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Ruben A. Mitchell · **12-25-2014, 09:41 PM**

How insulting.

How demeaning.

How incredibly thoughtless of you.

Not only did you have the gall to call me by ring name, something no one in their right mind would dare do unless they really want to taste my cream, you also had the balls to call me a wrestler, a word which I clearly showed disdain towards and clearly disproved by fighting, no, beating the shit out of my first two punching bags. Seriously, Trenchcoat and Armani didn't really put up that much of a fight. In fact you're probably the first one outside of prison that I'd consider an actual threat. Not that it means much to me. You're a completely different species from me and have abilities that no real man should have, like the rewinding of time and space just to make sure things go your way, the manipulation of objects to throw at your enemy without lifting a single finger, and who knows what else you're capable of. You've committed acts of terrorism with Chico and your own daughter that ended in your death in order to get where you are now. And, surprising me most of all, you're homosexual.

I have no idea how your species has sex or how your former...husband, is it? I don't know who wears the pants in that relationship, but I'd assume it's the man that you burned down in order to get your daughter back or something. I don't give two shits about you and I don't feel like wasting hours of my life researching your every move in order to beat the shit out of you with broken glass glued to my fists.

I'm sure you've fought my type before. The man who doesn't care about winning or losing and just wants to beat the shit out of anyone and everyone he meets. You should know if you have, you're a veteran at this kind of combat. Not sure if you fought a man who got blue balls after both of his matches, but whatever, that wouldn't really be your fault. Quinn had to pull me off both times because shit like that wouldn't be allowed on TV, according to him.

Clearly he hasn't seen this show and, therefore, still has standards. Poor guy, he won't let me release my seed because he's too busy watching good shit on television.

Oh, you want me to put in some music while I tell you a story about myself? I'll do so, since you like to tell and hear stories about people. I know how you spacemen are, always analyzing us humans to find some sort of weakness about us. And just when we least expect it, bam, tentacle up the ass.

Now what song would be good to use in a match like this...?

...There's like songs from every country and every band, but it's so fucking hard trying to find exactly what I want...

...Soundgarden, that should do for a man trying to tell a story.

So, a story about me...

...God, it's hard to choose just one thing from my life to tell you.

I already told the story about how I beat the shit out of two girls, which somehow pissed off trenchcoat to no end. I could tell the story about how I beat up Bubba, but that would take too damn long. Quinn has a ton of stories that are about as fun as watching paint dry for a full day.

Geez, it's like my life is nothing more than a blank canvas, or as Space Cowboy over there would put it, uninteresting.

Might as well tell the story about how I became a sadomasochist. That should be uninteresting enough for you to fall asleep to. It all started back in my childhood years.

I bet he's sleeping right now.

Anyways, when I was young, I was raised into a strict Christian family. Mother was a nun and my father was a salesmen. Well, he was actually a Jehovah's Witness, but calling him a salesman makes it sound more believable. Both of them managed to teach me that anything I do that upsets our lord and savior, such as not praying before dinner and whatnot, I would go straight to hell for doing something so blasphemous. As an adult who's probably going to hell anyways, this doesn't really bother me that much. As a kid, I was terrified by my mother's shrill voice and how my father would look at me straight in the eye as if he was going to shoot me in the face if I were to misbehave.

So in the early years of my life, I did what I was told, I never misbehaved, I never argued, blah blah blah, some boring shit passed. In fact, the next five years of my life were really fucking boring. Nothing special happened until I turned ten. That was the age when I finally grew some balls and stood up for myself. How did I do so? I deliberately walked out of the church building after hearing the story of Abraham. Surely you must have heard it by now. Abraham hears God and he tells him to kill, Issac, his only son, as some sort of offering. And the psychotic bastard actually goes through with it until the deity speaks to him again saying that he was testing his faith in him.

Yeah, neither the Sunday school teacher or my parents tried to side with me, even though I found it a bit fishy as to why he would play with his subjects like that deliberately. Unless you had something to do with it, I couldn't bring myself to accept it as truth. So then they brought out the paddle, pulled down my pants, and proceeded to spank my bare ass with it. Now while most kids would react by crying out and begging for uncle at that moment, I found myself...strangely enjoying it. It's tame shit to me now, but back then, I just wanted them to keep going, and they rolled with it. They thought I had sinned before and hadn't told them, so they kept on spanking it until my ass turned black.

I often found myself starting more fights with my parents, teachers, and fellow students about meaningless shit that wouldn't concern anyone outside church. I started to ask questions to students if God would actually stand a chance against Superman, and I always sided with the person they didn't choose. Surprise, surprise, they became enraged that I still sided with Clark Kent or Yahweh, even if they brought up a fantastic point about the other guy. And then they started to fight me. It started off with a harmless bitch slap, but I often escalate it to the point where fists have to be thrown. I broke my nose twice in those fights, but it was nothing fatal.

Then when my parents cleaned me up and asked me just what the hell I was up to in that school. I had to make up some bullshit about the other kids in order to get off clean. At one point I said that a kid was sacrilegious and tried to prove to us that no God could ever exist because Santa Claus didn't get him what he wanted or whatever I ended up saying.

If you're watching this Greg, I hope you're having fun in Canada.

So yeah, I'm a jackass that loves to get hurt. And if anything a child would consider traumatic wouldn't put me down, what makes you think that you stand a good chance? Because you're an alien with supernatural powers? No, that only proves the Scientologists were right, and anyone that proves Scientologists right must be fucked in the head. You can beat me with that glass and I'll probably end up getting an erection out of it if the blood loss doesn't get to me first. Hell, even if you pin me, or kill me, which is highly unlikely, I'll still win because I'll get just what I want in the end.

I'll end up aroused and shooting mini mes out somehow. If not at you, then at the referee. If not the referee, then at the entire audience. I know that they want it, no matter how much they'd protest.

So, do your worst, Space Cowboy.

I'll end up enjoying it anyways.

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