Post by 𝗖𝗢𝗥𝗘𝗬 𝗕𝗟𝗔𝗖𝗞 on Nov 23, 2019 19:56:35 GMT -5
Corey Black is sitting alone in his apartment at a big fancy desk.
"One almost feels bad when being matched up with Johnny Stylez, in this day smacking kids around will land you in jail. This mental midget spouts off about this, that, everything under the sun. Maybe a sentence or two relevant to his given topic, then a six minute jaw sprint about how Alex Richards stomped his ass into the mat but somehow it doesn't matter because JOhNnY styLEeZ IS DA BESS.
You actually believe it though, don't you? You think you're better than everyone on the roster. You think that just because you say something it automatically becomes fact. That's a legitimate mental disorder and I one hundred percent believe you need to be institutionalized. Put away forever, Johnny, for your own safety. This time, your mouth has once again written you a check you just cannot cash. Unfortunately for you, you're against the King of All Wrestlers for MY Hardcore Title. A Title I PUT ON THE MAP. Contrary to your musings, the Hardcore Title was nothing before it landed on my shoulder. Since winning, I've featured it on a XIII, defended it three times in four weeks against the likes of Kyle Kemp, TFK and... your old buddy Beau Del Sol! Remember Beau? The guy that beat you in Tokyo and retired your tired retarded ass. The corpses in my wake include Shadowlove, Sam Kidsgrove and the love of your fucking life, Alex Richards.
Could you PLEASE get off the man's dick for half a day and focus on the task at hand? You're a goddamn teenager with a crush, Johnny, it's getting overbearing. Even the people that aren't involved are looking at you sideways like 'when is this dude gonna kiss this other dude or back the hell up?' That's your options at this point. Go plant a big fat wet one on Alex's knob or take the loss like a man and try to do something else - like beat me! But let me tell you, when I stomp your ass into the ground and leave you wondering why it's suddenly 4:21, I'm not going to take the bait. You can spout off for a month about how I'm just old and washed up, you had something in your eye, your mom caught you jacking off to Drew Brees photos and threw off your game, none of it matters, this is one and done for me, bud. I've got way bigger fish to fry in Action Wrestling.
Your future opponents though, I have something special for them."
Corey reaches into his desk and pulls out a bunch of stacks of cash. He flips through them, showing off they're all large bills.
"This is what we call a bounty, Johnny. Surely you're aware of what happens here. Every person that beats Johnny Stylez gets twenty five thousand dollars from me, personally. I've watched you for years spew the dumbest shit from your gullet, since day one when you joined WCF. For seven years I've watched you plateau in the wrestling business, not make a single fucking thing out of yourself other than a straight up mockery. You showed up talking about how many titles you've won and how many Hall of Fames you're in like those weren't discount WCF indies at that point. You're an absolute disgrace to the sport and ring. When you retired, I breathed such a sigh of relief but as we all know, retirement means jack diddly in pro wrestling. I retired once, but I didn't go out on my back like a total chump. I didn't get my shit pushed in by a cowboy that ended up disappearing off to fuckville anyway, losing any credibility I may have had left - it was you, boy. Anything and everything you say to me means absolute dick, like a beggar talking to a King. I've got people that will handle you in the future, after your pie hole gets filled with elbow.
So, twenty five large to every person that beats you, Johnny. Seems fair. Maybe we can compensate Alex Richards since I dropped him from the Wrestler of the Year Tournament, something you'd never have a chance of even sniffing - sort of like the belt around my waist. You don't even belong at the bottom of the card, you belong in a hospital, institution or morgue. The day little baby Johnny Stylez was found on the corner and taken to an orphanage should live in infamy throughout history. Had the nice people that took you in knew what you'd become, they'd have surely performed an out of womb abortion, you no-good sorry sack of shit. Your parents could tell from that dumb look you probably gave when you were born, threw up some fuckin' gang sign and asked what time it was, they KNEW what they had to do.
The very same thing I'm going to do.
I'm going to dump your ass on the side of the cold road and never look back, Johnny. You'll sit there and wonder for years what could have been, what would have happened if you got your shit together and stopped acting like it's seventh grade. Maybe you'd have had a chance against The King, maybe you'd have put up a fight against the best to ever fuckin' do it. But, then again, you're LA Johnny Stylez. It's in your DNA to choke. You were two words into your little video and I knew you didn't have the heart to trade barbs with me. The avalanche of word vomit you produce doesn't hold half the weight a single sentence does coming from my lips.
This is your wake up call, bitch. I'm the guy you've been wanting to get in there with for years. Maybe you should go find Hunter Valentyne and go for the tag belts.
Oh no, those are mine soon too.
Better just retire again. At least you're safe there."
"One almost feels bad when being matched up with Johnny Stylez, in this day smacking kids around will land you in jail. This mental midget spouts off about this, that, everything under the sun. Maybe a sentence or two relevant to his given topic, then a six minute jaw sprint about how Alex Richards stomped his ass into the mat but somehow it doesn't matter because JOhNnY styLEeZ IS DA BESS.
You actually believe it though, don't you? You think you're better than everyone on the roster. You think that just because you say something it automatically becomes fact. That's a legitimate mental disorder and I one hundred percent believe you need to be institutionalized. Put away forever, Johnny, for your own safety. This time, your mouth has once again written you a check you just cannot cash. Unfortunately for you, you're against the King of All Wrestlers for MY Hardcore Title. A Title I PUT ON THE MAP. Contrary to your musings, the Hardcore Title was nothing before it landed on my shoulder. Since winning, I've featured it on a XIII, defended it three times in four weeks against the likes of Kyle Kemp, TFK and... your old buddy Beau Del Sol! Remember Beau? The guy that beat you in Tokyo and retired your tired retarded ass. The corpses in my wake include Shadowlove, Sam Kidsgrove and the love of your fucking life, Alex Richards.
Could you PLEASE get off the man's dick for half a day and focus on the task at hand? You're a goddamn teenager with a crush, Johnny, it's getting overbearing. Even the people that aren't involved are looking at you sideways like 'when is this dude gonna kiss this other dude or back the hell up?' That's your options at this point. Go plant a big fat wet one on Alex's knob or take the loss like a man and try to do something else - like beat me! But let me tell you, when I stomp your ass into the ground and leave you wondering why it's suddenly 4:21, I'm not going to take the bait. You can spout off for a month about how I'm just old and washed up, you had something in your eye, your mom caught you jacking off to Drew Brees photos and threw off your game, none of it matters, this is one and done for me, bud. I've got way bigger fish to fry in Action Wrestling.
Your future opponents though, I have something special for them."
Corey reaches into his desk and pulls out a bunch of stacks of cash. He flips through them, showing off they're all large bills.
"This is what we call a bounty, Johnny. Surely you're aware of what happens here. Every person that beats Johnny Stylez gets twenty five thousand dollars from me, personally. I've watched you for years spew the dumbest shit from your gullet, since day one when you joined WCF. For seven years I've watched you plateau in the wrestling business, not make a single fucking thing out of yourself other than a straight up mockery. You showed up talking about how many titles you've won and how many Hall of Fames you're in like those weren't discount WCF indies at that point. You're an absolute disgrace to the sport and ring. When you retired, I breathed such a sigh of relief but as we all know, retirement means jack diddly in pro wrestling. I retired once, but I didn't go out on my back like a total chump. I didn't get my shit pushed in by a cowboy that ended up disappearing off to fuckville anyway, losing any credibility I may have had left - it was you, boy. Anything and everything you say to me means absolute dick, like a beggar talking to a King. I've got people that will handle you in the future, after your pie hole gets filled with elbow.
So, twenty five large to every person that beats you, Johnny. Seems fair. Maybe we can compensate Alex Richards since I dropped him from the Wrestler of the Year Tournament, something you'd never have a chance of even sniffing - sort of like the belt around my waist. You don't even belong at the bottom of the card, you belong in a hospital, institution or morgue. The day little baby Johnny Stylez was found on the corner and taken to an orphanage should live in infamy throughout history. Had the nice people that took you in knew what you'd become, they'd have surely performed an out of womb abortion, you no-good sorry sack of shit. Your parents could tell from that dumb look you probably gave when you were born, threw up some fuckin' gang sign and asked what time it was, they KNEW what they had to do.
The very same thing I'm going to do.
I'm going to dump your ass on the side of the cold road and never look back, Johnny. You'll sit there and wonder for years what could have been, what would have happened if you got your shit together and stopped acting like it's seventh grade. Maybe you'd have had a chance against The King, maybe you'd have put up a fight against the best to ever fuckin' do it. But, then again, you're LA Johnny Stylez. It's in your DNA to choke. You were two words into your little video and I knew you didn't have the heart to trade barbs with me. The avalanche of word vomit you produce doesn't hold half the weight a single sentence does coming from my lips.
This is your wake up call, bitch. I'm the guy you've been wanting to get in there with for years. Maybe you should go find Hunter Valentyne and go for the tag belts.
Oh no, those are mine soon too.
Better just retire again. At least you're safe there."