EXPLOSIONS AND DUBSTEP FOR NO REASON LIKE A FUCKING MICHAEL BAY MOVIE! Different titties begin randomly flopping across the screen but not like good titties. Like Bertha who’s been working at the local good ol boys bar since 1912 and smokes three packs a day kind of titties. Like the Centurion of titties, yeah you’re going to look because they’re titties but you’re honestly getting zero enjoyment out of it and in the end it’s just making you appreciate better sets of titties. Now big beautiful black asses flash across the screen only for white hands to reach out and start smacking them over and over again creating the beat to 7 Nation Army with ass slaps. Next we see a bunch of black men kneeling when suddenly they begin to get bludgeoned over and over again by small white dicks. Yes, they are extremely tiny but make no mistake that they are angry and there’s so many. It’s basically the Compy attack scenes from Jurassic Park but with tiny white dicks, truly horrifying! The screen now goes black.
Fin.
Don’t ask honkey, you wouldn’t understand, you will never understand! Most of the HGs don’t get it either but HG Intern #485 asked to do the intro and we’re all about solidarity here. Plus the other interns loved it and it seems to have earned me street cred around the office with the young guns. The overwhelming sentiment I got is that I need to yeet Centurion into oblivion but I digress. That’s right you got an opening digression, those are as rare as a Thunder Knuckles punchline that connects. Having already treated you to explosions, titties, asses, dicks, and a fresh take on the African American experience in the United States I could really just stop now. Is Centurion’s blander than Jenny Myst’s fried chicken ass going to bring ANYTHING to the table that’s even remotely as entertaining as that? C’mon bruh, we all know he isn’t. But fuck it, I might as well kill an ant with a flamethrower. Hell I may even throw some seasoning on the ant too, at least then Centurion will have more flavor in death than he ever did in life. You know, roasted ant doesn’t sound too bad actually. Throw some cajun seasoning and some hot sauce on that shit? Mmmmm…..
With that we jump to HG Headquarters where we find HGs as far as the eye can see sitting in cubicles typing away on computers, answering phone calls, using the water cooler to waterboard some guy. You know, normal office shit. That’s when we spot OGHG sitting at his desk and of course we know it’s him due to his handy dandy OGHG name tag. OGHG is pouring vodka into his coffee then savoring every sip as he’s transported to the tropics by the sweet herbs, florals, and nutty overtones of the kona beans. Then is punched right in the fucking scrotum due to the “I must break you”-ness of the cheap Russian vodka. OGHG enjoys the complexity of moving between sweet island paradise and an aching ballsack with each sip of his coffee. However, his mourning ritual is interrupted by another HG coming up to his desk, this HG’s name tag simply reads Billy.
Billy: OG! How’s it going?
OGHG: Damn it Billy, how many times do we have to tell you no real names?
Billy: It just feels so impersonal ya know? Like all we are is just a number.
OGHG: Is that all? Well, let me assure you of something bruh. You feel that way because that’s the entire fucking point!
Billy: Look, when we’re out in the field I get it but here? We should be able to lighten up a little. I even pitched an idea of a casual Friday where we get together and have lunch with the Hired Swords.
OGHG: BILLY! Don’t bring down the plague of the Hired Swords upon us! Wait, what am I worried about? It’s not like anybody listens to you anyway.
Billy: Ouch, hurtful. Hey, shouldn’t you be acting differently now? I thought you were supposed to be some serious karate guy.
OGHG: It’s Kung Fu you uncultured swine. Plus, he’s pouting at the moment.
Billy: Pouting? Oh, because the ending to your match was so anticlimactic and terrible that Stephenie Meyer is probably going to make a Twilight spin off based on it?
OGHG: Bingo.
Billy: Well, you were the final member of your team before the match ended in a way that looked like somebody had a multiple choice test and was asked to pick the best way to end a match in order to suck the energy out of… Everything.
OGHG: It be like that sometimes and that’s exactly why kung fu perfectionist man is all pouty and broody. He’s in a mood, a moody mood that’s moody.
Billy: Well, what are you going to do now?
OGHG: Seeing as Mr. Kung Fu was only brought out to make the best of War Games, I’m going back to doing what I do best.
Billy: Being an unpredictable asshole?
OGHG staples a post-it to Billy’s tie.
OGHG: Yes.
Billy: Asshole.
Billy walks away as OGHG goes back to enjoying his coffee until….
BANG!
OGHG looks around trying to figure out the source of the noise.
BANG!
This time there is no question where the noise came from, something is banging around in the bottom drawer of OGHG’s desk. A highly confused OGHG grabs the handle to the drawer and slowly pulls it open.
There lies a Predator fleshlight, hey don’t kink shame the gun son. Like you’ve never gone into the bathroom and rubbed one out at work. Or fucked something that looked like the Predator. The gun has seen the women you bring home from the club and he is not impressed. Plus I bet deep down you wish you’d have had a Predator fleshlight don’t ya…. DON’T YA!
FLOP!
The fleshlight jumps out of the drawer flopping onto the floor and practically gives OGHG a heart attack.
Fleshlight: OG!
OGHG: Holy shit, I shouldn’t have eaten that many brownies. It’s all good OG, you’re just really really high.
Fleshlight: You’re not high! Actually you’re usually high so you’re probably high but this has nothing to do with that.
OGHG: Oh? Last time I checked having a conversation with a fleshlight fell squarely into the you’re high as fuck and hallucinating category.
Fleshlight: For the last time you’re not hallucinating, it’s Shane!
OGHG: OOOOOOOH! It makes perfect sense now, I’m not high and hallucinating that I’m talking to a fleshlight. I’m high and hallucinating that I’m talking to the spirit of my boss who has inhabited my fleshlight. Because that’s so much better.
Shanelight: OG, come on, just hear me out.
OGHG: Fine but I’m taking you in the bathroom.
Shanelight: DON’T YOU DARE! I WILL BITE YOUR SHIT!
OGHG: Bruh, so that I’m not having a conversation with a fleshlight at my desk.
Shanelight: Oh, okay then.
OGHG: I also have to take a shit.
Shanelight: Wait, no!
OGHG grabs Shanelight and shoves him under his arm before making a beeline for the bathroom. Once inside the bathroom stall OGHG sits Shanelight on top of the toilet paper dispenser. OGHG then drops his pants and is immediately heard punishing that poor toilet worse than Centurion punishes anybody that watches his promos.
Shanelight: Jesus Christ that’s nasty!
OGHG: It isn’t that bad.
Shanelight: But it is that bad! It smells like somebody found a whale that had been dead for a month then stuffed it full of corpses and shoved that whale up your ass to marinate for a few more weeks before you finally shit it out.
OGHG: Drama queen.
Shanelight: No really OG, I’m going to….
BLEH!
Shanelight starts vomiting all over himself.
Shanelight: What a minute… Is this…
Shanelight starts smacking his lips.
OGHG: I mean… You are a fleshlight.
Shanelight: SICK!
Shanelight starts vomiting all over himself again.
Shanelight: You know, actually, this doesn’t taste half bad.
OGHG: Pineapple Juice.
Shanelight: Hmm, didn’t think that actually worked. I’ll have to pick some up when I get my body back. MY BODY!
OGHG rips a fart that would attract a female Brontosaurus if they weren’t hunted into extinction by the aliens back in the day. Real talk, ask Azrael Arriba, he knows what’s up. The comet is a hoax! 5G is causing corona! Centurion is actually the GOAT! Okay, I took the conspiracies too far with that last one.
OGHG: Wooo, that was a good one.
Shanelight: Would you stop for two seconds so I can tell you about my body.
OGHG: He’s a bitch that helped cost us war games because he’s Robert Main’s sex toy and now your spirit is possessing my sex toy so you’re pretty fucked both physically and spiritually?
Shanelight: Well, yeah actually.
OGHG: Sooo… Is that it or do you have some sort of plan to fix it?
Shanelight: Oh, sorry. It throws me off when the stuff you say is deadly accurate instead of…. ]
[color=pink]
OGHG: ? Sir I’m a scholar and a gentleman.
Shanelight: What’s the last book you read?
OGHG: The Art of War.
Shanelight: See that’s what I…. Wait… Seriously?
OGHG: No, it was really My Billionaire Triceratops Craves Gay Ass.
Shanelight: Okay, I stand corrected. You sir have unparalleled taste in literature. However, it’s time I got to the point of all of this. I need you to go to the Amazon. In my spiritual travels I’ve come across some information about a healer there that may be able to help me.
OGHG: So during your anal projection session..
Shanelight: Astral…
OGHG: During your astral anal session.
Shanelight: You’re doing this on purpose to fuck with me.
OGHG: Perhaps, but long story short. There’s some voodoo mofo in the Amazon who may be able to get you out of spirit mode and stop Robert Main from touching your body.
Shanelight: Exactly.
OGHG: Right, so you want me to run off to the Amazon and go into a match with Centurion after not being able to train for my last two matches because of your shenanigans?
Shanelight: Yes, also, under normal circumstances I’d love for you to end his title reign but for now fuck Centurion.
KASPLOOSH!
OGHG: Ah, Neptune’s Kiss.
Shanelight: Gunny, focus.
OGHG: Right, exactly, I should focus on beating Centurion then worry about your body afterwards. Good plan Shane.
Shanelight: NOOOOOOOOOOOOO! How about this, during our Amazon exploits I’ll train you all Mr. Miyagi style so that you’re prepared to beat Cent.
OGHG: Deal, but what else is in it for me?
Shanelight: WHAT!?!?!
OGHG: I mean it’s not every day that a guy gets the chance to get a blumpkin from a possessed fleshlight.
Shanelight:.........
OGHG: HA! JUST KIDDING! Unless……
Fade to black.
Make My Bub Bubs Bounce
Cent you’re like a boxer with a good jab, mark that down people because I’m actually complimenting Centurion. The jab is key, it’s a fundamental weapon, and it helps set up everything else in a boxer’s arsenal. It also comes in handy if you happen to pick up a hooker and she happens to step out of line. No need to get all crazy, just slip her a couple jabs and that bitch will change her last name to Actright real quick. Now I’m not saying Centurion became a jab master just to beat on hookers. Nor am I saying he did it so that when one of his roofie victims wakes up he can jab them back to sleep. However, I’m also not saying that he didn’t become a jab master for those reasons. All I’m saying is Centurion is a master of the jab. For those paying attention, earlier I said that a boxer's jab helped set up everything else in the arsenal when used correctly. That fits Centurion because he’s Mr. Fundamentals, Mr….. Mr… Well that’s it and that’s where the problem lies. That’s where everything goes off the rails with Centurion because THERE IS NOTHING ELSE! When it comes to Centurion it’s jab, jab jab, jab jab jab, jab jab jab jab, oh and JAB! You know what Centurion is going to bring inside and outside the ring. It’s fundamental and it’s consistent, is it great? I SAID IT WAS FUNDAMENTAL AND IT WAS CONSISTENT! Much like a Little Caesars pizza, Centurion might not be the absolute best but he’s always there for you. Plus, you can’t really blame the guy for jabbing after seeing shit like this.
Centurion Said:Centurion: Was that enough #SpookyShit for you all? My hope was to do an entire promo under that stupid mask, but that would have been impossible - the damn mask designer didn't make enough space for a mouth!
Centurion Said:Centurion: There's another reason why I refuse to do an all #SpookyShit promo - because it would be disingenuous. You would see right through it. You would be able to tell right away that I was being something that I'm not.
First of all, was that Centurion bitching about cutting ONE promo in a fucking mask when I cut ALL of my promos in one? You know, on top of wrestling ALL of my matches in one. Oh and lets not forget the fact that I wear one ALL DAY EVERY DAY. If that’s not a clear indication that you can’t hold my jock strap then I don’t know what is. Second of all Cent there’s another clear reason as to why you didn’t do an entire spooky shit promo, IT WAS FUCKING TERRIBLE. Not in the way that you think either. I’m not going to waste time in my promo by completly replaying your little garbage water rendition of how to do spooky shit but if anybody else wants to torture themselves they can feel free to go back and take a look. Cent my question to you is, did you really not see the fucking problem with your little impersonation when you did it? Of course you didn’t because you were so busy trying to distract people from your shortcomings that you failed to realize you were putting them under a microscope. The point of your entire spooky act was to try to diminish everybody doing spooky shit. Your jokey joke was so funny Centy Cent but if your attempt at spooky shit went about as well as a mongaloid space program THEN WHO THE FUCK WAS THE JOKE ON?
And that’s coming from me, the master of self burns. All you did was show everybody that you can’t do what those guys do. Throw the believability of it out the window, throw the disingenuousness of it out the window, YOU’RE TERRIBLE AT IT. There is a clear difference in somebody being able to do something well, being able to do something okay, and not being able to do it at all. Cent all you did was make fun of what other people were doing when YOU COULDN’T DO IT AT ALL! It would be a completely different argument if you jumped in a promo and absolutely crushed those guys at their own game but you didn’t do that. You showed everybody that you can’t step out of your bland as fuck comfort zone while simoultaniously bitching at people who aren’t like you. Old man yells at cloud is the headline I’m getting at here. Case in point would be you mentioning The Engineer who’s promos are 10 billion times more entertaining than yours could ever hope to be. So, we have The Engineer doing spooky shit and being more entertaining than you while you call him out for doing spooky shit and utterly failing to even do it at a level that would be considered half assed. Yep Cent, you sure showed them! So much so that you went on to climb into the ring and lose to some of those spooky shitters that you’re so much better than.
The real question with Centurion is this. Why can’t anybody rip the Hart Title from his necrotic rigamortis grip? Easy, they do what I just did to Cent and they do what Cent TRIED to do to the spooky shitters. It’s not enough to verbally smack Centurion around in promos and think that’s going to get you the win. People forget that and act as though these promos are the only things that matter when you still have to climb into that ring and deliver. This is the truth behind the curious case of Centurion Button. Guys will absolutely molest Centurion in these promos but that luls them into this false sense of superiority because they think they’ve got the win locked up and that the match is over before it starts. Sometimes that is the case but shit like that really only flies with the bottom of the roster punching bags. Sup Jimmy Havoc? Yep, punching bags and guys who somehow manage to be more inconsistent with maintaining focus than I am. That’s not Centurion, you KNOW what you’re going to get. Yet these morons still think that out talking him is all they have to do then they step inside of the ring all cocky until Centurion jabs their fucking heads off. How am I going to avoid the same fate? Well, I have a complicated plan for that. Step one, I molest Centurion in these promos. Step two, I climb into the ring like I’ve got some damn sense and avoid Centurion’s date rape jabs of doom in order to turn the sexual predator into the sexual preda-prey. Step three, profit. God damn it, I should have ended on the sexual preda-prey line, it would have been cooler. FUCK!
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