Post by Slade "The Main Man" Craven on Dec 22, 2012 1:57:15 GMT -4
The large steel gates creek open on the cold evening air. Snow is gently falling on the day the Mayan Calendar ends. Tonight something else ended; Slade Craven’s stint in the Mental Institution. For the first time in several months Slade breathed fresh air as a free man. Maybe it had something to do with finally winning a match on Asylum. Or maybe it was the fact that Slade showed improvement. No, it had to be the first one.
“It’s a lotta miles into town, Slade Craven. You care for a ride?”
There, leaning against the big black Ford Raptor with green lightning bolts painted on the side, is Shadow. The camera pans over the beautiful vehicle as all around the world, fans hearts leap to their throats. The camera comes to a rest on the customized license plate. Three letters in green flames on a black plate: A.K.A.
“You got baby out of the corner!” Craven is ecstatic.
“No one put’s baby in a corner.” Shadow replies with a grin as he walks up and the two shake hands.
It’s been a long time since they’ve seen one another. Slade was in the hospital the last time. Craven steps past his old tag team partner and presses his hands against the cold fiberglass body of the Raptor. It’s just the pick-me-up Slade could use. He wasn’t big on the Holidays.
“I’ll be honest, I’m a little surprised to see you.” Craven says over his shoulder.
“Well, man gets out of the Whacko-Basket he deserves to ride home in style. Actually, a ride to his first job as a free man in style, but we’re just arguing semantics.”
“Yeah, rematch with Raab, good Christmas bonus from President Jeff.”
“Don’t bitch, you’ll sound like Raab.”
Craven chuckles and turns to Shadow.
“You driving or you going to let me?”
“HAH!” Shadow scoffs. “That’s pretty funny, give a crazy guy the keys to a supped 2012 Ford Raptor. Oh so that must be how the world ends. My luck is you’ll find the one hidden nuclear power plant in the area and crash into it setting off a chain reaction that will eclipse the planet. Hell no I’m not giving you the keys.”
“Bitch.”
“Jerk.”
They laugh and hug. That’s right they hug.
“So we’re going to Buffalo?” Craven asks.
“Yeah, how long has it been since we took the same vehicle to a show?”
“Mayhem.” Slade says, harboring a little anger in his voice.
“Oh yeah, that was a bad night.”
“Yeah it was.”
“Hey Slade,” Shadow starts. “Tonight will be better bro. I know you’ve been through Hell these past few months but look at the bright side. A few weeks back you did what no one believed you’d be able to do. You actually won.”
“So you’re not going to comment on my method for winning.”
“Shit no,” The big man laughs. “You did the same thing I would have done. Trust me, I know Stefan Raab, that little piss ant will do anything to win. Robbing him was probably the most humiliating thing you could do him. I heard what you were saying, you really were trying to find a way to stick it to Stefan and you did man. I’m proud of you.”
Snow continues to fall as a chill blows between them. Craven seems to be taking in Shadow’s words.
“It did feel good to screw someone over.” Slade says.
“You won’t get that chance this week.”
“Is it true that Yarmouth is our special guest referee?”
“Yes sir.”
Shadow cocks his head toward the Raptor and Slade starts to walk around the hood of the truck. Both men open their doors simultaneously and climb inside. Shadow buckles up as they sit there without cranking the ignition yet.
“Do you think Yarmouth’s pissed about what happened on Asylum?”
“You hit the man with a chair.”
Craven is silent for a second, he chooses his next words carefully.
“I didn’t know it was him. I probably should apologize but I don’t think it will really matter. That’s the nature of the business, Shadow. You step in that ring and whatever happens, happens. Sometimes things just go bad.”
Slade is smiling.
“Anyway let’s go grab some food. I’m starving. I could really go for some pie.”
“There’s a diner down the road. We’ll get you a slice.”
“Please let there be a hot waitress.”
“Not that kind of pie Slade,” Shadow scolds him. “Plus you got to stay focused.”
“Dammit. Well you’re right. The doctors said the best treatment for me is to find a hobby. And I did, the past few weeks making a hobby out of APW’s own Hitler has been really therapeutic. I must have re-watched that match like fifty times. It’s a real mood changer. It doesn’t wash away the bad crap of the past year but it is a start. I guess the next step is to sustain myself, you know keep winning.”
“All you got to do is walk through Stefan one more time.”
“Shouldn’t be too hard. I did it once, I can do it again.”
“That’s the spirit.”
Shadow leans across the truck and smacks Slade in the chest, kind of rapping him on the heart.
“By the way, check the glove box.”
Craven looks a little puzzled, he reaches out and opens the dash. Inside is a small rectangular wrapped present. Craven looks touched as he retrieves the gift.
“Merry Christmas bro.”
Craven smiles, it’s been awhile since anyone has seen that sincere smile. Slade tears the black and purple wrapping paper away and finds a framed photo. It’s a close up of Stefan Raab’s face, twisted in a horrible expression of pain with big bulging eyes.
“Did you freeze frame the Nutcracker?”
“You bet your ass I did.” Shadow says to Slade.
“Thank you.” Slade remembers that look. Causing Stefan that brief moment of excruciating pain was the brightest moments he had all year. “I mean you come here, after all we’ve been through you pick me up in our baby, and you get me this. Thank you.”
“It was nothing bro. What are friends for?”
Shadow and Slade share a smile. Then Shadow nods to Slade.
“Now buckle up,” Craven does so. “Now let’s go get you some pie.”
Shadow cranks the ignition as the radio comes to life. The music starts to play. The opening rift is strikes its chord. The music is a perfect fit for what’s about to happen. The truck roars as Shadow and Slade both grin maniacally. Outside, the exhaust kicks up. Shadow puts the AKA Truck in gear and presses the peddle to the metal: Back in the Saddle Again!
Okay, which one of you ornery jealous bastards yelled FLUKE!?
Maybe I should explain what I am getting at, since I went back to basics on Stefan Raab and it seemed to work a little bit. In the wrestling academy there is a rule. Whenever someone yells “Fluke” you have to repeat whatever it is you just did in order to prove you really can do it. This usually pertains to a move though, one you’re just learning. However, in this case I get to the back and people are shaking my hand saying “Good fight Slade,” “Well done,” “Nice to see you pull your head out of your ass,” then above it all I hear someone yell “Fluke!” So who was it?
I’m not mad at having to beat Stefan Raab again. No I’m more pissed off someone would think that my victory was just a lucky night. Sure I’ve had my ass handed to me more than the Dallas Cowboys and Detroit Lions combined and if you watch “Craven’s Greatest Moments of 2012” it’s like watching an episode of Jackass, but dammit I told you ass-nozzles I was still kicking.
Apparently Mr. Raab didn’t get the message. He seems to think that the events from two weeks ago were someone else’s fault other than his own. I’ve heard him in the back. Don’t see why he’s bitching, I told him what would happen. I told the crowd what would happen, he just didn’t listen. Nobody ever wants to listen to the “Most Mesmerizing Man in Pro Wrestling.” I understand why too. Just like I understand why Stefan Raab hates the people, the holidays and myself so much: I’m just too damn good looking.
Now perhaps I better address this now, seeing as people are wondering exactly “What in the hell happened last week.” Yarmouth, I will not apologize for smashing you in the head with a steel chair. Shit happens. Hopefully that doesn’t set us at odds this week. I’ll tell you what, this week, if you feel like I owe you something I’ll give you a free shot.
I hear ya’ll out there on the interwebz: “Slade you’re pretty much giving him the opportunity to screw you in favor of Stefan.” Shut up! You think for a second he would put that German jackoff over? Hell no. That’s probably the safest bet ever. Sure Yarmouth may be the fair man and call it down the center; barring Raab doesn’t piss him off first, but to say he would screw me in favor of a man who is vehemently out to bury him? I give Yarmouth more credit than those assholes on the web do.
Stefan Raab, I have a few choice words for you. You seemed to have a comment about me bowing out of the Tap Out title match. I believe your words were “...just as big of a scared bitch as President Jeff.” Was I hearing you correctly; maybe I need my ears cleaned out. Bitch please. I bowed out because I owed the people the courtesy of not making a further ass of myself. Seriously? Nearly nine months and you Raab are the highlight of my year: means I had a pretty shitty year. Let’s review, Tag Title Shot-didn’t earn. Overdrive Title shot- didn’t earn, Heavyweight number one contender’s match- didn’t earn, and after all those losses they are handing me another title match? Maybe it’s all about gold to you flag burning, foreigner hating, Nazi douchebags but to “The Main Man,” it’s about earning your way: a concept that Germany never really got. Just ask Poland.
I know; someone else is probably going to sue me over that comment. Jog off. Stefan Raab, Jog on. Sure they both mean the same thing, but Raab. I’m telling you to get your fat ass on a treadmill and jog on. I really don’t want to carry you through another match. I’m old, like thirty five, my knees might not be able to take it. Oh hell, now you’re going to lock me into another one of your vicious submission moves. Listen up “Das Ass Clown;” if someone can counter your submission move, it’s not very effective! When I was in wrestling school, we had a real submissions expert come in and show us moves that you can’t counter. Maybe you should find yourself a real school rather than those MTV thirteen week seminars that make this business a joke.
You really ought to go back to school too. You’re about as good a wrestler as you are a doctor. Then again, you’re a better wrestler than you are a shit talker. Not by much though. How much morphine were you on before you cut that last promo Raab? You know you can’t be doing drugs and wrestling. You suck enough as is; it’d be like showing up to a show drunk. Is President Jeff making you take a drug test before every show? I have to take a piss test, you should too! I know they’ve been pumping me full of some really awesome anti-psychotics. You should get in on these. Zoloft and Percocet are just tops. They would really take the edge off. Also, when I’m doped up, I think I can finally understand that insane garbled German tongue you call a language. And I’m Scotsman saying that.
You’re right Stefan, there isn’t another person in APW who can run their mouth like you. It’s like listening the Blizzard backwards. Me, I pioneered trash talking. Yeah I may be reliving my glory days but years back people couldn’t cut promos to save their life, then “The Main Man” rolled into town with catch phrases and pushing the envelope. What the hell do you do Stefan? You keep hinting back at the people you really want to fight.
Why do I get the feeling you aren’t too concerned with me? Well probably because you’re too focused on your internal homosexual struggle with pursuing an interracial relationship with Yarmouth. He’s going to be in this match too, you sure you can keep your eyes on the prize?
Oh lord now I’ve done it. He’s going to be staring at Yarmouth’s crotch all night. I know what I said.
Raab, I think I have a better way to keep your attention. I’m bringing friend to the Megashow!
That’s right folks, Shadow will be at ringside. You know what he told me? He said he’d love nothing more than to beat your ass up and down that arena. However, since the match isn’t an Extreme Rules match, he’s there to keep you in line, incase Yarmouth can’t. No offense to the big guy but I don’t trust you any farther than I can throw you, and you a tubby som bitch too.
So where does this leave us Stefan? I mean I could spit out the same slew of insults I did last week. Tell you how pathetic you really are, steal a page out of all my previous opponent’s books and remind you what they did me all those times: That you can’t live up to your threats. Hell I could go so far as to turn you into the state medical board and find some way to get you slapped with a shit load of malpractice suits. Maybe that would take this whole media focus off me. Option three sounds pretty tempting.
Screw that, I’m taking optional Option O. You should remember that one. You made that face when I kicked the field goal on Asylum a few weeks back. By the way, what was everyone’s deal with that? Raab would have done the same to me. You place “The Main Man” in an Extreme Rules match, you cheer when I attempt to fuse a steel chair to Stefan Raab’s face, an improvement mind you. But you get all iffy about me doing something ninety nine percent of the world’s population secretly wants to do? You people better lighten the fuck up, we’re going a lot further than that tonight. Stefan Raab just got tossed to the wolves: Shadow, Yarmouth and myself all within 25 feet Kaiser Kartoffel. There is no scenario in which this works out well for you.
Too bad too. I like to think of myself as a humanitarian. One the other hand, a lot of Germans aren’t considered human. Up there goes my phone, now I’m getting sued again. Guess none of his former patients are still alive to redirect the crowd’s focus.
What’s with you’ll lately? Didn’t “The Main Man” promise to deliver? I know it’s late but better late than never. Plus you guys hate Raab! Why anyone would feel sympathy for a prick like him is beyond me. Maybe it’s because I promised Cleveland a Cliq Kick. Is that what bothered you all? Don’t worry, I’m getting a second chance. Pay close attention and turn the volume way up. If I succeed and deliver such a resounding sweet chin symphony you will hear the audible click of his teeth when my foot connects with his chin. By the way, that’s why I call it the Cliq Kick.
You see moves don’t need to be special. You spent all that time and money on wrestling classes and they just ripped you off. They took what little money you could shell out while under suspension, and they ran off. And you fat ass was so out of shape you couldn’t catch them. Damn aren’t you a smart one. I really should watch my ass tonight.
And I am. Believe me I am. All your talk about the male organ of love has not made me very comfortable. You may try to have sex with me in a very uncomfortable place. Like the backseat of a Volkswagon. I know you own one, all Germans do. Isn’t it a crime to not?
Hence why I’m bringing a little back up tonight. You try going Hand-banana on me and I swear I plan to super glue your asshole shut and force feed you laxatives.
So I just have to ask. What is you game plan tonight? You going to get all red faced and make Stefan’s “Tough Face” or do you plan on finally letting those testicles re-descend so I can kick them back up inside you once more? I’m hoping for option B I really want to encore Slade’s Special Edition of the Nutcracker.
Then, when it’s finally over Stefan. When I prove to everyone I’m not just some Fluke who wins by cheating. I’ll look down on you with a smile. Because Slade Craven is back bitches. Say goodbye to Stefan Raab, hey “Killer” when you get to the hospital later tonight be sure to ask for the “Slade Craven Suite.” It’s pretty sweet, you get a nice private room all to yourself. Perfect for a little bitch like you to cry and as everyone knows “there’s nothing worse than watching a fat man weep.”
Don’t worry I went ahead and send you some baked goods, something to lift your spirits out of the toilet. Sorry Stefan Raab, there can be only one winner tonight and your ass done drew the short straw. Step up Stefan, Slade Craven’s going to knock you out!
“It’s a lotta miles into town, Slade Craven. You care for a ride?”
There, leaning against the big black Ford Raptor with green lightning bolts painted on the side, is Shadow. The camera pans over the beautiful vehicle as all around the world, fans hearts leap to their throats. The camera comes to a rest on the customized license plate. Three letters in green flames on a black plate: A.K.A.
“You got baby out of the corner!” Craven is ecstatic.
“No one put’s baby in a corner.” Shadow replies with a grin as he walks up and the two shake hands.
It’s been a long time since they’ve seen one another. Slade was in the hospital the last time. Craven steps past his old tag team partner and presses his hands against the cold fiberglass body of the Raptor. It’s just the pick-me-up Slade could use. He wasn’t big on the Holidays.
“I’ll be honest, I’m a little surprised to see you.” Craven says over his shoulder.
“Well, man gets out of the Whacko-Basket he deserves to ride home in style. Actually, a ride to his first job as a free man in style, but we’re just arguing semantics.”
“Yeah, rematch with Raab, good Christmas bonus from President Jeff.”
“Don’t bitch, you’ll sound like Raab.”
Craven chuckles and turns to Shadow.
“You driving or you going to let me?”
“HAH!” Shadow scoffs. “That’s pretty funny, give a crazy guy the keys to a supped 2012 Ford Raptor. Oh so that must be how the world ends. My luck is you’ll find the one hidden nuclear power plant in the area and crash into it setting off a chain reaction that will eclipse the planet. Hell no I’m not giving you the keys.”
“Bitch.”
“Jerk.”
They laugh and hug. That’s right they hug.
“So we’re going to Buffalo?” Craven asks.
“Yeah, how long has it been since we took the same vehicle to a show?”
“Mayhem.” Slade says, harboring a little anger in his voice.
“Oh yeah, that was a bad night.”
“Yeah it was.”
“Hey Slade,” Shadow starts. “Tonight will be better bro. I know you’ve been through Hell these past few months but look at the bright side. A few weeks back you did what no one believed you’d be able to do. You actually won.”
“So you’re not going to comment on my method for winning.”
“Shit no,” The big man laughs. “You did the same thing I would have done. Trust me, I know Stefan Raab, that little piss ant will do anything to win. Robbing him was probably the most humiliating thing you could do him. I heard what you were saying, you really were trying to find a way to stick it to Stefan and you did man. I’m proud of you.”
Snow continues to fall as a chill blows between them. Craven seems to be taking in Shadow’s words.
“It did feel good to screw someone over.” Slade says.
“You won’t get that chance this week.”
“Is it true that Yarmouth is our special guest referee?”
“Yes sir.”
Shadow cocks his head toward the Raptor and Slade starts to walk around the hood of the truck. Both men open their doors simultaneously and climb inside. Shadow buckles up as they sit there without cranking the ignition yet.
“Do you think Yarmouth’s pissed about what happened on Asylum?”
“You hit the man with a chair.”
Craven is silent for a second, he chooses his next words carefully.
“I didn’t know it was him. I probably should apologize but I don’t think it will really matter. That’s the nature of the business, Shadow. You step in that ring and whatever happens, happens. Sometimes things just go bad.”
Slade is smiling.
“Anyway let’s go grab some food. I’m starving. I could really go for some pie.”
“There’s a diner down the road. We’ll get you a slice.”
“Please let there be a hot waitress.”
“Not that kind of pie Slade,” Shadow scolds him. “Plus you got to stay focused.”
“Dammit. Well you’re right. The doctors said the best treatment for me is to find a hobby. And I did, the past few weeks making a hobby out of APW’s own Hitler has been really therapeutic. I must have re-watched that match like fifty times. It’s a real mood changer. It doesn’t wash away the bad crap of the past year but it is a start. I guess the next step is to sustain myself, you know keep winning.”
“All you got to do is walk through Stefan one more time.”
“Shouldn’t be too hard. I did it once, I can do it again.”
“That’s the spirit.”
Shadow leans across the truck and smacks Slade in the chest, kind of rapping him on the heart.
“By the way, check the glove box.”
Craven looks a little puzzled, he reaches out and opens the dash. Inside is a small rectangular wrapped present. Craven looks touched as he retrieves the gift.
“Merry Christmas bro.”
Craven smiles, it’s been awhile since anyone has seen that sincere smile. Slade tears the black and purple wrapping paper away and finds a framed photo. It’s a close up of Stefan Raab’s face, twisted in a horrible expression of pain with big bulging eyes.
“Did you freeze frame the Nutcracker?”
“You bet your ass I did.” Shadow says to Slade.
“Thank you.” Slade remembers that look. Causing Stefan that brief moment of excruciating pain was the brightest moments he had all year. “I mean you come here, after all we’ve been through you pick me up in our baby, and you get me this. Thank you.”
“It was nothing bro. What are friends for?”
Shadow and Slade share a smile. Then Shadow nods to Slade.
“Now buckle up,” Craven does so. “Now let’s go get you some pie.”
Shadow cranks the ignition as the radio comes to life. The music starts to play. The opening rift is strikes its chord. The music is a perfect fit for what’s about to happen. The truck roars as Shadow and Slade both grin maniacally. Outside, the exhaust kicks up. Shadow puts the AKA Truck in gear and presses the peddle to the metal: Back in the Saddle Again!
Okay, which one of you ornery jealous bastards yelled FLUKE!?
Maybe I should explain what I am getting at, since I went back to basics on Stefan Raab and it seemed to work a little bit. In the wrestling academy there is a rule. Whenever someone yells “Fluke” you have to repeat whatever it is you just did in order to prove you really can do it. This usually pertains to a move though, one you’re just learning. However, in this case I get to the back and people are shaking my hand saying “Good fight Slade,” “Well done,” “Nice to see you pull your head out of your ass,” then above it all I hear someone yell “Fluke!” So who was it?
I’m not mad at having to beat Stefan Raab again. No I’m more pissed off someone would think that my victory was just a lucky night. Sure I’ve had my ass handed to me more than the Dallas Cowboys and Detroit Lions combined and if you watch “Craven’s Greatest Moments of 2012” it’s like watching an episode of Jackass, but dammit I told you ass-nozzles I was still kicking.
Apparently Mr. Raab didn’t get the message. He seems to think that the events from two weeks ago were someone else’s fault other than his own. I’ve heard him in the back. Don’t see why he’s bitching, I told him what would happen. I told the crowd what would happen, he just didn’t listen. Nobody ever wants to listen to the “Most Mesmerizing Man in Pro Wrestling.” I understand why too. Just like I understand why Stefan Raab hates the people, the holidays and myself so much: I’m just too damn good looking.
Now perhaps I better address this now, seeing as people are wondering exactly “What in the hell happened last week.” Yarmouth, I will not apologize for smashing you in the head with a steel chair. Shit happens. Hopefully that doesn’t set us at odds this week. I’ll tell you what, this week, if you feel like I owe you something I’ll give you a free shot.
I hear ya’ll out there on the interwebz: “Slade you’re pretty much giving him the opportunity to screw you in favor of Stefan.” Shut up! You think for a second he would put that German jackoff over? Hell no. That’s probably the safest bet ever. Sure Yarmouth may be the fair man and call it down the center; barring Raab doesn’t piss him off first, but to say he would screw me in favor of a man who is vehemently out to bury him? I give Yarmouth more credit than those assholes on the web do.
Stefan Raab, I have a few choice words for you. You seemed to have a comment about me bowing out of the Tap Out title match. I believe your words were “...just as big of a scared bitch as President Jeff.” Was I hearing you correctly; maybe I need my ears cleaned out. Bitch please. I bowed out because I owed the people the courtesy of not making a further ass of myself. Seriously? Nearly nine months and you Raab are the highlight of my year: means I had a pretty shitty year. Let’s review, Tag Title Shot-didn’t earn. Overdrive Title shot- didn’t earn, Heavyweight number one contender’s match- didn’t earn, and after all those losses they are handing me another title match? Maybe it’s all about gold to you flag burning, foreigner hating, Nazi douchebags but to “The Main Man,” it’s about earning your way: a concept that Germany never really got. Just ask Poland.
I know; someone else is probably going to sue me over that comment. Jog off. Stefan Raab, Jog on. Sure they both mean the same thing, but Raab. I’m telling you to get your fat ass on a treadmill and jog on. I really don’t want to carry you through another match. I’m old, like thirty five, my knees might not be able to take it. Oh hell, now you’re going to lock me into another one of your vicious submission moves. Listen up “Das Ass Clown;” if someone can counter your submission move, it’s not very effective! When I was in wrestling school, we had a real submissions expert come in and show us moves that you can’t counter. Maybe you should find yourself a real school rather than those MTV thirteen week seminars that make this business a joke.
You really ought to go back to school too. You’re about as good a wrestler as you are a doctor. Then again, you’re a better wrestler than you are a shit talker. Not by much though. How much morphine were you on before you cut that last promo Raab? You know you can’t be doing drugs and wrestling. You suck enough as is; it’d be like showing up to a show drunk. Is President Jeff making you take a drug test before every show? I have to take a piss test, you should too! I know they’ve been pumping me full of some really awesome anti-psychotics. You should get in on these. Zoloft and Percocet are just tops. They would really take the edge off. Also, when I’m doped up, I think I can finally understand that insane garbled German tongue you call a language. And I’m Scotsman saying that.
You’re right Stefan, there isn’t another person in APW who can run their mouth like you. It’s like listening the Blizzard backwards. Me, I pioneered trash talking. Yeah I may be reliving my glory days but years back people couldn’t cut promos to save their life, then “The Main Man” rolled into town with catch phrases and pushing the envelope. What the hell do you do Stefan? You keep hinting back at the people you really want to fight.
Why do I get the feeling you aren’t too concerned with me? Well probably because you’re too focused on your internal homosexual struggle with pursuing an interracial relationship with Yarmouth. He’s going to be in this match too, you sure you can keep your eyes on the prize?
Oh lord now I’ve done it. He’s going to be staring at Yarmouth’s crotch all night. I know what I said.
Raab, I think I have a better way to keep your attention. I’m bringing friend to the Megashow!
That’s right folks, Shadow will be at ringside. You know what he told me? He said he’d love nothing more than to beat your ass up and down that arena. However, since the match isn’t an Extreme Rules match, he’s there to keep you in line, incase Yarmouth can’t. No offense to the big guy but I don’t trust you any farther than I can throw you, and you a tubby som bitch too.
So where does this leave us Stefan? I mean I could spit out the same slew of insults I did last week. Tell you how pathetic you really are, steal a page out of all my previous opponent’s books and remind you what they did me all those times: That you can’t live up to your threats. Hell I could go so far as to turn you into the state medical board and find some way to get you slapped with a shit load of malpractice suits. Maybe that would take this whole media focus off me. Option three sounds pretty tempting.
Screw that, I’m taking optional Option O. You should remember that one. You made that face when I kicked the field goal on Asylum a few weeks back. By the way, what was everyone’s deal with that? Raab would have done the same to me. You place “The Main Man” in an Extreme Rules match, you cheer when I attempt to fuse a steel chair to Stefan Raab’s face, an improvement mind you. But you get all iffy about me doing something ninety nine percent of the world’s population secretly wants to do? You people better lighten the fuck up, we’re going a lot further than that tonight. Stefan Raab just got tossed to the wolves: Shadow, Yarmouth and myself all within 25 feet Kaiser Kartoffel. There is no scenario in which this works out well for you.
Too bad too. I like to think of myself as a humanitarian. One the other hand, a lot of Germans aren’t considered human. Up there goes my phone, now I’m getting sued again. Guess none of his former patients are still alive to redirect the crowd’s focus.
What’s with you’ll lately? Didn’t “The Main Man” promise to deliver? I know it’s late but better late than never. Plus you guys hate Raab! Why anyone would feel sympathy for a prick like him is beyond me. Maybe it’s because I promised Cleveland a Cliq Kick. Is that what bothered you all? Don’t worry, I’m getting a second chance. Pay close attention and turn the volume way up. If I succeed and deliver such a resounding sweet chin symphony you will hear the audible click of his teeth when my foot connects with his chin. By the way, that’s why I call it the Cliq Kick.
You see moves don’t need to be special. You spent all that time and money on wrestling classes and they just ripped you off. They took what little money you could shell out while under suspension, and they ran off. And you fat ass was so out of shape you couldn’t catch them. Damn aren’t you a smart one. I really should watch my ass tonight.
And I am. Believe me I am. All your talk about the male organ of love has not made me very comfortable. You may try to have sex with me in a very uncomfortable place. Like the backseat of a Volkswagon. I know you own one, all Germans do. Isn’t it a crime to not?
Hence why I’m bringing a little back up tonight. You try going Hand-banana on me and I swear I plan to super glue your asshole shut and force feed you laxatives.
So I just have to ask. What is you game plan tonight? You going to get all red faced and make Stefan’s “Tough Face” or do you plan on finally letting those testicles re-descend so I can kick them back up inside you once more? I’m hoping for option B I really want to encore Slade’s Special Edition of the Nutcracker.
Then, when it’s finally over Stefan. When I prove to everyone I’m not just some Fluke who wins by cheating. I’ll look down on you with a smile. Because Slade Craven is back bitches. Say goodbye to Stefan Raab, hey “Killer” when you get to the hospital later tonight be sure to ask for the “Slade Craven Suite.” It’s pretty sweet, you get a nice private room all to yourself. Perfect for a little bitch like you to cry and as everyone knows “there’s nothing worse than watching a fat man weep.”
Don’t worry I went ahead and send you some baked goods, something to lift your spirits out of the toilet. Sorry Stefan Raab, there can be only one winner tonight and your ass done drew the short straw. Step up Stefan, Slade Craven’s going to knock you out!
