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The Linguist · (01-26-2014)

Greetings once again fellow... 'f'ers' as you so fondly dub yourselves, it is I, Linguini Maximus Isaac, of which you may better know me as; The Linguist. If you so desire a refresher, I am the individual who had beaten a considerable number of foolish oafs to claim a chance to face the XWF European Champion at some point in the future. One of the individuals that I had beaten was one who acquaints himself as one 'Levi Storm'.

And it appears that Mr. Storm and I's relationship does not quite end there however, as it would seem. You see, being new to this dear company, it would only seem right to write my name down for as many shows as possible in the first number of weeks, should my talents be needed that is. However, in light of this, despite being said number one contender for the previously mentioned title belt, I have been booked for a couple of encounters against Mr. Storm, regardless of how I had already beaten him before.

Although it may seem to be the case, my problem is not with management in and of itself. Mr. Eldred and Mr. Lawson are both tremendous at their respective jobs. No, this garnered... annoyance instead stems from how Mr. Storm appears to be imagining this situation.

For one, prior to our encounter this past Monday, he deemed that through our future, and seemingly continuous encounters, I would have a rather rough experience. I would go and fetch the actual quote itself, but as you may have already gathered through your own, severely lower intellect, I very much do not care for Mr. Storm. Why? Well, regarding the previously mentioned phrase, it appears he had blatantly ignored - or for his case I hope that he had forgotten - about how I had actually defeated him on the prior Monday. And as such, he ended up proudly walking into the arena with his head held high, to only get beaten by me once again.

And now we face again this coming Sunday. Not so much of a peep out of him this week... yet. No doubt he's gathering up a lacky camera crew and a couple of cheap courtesans so that he can parade about a bunch of French restaurants with his 99-cent fur jacket, as if in doing so would enrage, or even vex me in the slightest. If you were as intellectual as I you may recognise a metaphor that could be potentially hidden in those pompous acts of... ahem; 'douchebaggery'. But no, instead you may choose to smash bottles of champagne over the heads of the French-but-really-American waiters, while you call me a slice of bread, pick up a baguette, break it in half, then proceed to drool into the open crust while your brain tries to comprehend the next course of action.

If such a case ever arises, you should consider buying more RAM... and not the sheep kind. Google it on your smartphone that was wired by orphan Chinese children, you ungrateful... so-and-so.

Whether you decide to even declare your presence for this up-coming Sunday or not, you will be faced with yet another loss from yours truly:

Linguini Maximus Isaac
The Linguist

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