Tony Santos, laying on his broken, green living room couch in his Brighton apartment, rolls over and lazily slaps his laptop keyboard with his right hand. The screen, dotted with specks of dust and stale droplets of booze, brightens. Having passed out in a drunken haze immediately following his comment to Luca about his possible second life as a meth head, Tony watches the archived footage of Luca's response to his prospective challengers, as well as the spurned midcarders that were soundly put down by Luca. Tony chuckles.

Santos: Oh, these fools. They actually believed that Luca was issuing a serious challenge, and even if he was, that they would be considered serious contenders. Now look at them, previously unable to exhibit even a drop of decency toward one another, now united in their anger toward one person.

These jokers have the combined mental fortitude of Steve Sayors when faced with the notion of getting a swift bitch slapping by Minxs... the combined brainpower of a 16-year-old girl, fresh off of getting her driver's license, who, after texting her boyfriend the profound "lol wuts up lata wanna get drunk and tuch each uther?" smashes her skull off of her driver's side window after getting t-boned by a car with a driver who was NOT texting while driving, and is immediately rendered brain dead.

These fucks combined couldn't manage to manhandle John Black, let alone Luca Arzegotti. Fuck 'em, I'll take each one of these asshats on at the same time and make fucking mince meat out of their god damn insides, then proceed to stuff a tampon up Jonny Rebel's vagina, stick a bible up LJ's pee hole, and wipe Archie Lawson's tears with the worthless British flag, all while eating crumpets and drinking tea, since, that's what they do, right? Fuck, I don't care.

Tony proceeds to let his body go as he drops back on to the couch, this time in a slouched, sitting position.

Santos: Oh, and fuck Luza Arzegotti and his stupid face too. He's just as much of an asshole as the rest of these morons, he just doesn't cry as much.

I need a god damn drink.

Tony attempts to lift himself up from the couch, a nice, cool Southern Tier Harvest Ale calling his name from the fridge, but he's too weak to do so. Instead, Tony drops the few inches back to the couch and soundly falls asleep, instantly dreaming about LJ Havok, Archie Lawson, Jonny Rebel running around in vagina costumes, attempting to dropkick one another in the ovaries.

September 2013 and May 2019 Star of the Month
1x Hart Champion
1x Television Champion
1x Xtreme Champion