"Why so quiet, Gary, Randolf, and Vincent? Is it because you're afraid of me? Did I scare you away with my threats? Did Shelby scare you away with her lack of words to you? Don't be afraid of us. No, I take it back, be afraid of me. I'll give you a heads up, I put a hit on the Don. I'm not telling you when or where it will hit, or even who is carrying it out, but I have asked someone to attack the Don at Madness. Oops, I gave it away. Oh well, I guess you guys will have to try and protect him from that. My bad. Hopefully Shelby doesn't take advantage of this. She probably will, I would if I was her.
Why did I pay someone to hit the Don instead of doing it myself? The answer is simple, I'm going to save my energy for him until we get to face off in a match. Remember that bet we made? When I destroy you in a sanctioned match I get to face the Don, and no interference from you slack jawed ape donkeys. Yeah, I said when, and not if, because you stand less than no chance. You stand such a little chance that you actually owe the goddess Tyche some chance. Yeah, Tyche. Do you know who she, Jabberwacky? Probably not. A history lesson for your dick lipped asses. Tyche was the daughter of Aphrodite, and either Zeus or Hermes, depending on who you asked. She was the goddess of fortune and luck. Guess what micro-cocks, she abandoned your ass.
Why would she abandon you if you guys are so tough, and Mafioso? Come on, Tony Soprano is jealous of your tough guy attitude. You're like Henry Hill, only you wouldn't turn State's Evidence and rat people out, would you? Fuck no, that's for people with stupid names like Gruger, Victor, or Rudolph. Right? Pussy ass people who want to claim to be in the mob while constantly get taken out by one drugged out hobbit. The kind of guys who think they're tough, but don't know the first rule of tough. That's the kind of people who you're not, right? You're the people who never would be destroyed by the likes of me, the kind who would have left me in a hospital bed crying myself to sleep. I'm wrong, aren't I? You are the type of people incapable of doing shit to stop anything, aren't you?
The kind of slack jawed donkey fuckers who think you can take the Trios titles, or beat me. Well, seeing as how you've yet to kick my ass, or even hit me, we know you're not the niggas to tough things out. I put you in hospital beds recovering while the Don yelled at you, and that was with minimal effort. What happened the second time I destroyed you? Well, you fell silent. That's what. And come Friday morning, will you even open your eyes? Of course not. But me? I'll be boarding a plane to Survivor Island to compete in that shove it for Saturday. Why is that? Tell me, Gary, why is it that I'll be strolling calmly from the ring with my gorgeous fiance wrapped up in one arm, and my beautiful daughter in the other? Is it because I'm just better than you guys?
That's a shit answer, what is it for real? Why did Mr. Proxy and Phoenix Death stoll leisurely to the back when they clearly were at the disadvantage? Is it because you guys, as I previously claimed, are incapable of sealing the deal? When one of you is about to fuck a pretty little Orc girl, I assume it's an Orc because you are Kiwis, do you need the Don to come in and finish it up for you? What about when you're going to buy a new car, do you make the Don do the negotiating for you? Did he ask your prom to the dance for you? What'll happen if I kick his ass so hard his old heart just explodes? Will either of you be able to close the deal and set up his funeral? It'll be ok, I'll set that up for you. I'll even pay for the service, because I know you three Woolie Jumping Pakehas can't handle that. Gary, will you cry at his funeral? Because that's not very tough. Will you be able to fill his shows, Randolph? Because I'm pretty sure being half way useful is a requirement to run an organized crime syndicate. Something you can't seem to get down pat.
What do I know about running an organized crime ring, though? I only supply the better part of Michigan with it's Cocaine, Meth, and Crack fix. Which says a lot seeing as how Michigan has twice the population of New Zealand. That's right, my state, which I am a large drug player in, has twice the people as your shitty little country, and you're not even able to handle the criming there. Let's send Luca and his Mafia ties down there, they'll be running the entire country in an hour. Which is more than you can say about anything you plan on doing. Unless you plan on failing at something.
But if you plan to fail at it, and you do fail, does that mean your plan succeeded? But knowing you, you'd plan to rob a bank and get caught only to get away scott free. Which would mean that you're actually good at something, which is patently false. Goddamn, now you've got me all frizzled up in the mind. I need to think on this. In the mean time you guys should watch the Episode of South Park 'The Losing Edge', it's kind of like you. The South Park Cows are playing Pee Wee Baseball, and try to lose so they can get out of the championship series. But they accidentally keep winning, because they're actually good. Wait, fuck, that's not you at all. Sorry. Still a good episode, though."
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