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Mason Prince · (01-26-2016)

Chicago, Illinois.
6:40 PM.

Hold My Beer, Imma Kill It

“Trevor, get the fire extinguisher. About to spit some fire and I’d rather not burn the whole damn building down.”

Mason Prince and Trevor Hawk stand on the balcony of his high-rise apartment, looking over the beautiful city of Chicago while the sun goes down over the winter sky. A beautiful image and backdrop for what’s about to turn into straight up savagery.

“Hey there believers, I’m Mason Prince, and this is my main man Trevor. We just got notice that someone at corporate realized the money they were dropping in the garbage by not having me in the title picture. Good, because now that they know, all of you will too.”

Mason rolls his neck around and cracks his fingers. Trevor has a card that says the words – ‘PART 1: Monster’ on it.

“Cain, I’m tired of your shit. I don’t want your sloppy garbage that you call shit talk. You respect me? Fuck that, I don’t want your respect.

And shit, Cain, who says I even want your best either? Who says your best even touches the sole of my shoe? If this is what you’re giving me, then no, you can take your best and shove it down Peter’s throat just like Morbid shoved Peter’s cock down his gullet.

It’s like you’re asking me to make fun of you, man. This whole ‘I’ll give you a true warrior’. Get the fuck out with that. I can’t take that kind of thing seriously. Hell, no one can take anything you say seriously, Cain. You’re the most disingenuous superstar on the roster and I learned that the first time I fought you. You said I wasn’t gonna get back up after our match, that you were gonna kill me, etcetera etcetera. Bullshit! All you were was useless fodder in the match I needed to go through to get to my title defense. Useless! Useless useless useless!

No one’s ever told you that you are incredibly average, Cain, but that’s what you are. Your grasp of the obvious is absolutely remarkable. You wanna know something, Cain? You look like you're going to spend your life having one epiphany after another, always thinking you've finally figured out what's holding you back, and how you can finally be productive and creative and turn your life around. But nothing will ever change. That cycle of mediocrity isn't due to some obstacle. It's who you are. The thing standing in the way of your dreams is that the person having them is you!

Irregardless, I digress. I’m just telling you the same thing you tell yourself every night before you fall asleep anyway. No need to be redundant. Then again, everyone already looks through the reticle of a microscope to see the meaning in your promos. But still, redundancy is an issue with you. Redundant excuses being one of them. Like, honestly, you didn’t want to WIN!? Please. That’s just horse shit. And you know that too. Keep that kind of talk up and not only will you be the biggest inside gag of the XWF, but you’ll also be the most dishonest. Everyone already laughs at you when you’re not around, soon enough no one’ll respect you either.

Say, you’re the Son of Eden? Huh. That surprises me. You’d have thought that God would have perfected the abortion around the time you were born but, hey, look at you here, still standing. No wonder you’re such a fuck up. I’m sorry your old hag of a mother drank away all of her abortion money. Jesus Christ, your mother must be so old at this point she’d have a separate entrance for black men.

And you talk about being a monster? You wanna be a monster Cain? I’ll show you what a goddamn monster in this industry is, Cain. ‘Battling me again, I think you’re delirious. You suck so bad, I can’t even take you serious. You’re simply a nerd; go back to your momma Eden before I lay down the word. Cause I’m a God and your two beady little eyes can’t see me, your beard looks bad and you smell like a post-Eden fuck peepee. White face and red cheeks, looks like you got a fever. And your teeth look like one of your so-called Adam and Eve parents was a beaver. I’ll go forever and keep my rhymes coming all day. Am I gonna stop soon? Son of Eden, you better pray. Cause I’ll ruin your reputation and I’ll mess with your head. I’ll embarrass you so bad you’ll wish you were dead. You gonna try and cut a promo on me? Well that’s a goo idea, but when it comes to your promos, I’ve seen more complexity in a couch from IKEA. You got all knowing eyes, but all you get are gay guys (Peter) and I still get more pussy, yet I’m half your size/ And to top it all off, you’re not a wrestler, you’re a fucking

. Now go back to your Mommy before I drop you another red card.’

Just hold up a minute after that. See that shit? Did you feel that shit? Man, my white rap shit talk is miles ahead of anything you could throw at me. Isn’t that sad, Cain?

Oh just get the fuck out and get lost, loser. You’re not my competition. Remember when I talked about you being considered a failed abortion? Yeah, the industry considers you that too. Something that could’ve been beautiful but has wasted so much time in shit and trash that he ends up being the conversation topic for other people to make fun of.

Killing it now, son. I’m a hunter. You’re the prey to my predator and just like an alien, Imma burrow inside you, get inside your head, and burst your your chest like a fucking monster.

End it now, Cain. Just end it. Cause no one wants to hear you talk anymore.”

NOTE: READ THE FIRST LETTER OF EVERY PARAGRAPH IN THE TRANSCRIPT OF PART 1.

Trevor throws the first card away and shows another card with a set of words on it – ‘PART 2: TALKING SHIT TO A FATASS’

“Gee, to be honest, that title says it all, doesn’t it? Do I really even need to go on? I think you guys get the point.

I’ll go on just for the fuck of it, but understand that I’m not proud of talking down to a man with down syndrome. Fat, dumb, and ignorant.

Lord have mercy, what’s with all this respectful shit? I’m an impressive competitor? You don’t have to tell me, I already fucking know. Where’s the malice? This is all just so boring! Come at me like dogs, you rabid dickholes! Not like bastard puppies!

Peter Gilmour Said:“…Hey Mason, how does it feel to lose the title to a girl like Alexis Riot? I bet you’re really embarrassed.

Look, see, that’s more like it! That Alexis line right there? That’s what I wanna see! At least then you don’t come across like a complete halfwit, you can maybe kind of strike a nerve when it comes to my feelings. But even then, you’d have to exhaust every single motor running in that little head of yours.

Yeah, Gilly, you’re right. Competition is what makes this business interesting. Too bad I can’t find any that isn’t a part timer like Doc or a legend like Cyren.

Let the insults start raining down now. Let me guess which one’s coming. Suck My Dick? Suck my dick, Peter? Now, that’s not an age-appropriate response to anything. But hell, you’re so immature and childish that I guess it’s expected from you.

Oh, come on, let’s just be honest here now. People just tolerate you, Peter. You have a case of Cain-syndrome. You’re a joke and everyone knows about it. We all laugh at you constantly, Peter. I go hit up my homeboys Trevor and my posse and the first thing they do is ask me if I have any funny Gilmour stories to tell. But you know what, Gilly? I don’t do it. I don’t tell any stories, not only because ‘funny’ when it comes to you is subjective because honestly I can’t tell whether it’s funny or depressing at this point, but also because I don’t care about the constant shit talk about you behind your back. You’re all right.

Vindictive, right? Yeah, it’s only gonna get worse. Let’s address the elephant in the room. Gilly, you’re a dumbass. You’re an egotistical dumbass. I’ve said this before to someone, but if I wanted to kill myself, I’d climb to the top of your ego and jump down to your IQ. And the sad thing is, you’re not even pretty enough to be this stupid. You should try eating some makeup to be pretty on the inside too. Your attitude is shit too. You’re as bright as a blackhole and twice as dense, Peter. And yes, Peter, I can explain all of these insults to you later, but I cannot understand them for you so please give it your best shot to decipher the smackdown I just laid upon you.

Elephants, I say? Speaking of elephants, I’m not saying you’re fat, Gilly, but it looks like you were poured into your clothes and forgot to say ‘when’. Goddamn it, just because you think you have a title makes you think you have the right to give me your C-grade work?! Get off your fucking high horse…! No, really, please. You’re too fat and your horse is in pain. And step down from your fucking pedestal too…! …Yeah, it’s starting to crack and we don’t have insurance on it. After I lay you out with a Disasterpie-no, I make you TAP like a BITCH, don’t cry to me after. No, you look even fatter when you cry.

Sadly, none of this is even going to penetrate your thick skull, now will it?

Can anyone actually get through to you, Peter? Will anyone actually be able to convince you to change your ways before it’s too late?

Oh, I doubt I if I’m being perfectly honest.

Cause, let’s face it, Peter, you’re about to get a call. Oh wait, it already happened. 2090 called. You’re dead and you wasted your time on Earth. Also you outlived your children.

King? You’re a King, Peter? I’m fairly sure only the good Doctor is a King around here. And I said this before, Peter, why be a king, Peter? When you can be a God like me?”

NOTE: READ THE FIRST LETTER OF EVERY PARAGRAPH IN THE TRANSCRIPT OF PART 2.

Trevor throws out the final card and stands there with his hands behind his back as Mason finishes up.

“Point is, kids, I’m the main event and I deserve better than you two chuckle fucks.

I am the best. I will always be the best. And I will not lose again. Yeah, I lost before, and sometimes it hurts and you wanna give up, then I remember I have a lot of motherfuckers to prove wrong. So throw me to these so called ‘wolves’, XWF. As you all very well know, they’ll either wind up with a broken neck or I will come back leading the pack.

But hey, if you wanna get in my way, fine. I’ve always said, ‘If someone gets in the way of you being beautiful, just fucking eat them alive’. And I intend to do that.

So here I come.”

The feed cuts out.

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