03-25-2015, 11:55 AM
"Loverboy" - Everything About You. -->
Everybody gather ‘round – your number one contender and future greatest Universal Champion of all time has something he needs to say. A proclamation if you will.
This weekend in Tampa, I will personally be raising the average IQ of the human race by at least five points by eliminating the dumb fuck who’s been busting the grading curve since the first time he put balls to his own mother, the alleged murderer Cain.
This single-celled evolutionary mishap is running around proudly telling everyone who will listen that he is preparing to climb into a steel cage with a well-oiled wrestling machine, the most capable and enviable athlete that the XWF has ever seen, a multiple-time and current champion twice over… by doing absolutely god damn nothing.
Not one sit-up. Not a single jumping jack. No laps around the track or in the pool. Not even a limp jackoff session in a sauna. No, Cain thinks he can sit on his swollen prostate and get off the couch without so much as stretching and then walk into a fucking deathtrap against a guy who’s so far up the card that he’s actually forgotten what it’s like to be ranked amongst disappointments like Cain.
Keep in mind, this opponent of Cain’s is not only the champion of the hottest brand in the XWF, Monday Night Madness, but is also a guy who has lifted giants over his head, sent legends packing, ended undefeated streaks, and routinely wears multiple championship belts around the kind of waist you typically only see on the cover of GQ.
I’m talking about the man every girl wants to see and every guy wants to be – me. “Loverboy†Vinnie Lane.
I want every single fan of mine across the world to understand one thing – I have never and will never take any opponent lightly. I go into every contest as if it’s the main event, because it usually is. I go into every match as if there was a title on the line, because there usually is. Any time you watch Loverboy, whether it be in the front row of your home town’s 200 seat civic center or on a live-streaming pay per view extravaganza, you are seeing your idol at the top of his game. I wouldn’t disrespect my millions of fans with anything less.
Because I’m not Cain, and I deserve your adoration.
So…
Let it be known that every time Cain opens his mouth he is basically advertising donations for brain injury research.
Remember folks, for only the cost of a cup of coffee, you can help scientists discover the medical reasons why we end up with braindead mouth-breathers like the ‘man that fear forgot to be afraid of because it’s too scary’ or whatever the fuck Cain says his nickname is.
News flash, Cain. No one calls you that. I call myself a megastar, and so do others. It says it on the hundreds of t-shirts I sell every week, too. The only person who has ever called you ‘the dude that death forgot to make die’ or some shit is you. You and maybe whoever tricked you into letting them take out a life insurance policy on you.
You know what else they call me, dude? The number one contender. The HART Champion. The Federweight Champion. The Madness Series Winner. The top gun of the Underground. The fucking star of the YEAR, if you tally all the votes from my debut forward.
What have you got, Cain? A couple of empty wins over two big names who simply didn’t give enough of a shit about beating you to actually do it? See man, when you’re a megastar like I am, you get people gunning for you and giving it 110% the entire time. You get guys like Justin Sane, who would otherwise be nothing more that Gator’s cum catcher and Austin Fernando’s appointed caretaker, stepping up and giving it everything he’s got. You get guys like YOU, who typically can’t fight their way out of a wet paper bag with a head start, standing here and getting to call yourself a contender because I was gracious enough to give you a shot you didn’t deserve.
I gave you a list of motherfuckers I’ve put down like parvo puppies and you come at me with Aidan Collins again. You probably printed up a bunch of ‘I beat Blizzard’ shirts like Mastermind on Adderall thinking it was your big moment… but what the hell ever came of it? Did you take advantage of your bogus status as the top contender and become the Universal Champion? No, of course you fucking didn’t. You blew it and then you scurried away to try a new look and a new attitude, because the one you were born with sucks. You haven’t held any of the accolades I have, even though you’ve tried. You never won the X-Treme Title like I have, and you sure as hell didn’t win the Trios Titles like I have, even though you actually had a pair of partners that could overcome the deadweight of your tired ass dragging them down.
Me? Trust me, Cain, when I pick my moment it won’t be another case of the top contender failing to fulfill the designation. I’m going to be the guy who does what no one else could do, and that’s knock the King off of his throne. I’m gonna send you back to Warfare with a black eye and a busted lip, and I’m gonna wipe my ass with your Blizzard t-shirts. Send ‘em all to dying African kids who’ve already worn through their ‘Undefeated Patriots’ shirts from 2007.
Really, man, did you even watch the house show Blizzard and I were a part of? One I was the main event in, by the way? Did you notice that it wasn’t even close to Pest and me teaming up against Collins, but almost the exact opposite? The two of them spent the entire time working as a unit against me, with Pest even touting Blizzard’s woe is me hashtag around to anyone who would listen. It was me against BOTH of them, and it still ended with two of us getting pinned together, not me ranked third out of three. I don’t know what your Brony looking ass was watching, but it clearly wasn’t that show.
And yes, Cain, I have beaten Justin Sane. Pretty much everyone has at this point, now that you decided to catch up with the rest of us. I beat him to gain my top contender’s status at Turning Point. I’m pretty sure you knew that, dude, but I don’t mind bringing it up again since it really bothers him when I do.
Okay, dude, listen. I’m going to break it down for you real quick so we can just settle all the spooky business and focus on the actual match from here on out, okay? You don’t scare me. You don’t scare anyone. In fact, I was so bored with the ‘thrill’ of facing you this week that I tossed myself off of a god damn building. THAT was scary. Getting locked into a broom closet with nothing but an angry hobbit and a month’s supply of Viagra is scary. Random chicks from across the country calling me up to tell me they’re late is scary. The only thing scary about you is the shitty pentagram tattoo on your lower back, because it reminds all of us that there are still people running around who think that’s cool.
When I look at you I don’t shiver in fear, dude, I sigh in relief. Every time I think I’m having a rough day or I’m feeling a little down about myself, I just pull out a picture of you and remind myself that it could always be worse. You know what I mean, man? No matter how bad it gets, I’m not Cain. That’s basically all I ever have to say to myself to get into a better mood, because if I ever ended up being anywhere close to ‘Cain,’ I’d probably just sit in a garage with my engine running for a few hours, you know?
You’re not a demon. You’re not a monster. You’re not a vampire or a werewolf or even a zombie. You’re a dumbass who’s seen too many scary movies and happened to be blessed with the sort of pituitary disorder that can lead to getting bigger than most. Eventually your overworked heart is gonna blow out like the condom your poor father must wish he’d worn two of.
So what else are you, other than an overgrown wannabe rapidly coming to terms with his eventual never-was status? You’re six-foot-eight worth of letdown. You’re a vacuum of charisma, a black hole of personality, a dearth of physical appeal, and pretty much the one hundred percent polar opposite of everything I am.
Look at the differences between us.
You’re a guy who bought a house in Tombstone, Arizona because you thought the name of the city was cool and might rub off on you. You probably walk around acting like you’ve got tuberculosis and telling people you’re their huckleberry. I’m the guy who gets sponsorship deals and TV show bookings on an almost daily basis because I am the very living definition of what ‘cool’ is.
You’re a guy who relies just on his natural endowments, however lacking they may be, and shrugs it off as if it’s impressive to never try. I’m the guy who kills it in the gym, kills it in the training room, kills it in sparring sessions, and then goes out in front of 20,000 screaming fans with my face on their chests and kills it in the ring against chumps like you.
You’re a guy who calls himself a killer because his imagination goes as far as ‘people don’t like to die’ and stops there. You look at guys like John Wayne Gacy and think ‘that’s me, I want to look like a clown and fuck little kids to death’ because SCARY. You’re even pretending to be proud of nailing an underage girl because you think it gives you a gritty image. It doesn’t. It gives you a sad image because no matter how much of a vicious predator you think you are, like some kind of lone wolf prowling the nighttime streets for victims to slaughter, the actual type of predator you are is the kind that gets caught by Chris Hansen with a sixer of Smirnoff Ice in your hand and a stack of pervy emails sitting in the DA’s office.
Congratulations, Cain. You scare little kids.
Unfortunately for you, I’m a grown-ass man, and I’m not afraid of the monster under my bed anymore. Nowadays when the boogeyman comes knocking I give him a dose of reality and send him back to the land of make believe with Mister Rogers.
Face it Cain, the only thing you’ve killed thus far is your own career. I’m not the murderer here, dude, and neither are you. You’re the corpse and I’m just the nail in the coffin, dude, because I’ve ended people ten times better than you. Have you seen Griffin MacAlister lately? Of course you haven’t. Do you know why? Because he had the unfortunate luck to get booked in a cage match with yours truly, and I sent him out to pasture like a race horse with a broken leg.
This week, it’s you and me who are getting locked inside a fifteen foot steel cage… and it will be in front of a packed arena in my home town. Who do you think they’ll be cheering for when the music hits and the bell rings? A washed up has-been or a real life megastar? A wannabe mid-carder or a defending champion? A boring, make-believe killer or a dynamic, in-the-flesh hero? I’ll give you three guesses, Cain, and if all three of them aren’t “Loverboy†Vinnie Lane then you’re doing it all wrong.
You make me sick, Cain. You’re never, ever taking this HART Championship from me. You can’t beat me on the best day of your life, and you don’t deserve a legacy like the Harts’ around your ‘I don’t bother working out’ waist.
"Loverboy" - Everything About You. -->
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