Post by Zombie DankMorris on Apr 24, 2015 20:13:19 GMT -5
Chapter I: A Rat Poison Manifesto
( A Monologue. )
I would be re-missed in my days to stand before you today and not relish in this meteoric rose among the ranks. I have gone from a man traveling the KUNT-try in a broken down school bus to traveling the the world as the Leader of The Vapor Kingz. I went from what it meant to be the Low-Card to being one of the top three performers in this company. The Honey Badger went from taging with the Blue Eyed Devil and taking that Vapor King-cept and took it to another level. There are guys in the back that talk about starting movements or that they are going to create a modicum of chaos but who are these men, really? What motivates them other than a sense of insecurity. ZMAC ain't never been about that. Shits all about them double negatives. For instance, guys like the Movement are Insecure little bitches. THAT, Is a double negative. I fuck insecure bitches. I bounce them off my thick with without exemption or distinction.
This Coked Up Mad Man has made a career by being the only man in WCF to be true to hiz-self. That whole self that has created the most dominant stable in recent years. Who else among the unthick masses can say the say? I'm sure Gemini Battle thinks he can say the same. I'm sure he thinks a lot of things.
Think on, you gnat. Think on. You are of no concern to the affairs of giants and. Of Vapor Kingz and Coked Up Mad Men. Which one ain't you ain't? Heh, there's that double negative again. This goon I see before me, standing in my way at Aftermath, neither knows the affairs of men or affairs of giants. Gemini Battle just wishes to have a shot. A chance. A befalling.
Nigz gonna fall alright. I am not one to throw my Thick around and use it to gallop into a position. ZMAC, that Honey Badger is always in the prime position to fuck. To fuck people up and to fuck people over. Thats a Rat Poison Manifesto if I ever heard one. You hear that shit a lot too, in the Dub. Guys who never stepped in the pool talkin bout how they gonna swim laps around nigz while roasting a chicken, drinkin the worlds supply of YOOHOO and creating the biggest work of art the Dub has ever seen.
Honey Badger has yet to see. ZMAC been at the very bottom and currently he sits at the very top and he ain't seein' anyone, anywhere, that can do that. My mission in WCF is simple. Fuck shit up. Leave.
Aftermath is just another day where ZMAC gets to ruin yet another dream. And with such a intense shade of red. So Battle, what shade ain't you ain't.
Honey Badger can tell you right now, the answer ain't gold. Cuz you ain't and never will be a champion.
But you will be a victim.
______________________________
Chapter II: That Gobermintz Cheeze ( A Danish Experience)
L.A Twist De Canada ( Thats butchered French for the Twist of Canada. )
Toranto, Canada
Even in spring, its cold in Canada. If you wanted to have a Pay Per View, attract a larger auidence then polar bears, eskimos and what ever the ' NHL', is. The tempertures sunk into the -40's. If you busted a nut it would freeze to your think. Luckily the Artic Vortex hasnt reared its ugly Canadian head like some ginger haired El Nino. Remember that shit? The ocen went through matapause and fuck the world up for like a decade. Horrible shit. Kids, Google. It's not just for “hot asain milf” porn. Google has other fine things as well. Unfortunately what Google doesnt have is a solution to this Canadian problem. Luckily the Shape does have a solution.
A kuppa-kawfee, shop. A fine establishment over on Vine and Simmons. Across from Planet Fittness. ( or La Planete Fitshewe. If'n you were inclined for more butchered french.) The Shop was small, designated a hipster joint where neck beard freaks in flannel shirts could go and get their Vanilla Chai soy milk Vegan free, soy free, organic compound free- invisible cup of nuke warm air. Passers by would remark on such decadence and it made the Shape weep.
The Shape waits anxiously in a booth by the window with his head resting on his hand. He was waiting to die. He was going to die in this place. No Bagel. No latkahs. No doughnuts, pastries or Bavarian cremes of any kind. They were trying to kill him. He knew. They knew it. Jam Willy his-slf knew it. Thats when the rescue came. That most natural of all ICE Beckman- Romans casually walked through the door to the French Auschwitz, followed by Joseph Flash. It was Flash who had the goods. Non descriptive brown bags were always the best. Non descriptive brown bags that had been soiled by grease were even better. This was the better of the two options. The Shapes butt wiggled and wagged as his eyes lit up. Calories. Cholesterol. Fat. Oh JAM WILLY! glorious fat! Saturated and trans. Artery clogging, deep fried deliciousness. ANNNDD a thermos of coffee. Black, rich and thick as tar with fumes twice as strong. This is Motor City gold. ICE and Flash slid into the booth. Flash puts the thermos and bag on the table as The Shape rips into it like an Ethiopian at a Chinese buffet. Bear claws, bagels, Bavarian cremes.
The Extension cord is out and around the next of The Shape. It is a disturbing few moments. Like a great white molesting a seal. But just as fast as the frenzy started, it stopped. The Shape pressed his tie against his lips and dusted off the crumbs of his labor. With a flashing smile of a toothy grin, the Shape Extends his arms outward and leans forward.
“ And that is as simple as that. I want you boys to remember that.”
The Vapor Kings look at each other, not quite understanding the lesson they were supposed to have learned. The The Shape slams his fist on the table and causes the thermos to nearly spill over. The Shape however is not phased by such things and continues.
“ This business is about hungry. This business is about depriving others. We need to take and consume. Conquer and pillage. The WCF landscape is one that is now ripe for another Vapor King conquest. We are right there, we are right there in that landscape.” The Shape raises his voice and looks towards the cashier. “ That barren shit hole of a landscape. Devoid of all things pleasurable.”
The Cashier a scant 16 year old with beret, smokes a cigarette and scoffs the way all French do. Very Homo-sexually ( Homo. No Homo.) OR ( LA French. Zi Knot French)
“ If you don't like it, then you can leave.” OR ( Iv oui donut lick it den oui can * insert your own french butchery here. ) See? Don't ever say VK don't love its public.
The Shape snarls and growls with that bravarian crème filled rage. “ Fuck you, Ma'dam. Fuck you!” The Shape turns back towards the Vapor Kingz. “ Hipsters. Can't live with them. Can't kill them fast enough. They think that they know whats good for you as they smoke caner sticks. Sad state of the world. I tell ya.”
ICE interjects, trying to get things back on track.
“ Dad. You were saying.”
The Shape takes a sip of coffee and swallows with an exaggerated sigh. “ I want your very best. The top of your game. No matter if its the opener or a main event. This Pantheon thing has already gotten old and we are going to snuff it out. The way I see it you can either be Pantheon or VK. There's none of this ' movement' stuff or ' Poondock' dickery. What even is that? How can people get behind that? It is up to us to resuce WCF. To save it from ever corrupting influences. What is Pantheon but a geriatric bridge night? What is Vapor Kings other than the crème at the top? We have been kicking down doors since inception and havnt looked back. This isnt VK lite or just one of us hanging on with dear life swearing to all thing jelly doughnut that we're going to get back together. That isnt the stable of the future. Its a stable of failure. Its a stable living off the government cheddar. They spread that shit on rocks and call it a danish. They swerve that shit up to WCF and all these new cats eat it up like pigs feet and assholes. Faces all up in there and they don't know any better. Sunday night, we show them better. Thats what I want from you two. I want a World title. I want to put Lilith in her place so sh ca shut the fuck up, already. I want a solid night from VK all around.”
Without hesitation Flash speaks up. A man that always spoke his mind. One of his more admirable qualities. “ And ZMAC?” he questioned. “ What is he going to provide for us in all this?”
“ Insurance.” replies The Shape, so matter-of factly.
“ Dad, I don't think you know how insurance works.” comments ICE. The Shape cocks his head and looks at his son as if he's gone mad.
“ Do you now? You think I don't know what I'm doing? I know exactly what I'm doing. Zombie McMorris is unpredictable. The Evil Incarnate is exactly what we need. There are all these new groups who think that they can up and take a Vapor King spot. Jump on our bones and have themselves a party. Thats not whats going to happen. When one of them steps up, ZMAC is going to get it done. ZMAC can, will and has given his best in big time situations. No one wants to fight ZMAC at a Pay Per View. No one wants to fight ZMAC, period. End of story. The DRC and The Movement and whomever else- they get to go through ZMAC. They get to try. They get to fail. Gemini Battle is the first guy up in a long time that isnt the crème of the crop. Battle is the the first guy whose out of his league in this situation. The first guy of many. For Christs sake, its a sword on a pole match. What the fuck do you think is going to happen? You boys just worry about your matches. Worry about Lilith sucking your dick and worry about taking that title away from Bobby Cairo. Worry about bringing it back to The Vapor Kingz and ZMAC will use Battle as a warning to all those other would be factions. First there is VK and then there is everybody else. Its a matter of strength and unity. Its a matter of we are eating the Bravarian crème and the tuna on rye while the rest of the roster is sitting here in some no name- sheep shit- establishment drinking their non dairy, non creamer, creamer.
Now do you dig? We are eating the danish, the fruits of capitalist labor while everyone else scrubs along for crubs of government cheese. They get what we give them but we are not going to give them anything. We are going to take. Titles, careers, Wins, livelihoods. Identities. We will take the ice from the box and the last can of WHO-HASH! Sunday night is a night Curb Stomps and Lightning Bolts and most of all, Hang Over DDTs. Gentlemen. My sons. Get ready. We have work to do. We have work to do, indeed.”
________________________________
Chapter III: Z-Canada
Marty Moose was there at the border. Moose dick popsiccal as at the ready. Painted blue lumberjack hat worn from years of road side welcoming service. The entire mystic of Marty Moose has been beaten by time and snow and slobbish Americans like ZMAC who plastered the sign with spray paint that read “ Z-Canada.” The Vapor Kingz were miles and leagues ahead of him as they prepared for their matches at Aftermath. ZMAC on the other hand had a completely different agenda. He knows that Canada is renowned for its sense of respect and friendship. Hospitality was a dish best served warm in the form of brown ale and gravy fries. Damn fine eatin. ZMAC was like a coked up Bruce Banner and the Evil Incarnate was like his Hulk. Thats the impression you got when you see this tall, gangly man walking in the snow. Shit, it could be ninety degrees and it still be snowin in canada.
As the snow falls it instantly sizzles on his jacket and a trail of industrial waste can be seen in the wake of his footsteps. The hatred and grime and human decay violently reacts with the pure Canadian snow. Once and a while sparks can be sen flying off the jacket- a form of extreme reaction. Either that or Rob Ford has taken a coke party to whole new level. Speaking of Mayor Ford, ZMAC takes out his smart phone and rings the honorary mayor. A few seconds go by as the phone just rings and rings. ZMAC hangs up with a shrug of his shoulders and starts to toke on his crack pipe. ZMAC continues to walk and create a toxic waste environment and reflect on the match at hand. He looks out into no particular direction and yet peers right into your soul. A nonsensical penetration of your very being. AKA ZMAC hard shoot in
3..
2..
“ Ya know, I'm hearing a lot about your Battle. I'm hearing a lot about this jobber bum who went and took this other jobber bum to the limit and ended up getting squashed in some double K.O straight out of faggotry. I hear stories of some guy who brings swords to the rings like such things are props and not things to be used to cleave flesh from bone and pride from souls. Apparently thats your ' thing'. You mealy little cunt. Such dribble pours from your cock sucker the same way the vaginal fluids pour from Chelsea Armstrong. So I guess thats where The Honey Badger comes in. In case you forgotten or never just paid close enough fucking attention but this the The DUB. This is the place where carrying a sword doesnt make you special. You need that shit just to get into catering and get yourself a slice of that government cheese. However, Sunday Night ZMAC ain't clevein you off a piece of extra sharp chedder. I hope you know how to swing that thing. For realz. Not that photo op shit that you done in the past. This match is your put up and shut up. And for me, this the match where I just push your shit in.
I'm walking to the arena, so you got some time to reconsider this shit. You get to think how your little stunt and gimmick got you ito a world of real shit. A world where you're going to really have to use that sword and slice a mans next. Son, I go and I murk everybody. I go and I set fools like you up for falls you cant even comprehend. This right here is the biggest match of your carer and it very well could be your last.
You gotta think to yourself how many sword battles have you been in? How many real world situations have you gone toe to toe with man. Broadsword in one hand. Unbridled Thick in the other. Which one does more damage? Then yo ugotta think how many straight up fights this Immortal Coked Up Mad Man. Swords, axs, knives- you name it. I once put a sppon through a names stomach because he thopught he could take my cornbread in the joint one time.
For Christs sake, just go back three months and see the fact that I took top guys to school. You're punk ass went and got knocked out by Dune. A one time Internet Champion. Color my tits impressed and squezze. I think I'm getting a fuckin hard on for that shit. Nah, really. One time IT champion? How did you ever survive against such odds? How ever did you manage to work up the courage to climb into the ring against the fabled ' DUNE'.”
ZMAC scoffs at the idea, taking a hit of rat poison from his golden crack pipe before continuing.
“ Your punk ass managed to climb into the ring because Dune isnt one of the hottest talents in The Dub. Dune isnt one of the hottest talents, anywhere. I want you to hear that from a guy that knows. I want you to hear it from a guy that knows first hand what its like to be THE GUY in WCF. The one belt Dune got, he wasnt even fit to carry. He got that Shit talker belt. The Honey Badger Title. That Brazzer joint, but he did not know how to carry it the way I did. In fact G, thats one of the many differences between your match with Dune and your match with me.
You think you had a tough match. You think that you can give props to a man who should have lopsided your jaw and broke your shit. He should have done that. But he didnt. He didnt because he's the fuckin shits. Thats why you took your knife. Things get too out of hand, little pokey, pokey. A little stabby stab. I get cha.”
ZMAC taps his slender finger to his skull.
“ What you don't get though is that I'm not Dune. I'm not a one time fluke IT Champion. I'm the Internet Innovator. I'm the three time record setting champion. Not some six month, never defended that shit. But feel free to look up my legendary Internet Title reigns. Maybe then you'll come to the ring prepared with two swords, a tank, and that blond bitch from Game of Thrones. So not only am I a better shit talker than Dune. I'm the best in the Company.
So now you might be thinking that somewhere my skills arnt too good. I do have a stretch where I lost some matches. So maybe you're banking on that. Maybe you're banking on ZMAC not getting the job down at Aftermath. Again, you forget that I am a big match performer. that one Sunday a month, I tie one off and I go hard. Harder than anything you ever experienced in that ring. And we fought a few weeks ago too. But you figure this one on one will be different. Ain't got no kingz. AN-HNN. ZMAC always got them kings. What chu got? What don't chu got?
A hope. A prayer. A sense of confidence, pride. You know what you're missing. Shoulda got Statefarm. You gonna need an act of Jam Willy to make it out of this match intake; let alone the win. So not only am I the best shit talker in WCF and the best big match performer but I'm also the toughest and most hardcore. I'm the only nig up in here who don't care about you or anyone else. You want respect, you gotta earn it. Dick suckin don't earn you nothin but more dick suckin.
You up in this match ain't gonna earn my respect. You ain't gonna magically turn my shit around and give you anything but a sword in the gut. You are IN WCF. And in WCF I put swords through jobbers stomachs. I put guys like you in their place because guys like you think that just because you been here and you been terrible since day one, you think that you deserve belts and shots and accolades.
Go fuck yourself, Battle. Thats what I got to say about your shit. I'm in the business of making guys like you look good just by competing against guys like me and then I never hear from those guys ever again. How much longer is it going to be before you get a title shot? How much longer are you going to give guys like Dune the respect they DON'T deserve? And How much longer until you realize that guys like you get eviscerated by guys like me?
Heres a fucking spoiler for you: Sunday Night at Aftermath. I'm going to curb stomp you and then I'm going to take that broad sword and end your career. Honey Badger don't give a shit!
Gonna rip you a new axe wound.”
DEUCES BITCH!
( A Monologue. )
I would be re-missed in my days to stand before you today and not relish in this meteoric rose among the ranks. I have gone from a man traveling the KUNT-try in a broken down school bus to traveling the the world as the Leader of The Vapor Kingz. I went from what it meant to be the Low-Card to being one of the top three performers in this company. The Honey Badger went from taging with the Blue Eyed Devil and taking that Vapor King-cept and took it to another level. There are guys in the back that talk about starting movements or that they are going to create a modicum of chaos but who are these men, really? What motivates them other than a sense of insecurity. ZMAC ain't never been about that. Shits all about them double negatives. For instance, guys like the Movement are Insecure little bitches. THAT, Is a double negative. I fuck insecure bitches. I bounce them off my thick with without exemption or distinction.
This Coked Up Mad Man has made a career by being the only man in WCF to be true to hiz-self. That whole self that has created the most dominant stable in recent years. Who else among the unthick masses can say the say? I'm sure Gemini Battle thinks he can say the same. I'm sure he thinks a lot of things.
Think on, you gnat. Think on. You are of no concern to the affairs of giants and. Of Vapor Kingz and Coked Up Mad Men. Which one ain't you ain't? Heh, there's that double negative again. This goon I see before me, standing in my way at Aftermath, neither knows the affairs of men or affairs of giants. Gemini Battle just wishes to have a shot. A chance. A befalling.
Nigz gonna fall alright. I am not one to throw my Thick around and use it to gallop into a position. ZMAC, that Honey Badger is always in the prime position to fuck. To fuck people up and to fuck people over. Thats a Rat Poison Manifesto if I ever heard one. You hear that shit a lot too, in the Dub. Guys who never stepped in the pool talkin bout how they gonna swim laps around nigz while roasting a chicken, drinkin the worlds supply of YOOHOO and creating the biggest work of art the Dub has ever seen.
Honey Badger has yet to see. ZMAC been at the very bottom and currently he sits at the very top and he ain't seein' anyone, anywhere, that can do that. My mission in WCF is simple. Fuck shit up. Leave.
Aftermath is just another day where ZMAC gets to ruin yet another dream. And with such a intense shade of red. So Battle, what shade ain't you ain't.
Honey Badger can tell you right now, the answer ain't gold. Cuz you ain't and never will be a champion.
But you will be a victim.
______________________________
Chapter II: That Gobermintz Cheeze ( A Danish Experience)
L.A Twist De Canada ( Thats butchered French for the Twist of Canada. )
Toranto, Canada
Even in spring, its cold in Canada. If you wanted to have a Pay Per View, attract a larger auidence then polar bears, eskimos and what ever the ' NHL', is. The tempertures sunk into the -40's. If you busted a nut it would freeze to your think. Luckily the Artic Vortex hasnt reared its ugly Canadian head like some ginger haired El Nino. Remember that shit? The ocen went through matapause and fuck the world up for like a decade. Horrible shit. Kids, Google. It's not just for “hot asain milf” porn. Google has other fine things as well. Unfortunately what Google doesnt have is a solution to this Canadian problem. Luckily the Shape does have a solution.
A kuppa-kawfee, shop. A fine establishment over on Vine and Simmons. Across from Planet Fittness. ( or La Planete Fitshewe. If'n you were inclined for more butchered french.) The Shop was small, designated a hipster joint where neck beard freaks in flannel shirts could go and get their Vanilla Chai soy milk Vegan free, soy free, organic compound free- invisible cup of nuke warm air. Passers by would remark on such decadence and it made the Shape weep.
The Shape waits anxiously in a booth by the window with his head resting on his hand. He was waiting to die. He was going to die in this place. No Bagel. No latkahs. No doughnuts, pastries or Bavarian cremes of any kind. They were trying to kill him. He knew. They knew it. Jam Willy his-slf knew it. Thats when the rescue came. That most natural of all ICE Beckman- Romans casually walked through the door to the French Auschwitz, followed by Joseph Flash. It was Flash who had the goods. Non descriptive brown bags were always the best. Non descriptive brown bags that had been soiled by grease were even better. This was the better of the two options. The Shapes butt wiggled and wagged as his eyes lit up. Calories. Cholesterol. Fat. Oh JAM WILLY! glorious fat! Saturated and trans. Artery clogging, deep fried deliciousness. ANNNDD a thermos of coffee. Black, rich and thick as tar with fumes twice as strong. This is Motor City gold. ICE and Flash slid into the booth. Flash puts the thermos and bag on the table as The Shape rips into it like an Ethiopian at a Chinese buffet. Bear claws, bagels, Bavarian cremes.
The Extension cord is out and around the next of The Shape. It is a disturbing few moments. Like a great white molesting a seal. But just as fast as the frenzy started, it stopped. The Shape pressed his tie against his lips and dusted off the crumbs of his labor. With a flashing smile of a toothy grin, the Shape Extends his arms outward and leans forward.
“ And that is as simple as that. I want you boys to remember that.”
The Vapor Kings look at each other, not quite understanding the lesson they were supposed to have learned. The The Shape slams his fist on the table and causes the thermos to nearly spill over. The Shape however is not phased by such things and continues.
“ This business is about hungry. This business is about depriving others. We need to take and consume. Conquer and pillage. The WCF landscape is one that is now ripe for another Vapor King conquest. We are right there, we are right there in that landscape.” The Shape raises his voice and looks towards the cashier. “ That barren shit hole of a landscape. Devoid of all things pleasurable.”
The Cashier a scant 16 year old with beret, smokes a cigarette and scoffs the way all French do. Very Homo-sexually ( Homo. No Homo.) OR ( LA French. Zi Knot French)
“ If you don't like it, then you can leave.” OR ( Iv oui donut lick it den oui can * insert your own french butchery here. ) See? Don't ever say VK don't love its public.
The Shape snarls and growls with that bravarian crème filled rage. “ Fuck you, Ma'dam. Fuck you!” The Shape turns back towards the Vapor Kingz. “ Hipsters. Can't live with them. Can't kill them fast enough. They think that they know whats good for you as they smoke caner sticks. Sad state of the world. I tell ya.”
ICE interjects, trying to get things back on track.
“ Dad. You were saying.”
The Shape takes a sip of coffee and swallows with an exaggerated sigh. “ I want your very best. The top of your game. No matter if its the opener or a main event. This Pantheon thing has already gotten old and we are going to snuff it out. The way I see it you can either be Pantheon or VK. There's none of this ' movement' stuff or ' Poondock' dickery. What even is that? How can people get behind that? It is up to us to resuce WCF. To save it from ever corrupting influences. What is Pantheon but a geriatric bridge night? What is Vapor Kings other than the crème at the top? We have been kicking down doors since inception and havnt looked back. This isnt VK lite or just one of us hanging on with dear life swearing to all thing jelly doughnut that we're going to get back together. That isnt the stable of the future. Its a stable of failure. Its a stable living off the government cheddar. They spread that shit on rocks and call it a danish. They swerve that shit up to WCF and all these new cats eat it up like pigs feet and assholes. Faces all up in there and they don't know any better. Sunday night, we show them better. Thats what I want from you two. I want a World title. I want to put Lilith in her place so sh ca shut the fuck up, already. I want a solid night from VK all around.”
Without hesitation Flash speaks up. A man that always spoke his mind. One of his more admirable qualities. “ And ZMAC?” he questioned. “ What is he going to provide for us in all this?”
“ Insurance.” replies The Shape, so matter-of factly.
“ Dad, I don't think you know how insurance works.” comments ICE. The Shape cocks his head and looks at his son as if he's gone mad.
“ Do you now? You think I don't know what I'm doing? I know exactly what I'm doing. Zombie McMorris is unpredictable. The Evil Incarnate is exactly what we need. There are all these new groups who think that they can up and take a Vapor King spot. Jump on our bones and have themselves a party. Thats not whats going to happen. When one of them steps up, ZMAC is going to get it done. ZMAC can, will and has given his best in big time situations. No one wants to fight ZMAC at a Pay Per View. No one wants to fight ZMAC, period. End of story. The DRC and The Movement and whomever else- they get to go through ZMAC. They get to try. They get to fail. Gemini Battle is the first guy up in a long time that isnt the crème of the crop. Battle is the the first guy whose out of his league in this situation. The first guy of many. For Christs sake, its a sword on a pole match. What the fuck do you think is going to happen? You boys just worry about your matches. Worry about Lilith sucking your dick and worry about taking that title away from Bobby Cairo. Worry about bringing it back to The Vapor Kingz and ZMAC will use Battle as a warning to all those other would be factions. First there is VK and then there is everybody else. Its a matter of strength and unity. Its a matter of we are eating the Bravarian crème and the tuna on rye while the rest of the roster is sitting here in some no name- sheep shit- establishment drinking their non dairy, non creamer, creamer.
Now do you dig? We are eating the danish, the fruits of capitalist labor while everyone else scrubs along for crubs of government cheese. They get what we give them but we are not going to give them anything. We are going to take. Titles, careers, Wins, livelihoods. Identities. We will take the ice from the box and the last can of WHO-HASH! Sunday night is a night Curb Stomps and Lightning Bolts and most of all, Hang Over DDTs. Gentlemen. My sons. Get ready. We have work to do. We have work to do, indeed.”
________________________________
Chapter III: Z-Canada
Marty Moose was there at the border. Moose dick popsiccal as at the ready. Painted blue lumberjack hat worn from years of road side welcoming service. The entire mystic of Marty Moose has been beaten by time and snow and slobbish Americans like ZMAC who plastered the sign with spray paint that read “ Z-Canada.” The Vapor Kingz were miles and leagues ahead of him as they prepared for their matches at Aftermath. ZMAC on the other hand had a completely different agenda. He knows that Canada is renowned for its sense of respect and friendship. Hospitality was a dish best served warm in the form of brown ale and gravy fries. Damn fine eatin. ZMAC was like a coked up Bruce Banner and the Evil Incarnate was like his Hulk. Thats the impression you got when you see this tall, gangly man walking in the snow. Shit, it could be ninety degrees and it still be snowin in canada.
As the snow falls it instantly sizzles on his jacket and a trail of industrial waste can be seen in the wake of his footsteps. The hatred and grime and human decay violently reacts with the pure Canadian snow. Once and a while sparks can be sen flying off the jacket- a form of extreme reaction. Either that or Rob Ford has taken a coke party to whole new level. Speaking of Mayor Ford, ZMAC takes out his smart phone and rings the honorary mayor. A few seconds go by as the phone just rings and rings. ZMAC hangs up with a shrug of his shoulders and starts to toke on his crack pipe. ZMAC continues to walk and create a toxic waste environment and reflect on the match at hand. He looks out into no particular direction and yet peers right into your soul. A nonsensical penetration of your very being. AKA ZMAC hard shoot in
3..
2..
“ Ya know, I'm hearing a lot about your Battle. I'm hearing a lot about this jobber bum who went and took this other jobber bum to the limit and ended up getting squashed in some double K.O straight out of faggotry. I hear stories of some guy who brings swords to the rings like such things are props and not things to be used to cleave flesh from bone and pride from souls. Apparently thats your ' thing'. You mealy little cunt. Such dribble pours from your cock sucker the same way the vaginal fluids pour from Chelsea Armstrong. So I guess thats where The Honey Badger comes in. In case you forgotten or never just paid close enough fucking attention but this the The DUB. This is the place where carrying a sword doesnt make you special. You need that shit just to get into catering and get yourself a slice of that government cheese. However, Sunday Night ZMAC ain't clevein you off a piece of extra sharp chedder. I hope you know how to swing that thing. For realz. Not that photo op shit that you done in the past. This match is your put up and shut up. And for me, this the match where I just push your shit in.
I'm walking to the arena, so you got some time to reconsider this shit. You get to think how your little stunt and gimmick got you ito a world of real shit. A world where you're going to really have to use that sword and slice a mans next. Son, I go and I murk everybody. I go and I set fools like you up for falls you cant even comprehend. This right here is the biggest match of your carer and it very well could be your last.
You gotta think to yourself how many sword battles have you been in? How many real world situations have you gone toe to toe with man. Broadsword in one hand. Unbridled Thick in the other. Which one does more damage? Then yo ugotta think how many straight up fights this Immortal Coked Up Mad Man. Swords, axs, knives- you name it. I once put a sppon through a names stomach because he thopught he could take my cornbread in the joint one time.
For Christs sake, just go back three months and see the fact that I took top guys to school. You're punk ass went and got knocked out by Dune. A one time Internet Champion. Color my tits impressed and squezze. I think I'm getting a fuckin hard on for that shit. Nah, really. One time IT champion? How did you ever survive against such odds? How ever did you manage to work up the courage to climb into the ring against the fabled ' DUNE'.”
ZMAC scoffs at the idea, taking a hit of rat poison from his golden crack pipe before continuing.
“ Your punk ass managed to climb into the ring because Dune isnt one of the hottest talents in The Dub. Dune isnt one of the hottest talents, anywhere. I want you to hear that from a guy that knows. I want you to hear it from a guy that knows first hand what its like to be THE GUY in WCF. The one belt Dune got, he wasnt even fit to carry. He got that Shit talker belt. The Honey Badger Title. That Brazzer joint, but he did not know how to carry it the way I did. In fact G, thats one of the many differences between your match with Dune and your match with me.
You think you had a tough match. You think that you can give props to a man who should have lopsided your jaw and broke your shit. He should have done that. But he didnt. He didnt because he's the fuckin shits. Thats why you took your knife. Things get too out of hand, little pokey, pokey. A little stabby stab. I get cha.”
ZMAC taps his slender finger to his skull.
“ What you don't get though is that I'm not Dune. I'm not a one time fluke IT Champion. I'm the Internet Innovator. I'm the three time record setting champion. Not some six month, never defended that shit. But feel free to look up my legendary Internet Title reigns. Maybe then you'll come to the ring prepared with two swords, a tank, and that blond bitch from Game of Thrones. So not only am I a better shit talker than Dune. I'm the best in the Company.
So now you might be thinking that somewhere my skills arnt too good. I do have a stretch where I lost some matches. So maybe you're banking on that. Maybe you're banking on ZMAC not getting the job down at Aftermath. Again, you forget that I am a big match performer. that one Sunday a month, I tie one off and I go hard. Harder than anything you ever experienced in that ring. And we fought a few weeks ago too. But you figure this one on one will be different. Ain't got no kingz. AN-HNN. ZMAC always got them kings. What chu got? What don't chu got?
A hope. A prayer. A sense of confidence, pride. You know what you're missing. Shoulda got Statefarm. You gonna need an act of Jam Willy to make it out of this match intake; let alone the win. So not only am I the best shit talker in WCF and the best big match performer but I'm also the toughest and most hardcore. I'm the only nig up in here who don't care about you or anyone else. You want respect, you gotta earn it. Dick suckin don't earn you nothin but more dick suckin.
You up in this match ain't gonna earn my respect. You ain't gonna magically turn my shit around and give you anything but a sword in the gut. You are IN WCF. And in WCF I put swords through jobbers stomachs. I put guys like you in their place because guys like you think that just because you been here and you been terrible since day one, you think that you deserve belts and shots and accolades.
Go fuck yourself, Battle. Thats what I got to say about your shit. I'm in the business of making guys like you look good just by competing against guys like me and then I never hear from those guys ever again. How much longer is it going to be before you get a title shot? How much longer are you going to give guys like Dune the respect they DON'T deserve? And How much longer until you realize that guys like you get eviscerated by guys like me?
Heres a fucking spoiler for you: Sunday Night at Aftermath. I'm going to curb stomp you and then I'm going to take that broad sword and end your career. Honey Badger don't give a shit!
Gonna rip you a new axe wound.”
DEUCES BITCH!
