12-03-2013, 01:58 PM
Opponent one, Barney Green. Y'know, the guy who retired, then came back not even a full fucking month later? For Christ's sake Barn, you didn't even give yourself enough to drag every square inch of your fat carcass out the door before you did a fucking one eighty and came right back. Right back to the place where you got abused both physically, and psychologically. The place where your supposed "legend" status holds no water to the current crop of talent who have no remembrance of those supposed "glory days". And yet; I'm sure part of your fucking diatribe will be stroking your own ego and calling yourself that six letter word that represents everything you could never be. So, please. By all means! Use it, lather yourself well in that word that loses meaning every single fucking time you bastardize it by associating it with your own personal mediocrity.
Ruin it for everyone.
Push in both double doors back into this company, like the Stockholm syndrome addled bitch you are. Yearn for the days of Jon Brown or whatever company you had in those troubled times where you could pass for anything more than cannon fodder that you are currently. Currently is the key word there, because currently, you haven't done anything worth noting, sans retiring for the fiftieth time and then retconning it, as if it was all a piece of shitty fanfiction you returned to two months after publishing the prior chapter.
C'mon, how many times have you said the exact same thing? You're leaving, then out of the blue, uninvited not unlike Adele (however Adele is proficient in her chosen craft, something that very well cannot be said about you) you waltz right up to the front door of the XWF, and you say you're back. How long will this return be? Two, three weeks? Then what? You'll go back to scarfing down tubs of lard and fucking anything that even shows you some interest?
From the looks of it, you don't stop either when you decide to lace up the old figurative boots.
Yes, that's a simultaneous fat and "you fuck trannies" joke.
Wait a second; he/she dropped a ton of weight and looks totally different now? You mean like Peter Gilmour? We've hit the bottom of the fucking barrel now, Green's imitating Gilmour in a way not unlike how the latter leeched onto the former with the whole blind praise for Jon Brown thing. In fact, ever since the supposed legend's return, he's been lumped in with the massive disappointment that is Peter Gilmour.
When one of them does something, the other one fumbles to halfassedly replicate it, with none of the impact or intrigue supposed intrigue. However, this time, it looks like the shitty sequel is better than the God awful original. Great job Barney, you're taking notes right out of the playbook of the least respected man in the world. I'm sure your parents are very proud of you.
Moving on.
Wow, it's dawned on me, in the time that it's taken me to speak this long, that Barney Green is a fucking one trick pony. He talks about either being a legend, or being hardcore or whatever the fuck like it were still nineteen ninety seven or something. However, it looks like XWF's resident Magikarp managed to finally learn a move other than splash! Let's all give him a big (sarcastic) round of applause!
He's taking everything people have said about him, including his win to loss record being shittier than a Brazilian scat film and is trying to make it seem like it isn't such a big deal, to no avail. Wanna know why trying to combat claims works? First, waiting until someone makes the claims helps. Second, when there's some way that you can actually combat the claim, or if the claim is something incredibly irrelevant.
Your win to loss record is very much relevant and really proves nothing about your dedication to wrestling. Oh, you keep on losing but continue to fight back? That doesn't make you noble, it just makes you a fucking imbecile. You obviously fail at doing this, stop trying. No one's a part of Team Green or the Green Pack or whatever the fuck it is you're calling the three people who did support you anymore, give it a fucking rest already.
Anyway, back to the "hardcore" shit that I'm sure he's just dying to throw out there, if any of that diatribe wasn't totally about that already.
Newsflash, asshole. It's two thousand thirteen, soon to be fourteen.
The age old, "hardcore," "extreme" or whatever the fuck else you want to call it is deader than your legend status, deal with it. You can wrestle barefoot, do this or that in vain attempts at psychological warfare, because both of us know that you can't out wrestle me.
Yeah, the great Barney Green couldn't out wrestle a one hundred, twenty five pound girl, and yet has held a major title in the past. Seeing as though you're still a guy underneath all your attempts at prettying yourself up, and women are considered the "fairer" sex, that's really something awful.
So please, I beseech thee, bring all of the things you need to gain any type of upper hand into the match, it isn't like it's going to help you any in the grand scheme of things.
Both of us know that you won't be involved any further than standing there and praying that you don't tarnish your already fractured reputation further. Maybe, I'll do you a favor and tear every single fucking muscle in that oversized, gout laden knee of yours (dropping all that weight doesn't get rid of that, by the by) and make you unable to ever come back again.
Face it, "legend," your time is up.
You're washed up.
And this time, there isn't going to be anyone around to push your beached carcass back into the ocean, you fucking whale (because you still are one, just give it some time and you'll look just like you used to).
Advice?
Don't even show up, has-been. Take what's left of your pride and walk away, say you have car troubles or something and couldn't make it. I won't blame you.
Save yourself.
By staying as far away from my ring as possible. I don't take kindly to trespassers.
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