Richard shakes his head.
“Unless you want to keep losing to people like CJ Phoenix or-godforbid-Tatiana Jolee, you NEED us, Winston!”
Richard and RONAN share a snide laugh as a booming voice interrupts.
“Sit the fuck down, boys. Let’s talk business.”
Mr. DiVito walks into the office and takes his usual seat behind the desk as Richard lowers himself in his chair and RONAN remains standing behind him. Mr. DiVito stares at Dandy first.
“When I told you to handle your CJ Phoenix situation, that…that shitshow wasn’t what I had in mind.”
Dandy’s lips purse in irritation.
“You don’t think I fuckin’ know that shit wasn’t right?!”
Mr. DiVito’s head cocks to the side, and Dandy immediately knows his tone was wrong. As Dandy back pedals, Mr. DiVito listens with a careful ear, silently but obviously judging.
“That ain’t what I meant, pop. Sorry. I just mean I ain’t got no misgivin’s on thinkin’ that match went how it was s’pposed ta.”
Richard butts in.
“Yeah. You just got double-cucked.”
Mr. DiVito turns a stern eye to Richard but speaks to Dandy.
“It’s not over, son. That bastard will still pay for his transgressions against our name.”
Mr. DiVito turns his eyes back to Dandy as Richard begins to squirm.
“Right?”
Dandy nods and winces in pain as his hand instinctively moves toward his bandaged forehead.
“He gon’ get his, pop. I’ma make sure of that shit. Righ’ now, I gotta keep the strap, and that means li’l ol’ CJ gonna get ta think he off the hook. Outward appearances gonna show that we all in on Corey Black, but all a’ us know the score: CJ Phoenix gon’ get got.”
“Yes! Lull him into false confidence that our ire is directed elsewhere and then…”
Mr. DiVito slams his open palm on his desk. Everyone else in the room jumps in surprise.
“That stupid son of a bitch won’t know he’s in a trap until it’s sprung!”
“Look at you, Winston… Head wrapped in gauze, a thousand yard stare at nothing, all regrets and nothing to show for it. Jesus, man.”
Dandy’s absent look turns to a snarl.
“Shut the fuck up, Dick.”
Richard lets out a long sigh.
“No, no. Not gonna do that, bro. I need you to tell me you at least learned something from this monumental fuck up of yours.”
Dandy grits his teeth.
“Nothin’, huh? Well, shit.”
Richard shakes his head.
“Unless you want to keep losing to people like CJ Phoenix or-godforbid-Tatiana Jolee, you NEED us, Winston!”
Richard and RONAN share a snide laugh as a booming voice interrupts.
“Sit the fuck down, boys. Let’s talk business.”
Mr. DiVito walks into the office and takes his usual seat behind the desk as Richard lowers himself in his chair and RONAN remains standing behind him. Mr. DiVito stares at Dandy first.
“When I told you to handle your CJ Phoenix situation, that…that shitshow wasn’t what I had in mind.”
Dandy’s lips purse in irritation.
“You don’t think I fuckin’ know that shit wasn’t right?!”
Mr. DiVito’s head cocks to the side, and Dandy immediately knows his tone was wrong. As Dandy back pedals, Mr. DiVito listens with a careful ear, silently but obviously judging.
“That ain’t what I meant, pop. Sorry. I just mean I ain’t got no misgivin’s on thinkin’ that match went how it was s’pposed ta.”
Richard butts in.
“Yeah. You just got double-cucked.”
Mr. DiVito turns a stern eye to Richard but speaks to Dandy.
“It’s not over, son. That bastard will still pay for his transgressions against our name.”
Mr. DiVito turns his eyes back to Dandy as Richard begins to squirm.
“Right?”
Dandy nods and winces in pain as his hand instinctively moves toward his bandaged forehead.
“He gon’ get his, pop. I’ma make sure of that shit. Righ’ now, I gotta keep the strap, and that means li’l ol’ CJ gonna get ta think he off the hook. Outward appearances gonna show that we all in on Corey Black, but all a’ us know the score: CJ Phoenix gon’ get got.”
“Yes! Lull him into false confidence that our ire is directed elsewhere and then…”
Mr. DiVito slams his open palm on his desk. Everyone else in the room jumps in surprise.
“That stupid son of a bitch won’t know he’s in a trap until it’s sprung!”
Ultimately, wrestlin’ is all about business. It’s about what you can build, what you can destroy. It’s about who you can buy, and how willin’ you is to sell yo’self. That’s not just wrestlin’ though, is it? That shit is life.
I mean, think about it, Black. You off tryin’ to get e’rybody to buy this bullshit story that you the wrestlin’ king of the world, off tryin’ to sell yo’self as some kinda Norse king like you fuckin’ Anders Brevik takin’ a day trip to a lady’s summer camp. You out here doin’ too fuckin’ much, man. Tryin’ too fuckin’ hard. An’ at the end a’ tha day? Yo’ vibe is transparent like you Mr. Fuckin’ Cellophane.
Shit, Corey Black. You try so hard to sell the world this story that you an ol’ school vikin’ type mo’fucka that you done fo’got that whole empire died off years ago. You out here Thor-in’ shit to death like the MCU is a documentary. What’s next, mo’fucka? You gon’ tell us you drivin’ Optimus Prime from show to show, that you on ET’s cellphone plan? Come on, man. The point where yo’ whole fuckin’ schtick hit silly done passed us by a hell of a long time ago. Ain’t nobody wit’ half a brain buyin’ what you sellin’, son.
They’s a new era of shit goin’ on in the world. Not just the wrestlin’ world neither. No, no, Black. The fact that you tyin’ yo’self to a dead history that only attracts Proud Boys and Incels is a choice, my boy. You makin’ the call to align yo’self to a Norse ideal that gives them bearded thickbois ragers ova the white race, and all the while, you got the fuckin’ balls to claim you a good guy doin’ it? Come on, man! You just Dag wit’ a better PR team!
That Norse vikin’ shit s’pposed to be dead an’ gone for years. The empire dried the fuck up. Desiccatin’. Decomposin’. But you insistin’ upon beatin’ that dead horse like it was Jaice in a mask. Me though? I’m the cuttin’ fuckin’ edge. My empire is THE Empire on the forefront of this business and pushin’ our bounds out into the broader world. I’m the man e’rybody is callin’ out, the sumbitch wit’ a target on he damn back. Hell, just consider how that li’l lady Jolee made a big fuckin’ deal ‘bout waltzin’ out to the ring last week, ignorin’ the fact that you even exist, an’ swalloin’ her foot to the ankle jus’ beggin’ to make her fuckin’ name by callin’ me out for a CAGE MATCH as if you wasn’t nUmBeR oNe CoNtEnDEr and that night itself wasn’t set ta end in a fuckin’ Cell already. Corey, you such a after thought that Jolee couldn’t even fuckin’ PHATHOM THE IDEA that you’d beat me at Battlebowl. You was next officially but she was already tryin’ ta call dibs on me like yo’ ass didn’t exist.
By the way, Tati: lolol get in line, get fucked, or share whatever shit you clearly smokin’.
The point remains, Black: my Empire is on the forefront of everything that matters. Yours? It’s history porn for fascists. An’ please don’t misintepret my shit here, son, ‘cause I’m above the standard fuckin’ lines of attack on yo’ ass. I ain’t gon’ tell the world you old (but you is). I ain’t gon’ tell the world that you washed up, that you best days is behind you, that you just doin’ yo best Don-fuckin’-Quixote-tiltin’-at-windmills pretendin’ they real challenges when they ain’t (but you is, they is, an’ I guess them windmills ain’t gon’ fight they damn selfs). I like to think I’m better than that, that I ain’t one to take the fuckin’ low road just ‘cause it easy.
Empires rise an’ they all eventually fall. Mine? The Empire Business is goin’ up like a rocket. Yours? Man, the Kingdom of Corey Black is fallin’ apart like Apollo 13. Congrats on gettin’ up there with the best of the best, but jesus christ, man...at some point, ya gotta realize the mission is over and hope you don’t burn up when you try to re-enter the real world. I guess the idea that you might burn up ain’t such a pro’lem fo’ a vIkInG mo’fucka like you though, huh? Funeral pires and all that shit anyway. That’s good, man. ‘Cause I don’t wanna make this shit any harder on you than it gotta be, Corey. I ain’t got no fuckin’ hard feelin’s fo’ you. For me? It bears repeatin’ that this whole thing is jus’ business.
But that’s a whole other fuckin’ can a’ worms in yo’ world, ain’t it? Business to you is the process of doin’ shit that’s mo’ an’ mo’ desperate fo’ attention. Just dyin’ fo’ them eyeballs to be on yo’ ass, right? When I do business, it’s ‘bout what’s doin’ best fo’ me an’ my family. Fo’ you? I...I just don’ fuckin’ know. You doin’ business has meant goin’ to APW to win the tag belts so you could hang em in a trophy case despite the whole division bein’ mo’ devoid of talent than a Lissie Hope promo. Me? I just stay righ’ here and beat the best roster in the world to win my fuckin’ gold. You doin’ business has meant alignin’ yo’self wit’ the fuckin’ maniac Walter ‘cause you knew goddamn well you couldn’t destroy Philidor wit’out sellin’ yo’ soul. Me? Well, maybe I wasn’t the entire reason they shit fell apart, but I went to fuckin’ war on my damn own no matter the consequences and came outta that shit as the man who dethroned Carter Shaw and ended his historic run with the strap.
Look, Corey, yo’ empire is in decline. Period. Full stop. End of fuckin’ sentence. Mine, though, is fuckin’ FLOURISHIN’. This li’l match between us? It ain’t no war. Just another one-off battle where Dandy DiVito rises up an’ slays the mo’fucka standin’ in front’a ‘im befo’ demandin’ the next fuckin’ challenger stand the fuck up.
Several minutes later, Mr. DiVito rises from his desk and motions toward the door.
“Richard, RONAN, thank you for coming. Now, if you’ll excuse us, I need to speak with Winston privately.”
Richard shakes his head and the pair exits as Mr. DiVito returns to his seat and stares silently at Dandy.
“What’s up, pop?”
“I asked Richard to leave to save you from his gloating, but…”
Dandy’s face displays a look of concern.
“Richard was right. You need to accept his help.”
Dandy’s face turns to a sour grimace.
“The reason we put this together was to take you to the next level, and if you tell Richard you don’t need help…well, everything we aimed to accomplish…it all falls apart.”
“But…”
Mr. DiVito’s cool demeanor turns stern.
“No buts, Winston. Your brother and RONAN will be in your corner at Battlebowl. Once you’ve locked up your spot in the Evolution main event, we can wrap up the other loose ends.”
Dandy speaks through gritted teeth.
“Fine.”
Mr. DiVito nods.
“Alright, son. You can head out, too. I’ve got some work of my own to do.”
Dandy lets out a sigh as he stands and opens the door to find Richard staring directly back at him with an ENORMOUS grin on his face.
“Richard, RONAN, thank you for coming. Now, if you’ll excuse us, I need to speak with Winston privately.”
Richard shakes his head and the pair exits as Mr. DiVito returns to his seat and stares silently at Dandy.
“What’s up, pop?”
“I asked Richard to leave to save you from his gloating, but…”
Dandy’s face displays a look of concern.
“Richard was right. You need to accept his help.”
Dandy’s face turns to a sour grimace.
“The reason we put this together was to take you to the next level, and if you tell Richard you don’t need help…well, everything we aimed to accomplish…it all falls apart.”
“But…”
Mr. DiVito’s cool demeanor turns stern.
“No buts, Winston. Your brother and RONAN will be in your corner at Battlebowl. Once you’ve locked up your spot in the Evolution main event, we can wrap up the other loose ends.”
Dandy speaks through gritted teeth.
“Fine.”
Mr. DiVito nods.
“Alright, son. You can head out, too. I’ve got some work of my own to do.”
Dandy lets out a sigh as he stands and opens the door to find Richard staring directly back at him with an ENORMOUS grin on his face.
But when we real ‘bout it, that Empire shit’s the biggest difference between us, ain’t it? When you look at both a’ us, we each gon’ go down as our own biggest opponent. Fo’ you, that great challenge been somethin’ that got up in them guts and s’pposedly used you like a fuckin’ skin suit. On the otha hand, look at me... My great challenge is that drive to be numba 1 on that all-time shit, the first face on the AW Rushmore, the biggest wing of the mo’fuckin’ Hall of Fame, and sometimes? That means I’m burnin’ the candle at both ends, I’m workin’ myself to tha bone, I’m puttin' myself through the fuckin’ ringer ‘til I’m damn near dead to take what I want and need. Fo’ you, it’s Creepin’ Death. Fo’ me? It’s Creepin’ Dandy.
The point where all that shit ends up divergin’ again though is when we realize that you used Creepin’ Death as a fuckin’ costume to hide yo’ schemin’ an’ decisions behind. Creepin’ Death was always somethin’ you could hide behind to avoid responsibility, to pretend you wasn’t the one doin’ the shit. Creepin’ Death was always there as yo’ fall guy. Right, Corey Black? After all, how could we be mad at you if it was the spirit that did all that evil business?!
Wit’ me, I ain’t never seen the need fo’ a fall guy. Nah. If I decide somethin’s worth doin’, then by fuckin’ god, it’s worth takin’ the credit fo’! When Dandy DiVito set he mind to a thing, when he set he aim on a target, that shit’s as good as done. And that’s the other crucial difference between us, ain’t it, Corey? You had the Creepin’ Crutch that helped you run roughshod ova damn near e’rybody, and when you gave it up or defeated it or what the fuck ever, you got soft. You started pickin’ fights wit’ mo’fuckas you knew you could take out - Hi, Jaice Wilds! How you doin’? - and startin’ romin’ through companies that was on fuckin’ life support so you could swing the big dick in a preschool bathroom.
It all just works to show that while you and me want the same shit - to be the fuckin’ best - I’m the only mo’fucka out here doin’ the shit that makes that wish a reality while you jus’ spinnin’ yo’ wheels on a cruiseship fulla dipshits who think Twitter is where wrastlin’ happens. You jus’ playin’ a part in this shit nowadays, Black, and I’m doin’ e’rythin’ you wish you was doin’ if you get real honest wit’ yo’self.
Some days you the mailman, and some days you the dog takin’ a chunk outta the mailman’s ass. E’ry goddamn day though, Black, I’m a fuckin’ pitbull. I ain’t never doin’ nobody’s dirty work. Never carryin’ shit fo’ nobody else. Never helpin’ nobody who ain’t helpin’ me. But you, man? You tryin’ like hell to give mo’fuckas the rub, but all they doin’ is gettin’ busted by the vice squad after yo’ failed happy ending. Talk at that li’l bitch, Graham Baker. See what’s doin’ wit’cha boy FPV. How about that scared bird boy, James Raven? You makin’ these contacts an’ deliverin’ yo’ mail in hopes that somebody gon’ like what you got for ‘em, Corey, and yet, here we are: you all alone an’ back on yo’ incel shit, can’t get yo’ fuckin’ package outta yo’ hand if you paid somebody to take it.
Later that evening, Dandy stands in the guest bathroom at the DiVito compound staring at himself in the mirror, bracing himself with a hand on the sink as he slowly unwraps the bandage from his head. He reaches up to gently touch the stitched wound and nods.
“Good. Good. Almost healed.”
Dandy’s gaze shifts to direct eye contact with his reflection.
“You ready fo’ this shit, man?”
Dandy shakes his head.
“Yo’ head been elsewhere way too fuckin’ long. Pops see it. Dick see it. And you see it, don’t ya?”
…
“CJ’s takin’ ova ya focus an’ you missin’ the forrest fo’ tha trees, Dandy.”
…
“You out here tryin’ to do e’rythin’ yo’self when you ain’t gotta.”
…
“Empires ain’t solo missions. Empires mean team shit.”
…
“If I’m gon’ be the fuckin’ man I know I am, I gotta accep…”
A knock on the door interrupts Dandy’s self-discussion. Mrs. DiVito’s voice rings softly through the door.
“Win…um, Dandy, are you ok?”
“Yes, mama. You can come in.”
She opens the door and steps inside, and seeing her oldest torturing himself, she reaches a calming hand up to his shoulder.
“Do you remember how you got here, son?”
“I don’t know, mama.”
“Oh, Dandy. Don’t do that. You know exactly how you got where you are: by the power of piss and vinegar, spite and determination, iron fists and iron will.”
Her hand comes to rest on his shoulder.
“Do you still have all those?”
Dandy smiles.
“Yes, mama.”
“Then you’ve got everything you need, right?”
“Yes, mama.”
“Everything–everyone–else is just icing on the cake.”
Dandy turns to face his mother and pulls her in for a hug.
“Good. Good. Almost healed.”
Dandy’s gaze shifts to direct eye contact with his reflection.
“You ready fo’ this shit, man?”
Dandy shakes his head.
“Yo’ head been elsewhere way too fuckin’ long. Pops see it. Dick see it. And you see it, don’t ya?”
…
“CJ’s takin’ ova ya focus an’ you missin’ the forrest fo’ tha trees, Dandy.”
…
“You out here tryin’ to do e’rythin’ yo’self when you ain’t gotta.”
…
“Empires ain’t solo missions. Empires mean team shit.”
…
“If I’m gon’ be the fuckin’ man I know I am, I gotta accep…”
A knock on the door interrupts Dandy’s self-discussion. Mrs. DiVito’s voice rings softly through the door.
“Win…um, Dandy, are you ok?”
“Yes, mama. You can come in.”
She opens the door and steps inside, and seeing her oldest torturing himself, she reaches a calming hand up to his shoulder.
“Do you remember how you got here, son?”
“I don’t know, mama.”
“Oh, Dandy. Don’t do that. You know exactly how you got where you are: by the power of piss and vinegar, spite and determination, iron fists and iron will.”
Her hand comes to rest on his shoulder.
“Do you still have all those?”
Dandy smiles.
“Yes, mama.”
“Then you’ve got everything you need, right?”
“Yes, mama.”
“Everything–everyone–else is just icing on the cake.”
Dandy turns to face his mother and pulls her in for a hug.
An’ yet you try an’ try an’ try to spread yo’self ‘round the fuckin’ world. You globe trottin’ so you ain’t gotta see Bozo eye fuck you in caterin’ or have to spend any more time gettin’ friendly wit’ Lissie Hope. You globe trottin’ so you ain’t gotta find out what we all know is true, Corey: you lost a step, you in desperation mode, and at the end a’ the day, you can’t hang in this company no more. Sure, you won a ladder match. That’s as good as hittin’ red in a roulette game though. It ain’t skill nearly to the extent that it’s jus’ bein’ at the right place at the right time. So instead, you travel. The vagabond life. Mr. Fuckin’ Bojangles, dance.
And this is where e’rythin’ boils down to the most essential elements for me, Black. If I lose to you, it means that Action Wrestlin’ ain’t the fuckin’ biggest dog in the yard no more. ‘Cause you out there in Roth or in Denzel Porter’s pocket, but I’ll be goddamned if I ain’t seein’ yo’ fail to reign supreme at the end of a whole sha-bang mo’ often than not, King. You on yo’ back countin’ lights e’rywhere else an’ you expec’ to come on back to AW when it’s convenient so you can take MY fuckin’ title like you somehow deserve that shit?
Nah, son. You don’t get to go play the role of the globetrottin’ cuck, walk into THIS company - the BEST company in the WORLD - an’ just snag the biggest prize in the game so you have the biggest fuckin’ match in the game at Evolution. No. Nope. Not happenin’. If you win the strap after what you been up to lately, you gon’ make the world believe some patently false bullshit ‘bout AW. Folks gon’ think you the best we got to offer an’ that this comp’ny is just a world of bluster an’ broken ankles. Nah, nah, nah, man.
You can keep doin’ the dumb shit that makes me look at you like you straigh’ stole Vayden’s WANDERER gimmick all you want, but at the end of it all, the critical shit remains: I am Dandy fuckin’ DiVito, and I ain’t had to go NOWHERE to prove my shit is the tops. If a mo’fucka the world over wanna come for my head, they gotta come play in my fuckin’ playground, in front a’ my fuckin’ fans, in the middle of my fuckin’ ring. Yeah, Black, I ain’t been at this shit for decades, but I HAVE been the hardest sombitch in this place since I arrived, and you? Fuck no.
You been hard up fo’ a chance to scream you still got it. I mean, why the fuck else would you have made Jaice your firs’ target when you got here?! That man was so fuckin’ embarassed to lose to you, he tried to convince e’rybody he sent a body double, Corey! You put together a whole ass squad a’ mo’fuckas to fuck wit’ JAICE WILDS? I mean, fuck. Li’l ol’ Creepin’ Death NEVER woulda needa recruit a fuckin’ SQUAD to handle JAICE FUCKIN’ WILDS, an’ the fact that you even considered that bullshit ploy tells me that even yo’ doubtin’ yo’self. Remember, I ain’t here to call yo ass old, and I ain’t here to disrespect what you accomplished, but GODDAMN was that positive shit in yo’ history too long ago fo’ me to give all that mucha a fuck ‘bout it when I see what you been doin’ in the meantime.
An’ yeah, I can hear you tryin’ to argue what I’m fuckin’ sayin’: I’m the longest reignin’ Hardcore Champion, Dandy! A WCF Hall of Fame Talent! I’m on a WORLD TOUR! All I gotta say is: good for you, mo’fucka, but that shit ain’t doin’ nothin’ fo’ nobody righ’ now. You beat Corey Bull and Scott Slayer and a whole lotta who-s for a long title run. Congrats. Who gives a shit? WCF’s Hall has lots of radioactive names even I wouldn’t touch wit’ a ten foot pole. Hell that shit matters so little, Torture gave up his spot to A-Dick as a reward for climbing the insurmountable mountain that is...Nobel Savage?! Yup The WCF Hall is sure the pennacle a’ tha business, huh? An’ look Black, the goddamn Jonas Brothers an’ the Wiggles and goddamn Disney on Ice do World Tours every fuckin’ year, but they ain’t a one of ‘em that could hold even Lissie’s jock.
I get that you treatin’ the game like you some kinda ol’ school TV preacher righ’ now. You see yo’ trips aroun’ from comp’ny to comp’ny as opportunities to spread the light of Action Wrestlin’, but I’m tellin’ you straight up that though I know you believe that’s what you doin’, you lyin’ to yo’self, man. ‘Cause you ain’t evangelizin’ or recruitin’ mo’fuckas to join the ranks of the best fuckin’ comp’ny in the world, you just makin’ they asses think they can hang wit’ us.
Now I tol’ you before this shit ain’t personal, that it’s just business. But I gotta be real-real wit’ you, Black. As I have that ah-ha moment wit’ myself, realizin’ that you whippin’ out that li’l pp to leak all over the legacy this comp’ny has fuckin’ earned, realizin’ that you lettin’ those dipshits the world over think they better than US...I feel like there might be just a li’l component of what I do to yo’ ass at Battlebowl that IS personal. ‘Cause yo’ ego strokin’ puts a whole new flare on the Creepin’ side of Creepin’ Death, son. Hell, you on par wit’ Louie CK’s PP tuggin’: ain’t nobody wanna see that shit, you’re just abusin’ yo’ reputation to pull that shit off, an’ eventually they’s gon’ be a whole lot of people laughin’ at you ova all it.
When you out in the world reppin’ this brand, you reppin’ Dandy DiVito whether I like it or not, and mo’fucka, I’ll tell you blunt as fuck: I don’t fuckin’ like it one goddamn bit. And it ain’t just that I don’t think you shouldn’t rep us. I don’t think we fuckin’ need it. Mo’fuckas the world over get the wild hair up they ass that they wanna play Russian Roulette wit’ an AW gun? They should have to come to us to get it.
But you jus’ givin’ the fuckin’ game away. You just pissin’ in each an’ e’ry person on this roster’s face (an’ I’m pretty sure the only person who likes that shit is Dionysus). I’m done wit’ it, Black. At Battlebowl, your world tour as a representative of Action Wrestlin’ is over. You can travel all you want after I whoop yo’ ass, but when I stand ova the top of you wit’ my strap held high in the air, they ain’t gon’ be no fuckin’ mistakin’ you for the class of the comp’ny eva again.
I’ma turn the king into my whippin’ boy.