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~~Brandon Moore~~ · (12-18-2016)

-Brandon Moore-
“You're fucking kidding me, right? Who do these cocksuckers think they are?!

Brandon is sitting in his hotel room after having heard that his opponents for Savage Saturday Night had something to say. In front of him on his hotel bed is his laptop. He was watching the garbage spouted out by his opponents that was sent to him by some neckbeards on the internet.

-Brandon Moore-
“I'm gonna fucking kill them all. Motherdick. I'll show them.”

Brandon opens a program on his laptop that allows him to record video from the built in webcam. He clears his throat, adjusts his beanie, and starts to make goofy faces into the camera.

-Brandon Moore-
“Check. Check! Check fucking one two fuck check fuck!”

The side of the program has a reader for the volume coming from the microphone. Knowing he can see himself, Brandon makes sure the microphone is picking up what he is saying before he begins to record. It shoots up into the red as he screams is mic check words. Everything is good to go. He clears his throat one more time and hits the record button. A blue light appears next to the webcam and a red light appears to signifying that it is recording on the program itself. Game time.

-Brandon Moore-
“You fuckers! All of you! Drezdin! I hear you, man! Fuck your own mouth. I'll make it a personal fucking effort to twist you into a pretzel, salt you, and fucking feed you to Nami. Without any fucking cheese dip. I was robbed like a motherfucker in my match during the Wild Card Weekend. But I will get my first win after making you eat your own shit. Then making you eat the shit made out of your shit that you first ate. Sick, right? Then your fucking girlfriend, Lyianna. Holy shit have you got a handful. She might fucking eat you herself. She really wants to get the win in this Trios Cubed match, bruh. News flash! Not fucking happening, dickwads.

Now, Snow, you dirty dirty girl. How do I put this politely? You're...sorry, mom...you're a cunt. How in the living fuck did you ever hold a championship? Did you get lucky? Did you go against your very lesbianism and slob a little knob? I'm pretty new here, but I know for a fact, you can fuck your way to the top anywhere. In case you haven't noticed, there are three people in Havoc. You seem like you're forgetting about me? Well, let me put you in check, girly. Ronnie and David wouldn't be caught dead at my birthday party and back at 'em. But we've got respect for each other. We've got a common goal...to absolutely fuck shit up. The only Christmas Miracle there might be is the miracle that you'll be able to ever fucking walk again when we're done with you. You say the fans love you? No shit. Everybody loves a hot bitch who licks pussy.

Onto Broken Hart, you sad motherfucker. You need a chill pill, brotha. Or like fifteen. Calm the fuck down and breathe, homie. We're gonna fuck you up. You'll end up needing the other half of that mask. Just accept it. XWF isn't going to line anyone up at your door, man. But you're going to be lining up for unemployment after Havoc runs you out of the fucking place. I almost pissed myself laughing when you called me a cocky, big-headed, bastard. My head is normal size, you fucking asshole! And you're damn right I'm cocky! You said I'm not you. Thank fuck. You said I'm not Ronnie, David, Kid Kool...and you asked what am I? Oh boy what am I? Bitch, I'll fucking tell you! You're right! I'm not like anyone else in the entire fucking XWF! There are people here that are damn good...hell, even great! But motherfucker! I'm just plain better!”

Brandon flips his middle finger to the camera as he uses his other hand to violently smash the “Stop Recording” button. Well, that was invigorating. Brandon's fucking pissed and it shows. He hurriedly selects to upload his video directly to YouTube. From there, Brandon posts it to the comment sections as a reply to the already uploaded, obviously bootleg, videos of what his opponents had to say.

-Brandon Moore-
“Somebody will fucking see it...”

Brandon slams his laptop shut, takes his beanie off, and throws it across the room. He obviously has some anger management issues when it comes to what people say about him. It's been that way since he was little, but he doesn't mind it. It gets people to leave him alone and gives him the courage to really do just about anything. Brandon takes his laptop and sets it on the table next to his bed as he tries to calm himself down. He adjusts a pillow and lays on the hotel bed with his arms linked behind his head. He lets out a sigh.

-Brandon Moore-
“God damn, I swear a lot...”

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