First Blaq, then Dolly, and now you... how many more rumps plan on coming out of the woodwork to insult me for having weak and generic trash talk, without looking long and hard at the "hot fire" that they're bringing to the table?

Yes, I made fun of your appearance and I most certainly will not apologize for it. You look like the human embodiment of an amber alert. You make Nosferatu look like a GQ cover model. Your physique would have me convinced that you were HIV positive, were your nose and teeth not jacked up enough to assure me that nobody would ever get close enough to you to transmit it.

Oh, wait; you went on that whole rant about my mother, right? I guess this is that awkward moment where I point out she's been dead for a decade... I'm sure the bake session was LIT though, broseph.

Do you know what's infuriating about you, and the dozen carbon copies of you trolling around the modern day XWF? You KNOW you're not worth the sweat you're trying so hard to lick off my nutsack. You KNOW your record is pathetic, your 4 (and 4 only, I assure you) Federweight titles are meaningless, and Ghost Tank wasn't worth the paper his contract was printed on. You know all of this, and yet you're happy to lie to the fans and yourself and pretend you're anything more than a curtain jerking dim wit that needs to announce himself anytime he moves to a new neighbourhood. It makes you downright gleeful to waste my time. Fuck you.

Respond. Tell me all about the nice guacamole you've put out, and how badly you want my workout plan. I don't give a shit. We both know that no matter how superficial you want to play things, deep down you know I'm right. You want to know what the old XWF was like? You couldn't handle it, but I'll be more than happy to show you. Kick out.