Post by Level-Two on Apr 20, 2008 20:57:55 GMT -4
Rough Kuts (Pre-Show Interview)
Justin Job: Well to be completely honest—I never had to work a day in my life. I was banking on, Gilberts bank basically. His father…he passed away and left Gilbert with a fortune. And un-fortunately, I spent most of his fortune…
(We jump-cut to Gilbert sitting on a chair, being interviewed much like Justin Job. Gilbert Worthy stares into the camera unsure about what to do or say)
Gilbert: …
(We Jump-cut back to Justin Job, who continues on with his pre-show interview)
Justin Job: You know, I rather not go into on what exactly I spent his money on. What did you expect me to buy with his money? I bought food, clothes…and weed. Just a little a bit of hash, hey its 420…Want some?
(And we jump back to Gilbert once again. He looks up in the air eying a fly the buzzes above his head. Gilbert snatches a fly out of the air, before looking into the camera)
Gilbert: …Want some?
(We jump-cut back to Justin Job, who holds bag of weed in his hands. He offers the camera team some, but they refuse. How do you turn a bag full of weed down? It’s like Jesus handing him some juice—you just don’t reply with ‘’no thanks, I’m not thirsty’’ you go the hell for that shit!)
Justin Job: Well me and Gilbert, we have a lot of common. I mean shooting this interview right now, I’m sure were saying the exact same things…we are we?
(And we jump-cut back to Gilbert who decides to eat the fly. He chews on it, before finally talking…But with his mouth full! Where are you manners, damn it!?)
Gilbert: It’s yummy, yummy in my tummy. Good ol’ fly, Gilbert like!
(We jump-cut back to Justin Job looking around wild eyed, on second thought…maybe they don’t have much in common, or anything at all…)
Justin Job: So, uh…Watch the show, it’s coming up next! We promise, only one half—is going to be as dumb as Paris Hilton and a Sabur love child. Where’s the other half you ask? Uh…
Uh…Erm…Where is the damn jump-cut?
(The delayed jump-cut, jumps in. But fuck it, you’re too late now—damn jump cut, I’d break your legs if I could)
Gilbert: ooooh, is that a camera? Am I on T.V? Yay!
(The show starts off with Justin Job & Gilbert sitting on a small tour bus. Out-side the windows, farms and wild life can be seen in a distance. Honestly, it was a new thing for him. I mean he saw chickens, and goats, and even the odd cow…It just wasn’t the same on T.V...Justin Job smiles joyfully)
Justin Job: I can’t wait to get started, Justin—this going to be a blast. We’re going to work on the ranch—and get paid with real cash. Not that old fake monopoly money, we received when we washed your grandmas Ferrari…You knew that money was fake and you didn’t even tell me!
Gilbert: O, sorry Justin. My grandma said not to tell you, or she would ‘’whoop’’ my ass…I don’t like that, Justin.
Justin Job: Fair enough. But the next time you make a deal behind my back—I’m going to whoop your ass, you got that?
(The trailer stops on the side of the road. In a distance there is a red farm house, with cows eating at a nearby pasture)
Justin Job: Uh, what the *Censored* is this *Censored* Why are we stopped at a nearby farm house? Burger king is right up the road from here!
Gilbert: Uh…
Justin Job: Hey, Gilbert! I told you to tell the camera man to choose option 1! We were supposed to work at Burger King and be paid minimum wage!
Gilbert: No, Justin. Option two had animals… I like animals.
Justin Job: Didn’t I just tell your ass to NOT make any deals behind my back? You just shook the hand of the devil—and now your ass better be ready to clean some poop with that hand…Ah, I could strangle your neck right about now.
(The bus door opens, as Justin Job gets up off his seat angrily. Gilbert follows behind, as both steps off the bus. In the barn yard waits a fat redneck hillbilly…That’s what they call them right? Justin Job eyes the man, who cracks his teeth on chewing tobacco)
Hillbilly: Ar, you the two young men that we be helping me and my farm out, today?
Justin Job: Uh, yes we are.
Hillbilly: Alright, listen up you two whipper snappers. My wife is in the kitchen, cooking me up some delicious squirrel. If you want some, you better work your asses of today—or there will be none for you.
(Wait, did he just say…Squirrel? He must have found it roadside or something. Gilbert looks slightly interested in eating it…don’t ask me what the hell is wrong with him…You asked me didn’t you? You thought about it in your head, didn’t you? Look you just thought about it now…You people, piss me off!)
Justin Job: Alright, just tell me what we have to do first.
Hillbilly: Well first, I want to lay down the ground rules. There is to be no homo-sexual behavior with you two going on, or I will blow your head off with a shot-gun.
Justin Job: I ain’t gay—I promise!
Hillbilly: Second, my daughters. They are very nice women, and I do not want you to touch them…Hell don’t even look at them!
(Justin Job’s eyes bulge out of his head, as two blondes at the top of a small porch flashes there tits, which are blurred out by the camera…Ha-ha, suckers I saw them and you didn’t! Her father looks up at the porch, as they quickly pull down there shirts—and wave back at there dad)
Hillbilly: Boy, you just broke rule number two!
(The hillbilly pulls out a desert eagle, before firing shots at Justin Job—who hits the ground. Justin Job shakes in fear for his life, as pee dribbles through his pants onto the floor below)
Hillbilly: Ah, I can’t hate you for breaking rule number 2 can I? I *Censored* my daughters all the time.
(Dirty on so many levels. We’re in need for a commercial…really, really, bad. Oh, and some toilet paper…Anyone?)
Commercial Time!
Singing: Moooooozzer, Milk. Moooooozer, Milk. Take a sip, than take a shit. Look at it, look at it. It has the glow of a cow, and a face of one too!
It’s the new and improved Moooooozer, milk! Do you want to suck ass like Sabur does? Have a glass of Mooooozer, Milk. Guaranteed to kick-in a losing streak, Jason Royce style! Do you want to win, but know you stand no fucking chance? Well who cares—because it tastes great, and that’s all that really matters. Look at what the new up-coming APW star Tara ‘’The Spirit’’ Jacobs had to say!
(A fake Tara Jacobs impersonator appears on the screen—but she could be real, she changes her look every match. Today she’s a Goth freak (last week, she looked like a women’s prison inmate) and she’s staring at the bottle of Moooooozer Milk, tempted to drink some)
F: Tara Jacobs: This drink really does make you a loser, but not if you’re the one drinking it! Last week I snuck into Justin Jobs locker room, and added a hit of Mooooozer Milk—and guess what? He lost his first match. God knows I couldn’t beat him with-out this Mooooozer Milk, because he’s just that damn good. Sabur buddy, you got him next week. You need to use the power of the Moooooozer Milk if you want to survive this week…I don’t know where I’d be with-out it…
…Bottom of the card?...Scraping the bottom of the barrel…Cutting my wrists in a down ward direction…listing to dark heavy metal music…rocking back and forth all alone in my room…I just don’t know.
And that’s why folks you should pick up the Mooooozer Milk today, guaranteed to beat your opponent if you can get them to drink it! Sabur…The overdrive title is waiting for you…buy this milk today!
Mooooozer Milk, the only way you stand a fucking chance!
--
The escapee’s!
(Justin Job and Gilbert are out in the barn. Gilbert is half way crying, as he is forced to stick his hand down the cow’s ass—for some odd reason. It was his fault though. We could have been cooking cow meat, instead of…you know.)
Justin: Hey, Gilbert. I want you to stay in here for a second—scream out my name if that hillbilly comes back.
(Gilbert nod’s his head, as Justin Job heads out his barn. His prize—the hillbilly daughters. This was his favorite part of the show. Paris Hilton used to slut it up, now Justin? He’s going to pimp it up, uh-huh PLAYA PLAYA!)
Justin Job: Hey, ladies. How you doin?
(He got that line from a movie—and thought it would be a good time to use it. He’s pulling out all of the stops…Oh, yes. Because he wants some, tonight!)
Girl #1: Hi, there.
Girl #2: Hehe, Ashley—I told you if we flashed him, we’d catch his eye. My name is Trisha
Justin Job: Hey, you caught my eye—both of my eyes! Your boobs…they caught me a boner.…
Ashley: Well, I guess it worked out then—didn’t it?
Trisha: It was right where we were aiming for.
Justin Job: Pfft…You got good aim…Nice, aim. Let’s *Censored*
(The two girls laugh, as Justin wraps his arms around them and begins to walk away. Yes, he’s done it! Light up a blunt, and celebrate—Justin Job is the master pimp of all pimps! He takes them to a nearby woodshed—a man needs his privacy!)
Justin Job: Girls, do you want to do it in here?
Ashley: Uh, no. That’s not a good place.
Trisha: No, not at all.
Justin Job: What does your father keep dead bodies in there or something, let me check it out.
(The girls scream in horror as Justin Job opens the lock. Inside, there’s about 10 African American men—and there all looking at Justin Job. The black men, immediately get to there feet and charge there way out of the barn)
Gilbert (far away): Justin—Hillbilly man is coming!
Justin (yelling back): Well get your *censored* ass over here!
(From the barn Gilbert takes of running, listening to Justin Job’s orders. The hillbilly runs out through the barn yard to see the men running off through thick bushes. The hillbilly starts firing shots at them, missing them in the process. Gilbert catches up to Justin, as they run away in the same direction)
Hillbilly: No! Those *Censored* ran away! Run-away *Censored* Where going to be in so much trouble!
Ashley: Daddy…Let’s fuck.
Hillbilly: Well I’m going to jail anyways.
(The hillbilly extends his hands, and embrace a hug with his daughters. Far away Justin Job and the black men, breathe heavily as they’ve escaped the barn yard)
Justin Job: I’m…Very disappointed with this show. It’s racist, and it’s living of stero-types like totally!
(Justin Job looks at the black folks, wild eyed and worried)
Justin Job: …Your not going to rob me now, are you?
(We re-open to the Job Squad accompanied by the 10 African American escapees’. They sit by a camp fire—enjoying there new freedom. Although the show was a failure in terms of them not getting a pay check…but they got much more. They helped men and need, and that is worth more than anything. Plus, they make some cool back round music—to shoot my promo!)
Sabur. It’s me and you one on one, this overdrive. It’s about time management has thrown me a male competitor—even if it’s a big old pussy like you. Hey big old pussy, close your mouth—because your about to get fucked!
You want to talk all this shit claiming I’m a jobber and what not? It’s cool. I know the term associated with our name, and it’s fine. Because according to that term, a jobber is someone who can’t win a match. It’s someone who basically lays down for there competitor—to make the winner seem a bit more important. Considering, you’re not very important at all, maybe I should just lie down for the three count?
Nah, it ain’t going to be that easy—I’m going to make you work for it. Maybe, I’ll pull out my ‘’Jobber’’ quality and make you look good, maybe I’ll make you seem important. Maybe I’ll finally kick your ass into the for-front instead of just hanging around in the background, somewhere. You beating this ‘’Jobber’’ is the only shot you’ve got of making yourself a house hold name around, APW.
Pack your bags, tuck your little dick in your pants—and roll on home to the barn-yard, because you stand no chance in hell on coming out with this victory. I won this title, and I plan on keeping it around my waist a little bit longer. Hell, I plan on keeping this belt—until I decide to drop it on my chase for the World Heavyweight title. Maybe when I leave, you’ll pick up where I left off from?
Maybe I’ll toss it onto the streets, and you can search the dirt and garbage to find this trinket? Maybe I’ll throw it into the crowd during one of my matches, and you can be my lucky fan that just so happens to catch it. Maybe I can bend over and you can kiss my ass, and I’ll bitch slap you a few times—and tell you no fucking way. Reminding you about the time you talked all that shit about Justin Job with-out backing a word up.
Mr. Nail, your fucking screwed. And I’m about to bring the burning hammer right down on your fucking face—fucking up your facial features even further! This ain’t no dating game, you big pussy! This isn’t a match made in heaven. This isn’t a once in a life time battle between great talents.
It’s me, and it’s you. And it speaks for itself. I’m the champion, your not. I’m great, you suck. I am Justin fucking Job, and you’re Sabur—I laugh in your direction, and pity to attempts to be something, anything worthy.
The fans, the people—they all love me. You couldn’t get a fan on your side cheering your name, if the arena was burning on fire because Gilbert turned the heat up by mistake. I have every fan in the arena—wanting me to kick you ass, and send you back from where you came. I don’t know I think Hurricane Jeff was pulling talent from cereal boxes or milk containers—and came upon a picture of your face. Wow, look at that—he’s one ugly fucker. Maybe we’ll give him a job—so Hurricane Jeff himself could actually good in comparison.
Sabur make no mistake about it—I’m coming 100% correct. I’m speaking nothing but truth, and my title rein will prove to be nothing but success! Sabur, you can do one of two things. You can swim in your favor, or you can drown in it! You ass is simply to fat to float.
Take your cake, bake it, and eat it. Don’t forget to wipe the chocolate from your lips, because it looks like your eating my shit…again! Get your head out the toilet bowl, because the other dogs are thirsty. Praying, and waiting for there chance to step in the ring with, Justin Job—THE GREAT ONE!
It’s 420 boy, and come overdrive to put it every BLUNTLY—you’re going to be smoked!
Justin Job: Well to be completely honest—I never had to work a day in my life. I was banking on, Gilberts bank basically. His father…he passed away and left Gilbert with a fortune. And un-fortunately, I spent most of his fortune…
(We jump-cut to Gilbert sitting on a chair, being interviewed much like Justin Job. Gilbert Worthy stares into the camera unsure about what to do or say)
Gilbert: …
(We Jump-cut back to Justin Job, who continues on with his pre-show interview)
Justin Job: You know, I rather not go into on what exactly I spent his money on. What did you expect me to buy with his money? I bought food, clothes…and weed. Just a little a bit of hash, hey its 420…Want some?
(And we jump back to Gilbert once again. He looks up in the air eying a fly the buzzes above his head. Gilbert snatches a fly out of the air, before looking into the camera)
Gilbert: …Want some?
(We jump-cut back to Justin Job, who holds bag of weed in his hands. He offers the camera team some, but they refuse. How do you turn a bag full of weed down? It’s like Jesus handing him some juice—you just don’t reply with ‘’no thanks, I’m not thirsty’’ you go the hell for that shit!)
Justin Job: Well me and Gilbert, we have a lot of common. I mean shooting this interview right now, I’m sure were saying the exact same things…we are we?
(And we jump-cut back to Gilbert who decides to eat the fly. He chews on it, before finally talking…But with his mouth full! Where are you manners, damn it!?)
Gilbert: It’s yummy, yummy in my tummy. Good ol’ fly, Gilbert like!
(We jump-cut back to Justin Job looking around wild eyed, on second thought…maybe they don’t have much in common, or anything at all…)
Justin Job: So, uh…Watch the show, it’s coming up next! We promise, only one half—is going to be as dumb as Paris Hilton and a Sabur love child. Where’s the other half you ask? Uh…
Uh…Erm…Where is the damn jump-cut?
(The delayed jump-cut, jumps in. But fuck it, you’re too late now—damn jump cut, I’d break your legs if I could)
Gilbert: ooooh, is that a camera? Am I on T.V? Yay!
(The show starts off with Justin Job & Gilbert sitting on a small tour bus. Out-side the windows, farms and wild life can be seen in a distance. Honestly, it was a new thing for him. I mean he saw chickens, and goats, and even the odd cow…It just wasn’t the same on T.V...Justin Job smiles joyfully)
Justin Job: I can’t wait to get started, Justin—this going to be a blast. We’re going to work on the ranch—and get paid with real cash. Not that old fake monopoly money, we received when we washed your grandmas Ferrari…You knew that money was fake and you didn’t even tell me!
Gilbert: O, sorry Justin. My grandma said not to tell you, or she would ‘’whoop’’ my ass…I don’t like that, Justin.
Justin Job: Fair enough. But the next time you make a deal behind my back—I’m going to whoop your ass, you got that?
(The trailer stops on the side of the road. In a distance there is a red farm house, with cows eating at a nearby pasture)
Justin Job: Uh, what the *Censored* is this *Censored* Why are we stopped at a nearby farm house? Burger king is right up the road from here!
Gilbert: Uh…
Justin Job: Hey, Gilbert! I told you to tell the camera man to choose option 1! We were supposed to work at Burger King and be paid minimum wage!
Gilbert: No, Justin. Option two had animals… I like animals.
Justin Job: Didn’t I just tell your ass to NOT make any deals behind my back? You just shook the hand of the devil—and now your ass better be ready to clean some poop with that hand…Ah, I could strangle your neck right about now.
(The bus door opens, as Justin Job gets up off his seat angrily. Gilbert follows behind, as both steps off the bus. In the barn yard waits a fat redneck hillbilly…That’s what they call them right? Justin Job eyes the man, who cracks his teeth on chewing tobacco)
Hillbilly: Ar, you the two young men that we be helping me and my farm out, today?
Justin Job: Uh, yes we are.
Hillbilly: Alright, listen up you two whipper snappers. My wife is in the kitchen, cooking me up some delicious squirrel. If you want some, you better work your asses of today—or there will be none for you.
(Wait, did he just say…Squirrel? He must have found it roadside or something. Gilbert looks slightly interested in eating it…don’t ask me what the hell is wrong with him…You asked me didn’t you? You thought about it in your head, didn’t you? Look you just thought about it now…You people, piss me off!)
Justin Job: Alright, just tell me what we have to do first.
Hillbilly: Well first, I want to lay down the ground rules. There is to be no homo-sexual behavior with you two going on, or I will blow your head off with a shot-gun.
Justin Job: I ain’t gay—I promise!
Hillbilly: Second, my daughters. They are very nice women, and I do not want you to touch them…Hell don’t even look at them!
(Justin Job’s eyes bulge out of his head, as two blondes at the top of a small porch flashes there tits, which are blurred out by the camera…Ha-ha, suckers I saw them and you didn’t! Her father looks up at the porch, as they quickly pull down there shirts—and wave back at there dad)
Hillbilly: Boy, you just broke rule number two!
(The hillbilly pulls out a desert eagle, before firing shots at Justin Job—who hits the ground. Justin Job shakes in fear for his life, as pee dribbles through his pants onto the floor below)
Hillbilly: Ah, I can’t hate you for breaking rule number 2 can I? I *Censored* my daughters all the time.
(Dirty on so many levels. We’re in need for a commercial…really, really, bad. Oh, and some toilet paper…Anyone?)
Commercial Time!
Singing: Moooooozzer, Milk. Moooooozer, Milk. Take a sip, than take a shit. Look at it, look at it. It has the glow of a cow, and a face of one too!
It’s the new and improved Moooooozer, milk! Do you want to suck ass like Sabur does? Have a glass of Mooooozer, Milk. Guaranteed to kick-in a losing streak, Jason Royce style! Do you want to win, but know you stand no fucking chance? Well who cares—because it tastes great, and that’s all that really matters. Look at what the new up-coming APW star Tara ‘’The Spirit’’ Jacobs had to say!
(A fake Tara Jacobs impersonator appears on the screen—but she could be real, she changes her look every match. Today she’s a Goth freak (last week, she looked like a women’s prison inmate) and she’s staring at the bottle of Moooooozer Milk, tempted to drink some)
F: Tara Jacobs: This drink really does make you a loser, but not if you’re the one drinking it! Last week I snuck into Justin Jobs locker room, and added a hit of Mooooozer Milk—and guess what? He lost his first match. God knows I couldn’t beat him with-out this Mooooozer Milk, because he’s just that damn good. Sabur buddy, you got him next week. You need to use the power of the Moooooozer Milk if you want to survive this week…I don’t know where I’d be with-out it…
…Bottom of the card?...Scraping the bottom of the barrel…Cutting my wrists in a down ward direction…listing to dark heavy metal music…rocking back and forth all alone in my room…I just don’t know.
And that’s why folks you should pick up the Mooooozer Milk today, guaranteed to beat your opponent if you can get them to drink it! Sabur…The overdrive title is waiting for you…buy this milk today!
Mooooozer Milk, the only way you stand a fucking chance!
--
The escapee’s!
(Justin Job and Gilbert are out in the barn. Gilbert is half way crying, as he is forced to stick his hand down the cow’s ass—for some odd reason. It was his fault though. We could have been cooking cow meat, instead of…you know.)
Justin: Hey, Gilbert. I want you to stay in here for a second—scream out my name if that hillbilly comes back.
(Gilbert nod’s his head, as Justin Job heads out his barn. His prize—the hillbilly daughters. This was his favorite part of the show. Paris Hilton used to slut it up, now Justin? He’s going to pimp it up, uh-huh PLAYA PLAYA!)
Justin Job: Hey, ladies. How you doin?
(He got that line from a movie—and thought it would be a good time to use it. He’s pulling out all of the stops…Oh, yes. Because he wants some, tonight!)
Girl #1: Hi, there.
Girl #2: Hehe, Ashley—I told you if we flashed him, we’d catch his eye. My name is Trisha
Justin Job: Hey, you caught my eye—both of my eyes! Your boobs…they caught me a boner.…
Ashley: Well, I guess it worked out then—didn’t it?
Trisha: It was right where we were aiming for.
Justin Job: Pfft…You got good aim…Nice, aim. Let’s *Censored*
(The two girls laugh, as Justin wraps his arms around them and begins to walk away. Yes, he’s done it! Light up a blunt, and celebrate—Justin Job is the master pimp of all pimps! He takes them to a nearby woodshed—a man needs his privacy!)
Justin Job: Girls, do you want to do it in here?
Ashley: Uh, no. That’s not a good place.
Trisha: No, not at all.
Justin Job: What does your father keep dead bodies in there or something, let me check it out.
(The girls scream in horror as Justin Job opens the lock. Inside, there’s about 10 African American men—and there all looking at Justin Job. The black men, immediately get to there feet and charge there way out of the barn)
Gilbert (far away): Justin—Hillbilly man is coming!
Justin (yelling back): Well get your *censored* ass over here!
(From the barn Gilbert takes of running, listening to Justin Job’s orders. The hillbilly runs out through the barn yard to see the men running off through thick bushes. The hillbilly starts firing shots at them, missing them in the process. Gilbert catches up to Justin, as they run away in the same direction)
Hillbilly: No! Those *Censored* ran away! Run-away *Censored* Where going to be in so much trouble!
Ashley: Daddy…Let’s fuck.
Hillbilly: Well I’m going to jail anyways.
(The hillbilly extends his hands, and embrace a hug with his daughters. Far away Justin Job and the black men, breathe heavily as they’ve escaped the barn yard)
Justin Job: I’m…Very disappointed with this show. It’s racist, and it’s living of stero-types like totally!
(Justin Job looks at the black folks, wild eyed and worried)
Justin Job: …Your not going to rob me now, are you?
(We re-open to the Job Squad accompanied by the 10 African American escapees’. They sit by a camp fire—enjoying there new freedom. Although the show was a failure in terms of them not getting a pay check…but they got much more. They helped men and need, and that is worth more than anything. Plus, they make some cool back round music—to shoot my promo!)
Sabur. It’s me and you one on one, this overdrive. It’s about time management has thrown me a male competitor—even if it’s a big old pussy like you. Hey big old pussy, close your mouth—because your about to get fucked!
You want to talk all this shit claiming I’m a jobber and what not? It’s cool. I know the term associated with our name, and it’s fine. Because according to that term, a jobber is someone who can’t win a match. It’s someone who basically lays down for there competitor—to make the winner seem a bit more important. Considering, you’re not very important at all, maybe I should just lie down for the three count?
Nah, it ain’t going to be that easy—I’m going to make you work for it. Maybe, I’ll pull out my ‘’Jobber’’ quality and make you look good, maybe I’ll make you seem important. Maybe I’ll finally kick your ass into the for-front instead of just hanging around in the background, somewhere. You beating this ‘’Jobber’’ is the only shot you’ve got of making yourself a house hold name around, APW.
Pack your bags, tuck your little dick in your pants—and roll on home to the barn-yard, because you stand no chance in hell on coming out with this victory. I won this title, and I plan on keeping it around my waist a little bit longer. Hell, I plan on keeping this belt—until I decide to drop it on my chase for the World Heavyweight title. Maybe when I leave, you’ll pick up where I left off from?
Maybe I’ll toss it onto the streets, and you can search the dirt and garbage to find this trinket? Maybe I’ll throw it into the crowd during one of my matches, and you can be my lucky fan that just so happens to catch it. Maybe I can bend over and you can kiss my ass, and I’ll bitch slap you a few times—and tell you no fucking way. Reminding you about the time you talked all that shit about Justin Job with-out backing a word up.
Mr. Nail, your fucking screwed. And I’m about to bring the burning hammer right down on your fucking face—fucking up your facial features even further! This ain’t no dating game, you big pussy! This isn’t a match made in heaven. This isn’t a once in a life time battle between great talents.
It’s me, and it’s you. And it speaks for itself. I’m the champion, your not. I’m great, you suck. I am Justin fucking Job, and you’re Sabur—I laugh in your direction, and pity to attempts to be something, anything worthy.
The fans, the people—they all love me. You couldn’t get a fan on your side cheering your name, if the arena was burning on fire because Gilbert turned the heat up by mistake. I have every fan in the arena—wanting me to kick you ass, and send you back from where you came. I don’t know I think Hurricane Jeff was pulling talent from cereal boxes or milk containers—and came upon a picture of your face. Wow, look at that—he’s one ugly fucker. Maybe we’ll give him a job—so Hurricane Jeff himself could actually good in comparison.
Sabur make no mistake about it—I’m coming 100% correct. I’m speaking nothing but truth, and my title rein will prove to be nothing but success! Sabur, you can do one of two things. You can swim in your favor, or you can drown in it! You ass is simply to fat to float.
Take your cake, bake it, and eat it. Don’t forget to wipe the chocolate from your lips, because it looks like your eating my shit…again! Get your head out the toilet bowl, because the other dogs are thirsty. Praying, and waiting for there chance to step in the ring with, Justin Job—THE GREAT ONE!
It’s 420 boy, and come overdrive to put it every BLUNTLY—you’re going to be smoked!
