Post by Jessie Lee on Feb 18, 2024 13:59:09 GMT -5
Here it is, Drillbit.
The BIG moment you've been salivatin' over since you remembered that you could use the keyboard for more than arbitrarily posting updates on your Action Wrestlin' sanctioned social media account.
Congratulations!
Now the fantasy fuckin' ends.
The BIG moment you've been salivatin' over since you remembered that you could use the keyboard for more than arbitrarily posting updates on your Action Wrestlin' sanctioned social media account.
Congratulations!
Now the fantasy fuckin' ends.
BANG!
"Jess, listen to me!" Jackie pleaded desperately as he followed his sister through the door she had just slammed in his face.
"Fuck off, Jackie!" Jessie retorted angerly as she marched into the kitchen, unscrewing the cap off of the half-empty liquor bottle; Jackie hot on her heels.
"Not this time!" he snapped as he snatched the bottle from her hand. "Is THIS why you fuckin' couldn't make it to Andy's funeral? 'Cause you were busy drinking yourself stupid? Or was it that Micheal bunt that got ya started on this shit?"
"Oh THAT'S rich! YOU, Mister Druggie McDruggerson, is gonna tell ME that alcohol is bad? That I'm WASTING my life away when I've already PROVEN to be the SUCCESSFUL one outta the three of us? Is THAT fuckin' it? Go to hell, Jackie!" she screamed with tears welling in her eyes.
"Fuckin' right I am!" Jackie shouted back as he threw the bottle into the sink, glass shattering.
Don't get it twisted.
I ain't sayin' this little delusion you've got 'bout taking the World Television Championship from someone someday is complete bullshit. You're tough ~ REAL fuckin' tough~ an' as professional prizefighter I can't wait to see that happen. However, this Monday Night Clash just simply ain't that moment.
It's MINE.
Just like EVERY match for the World Television Champions has been MINE.
Every moment that I've been beaten black an' blue by the aspirin' hopefuls that once stood where you do now. EVERY moment in which the violence escalated into territory they weren't prepared for. Just like EVERY main event that's played out on MILLIONS of television screens since I brought the strap BACK to main event status.
An' you think you're WORTHY of this strap 'cause you pinned Zmac?
'Cause you "avenged" your Evolution Six loss on the goofy cunt that DIDN'T pin you?
Fuckin' pathetic.
Get serious, ya bearded single-ball lookin' scrotum; you ain't READY for what's coming your way at the Footprint Center. Normally you're MEANEST, NASTIEST, most VILE bastard in the fight but you turn into a massive BITCH when proven otherwise. Evolution Six saw ya get your ass kicked an' you fuckin' HID for six fuckin' months in your mom's basement before you eventually worked up enough COURAGE to return. Then, at Love Hurts, you didn't get the fight ya were lookin' start after I flatlined Junior an' you fuckin' RAN.
AGAIN.
You portray yourself like you're some sadistic motherfucker that doesn't give two shits, but when shit doesn't go according to plan your turn tail an' you RUN. You ain't hard, Drillie; you're just desperate. DESPERATE for the fame an' adulation that I've BROUGHT BACK to the Television strap over the last two months. You're DESPERATE to be the guy that people WANT to challenge in order to prove themselves as true blue bloodied gladiators of the squared circle. You're DESPERATE for MOMMY'S attention.
An' now ya have it.
I ain't sayin' this little delusion you've got 'bout taking the World Television Championship from someone someday is complete bullshit. You're tough ~ REAL fuckin' tough~ an' as professional prizefighter I can't wait to see that happen. However, this Monday Night Clash just simply ain't that moment.
It's MINE.
Just like EVERY match for the World Television Champions has been MINE.
Every moment that I've been beaten black an' blue by the aspirin' hopefuls that once stood where you do now. EVERY moment in which the violence escalated into territory they weren't prepared for. Just like EVERY main event that's played out on MILLIONS of television screens since I brought the strap BACK to main event status.
An' you think you're WORTHY of this strap 'cause you pinned Zmac?
'Cause you "avenged" your Evolution Six loss on the goofy cunt that DIDN'T pin you?
Fuckin' pathetic.
Get serious, ya bearded single-ball lookin' scrotum; you ain't READY for what's coming your way at the Footprint Center. Normally you're MEANEST, NASTIEST, most VILE bastard in the fight but you turn into a massive BITCH when proven otherwise. Evolution Six saw ya get your ass kicked an' you fuckin' HID for six fuckin' months in your mom's basement before you eventually worked up enough COURAGE to return. Then, at Love Hurts, you didn't get the fight ya were lookin' start after I flatlined Junior an' you fuckin' RAN.
AGAIN.
You portray yourself like you're some sadistic motherfucker that doesn't give two shits, but when shit doesn't go according to plan your turn tail an' you RUN. You ain't hard, Drillie; you're just desperate. DESPERATE for the fame an' adulation that I've BROUGHT BACK to the Television strap over the last two months. You're DESPERATE to be the guy that people WANT to challenge in order to prove themselves as true blue bloodied gladiators of the squared circle. You're DESPERATE for MOMMY'S attention.
An' now ya have it.
Unable to maintain her mask of rage, Jessie broke down; tears streaming down her face as weakly batted at her brother with halfhearted fists.
"Jess," Jackie said gently as he pulled her into a tight embrace "It's okay. I miss him too. Just don't give into the same darkness."
"Jack, I-"
"Don't, Jess," he interrupted gently "it's gonna be okay."
"But-"
"no BUTs. We're goin' to get through this. I promise."
Falling silent, the sibling duo stood embracing each other as the emotional storm ran its course. Two broken souls desperate for support in a world that had crashed down around them. The sinister glint from the faceplate of the Television Championship mocking them from the counter with laughter unheard.
You have it an' you THINK you're ready for the hell I'm bringin' with me into Pheonix; you THINK that you can weather the storm an' come out on top. You look at your wins over Zmac, Thomas Snow, an' Andre Jenson an' you think that you're READY to challenge me for the strap that I've poured my HEART an' SOUL into?
Bitch, I didn't spend the last EIGHT MONTHS competing against some BEST Action Wrestlin' had just to get routed by some twat that thinks bein' good at fightin' in a company of bloodthirsty fucks means a fuckin' thing. 'Cause when that bell rings, an' I SHATTER your jaw, I'm gonna UNLEASH the ENTIRE weight of the world that's sittin' on MY shoulders. I'm going to do what you COULDN'T at Love Hurts an' I'm goin' to look you in the eye as I tear you limb from bloody limb.
My WARS.
My SCARS.
They are things that you can't hope to CONTEND with on Monday. However, that doesn't mean I don't want you to STRUGGLE for every last breath before I ultimately shove my boot through your skull; before I shatter the vertebra in your neck with LEETHAL precision. Because THIS isn't a fuckin' GAME to me, Driller; this isn't some cheap fuckin' fetish to be used as an escape 'cause you don't have ANYTHING else. This is my God damn LIFE an' I will, BEYOND a shadow of a doubt, do WHATEVER it takes to hold that strap high in the sky in VICTORY.
Just like at Evolution when I EARNED the United States strap.
Just like I've done EVERY night since Holiday Bash.
Just like how I'm going to Monday night.
So bring that close-minded horseshit mentality that allows YOU to dictate who is WORTHY of a strap you HAVEN'T competed for until NOW. Bring that untested confidence that you're the BADDEST son of a bitch walkin' an' I'll show you WHY I AM the BADDEST BITCH WALKING.
This Monday night my REALITY becomes your NIGHTMARE.
My CONTINUED REIGN the KNIFE in your HEART.
Bitch, I didn't spend the last EIGHT MONTHS competing against some BEST Action Wrestlin' had just to get routed by some twat that thinks bein' good at fightin' in a company of bloodthirsty fucks means a fuckin' thing. 'Cause when that bell rings, an' I SHATTER your jaw, I'm gonna UNLEASH the ENTIRE weight of the world that's sittin' on MY shoulders. I'm going to do what you COULDN'T at Love Hurts an' I'm goin' to look you in the eye as I tear you limb from bloody limb.
My WARS.
My SCARS.
They are things that you can't hope to CONTEND with on Monday. However, that doesn't mean I don't want you to STRUGGLE for every last breath before I ultimately shove my boot through your skull; before I shatter the vertebra in your neck with LEETHAL precision. Because THIS isn't a fuckin' GAME to me, Driller; this isn't some cheap fuckin' fetish to be used as an escape 'cause you don't have ANYTHING else. This is my God damn LIFE an' I will, BEYOND a shadow of a doubt, do WHATEVER it takes to hold that strap high in the sky in VICTORY.
Just like at Evolution when I EARNED the United States strap.
Just like I've done EVERY night since Holiday Bash.
Just like how I'm going to Monday night.
So bring that close-minded horseshit mentality that allows YOU to dictate who is WORTHY of a strap you HAVEN'T competed for until NOW. Bring that untested confidence that you're the BADDEST son of a bitch walkin' an' I'll show you WHY I AM the BADDEST BITCH WALKING.
This Monday night my REALITY becomes your NIGHTMARE.
My CONTINUED REIGN the KNIFE in your HEART.