09-11-2015, 04:03 PM
"Loverboy" - State of love and Trust -->
Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, and whatever it is that Ghost Tank is… I present to you the moment you’ve all been anxiously salivating for – a few spare moments of my precious fucking time.
You know, a lot of my good friends and partners in this business have been telling me over the past couple of days that I’ve been riding Tank a little too hard. And you know what? It’s kind of true… I mean, I’ve been riding Tank hard and putting him away wet, you know? I’ve been resting one of my balls right on top of him and putting mileage on his ass like I was Lance Armstrong in his last Tour de France. People are probably legitimately starting to mistake Ghost Tank for the welcome mat in front of my five star condo in Malibu, man. I can’t blame them, either. They both lie on their backs and get walked all over, you know?
But hey, like my partner this week Peter Gilmour would say, I digress…
I fired up the ol’ webcam today to say one more thing to Tank, just to get it out of the way so we can all move on and forget the verbal ass kicking I’ve been giving for the past several days… so here we go.
Ghost Tank…
…
…
…I’m sorry.
You heard me right, dude. I’m sorry.
I’m sorry you’re such a worthless pile of fucking dog shit that you can’t defend yourself. I’m sorry for every person who ever bought a ticket to an XWF show and had to watch you waddle through a diabetic seizure and call it a wrestling match. I’m sorry your bother couldn’t afford birth control and your daddy didn’t own a high enough flight of stairs. I’m sorry your girlfriend won’t admit that she wishes she were with a real man like me instead of a blubbering waste of fucking space like YOU.
Fuck, guys, yeah, I mean, I’ve been putting the screws to ol’ Tank pretty heavy lately man, but what the fuck else am I supposed to do to pass the time? I spend three hours a day perfecting my godlike body in the gym, and usually I load up my opponents’ promos on my iPod and stick my earbuds into my ears as a way to stay motivated during that last 20 minute stretch on the treadmill, you know? Listening to dumbasses try and break me down when they should just be sending away for a new set of knee pads to wear when they’re around me gives me all the extra mileage I need in the ten cylinder engine pumping in my chest, man.
But what have I gotten this week? A bunch of fucking nothing, that’s what.
Oh, don’t get me wrong. I heard SUX Lyden – that’s what Pete calls him – talking about how much his ex-boyfriend wants to put it in my ass or whatever the fuck it was he was talking about while eating his feelings in some roadside diner. I honestly feel kinda bad for that dude, though. I mean, here he is, the only member of his team with an ounce of talent, and he’s just hung out to dry like Ghost Tank’s girlfriend’s panties after a “Loverboy†Vinnie Lane promo… or like Tank’s own panties when he doesn’t get to the potty on time. Tanky make a boo boo! Awwww!
Lux, I feel you, dude. If I were you, instead of, you know, cool and heterosexual and good looking and talented like me… I would probably doing the same sad shit you are right now. Eating and feeling alone and depressed because even the fucking WORST team in War Games history seems to feel like they’re better off not talking to you. I mean… has Maverick even texted you? Sent a pic of his dick and balls? Anything? Do you think he “forgot†to pay his cell bill again, man? You should just try not to think about it and maybe have a little more pie. Let your ex there tell you how much of a fucking honor it is to get the shit kicked out of you by Yours Truly again, maybe it’ll finally sink in for you.
But really… outside of Lux moping over a plate of scrambled eggs, what the fuck do I have to work with, man? Look, I’ll replay Maverick’s promos for you and you can see for yourself.
Here just… alright, there we go… let me hit play real quick…
Good shit, right? You can see how that motherfucker earned the two belts he walks around with, can’t you? The guy’s a microphone master! The king of cutting a promo! A verbal vigilante! He almost makes you feel bad about pointing and laughing all those times he shit on various things over the last twelve months. Ha ha, not. You shit on things, Mav. You’re disgusting.
Look, here’s another promo of his. Probably his best work to date… he eviscerates me and everyone on my team. Check it out.
Maverick's Ass Said:
The way he’s been rolling lately, it makes total sense that he’d get not only the honor of leading a team at War Games, one of the biggest shows of the year, but the added rub to his resume of facing ME in the main event. So you’d probably expect him to burst through the gates this past week reminding everyone how he thinks he’s the next Universal Champion and how he’s gonna step up to the plate and kick my ass to prove it, right? Instead, what do we see? As usual for Maverick, we see motherfucking nothing. House show talent holding house show titles and not being good enough for television. You’re a fucking walking dark match, Maverick. Whoever trained you must have killed themselves by now, man. Wait, it was supposed to be Lance Storm and Bill Regal, right? While they were hanging around RVD’s house in Battle Creek ripping hits off a bong together they “discovered†you or some shit, right? Isn’t that the bullshit story you tried to sell us on last year around this time? I’ll have to double check, but I’m pretty sure I’m right, man.
Regardless though, dude, just face facts and take a minute to look at yourself in the mirror and see yourself for the massive fucking disappointment that you are. You carrying my old title around just looks like a kid on Halloween dressing up like a super hero. It’s a fantasy. A dream. You’ll never follow in my footsteps no matter how hard you try, and it’s not because of anything other than one simple fact. You aren’t GOOD enough to compete with me. You aren’t GOOD enough to lead a team of Cub Scouts, much less a team of actual professional athletes trying to overcome the fucking CHAMPION and the greatest team ever assembled in one of these events, dude. You. Aren’t. Good. Enough.
You see why I’ve just been fucking around with Ghost Tank? I’m fucking bored, man! Here I am, hitting the ground running, proving why I’m a champion and a captain, leading the way for the entire pathetic XWF and doing more work than anyone else in that fucking locker room, just like I have been since DAY FUCKING ONE. No bullshit, no shortcuts, just pure, raw, uncut talent and ability. Who’s the face of the XWF? Not your empty alleged “champion†Trax, that’s for sure. No, when you pull up the XWF website or open an XWF magazine or turn on an XWF event, you see MY face. The CCWF’s Golden Boy, the Universal Champion, the king of the mountain… “Loverboy†Vinnie Lane.
How pathetic is it that the very first voice on the upcoming War Games, the XWF War Games, came from the CCWF’s Living Legend? How equally pathetic is it that my opponents, the motherfuckers HAND PICKED to defend the honor of their precious company, are all sitting around with their thumbs in their asses instead of doing anything other than taking everything we toss at them right on the fucking chin? Beat you? We don’t HAVE to beat you… you already quit.
Fuck. Can I just go back to Ghost Tank?
Too soon?
Fine, but I’m finishing with him, I don’t give a fuck.
Hey, speaking of vacuous black holes filled with absenteeism and disappointment (Hi again Maverick!) how about this Rebecca Lewis chick? I swear, I honestly pretty much forgot she was even on this team. I loaded up her LiveJournal and, in between her whining and crying about boys and how fat she thinks she looks in certain clothes, she unsurprisingly also had absolutely no War Games-related material.
I checker her Tumblr, her Xanga, her Twitter, her Instagram… I pretty much doubled her view count earlier today, man. But you know what I found? Nothing. Well, some pictures of an ugly cat, but mostly nothing.
This Lewis check says she breathes passion? Guess she’s out of breath, dude. Maybe she saw who drafted her and turned in her one week’s notice. You’d think she’d at least wave goodbye before hauling ass out the door though, you know? That shit’s just rude.
Same for this PG-13 guy. Hey, poorly thought out anagram? You suck. You’re hot garbage. That’s really all I feel like needs to be said about this guy. I’m looking forward to Code Red going NC-17 on your broken body.
Isn’t there someone else, too? I doubt very fucking highly that Maverick would have signed on to this match if he didn’t have what he saw as some sort of advantage numbers-wise, dude. What’s that? Oh! Right! Iris!
Yeah, Iris Oppenheimer, right? I’m sure she’s not exactly thrilled to be getting ready for another brutal loss to the man of her dreams, you know? Bad enough to not be in my league enough to get my number, but it’s extra hard on her to have to take a beating by my hands. Again. Unless she’s into that sort of shit. You know, it’s always the quiet chicks that end up wanting to get choked or cut or whatever, isn’t it? I bet Iris is one of those freaky bitches who walks around wearing vibrating panties and sips jizz out of a saucer on the floor like a fucking cockhungry housecat. Whatever floats your boat, bitch, the story ends the same either way – a second loss on the books to the rock n’ roll megastar.
Guess what?
BACK TO GHOST TANK!
Tank, how you feeling, buddy? Did you finally jump off that bridge after I had you thinking I was actually feeling guilty for pointing out all the various ways that you’re awful? Don’t waste taxpayer dollars on your cleanup, dude, just hang yourself.
Reach down between your bronto thighs, pull the tampon out of your twat, wrap the string around your neck, and start swinging from the strongest support beam in your barn, man.
Seriously, man. Kill yourself. If you don’t, and if you actually manage to get crane-lifted out of your bedroom from underneath all those empty boxes of Kraft Mac n’ Cheese in time to ride one of those Wal-Mart scooters to the ring this weekend, you’ll just end up wishing you did… because dude, if you step between those ropes at War Games I’m going to fold you in half like you were yesterday’s laundry.
"Loverboy" - State of love and Trust -->
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