“I don’t even care if you look like a brotha, you still got white man moves.”

“White man moves?”

“You can’t hang with this.”

“Nigga you trippin’.”

“Nigga you can’t call me ‘nigga,’ you still white.”


Abe: “Try a layup or something.”


Samuels: “That counts right?”

Abe: “Man how the fuck you do that? I been black my entire life and I can barely dunk on Xbox.”

Samuels: “A black man failing to live up to his potential and then bitching about it to the white man. Typical.”

Abe: “You need to get off that race shit, my dude. You’ve got other things to think about. You gotta fight that fucking Maverick dude again. Now I was thinking, what if we get a horse named Maverick and shoot a promo where you…”

Samuels: “Are you fucking serious? Ride a horse named Maverick? What kind of stupid ass idea is that? I’d rather shoot a half ass promo on a basketball court where I ramble on about a bunch of irrelevant dumb shit, and then lay into Maverick about how he’s a lying little cocksucker who thinks we’re buying the whole ‘oh guys that was my doppleganger that kept getting his ass kicked, not me,’ shit. I can’t wait to get into that cage and shut that ignorant little fucker’s mouth once and for all. Time for him to realize that he doesn’t belong in the same ring as me. He wanted to keep bringing my name up like he thought I was just going to sit on my hands and take it with a smile on my face. That’s like coating your asshole in raw honey and not expecting some magical flying to not come along and try to give you the stickiest rimjob you’ve had since your junior high sweetheart got a clever idea in the bathroom at IHOP.”

Abe: “Whoa, whoa, whoa… In this analogy are you the honey-covered asshole, the magical flying or the 14-year old asslicker?”

Samuels: “Well, maybe that was a bad example. But let’s be real here. What has Maverick done in his career? His biggest claim to fame is getting me to hang outside of a ring for 10 seconds while he ran away like a dying dog fleeing from the erect penis of the Underduker. He can’t run from me tomorrow night. As soon as that door gets locked, the poor little doggie is fucked.”

Abe: “You’re not literally going to have anal relations with him, are you?”

Samuels: “Would you stop taking things so goddamn literal? Of course I’m not going to actually fuck him in the ass. It’s figurative. His career trajectory is about to closely resemble that of an underage male pornstar who just can’t seem to stop growing peach fuzz on his balls. He loses to John Samuels, again, and then he fucks right off to the land of obscurity where he can snuggle up to Jessie Diaz and they can pretend that at some point in time that they actually matter to the outside world. You heard that fucking interview he did with that Pagoda guy, right? He thinks I’m the fucking weak link? Me? I’m the best goddamn thing that this company has to offer right now, and I have been since I stepped foot through those doors. There’s not a man on this roster who can look me in the eye and tell me that he’s better than me, and if he can’t he’s either a fucking liar or a giant queer who just wants to gaze longingly into my eyes while picturing getting onto his knees and sucking every ounce of my genetic data out of the head of my cock.”

“Notice how this hapless, lying little fuck hasn’t even bothered to acknowledge the fact that he’s going to get his asshole figuratively stretched out by the boot I lodge up there. Maybe his little friends can take a break from using his uvula as a speed bag and redirect their dicksqueezers right up Maverick’s asshole to get it all nice and warmed up for me. You know if this shitstain can take an entire fist in his mouth without so much as objecting, he’s not going to have any problem with those lemmings turning him into a hand puppet.”

“I’m not even going to lie; I see my name on that match card and I see Maverick is going to be the one staring at me across the ring, and I chalk it up as a win instantly. I would have to literally not show up to the arena tomorrow night for Maverick to not get his ass beaten like an orphaned Filipina girl who won’t do butt stuff for men three times her age. Maverick is no threat to me. He got a fluke win on me, sure, but look what I’ve done since--I’ve become the top performer in the company while he pretended that there was actually a human being pathetic enough to want to portray himself as Maverick. This guy probably struggled to get his mother to shoot a squirt of milk down his throat to get him to stop bawling, how the fuck did he find someone stupid enough to willingly call himself Maverick and pretend to be him? I’d rather pretend to be a shoebox full of cow shit than to try to convince people that I’m affiliated with Maverick in any way whatsoever.”

“That bitch better say an extra prayer tonight after he slips on his onesie and kisses his mother’s sperm cavern goodnight, because once we get into that ring he’s mine, and he’s going to wish he screamed ‘I quit!’ before he ever decided to speak ill of John Samuels.”

1X - GOAT.