The start of this week saw one man burst onto the scene and make his voice heard. Mister Mystery 17 31707 1 shot out of the darkness and into your faces like a cannon ball the moment this epic main event was named. He made one thing very clear and one thing subtly clear that night -- he announced loud and clear that he didn't want or need any of his "partners" for this main event to even show up; then he also seemed to discover that the more full of shit Shane and his Bitch Circle-Jerkers prove to be, the more likely Mister Mystery and anyone who opposes 's forces would be to gain the support of the masses. It was barely twenty minutes after last Saturday's show came to a close and Mister Mystery was out back behind the arena being cheered on by dozens of fans!
I never thought that I'd again be the man on the receiving end of massive amounts of cheers, or ever again hear people actually chant my name. I guess that's easy though when the likes of Sebastian Duke, N.A.Z.I, and John Madison are representing the weak set of shit stains that oppose you. Who'd have thought?
This trend would continue at a small house show during the week in which Mister Mystery was booked against some local ham-n-egger who looked like a younger version of Cyren. This young upstart was waiting in the ring for Mister Mystery who came out wielding a microphone and announcing to the fans in attendance that he was about to treat that young punk like he was a member of 's ass fucking brigade. The pop that announcement received was actually the loudest of the night! Mister Mystery himself almost seemed like he couldn't believe it as he stood midway down the aisle just absorbing it all. He began to bounce in place and smack the shit out of his own masked face as what seemed like bolts of electricity shot through his body. Even without saying another word, just his momentum building up inside of him and the anticipation rising within this crowd turned it into one of the moments of the night as that young local wrestler stood in the ring looking ready to shit his pants -- and rightfully so; Mistery Mystery was indeed about to unleash a fury on this man that would leave most amateur competitors rotting in a hospital for weeks.
As soon as I saw the fear in that young punk's eyes, I knew that I was going to tear his body to shreds like he was one of Shane's jaw jacking jag offs. I stood there amping myself up and bashing myself in the face, almost cracking my hockey mask in the process as the adrenaline filled me with TNT. I felt like I could have ran up to that ring, ripped the fucking thing up from the ground, and cast it out into the fans -- an act that even the fans on the receiving end would have probably cheered for as I delivered.
When Mister Mystery finally exploded forward from his spot on the ramp it was literally like a nuclear bomb had gone off. The roar of the fans themselves nearly pushed that poor opponent back before Mystery even hit the ring, but once he did, that young man's life changed drastically.
Secret Spear 1 17155 400, right out of the gate-
-plucked right up like a weed yanked from the ground and thrown onto Mystery's shoulders-
Leaping Death Valley Driver, quite possibly fracturing the man's skull in the process!
Every fan in the arena was on their feet as Mister Mystery stood over an opponent that just put up TEN TIMES the fight that a weak, pathetic bitch like Ronnie Wilkins would be able to put up. Worse yet, what if this was happening to Luca Arzegotti?
I stood over that boy's carcass and felt like I could spend the next five hours just thrashing him from pillar to post like a fucking maniac but then I remembered I had so much more I could deliver this weekend when that fucking wannabe submission artist, Wilkins, is screaming for mercy under my black boot. I heard that fucking pussy complain that I'm a man that knows how to use weapons and expects my allies to back me, and I almost laughed -- almost -- but instead I imagined what it would be like to powerbomb his fucking ass through the canvas when he tries locking one of his weak submissions on my massive arms. I envisioned what it would be like when he goes for the leg and I kick him off of me just like he probably does to his fucking brain damaged son when he wants to be helped to the bathroom. Even better, I thought about how it would feel when I press down onto his chest for the cover just like I'd be doing to his ugly ass wife if he dares to bring that bitch who settled for a second rate husband. Take that dimwitted bimbo to the gym all you want, Ronnie, because it's not going to matter when I smash your head into a ring post (a legal act even in a DQ match, you stupid fuck!) and then walk around the ring to where she's shaking and trembling, only to grab a fist full of her hair and rip it from her skull. The sad thing is she won't be smart enough or quick enough to escape once I've got her hair in my fist, because next I'm going to hoist that bag of shit over my shoulder and tombstone piledrive her right into your face while you are laid out on your back.
Who the fuck do you think you are? You think I don't know how to work a match that has disqualification in tact? You think I'm wrong for expecting an ally of mine to back me up in a battle? Well just what the fuck kind of wrestling experience do you have that makes you think a man like myself would be crippled if required to follow the rules? I could do everything I just listed when it comes time for our match and every last act would go unpunished. The only thing I can't do is literally lift and swing a weapon into your face, but why would I need to when I can use your wife as the weapon? That sure as fuck isn't something a person gets DQ'd for here in the XWF, you still wet drop of premature ejaculate. How dare you think you have what it takes to step into a main event and run your mouth about me or anyone in this match. I had harsh words for Kinwrathi earlier in the week but do you know what? I'll gladly hold you down, with no challenge, and allow him to stomp the living fuck out of your ass. You can lie there like a threatening bitch still yelling at him about how you're going to break him, while he and I proceed to break your face in several spots.
Ronnie Wilkins -- bring your son with you; make sure you're angry that I called him out on his mentally defunct status.
Mentally Deported Bitch -- bring your weak, defenseless, brain dead whore of a wife who thinks she has the right to call me the loser; make sure you're filled with rage and ready to avenge these words when you bring her.
Walk right into my ring Saturday night and come right at me, so all I have to do is wait for you like a batter waiting to make the home run swing -- and you know what? -- I'll be swinging so hard that one of the lucky fans in attendance will be taking you home as a souvenir, you delusional fuckbag who thinks he has room to talk a big game with the other names in this match. Fuck; I'd wager that out of everyone in this match it's you who is going to have the shittiest performance and it's you who is going to turn the tables in favor of my team when you royally fuck shit up by trying to be the big man. You'll come storming into the ring, calling Kinwrathi the product of some pimply geek and forget that even if Kinwrathi is a fucking , he's still REAL and he's going to beat you down while you stand there looking for the fat kid who supposedly controls his illusion. What a stupid fuck, rookie, bitch ass thing to say. Who feeds you your insults? Even your comment about Michael James sounds like something a kid would yell during recess and that's why the XWF decided to hit you with a quote of the moment on their shitty ass website! They wanted to give people something to laugh about! -- and they weren't laughing at Michael James' expense; we all already know he's an extinct breed of dinosaur so all that quote gave us was a good laugh at the fool who thinks he sounds special when he's running his mouth. Well I'll give you that much, Wilkins; you do sound special but not in the way you think. More like in the same way your son and wife sound special anytime their mouth hangs agape and a string of drool falls from their bottom lip.
Yeah -- bring your wife in as a manager or valet or whatever the fuck. See how far that goes. I'll personally be waiting for that to happen because I love knocking idiots like you back down to reality when they believe a few easy matches under their belt puts them on the same level as Kinwrathi, Cyren, or John Black. You somehow have a win over John Black and still aren't even as good or as recognized as he is. You've been here how long and John Black is a household name while Ronnie Wilkins? Who? Oh yeah; the "deportation " and then they remember who you are. What a name for yourself you've made. The only time you ever had quality opponents was when you took a loss. Unknown Soldier and Tyler Decker handed you your fucking ass on a silver platter and you ate it up real good before going home to french kiss your cunt wife and son with that same mouth.
Fuck you, Ronnie.
I will KILL you.
How's that for somebody wanting your attention? Time to stop picking on the guy you claim is controlled by a nerdy third party; whatever the fuck that even means you ineffective twat.
Looks like our dear Deportation Man is going to need to stop deporting his insults to the little, helpless, defenseless worms and start guarding his face when the real men on campus rain down on his pathetic ass like fire. At least after he's crippled and forced to retire, some of his merchandize (if there is any) will become collectables and finally be worth something.
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and his Bitch Circle-Jerkers prove to be, the more likely 
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