You're a fucking idiot.

Let me seal this like the Cask of Amontillado,
Brick by brick your fate is sealed
I can taste the gold like a title belt aficionado.
Much like the Fall of the House of Usher
Your fear is clear and there is no bravado present or future
Enough that you could muster.
I am the red death of your Championship masquerade
You will find no help, friend, or aid.

Mine is the eye of your Tell-Tale heart
But it can't be shut, you wouldn't know where to start
If any of this escapes you, I wouldn't be surprised.
Your whole argument as been been aimed between my thighs.
You say you're different and you can't be tricked,
But I wont be the one getting judgements dick.

Be it rhetoric, poetry, no matter the prose,
I'm taking this belt from under your nose
Want me to continue, I hardly think not.

Because I am the champion, and you are the thot.