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#MemeQueen Luca Torchwick · (01-27-2016)

You never told me what it was that made you strong; what it was that made you weak.

Fuccbois. Fuccbois everywhere. Robbie, Dim, Pest, Peter, all of them. They're all just fuccbois. It's not even funny anymore, sitting here, poking at the never-ending stream of bullshit that spews from their mouths like broken sieves. It isn't.

Okay I'm lying it so is.

I'm like a kid in a candy shop. Oh shit maybe I shouldn't say kid because it might trigger Pest's faggotty sex offender rape boner.

What's that Robbie? Am I picking on Pest too much for your tastes? Really, this stupid motherfucker decides the best course of action when it came to talking about me was to say I was "good at picking on people," after going on a spiel about how he's gonna beat the shit out of me. Y'know, kind of like a stereotypical bully in one of those very special episodes of old sitcoms.

Shit man, be consistent.

"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah Luca picks on people he's such a meanie I'm going to kick his butt and take his lunch money!"

What the fuck was that, Robbie? Got some bad blood with me? Was it something I said because if so you only have yourself to blame, fuccboi.

Or, maybe it isn't that. Maybe it's something deeper. Do I remind you of anyone Robbie? Perchance, is it that I take you back in time?

When you look at me, when you hear me, you're back in high school again.

I'm the popular one.

The guy with the nice house.

The best drugs.

The guy who threw parties on the weekend that all the cool kids went to.

The ones you weren't invited to.

Because while I remind you of that guy, you're also reminded of yourself. Poor, fat, friendless Robbie Bourbon.

Poor Robbie Bourbon who only looked up from his comic books when I'd fuck with him.

When I'd make his already shitty day that much shittier.

When I'd find new ways to ruin his life.

Poor Robbie Bourbon who assured himself that he'd be my boss one day because it was the only thing that kept him from taking daddy's handgun and blowing his brains out with it.

Is that what this is about Robbie? Why you're so adamant about beating the shit out of me because I'm real good at picking on a guy? Are you trying to make yourself into the hero? The guy who's teaming with an utterly pathetic rapist is the good guy and Luca Arzegotti, the guy calling said rapist on his whiny, holier-than-thou and eviler-than-thou bullshit is the bad guy?

That victim complex doesn't look very good on you, Robbie. Then again, nothing does.

Get it? Because he's fat.

Go on Robbie, cry for me. Cry for the camera. Shout and scream through sobs and heaves that I ought to leave your buddy Pest alone or else you're gonna break my ACL and tear my tibia or some shit.

Jesus fucking Christ what a little bitch. Or a big bitch. Because, again, he's fat.

Back to Pest.

Hey, old buddy old pal. How are you? Still raping teenage girls in a futile and impotent attempt at lashing out at the oh so awful world that chewed you up and spit you out, all the while lacking even the most basic sense of self-awareness that would tell you that by doing so, you're perpetuating the same loathsome environment that forced you through your oh so traumatic life tale?

Yeah, thought so.

See, I've done a lot of awful shit. I have, I admit it. A lot of things I'd rather forget, a lot of things I wish now that I didn't do but I can't take them back because life doesn't work like that. Never raped anyone though, let alone a teenage girl so even at my lowest, I can sleep well knowing I'll never be as fucking pathetic as you.

Oh no, I'm bullying poor Pest again.

But, moving on from Pest's self-pitying sense of moral nihilism, let's get to what he's said.

Like that oh so inspired bit where he says "the man can barely tell a coherent story in his promotional videos, and even less so make one believable" and it isn't in regards to himself. I mean first of all I could ask who gives a shit but the answer would be Pest and Pest alone and since he thinks everything out of his mouth is pure gold (L-O-L God of Emptiness) he just threw it in like an ape throws its shit against the wall.

One of these days old Pestie will write Shakespeare.

Remember that time the parents of one of Pest's rape victims invited #kingfuccboi over for dinner and then he decided to fuck them up?

Warning, NSFW or some shit but that isn't the issue here.

The issue here is how fucking stupid that whole situation was. Yes, because the parents of a rape victim would totally invite their child's rapist over for dinner. That makes perfect sense and I am a robot who doesn't understand how people behave.

Wait, that's it.

There's such a disparity between how people actually behave and how they do here that there's no way this can be real.

It's all made up. An elaborate ruse performed by the world's greatest hack, Pest.

Jesus, it's bad enough the dude rapes teenage girls, now we find out he doesn't even do that. He just hires actors to recite some poorly written script so that he can indulge in his fantasies because he's too much of a gutless fuck to even go through with the act.

Boohoo, Pest. We all feel so bad for you.

Kill yourself.

Actually, don't kill yourself yet. I wanna bully you some more and I want you to be alive to hear it.

Nice shot on Austin, calling him out for aping me and everything oh wait so are you fuccboi.

"Hey, Austin!"

Hmmmm, who else do we know who, when addressing someone, has a tendency to say hey, followed by the name of the person they're addressing in a very excited manner. They also do it so often it's basically a catchphrase, then they proceed to lay in them words that make a nigga question their will to live. Who does that?

Oh right.

Me.

I do that.

Meanwhile old Pest can't do that second part, proceeding to zip up his body bag under the guise of burning Austin with that Vietnam flamethrowa. Even he has a victory over Vinnie Lane he says, acknowledging how much of a fucking failure at everything he is.

And do I even need to say anything about what he's said about me? He basically sucked my dick in a round about way because he's scared to actually throw any of that weaksauce fire in my direction. Because he knows I'll rip everything he says about me to shreds along with the last pieces of his wannabe rapist ass' self esteem and laugh all the while.

Pussy.

Okay, now kill yourself.

The lights shone bright, forcing Luca to cringe and backpedal. His feet echoed on the hollow floor underneath him. It dawned on him instantly - he didn't know how or why, but he was on a stage. He peered through the blinding sea of light into the audience to see a void. Nothing. Null. Just him, the stage, the lights and a microphone at the edge.

"And now, the comedic styling of Luca Arzegotti," bellowed a voice from nowhere, followed by applause. He approached the microphone to see the world beyond the stage materialize before his very eyes. The nothingness replaced with chairs and table and people. So many people. Sharply dressed, applauding and cheering him on.

Then he saw their faces.

Their lack of faces.

"Ahem, is this thing on?"

Laughter.

"I'll uh, I'll take that as a yes."

Laughter.

Luca swallowed hard and cleared his throat. "Some real lookers in the crowd, eh?"

Laughter.

"Now I ain't gonna lie, these ain't been the best times for ol' Luca."

No laughter.

Boos.

A voice in the crowd called out "No one cares."

Another shouted "Get on with it."

"Just talk shit."

"We want jokes."

"You gotta understand--"

Boos.

"The jokes come from--"

Boos.

"I'M A FUCKING--"

Boos.

"I DON'T EXIST FOR YOUR ENTERTAINMENT."

Boos.

Finally, a voice piped up from the back of the room.

"Tell us about the day you died, Luca.

"Tell me about the day you died."

Luca's eyes snapped open.

Hey, Gilly!

You didn't think I'd let you get off that easily, did you? Come on, man. You should know by now that isn't how these little encounters are going to go. But I have to congratulate you though, man. For the first time, we're booked in a match against each other where you're not the weakest link. Hell, you and Dim aren't even the weakest team in the match. Those honors of course go to the Black Hand AKA the whiny crybabies who don't like being bullied.

Of course that doesn't mean you're going to walk out with the win. Sorry, that just isn't going to happen. You're destined to lose to me for all eternity, Petey. It's just how this little never ending rivalry we have will always go. It doesn't matter that you dragged me around on a motorcycle once. I used the ankle injury you gave me and won two titles on the same night in spite of a hurt ankle. Including one held by your buddy Sid Feder.

See?

Even your single, solitary moral victory over me ends up with me winning the war. Every single time I've beaten you and at this point it just feels like a greatest hits record of all the A1 trash talk you've launched at me over the years.

You're going to break my neck and end my career? You've said that before and you know what you didn't do?

You didn't break my neck.

You didn't end my career.

You're going to beat me?

You've never beaten me in a match.

Not even one single, solitary, time.

You're more focused, you're better than ever before?

Newsflash, you've been "more focused," "better," and a whole slew of other adjectives every single time we've faced off and where has it gotten you? Absolutely, positively, fucking nowhere.

Contradicting yourself? Well I apparently screwed him over and helped him win in his match on the last Warfare when I refereed all night long because that makes perfect sense.

Being wrong? We aren't the tag champs.

This is so routine, isn't it Gilly? Don't you ever get tired of this?

Shit, all you needed to do to hit every box on the "Gilly's facing Luca" checklist (because we all love making checklists amirite?) is say I'm gay for John Madison still. Because while all you other fuccbois are busy frantically rewriting the name of the guy I'm fucking when the lights are off this week, Gilly keeps it old school.

The original name on the Luca's a

train.

Thank you Gilly, for this little trip down memory lane.

PS I don't even know who you're fucking at this point but they're a man L-O-L. Brinking back them old school jokes.

Then there's The Dimallisher but fuck talking about him right now, I apparently spent too much time talking about Pest and now there's an angry middle aged man frantically waving his hand, sloshing his coffee around in its Starbucks container, telling me to wrap this up.

Fuck you Starbucks man.

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