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Shaun Crowe · (02-15-2017)

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I'd like to apologize to Robert Main on behalf of my client, Shaun Crowe. See, in his infinite wisdom, Mr. Crowe has decided to essentially drop off the face of the Earth as far as I, as well as anyone else who has tried to contact him, are concerned. If you ask me, he's probably in some crack den somewhere in the Quad Cities area and he'll resurface any day now. However, that does not change the fact that the February 15th edition of Wednesday Night Warfare continues to draw closer, and with each passing moment, the chances of Mr. Crowe not even appearing become greater. So, again, I must apologize to you Robert. You don't deserve this.

And yet, there is a silver lining to all this, Robert. Do you want me to let you in on a little secret? Maybe secret isn't the right word; I do have a tendency to talk pretty loudly. Everyone will hear me. Regardless. Are you ready to hear the truth? You might want to sit down, this is a pretty big revelation.

Shaun Crowe is a joke.

You heard me right. Shaun Crowe is a joke played on the XWF by members of the company's upper management. Think about it, ask yourself 'who really is Shaun Crowe'? He's a wigger and a rabid Donald Trump fanboy. His ghetto-speak is so strong it somehow manages to taint everything surrounding him. He's a barely trained, horrifically untalented buffoon whose only successes have come from barely beating bottomfeeders.

He's a personality is what he is. Everything about him is just so absurd that the XWF audience buys right into the joke. No one watches a Shaun Crowe match actually expecting him to win.

Wow, here I am, badmouthing my own client worse than your two bozos of opponents could ever dream of doing. See, I haven't really gotten to the good part yet.

The good part is, you don't need Shaun to beat these two. You really, really don't. They're doing such a good job of beating themselves.

I know, I know. This sounds like crazy talk. Chris Chaos is the Universal Champion. Gabe Reno exists and takes up space. How could you beat one and a quarter people all on your own? Simple. See, for all of the bravado and swagger Chris brings to his championship reign, there's something else lurking under the surface. Raging, pure, unbridled... insecurity. See, Chris is such a nervous, twitchy wreck so obsessed with self-justifying that he felt the need to ask Mr. Crowe one simple question. A question that, if you're keeping score at home, is the exact second he buried any credibility he had as a top champion anywhere than fucking wrestling school.

I'm sure you heard it, Robert. And maybe, if you didn't realize your partner's reputation, you might have thought it was the right question to ask. I don't blame you for ignorance regarding Mr. Crowe. It's much better for everyone's collective sanity to forget he even exists.

The question was simple:

Chris Chaos Said:So Mr. Crowe, how will it feel to be absolutely embarrassed by me yet again?

Remember who's asking this, and who he's asking it to. This is your XWF Universal Champion asking a perpetual lower-card dwelling 'lovable' loser how it'll feel to be embarrassed by him. Newsflash, Chris, because you can't seem to get it through your thick fucking skull: you are the top champ in the XWF. You are supposed to be the man. Losing to you is the expected state of affairs for even the top stars, let alone some lame-ass scrub like Mr. Crowe.

What I'm trying to say is, and let me raise my voice for emphasis:

LOSING TO YOU SHOULD NOT BE A FUCKING EMBARRASSMENT.

And yet, here you are, devaluing your brand with one simple question. Wow, friend. There's backfire and then there's blowing your own brains out on purpose and I have to wonder if this was the latter. This is the kind of gaffe that careers get ended over. This is the kind of gaffe everyone thought Trump's 'grab em by the pussy' remarks were.

Chris Chaos is going to embarrass an embarrassment to the sport because that makes sense.

I don't even have to talk about how great of a wrestler Chris is. Fuck it, if he can't put himself over who should I have to build him up to mask his dipshittery? I'm not. Chris Chaos played himself, because he's coming into this match with eyes to embarrass the newcomer and the

. This is his plan. So, Robert all you have to do is use it against him.

While he's trying to embarrass you, all you have to do is win.

Remember: all you need is three seconds.

To best make use of that strategy, I'd recommend focusing your attention on Gabe Reno, the surefire weak link of this team. Sure, if you listen to Gabe talk, he'll try his hardest to convince you otherwise, but therein lies the problem. Him trying his hardest just doesn't get the job done. Does anyone take Gabe Reno seriously? He sounds like a little kid screaming for attention, stringing together words he plucked out of a thesaurus lacking context, then calling others stupid for realizing every syllable he vomited out had less substance than a schizophrenic word salad. It's, to use the word of the hour, embarrassing. I feel bad for poor little Gabe every time he tries to sit at the big boy's table and throw his weight around like he has any weight to throw around in the first place.

But then, he does things that make my sympathy run dry.

Take for example, his braindead shenanigans leading up to this match. I don't need to tell you too much about this Robert, I'm sure you're already well aware. See, Gabe Reno has a system in place. It's a very simple system (it has to be, or else he wouldn't have been able to make it). There's two steps to it, and I'm sure you're already aware of those two steps but I feel the need to spell it out for the others listening, because I fear that too many people are simple minded enough to be impressed by Reno in the first place.

The system goes like this:

Step One: Make up stupid, insipid bullshit. It doesn't matter how goddamn false they are, in fact it seems like he abides by the idea of 'the dumber, the better'. Stick to the story no matter what. Even when it just makes you look like a

. Especially when it makes you look like a

.

See, maybe I can sum up how Gabe thinks other people see the internet in a picture. Think he'd like that? If I flooded this shit with pictures like an autistic seven year old trying to make things look cooler?

Yeah, sounds about right. Don't think too hard about how this audio stream suddenly has an image. It just works.

Of course, Robert, you beat him at this game pretty handily. You didn't even have to respond to his 'but muh child abuser' shots when you turned his shtick back on him, because you're a fucking pro. What did you do? You just fired back at him with goofier rumors. But what did Gabe do when he got beat at the game he started? He flipped the fuckin' board and had a temper tantrum. Which of course, brings me to step two.

Step Two: Sperg the fuck out when the same thing happens to you.

Seriously, do I need to explain this one? This fucking loser had a meltdown of epic proportions after you rekt him, Robert. He lost his shit. You saw the news report, right?

Your "publicist" happened to "step out in front of a train". It's fucking great. Do you even have a publicist? You don't seem like the type. Yet, here he is making supposed members of your personal staff disappear like he was a fucking magician or something. David Copperfield he most certainly ain't. It's brilliant. It's like he doesn't realize how big of a fucking idiot he is. Maybe he slipped on some of that black grease and bumped his head real bad.

Watch this: after this goes to air, "I'm" gonna commit suicide via two shots to the back of the head. Or maybe he'll go after my "wife" or my "kids". Or maybe he'll claim to have paid me off or something to say this stuff. Who knows; the possibilities are endless. And they all make him look like a petulant child throwing a bitch fit.

Maybe that's why he went with "child abuse".

Chris, Gabe, if you're listening, I ' v e g o t n e w s f o r y o u.

Chris, you don't need to find some emotional security or a sense of self-worth.

Gabe, you don't need a brain.

ＹＯＵＮＥＥＤＡＨＥＲＯ.

Because right now, even down a man, there's no doubt that Robert Main can and will beat you.

Hello, once again humble travelers! It is I, your guide to the wonderful and horrifying affairs of XWF's best and brightest (and also Shaun Crowe). Where did we leave off last time? Oh, right. The sudden appearance of one Luca Arzegotti (because it seems, all roads lead to him one way or another) in the Deep South residence of Shaun Crowe's captors. Now that that's settled, enough of me establishing what you already know. Hit the theme music!

"Now now Dumb and Dumber, no need for any sudden movements."

Luca gestures at the two potentially inbred giants with the gun in his hand grinning like an idiot at his own stupid remark.

"Hey asshole, keep it on track."

Oh, right. I forgot that the person I was talking about has some level of medium awareness and won't let anyone forget it.

"Medium awareness? What the fuck are you on about bruh I can hear you loud and clear. Maybe if you don't want us to hear you, you should talk quieter instead of making up fake words. S-M-H."

"YO YO MY NIG, I MEAN I HATE TA LOOK A GIFT HORSE IN DA MOUF 'N SHIT BUT LIKE, WHODAFUKKK IS YOU TALKIN TO?"

Luca reflexively cringes and presses the finger of his free hand into his ear.

"Yo if you don't shut the fuck up I'll shoot you along with these two invalids."

The Giants' ears perk up and the cogs in their heads begin to turn ever so slowly. As their brains struggle to decipher the strange language spoken by the scrawny

brandishing a Glock 17 - a language they barely understood - Luca realizes that yes, he did just say that aloud.

"Metaphorically speaking, of course."

Time seems to stand still for a moment; no one involved in this unfolding scene moves an inch. Truly, the calm before the storm as no sooner than it registers for everyone, Luca opts to break the peace with two words.

"Fuck it."

Somewhere, far out on the plane of metaphors, a knife slices right through the tension in the room as Luca points the gun at the nearest giant - the one standing over Dr. Schrodinger - and opens fire. The sound of gunfire echoes in the small room as one bullet pierces through the first giant's stomach. He quickly pivots and fires at the second giant, though he misses and hits the back wall of the basement. Before he can react, Luca's taken down by the hillbilly fuck he missed: sent skidding across the floor with the weight of a small car pressing down atop of him.

The gun flies from his hand, almost in slow motion. Hell, in actual slow motion. I control the stylistic choices here and no one can stop me.

The rotten stench of halitosis invades Luca's nostrils with the same intensity as the crushing weight struggling to grind the frail shitlord into dust. Luca's eyes meet the jaundiced hepatitis eyes of the bear mounting him (which probably isn't a first for him) and he cringes; the giant is, somehow, even uglier than he had first thought. The thing's skin - scarred with acne and tinted yellow - leaks oily sweat down onto Luca's face. Its flesh is doughy and moist to the touch.

Defenseless, Luca watches as the beast raises one giant fist, before dropping it down on his--

Bang! Bang bang!

The fist falls limp, lifelessly to the ground. Luca turns his head as best he can and sees - his view partially obstructed by the corpse atop him - a dry heaving Shaun Crowe standing over him, smoking gun in hand.

TBC

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