Post by Kid Cannabis on Apr 14, 2009 22:12:10 GMT -4
Hey, Jimbo. C'mon, man. Open the door!
Atlanta, Georgia. The house of former EWC Undisputed Champion James Chambers. Once a stately manor, now the place looks like it should have a dog kennel in the back devoted to breeding fighting pitbulls.
Grass growing up to his knees. Transmissions and broken refridgerators strewn all over the yard. The shit was repugnant.
From inside....
Go away, Mike. I don't ever wanna see you again. You suck. You fucking suck!!
Oh, great. He's still pissed about the house nigga skit.
Undaunted, the doorbell rings again.
I said fuck off, muthafucka! You ruined my life!
Ah, c'mon, you fat bast....er....
Hey guy, I'm your buddy, remember? Plus....I BOUGHT POPEYES!!
The door opens, and Jimbo pops up, looking like Kimbo Slice on a two year long whiskey binge. Bathrobe soiled with beer and Cheetos dust and....
I don't even wanna speculate what the hell that blotch on his collar is.
Long story short....he looks like fried horseshit!
You wouldn't have happened to have brought some red beans a rice....
You didn't bring SHIT, did you?
Just me, my man!
Ladies and gentlemen, the glorious return of.....
KID CANNABIS! International Wrestling Sensation and the man who invented Band Aids, standing right in front of Jimbo's door, smiling, looking like a millon bucks.
My nigga. Good to see you again. How you been?
How I've been? HOW I"VE BEEN??!
My career is over! The IRS siezed all my assests except this dump! My wife and kids left me! Thanks to you, everybody calls me fat and expects me to talk like fucking Chicken George from Roots. You almost got my sidekick Biff killed with that Marcy Projects gag! I"M A FULL BLOWN ALOCHOLIC AND INTERNET PORN ADDICT!
How the FUCK do you think I feel?
Hey, you're not the only one with problems....
Says Cannabis as he adjusts his chinchilah fur coat and waives at the Swedish Bikini Models making out in his 2010 Astin Martin.
I had to settle for leather seats in that bitch instead of real Nile crocodile hide! Can you believe that shit? Next thing you'll tell me, I can only get 20lbs of panda bear meat instead of 30 every month!
Pfft! You think you got problems, nigga!
Jimbo just shakes his head and lets him in. Cannabis makes sure to deftly dodge the empty whiskey bottles and past due notices piling up in his hallway.
Yeah, I heard you signed on with Jeff's company. Fucking Danny Mac had to ruin a good thing.
Eh, shit happens. I was just glad the checks cleared. He could've spent all the money on Molson's and Ryan Reynolds memoribilia on eBay!
But what happened to you, man? Fuck, you used to be a muthafuckin' Heavyweight Champion. Now I'm expecting Lamott to come in here and tell you your latest scheme to get rich is gonna fail.
....
Still using references these kids aren't going to get, are you?
I can only hope. You know, we deal with cats that think 43 minute promos are art and Shinedown's a good band. I gotta stand out somehow.
Can sprays the hell out of Jame's couch with Lysol before he sits down.
You didn't answer my question, fat boy. Why'd you quit the biz?
Huh....
It got be too much.
Shit, man, we were gone, what, 300, 330 days a year? On tour all the fucking time. Saw my wife like what, 5, 6 times a year? I had to watch my kids grow up over fucking email.
Busted my ass to become a champion, then dudes like Shadow Man or Goth just swooped in and bitched their way to the top spot. Then they threw dudes like Link and Level One under the bus because they weren't buddies with management.
I got sick of it man! I didn't come into wrestling for that. I came in to be a competitor. To be the best in the sport. To show the world what James Chambers is all about in that ring...
....
Nigga, are you even paying attention?
Yeah, Jim, I like sushi, too. Now be quiet, RoboCop's coming on...
Chambers gets pissed and slaps the remote out of Cannabis's hands.
Hey look, I came here to offer you a job opportunity. A cahnce to get back in the ring and back in the picture. I need a manager. I need a cat, big, Debo looking, scares small children, good with numbers and will promote me and direct all those loose ringrats to my hotel room after the show. I need a nigga I can trust. And you.....
Need to redeem myself? Get back on my feet? Continue to legacy of the Beast?
Can slaps him upside the head.
No, Negro Pilsbury Doughboy! Your ass needs to get a job and start paying child support. Between being a deadbeat dad and the drinking, you're one incident of whipping your dick out before you become the black Jake "The Snake" Roberts! And Mickey Rourke ain't got enough Bolivian Botox to look like your big bloated self in the movie!
James nods in agreement and gets motivated.
You're right. As head of AK Productions, I'ma do my best to promote you as pound for pound the best fighter on the planet. By the time we're done, everybody's gonna remember why you're the best again. But we need to get ready, I'm sure your big debut match is going to be a tough fight....
I'm on the card against John Green this week.
James does a spit take with his Jack Daniels and laughs his freaking ass off!
Ol' Frankennoses's goofy, no showing Cookie Monster ass?
Yeah, seems like he's also a former APW World Champ too.
You're just fucking with me because I'm drunk and depressed, right?
Hey, what can I say? Ben Affleck has a muthafuckin' Oscar. Any moron can apparently win gold.
So, how are you gonna handle this week?
Both look into the camera and smirk.
Time to hop into the Delorean, McFly and set the flux capacitator to.....
The good ol' House Show the night before Overdrive, and just in case you're a nimord, they really don't have a time traveling Delorean. We're on a tape delay. But I digress. And the fans are hyped once the theme music hits the P.A. and the pyro goes off and they see the boy....
Kid Cannabis, Wonderful Human Being and the man John Green's mom wishes she gave birth to, march down the ring.
Styling. Profiling. Looking flyer than an F-22 in his suit and the Rolex, looking like a professional.
Can jumps up on the apron, enters the ring, and snaps his fingers to let the ring attendant know it's time to give Dad the mic and let him do what he does best...
Rip dudes a new one before he even lays a hand on him.
Before he starts, he lights a blunt, inhales deep, gets his mojo back and...
Whoever said progress was a slow process,
Never met the Kid....Cannabis!
They say I walk around like I got an "S" on my chest,
With an Incredible Hulk swagger and a pound of cest.
Lot of niggas jack their jaws about being the best
Compared to me, you're just the rest
So put your cookie cutter shit talk to rest,
Or else, you end the evening with a fist stuck in your breast!
Poetry.
You goddamn right, narrator. I make this shit look like Picasso.
First off, shout out to Jeffy and the APW staff for letting their doors open to former EWC cats. I'm digging this, this place is like a shelter for dudes fucked over by that conniving bald headed fuck from Canada.
I see a lot of old faces on this roster. Dudes I know. Dudes I fought. Shit, me and L.O.....
Had a lot of wars with that cat over there in that place. Lots of memorable moments....
Lots of blood spilt in rings all over the world.
Link here, too. Still batshit in your bushes buck nekkid wielding a knife crazy. I just have to ask you something, Benecio del Bore-o....
After watching your Rasslemania shoot, when the FUCK did Capcom start sponsoring your gimmick? I mean shit....
Killer Seven? The hell?
What next, you gonna fight zombies engineered by the Umbrella Corporation then train with Ryu to do the Hadouken?
Nigga, you're not all there, but it's all good.
These cats, I know what they're about, they haven't changed their styles, I know what they're capable of.
And then, I had to see some Twilight Zone shit with John fucking Green the other day that made me wonder if when I signed that contract, I ended up teleported to some weird alternate universe where black is white, up is down, and Miley Cyrus isn't stinking up our airwaives with her narrow, kareoke level talent having ass.
Because I found out, John Green, is a former fucking Heavyweight Champion here!
He gasps in shock, along with half the audience in the arena.
Rearry? Is that it to this Earth 2, or am I also gonna have to fight Bizarro Superman to save Lois Lane here, too? Damn, that fucked a nigga up.
John Green....Heavyweight Champion....
Wow....just....WOW!
He just can't believe it.
Are you sure that just ain't some shit Astin Kutcher and MTV cooked up to fuck with me? For real? This dopey Jean Leveuque looking nigga's got Heavyweight hardware on his resume?
Okay, so, yeah, I figure, maybe I got ol' Frankennose all twisted up. Maybe this ain't the same cat who used to be a running joke in the E. Maybe, this dude's got some super secret game he kept stashed in his closet he didn't break out until it was an emergency.
Maybe, he learned to develop subtlties like charisma, ring strategy, and continuity in his shoots during all those times he no showed every over match he was booked during his days in MY fed.
Maybe, just maybe, this muthafucka was what he kept trying to say he was.
But then, I watched his last shoot (took me four tries and a case of No-Doz, but I DID watch it) and thankfully....
Nope. Nigga's still moronic dogshit on the mic. So, the natural order of nature's still intact, folks. Sorry to scare you like that.
Everybody in the crowd has a nice laugh at John's expense.
I had to sit through that whole promo....
The rambling ass, non-continuity having, cookie cutter 39 minute waste of my life that I will never get back to doing more important shit like washing my fucking socks, listened to every syllable coming out of that plaque infested mouth of yours, every line of shit spewing out of your gums like a busted sewer pipe, and I had only one thought afterwards...
Damn Johnny....cocaine's a HELLUVA drug, ain't it?!
The Kid is on fire tonight.
You are snorting some shit, boy! I mean, the monkier "Retribution Killer"...
How many muthafuckin' 8-balls did you have to shove up those manhole sized nostrils attached to that big, crooked, blemished, Toucan Sam sized moustache canopy you call a fucking nose before that lame ass nickname even started to remotely make sense, let alone, sound fucking intimidating?
"Retribution Killer" sounds like some shit some pissed off 17 year old came up for his main character in his fan fiction stories he wrote in the back of the classroom when he wasn't busy carving Swastikas on his desk.
Next time you come up with a nickname, take more than your usual 3 seconds to process rational thinking to come up with some shit that makes fucking sense!
Damn! And dudes wonder why I smoke so much damn weed. Deal with this shit for a month....
He stops to take another puff and gather his thoughts.
And get this, that whole hour it took numbnutts to spit his shit, all that time meandering through material nobody gives a shit about, what was the payoff?
What was the grand prize for millions of people wasting their lunch hours YouTubing your cut on the company computer? What was the grand revelation you just had to waste all that oxygen that would enlighten the masses?
Survey says....
That you're Billy Badass unstoppable killing machine, and I'm a weed smoking moron!
A midcarder to boot! and....*pfft*....
You.....*giggles*...are gonna.....*can't stop giggling*
Carry the match!
......
BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
.....
Okay, I'm good.....
BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Dude, the real reason I was booked in this match is because management figured out your promos induce narcolepsy in people, and I was the only cure for it! We didn't want to tell you this because it'd hurt your feelings and you'd blog about it while listening to Snow Patrol, but now it's real talk time.
And Real Talk is, you wanna play the midcarder card on me? You really, REALLY do, Jenny?
Okay. Where do I begin? Hmmmm....
Man, so many options with you, so little time....
Okay, how about this?
How about a couple of years ago when we both made our big PPV debuts in E-Dub, you ended the evening crying in your beer backstage because you got bounced faster than a bad check from the Insanity Cage while I ended the night winning the motherfucker?
Or, how about when I was main eventing shows with Level One and guys like Rev and Chambers week after week for nearly three months straight, your ass was on the website making excuses about not making the booking and practically begging the boss not to fire you time and time again because of your flaky attendance record?
Or, when I was busy rocking out with 2 HCW World Titles and single handedly carrying that fed from bingo halls and gymnasiums in podunk towns to HBO deals and PPV's, your monkey ass was curtain jerking in piss break matches.
Hell, I can even go more recent and in this territory....
How about I'm facing a cat who got his balls handed to him not once but TWICE in the biggest stage this promotion has to offer, and all those months of grinding it here, I catch up to your spot in less than two weeks and didn't even have to wrestle a single freakin' match?
Or your whole steez is ripped off from some cat that works up in Stamford and has to pump the owner's sea cow of a daughter to win matches?
Nigga, is this shit starting to calculate in your brain? Are you starting to re-realize what the fuck you have to deal with again? DId you forget who exactly I was and what I can do to your fragile little self esteem for coming at me like some sugar addled 5 year old?
Fuck it, you know what? You pissed me off. I don't expect shit from anybody in any fed except for a good fight and a little respect and common sense, but I'm seeing right now I'm not gonna get one bit of that from you, Elephant Man.
So, you official lost your nicknaming privildges, punk. Seeing you still rocking out like that curtain jerking mental midget that couldn't accomplish jack shit anywhere else despite supposedly being a World Class Champion here has reminded me you still need to be put in your place.
So, Retribution Killer, kiss that bullshit goodbye. You are now officially....
THIS cat!
Cannabis points to the Tron, and this image pops up to the delight of everybody!
That's right, bitch. You're official APW's version of the fucking Cookie Monster!
A puffed up, blowhard, nonsensical noise making imaginary beast who sounds like a deranged murderous mutant, but when you start examining what this thing is really like, just like the real thing, it's fake, it's got a hand up his ass propping him up, and a bloodstream full of nothing but sugar and with a game so primitive and elementary it should be on Sesame Street!
This verbal beatdown brought to you by the letters K, C, and the number 8, the number of hours it'll take the doctors to surgically remove my boot from the crack of your ass!
Jenny, you're not built to fuck with me! Your whole image and strategy is so manufactured, you might as well have had a serial number stamped on the back of your head, because I break units like you on a regular basis!
You weren't built to fuck with me, and you never will be. Because despite what you did here before I came, you are still that one note stalled out on a midcard hamster wheel little rodent putz the rest of us who did shit laughed at all the damn time!
You've got no weapons in your arsenal to beat me, no original course of attack with me, and no heart whatsoever.
And if you do have a heart, Triple HHH, Jr., believe me....
Cannabis cracks his knuckles.
At Overdrive, I'm gonna One Hitter Quitter that motherfucker straight out of your chest!
Cannabis throws the mic off to the side while the crowds cheers, slides out of the ring and out of the arena, and we end the party with these words.
(Smoke Out!)
Atlanta, Georgia. The house of former EWC Undisputed Champion James Chambers. Once a stately manor, now the place looks like it should have a dog kennel in the back devoted to breeding fighting pitbulls.
Grass growing up to his knees. Transmissions and broken refridgerators strewn all over the yard. The shit was repugnant.
From inside....
Go away, Mike. I don't ever wanna see you again. You suck. You fucking suck!!
Oh, great. He's still pissed about the house nigga skit.
Undaunted, the doorbell rings again.
I said fuck off, muthafucka! You ruined my life!
Ah, c'mon, you fat bast....er....
Hey guy, I'm your buddy, remember? Plus....I BOUGHT POPEYES!!
The door opens, and Jimbo pops up, looking like Kimbo Slice on a two year long whiskey binge. Bathrobe soiled with beer and Cheetos dust and....
I don't even wanna speculate what the hell that blotch on his collar is.
Long story short....he looks like fried horseshit!
You wouldn't have happened to have brought some red beans a rice....
You didn't bring SHIT, did you?
Just me, my man!
Ladies and gentlemen, the glorious return of.....
KID CANNABIS! International Wrestling Sensation and the man who invented Band Aids, standing right in front of Jimbo's door, smiling, looking like a millon bucks.
My nigga. Good to see you again. How you been?
How I've been? HOW I"VE BEEN??!
My career is over! The IRS siezed all my assests except this dump! My wife and kids left me! Thanks to you, everybody calls me fat and expects me to talk like fucking Chicken George from Roots. You almost got my sidekick Biff killed with that Marcy Projects gag! I"M A FULL BLOWN ALOCHOLIC AND INTERNET PORN ADDICT!
How the FUCK do you think I feel?
Hey, you're not the only one with problems....
Says Cannabis as he adjusts his chinchilah fur coat and waives at the Swedish Bikini Models making out in his 2010 Astin Martin.
I had to settle for leather seats in that bitch instead of real Nile crocodile hide! Can you believe that shit? Next thing you'll tell me, I can only get 20lbs of panda bear meat instead of 30 every month!
Pfft! You think you got problems, nigga!
Jimbo just shakes his head and lets him in. Cannabis makes sure to deftly dodge the empty whiskey bottles and past due notices piling up in his hallway.
Yeah, I heard you signed on with Jeff's company. Fucking Danny Mac had to ruin a good thing.
Eh, shit happens. I was just glad the checks cleared. He could've spent all the money on Molson's and Ryan Reynolds memoribilia on eBay!
But what happened to you, man? Fuck, you used to be a muthafuckin' Heavyweight Champion. Now I'm expecting Lamott to come in here and tell you your latest scheme to get rich is gonna fail.
....
Still using references these kids aren't going to get, are you?
I can only hope. You know, we deal with cats that think 43 minute promos are art and Shinedown's a good band. I gotta stand out somehow.
Can sprays the hell out of Jame's couch with Lysol before he sits down.
You didn't answer my question, fat boy. Why'd you quit the biz?
Huh....
It got be too much.
Shit, man, we were gone, what, 300, 330 days a year? On tour all the fucking time. Saw my wife like what, 5, 6 times a year? I had to watch my kids grow up over fucking email.
Busted my ass to become a champion, then dudes like Shadow Man or Goth just swooped in and bitched their way to the top spot. Then they threw dudes like Link and Level One under the bus because they weren't buddies with management.
I got sick of it man! I didn't come into wrestling for that. I came in to be a competitor. To be the best in the sport. To show the world what James Chambers is all about in that ring...
....
Nigga, are you even paying attention?
Yeah, Jim, I like sushi, too. Now be quiet, RoboCop's coming on...
Chambers gets pissed and slaps the remote out of Cannabis's hands.
Hey look, I came here to offer you a job opportunity. A cahnce to get back in the ring and back in the picture. I need a manager. I need a cat, big, Debo looking, scares small children, good with numbers and will promote me and direct all those loose ringrats to my hotel room after the show. I need a nigga I can trust. And you.....
Need to redeem myself? Get back on my feet? Continue to legacy of the Beast?
Can slaps him upside the head.
No, Negro Pilsbury Doughboy! Your ass needs to get a job and start paying child support. Between being a deadbeat dad and the drinking, you're one incident of whipping your dick out before you become the black Jake "The Snake" Roberts! And Mickey Rourke ain't got enough Bolivian Botox to look like your big bloated self in the movie!
James nods in agreement and gets motivated.
You're right. As head of AK Productions, I'ma do my best to promote you as pound for pound the best fighter on the planet. By the time we're done, everybody's gonna remember why you're the best again. But we need to get ready, I'm sure your big debut match is going to be a tough fight....
I'm on the card against John Green this week.
James does a spit take with his Jack Daniels and laughs his freaking ass off!
Ol' Frankennoses's goofy, no showing Cookie Monster ass?
Yeah, seems like he's also a former APW World Champ too.
You're just fucking with me because I'm drunk and depressed, right?
Hey, what can I say? Ben Affleck has a muthafuckin' Oscar. Any moron can apparently win gold.
So, how are you gonna handle this week?
Both look into the camera and smirk.
Time to hop into the Delorean, McFly and set the flux capacitator to.....
The good ol' House Show the night before Overdrive, and just in case you're a nimord, they really don't have a time traveling Delorean. We're on a tape delay. But I digress. And the fans are hyped once the theme music hits the P.A. and the pyro goes off and they see the boy....
Kid Cannabis, Wonderful Human Being and the man John Green's mom wishes she gave birth to, march down the ring.
Styling. Profiling. Looking flyer than an F-22 in his suit and the Rolex, looking like a professional.
Can jumps up on the apron, enters the ring, and snaps his fingers to let the ring attendant know it's time to give Dad the mic and let him do what he does best...
Rip dudes a new one before he even lays a hand on him.
Before he starts, he lights a blunt, inhales deep, gets his mojo back and...
Whoever said progress was a slow process,
Never met the Kid....Cannabis!
They say I walk around like I got an "S" on my chest,
With an Incredible Hulk swagger and a pound of cest.
Lot of niggas jack their jaws about being the best
Compared to me, you're just the rest
So put your cookie cutter shit talk to rest,
Or else, you end the evening with a fist stuck in your breast!
Poetry.
You goddamn right, narrator. I make this shit look like Picasso.
First off, shout out to Jeffy and the APW staff for letting their doors open to former EWC cats. I'm digging this, this place is like a shelter for dudes fucked over by that conniving bald headed fuck from Canada.
I see a lot of old faces on this roster. Dudes I know. Dudes I fought. Shit, me and L.O.....
Had a lot of wars with that cat over there in that place. Lots of memorable moments....
Lots of blood spilt in rings all over the world.
Link here, too. Still batshit in your bushes buck nekkid wielding a knife crazy. I just have to ask you something, Benecio del Bore-o....
After watching your Rasslemania shoot, when the FUCK did Capcom start sponsoring your gimmick? I mean shit....
Killer Seven? The hell?
What next, you gonna fight zombies engineered by the Umbrella Corporation then train with Ryu to do the Hadouken?
Nigga, you're not all there, but it's all good.
These cats, I know what they're about, they haven't changed their styles, I know what they're capable of.
And then, I had to see some Twilight Zone shit with John fucking Green the other day that made me wonder if when I signed that contract, I ended up teleported to some weird alternate universe where black is white, up is down, and Miley Cyrus isn't stinking up our airwaives with her narrow, kareoke level talent having ass.
Because I found out, John Green, is a former fucking Heavyweight Champion here!
He gasps in shock, along with half the audience in the arena.
Rearry? Is that it to this Earth 2, or am I also gonna have to fight Bizarro Superman to save Lois Lane here, too? Damn, that fucked a nigga up.
John Green....Heavyweight Champion....
Wow....just....WOW!
He just can't believe it.
Are you sure that just ain't some shit Astin Kutcher and MTV cooked up to fuck with me? For real? This dopey Jean Leveuque looking nigga's got Heavyweight hardware on his resume?
Okay, so, yeah, I figure, maybe I got ol' Frankennose all twisted up. Maybe this ain't the same cat who used to be a running joke in the E. Maybe, this dude's got some super secret game he kept stashed in his closet he didn't break out until it was an emergency.
Maybe, he learned to develop subtlties like charisma, ring strategy, and continuity in his shoots during all those times he no showed every over match he was booked during his days in MY fed.
Maybe, just maybe, this muthafucka was what he kept trying to say he was.
But then, I watched his last shoot (took me four tries and a case of No-Doz, but I DID watch it) and thankfully....
Nope. Nigga's still moronic dogshit on the mic. So, the natural order of nature's still intact, folks. Sorry to scare you like that.
Everybody in the crowd has a nice laugh at John's expense.
I had to sit through that whole promo....
The rambling ass, non-continuity having, cookie cutter 39 minute waste of my life that I will never get back to doing more important shit like washing my fucking socks, listened to every syllable coming out of that plaque infested mouth of yours, every line of shit spewing out of your gums like a busted sewer pipe, and I had only one thought afterwards...
Damn Johnny....cocaine's a HELLUVA drug, ain't it?!
The Kid is on fire tonight.
You are snorting some shit, boy! I mean, the monkier "Retribution Killer"...
How many muthafuckin' 8-balls did you have to shove up those manhole sized nostrils attached to that big, crooked, blemished, Toucan Sam sized moustache canopy you call a fucking nose before that lame ass nickname even started to remotely make sense, let alone, sound fucking intimidating?
"Retribution Killer" sounds like some shit some pissed off 17 year old came up for his main character in his fan fiction stories he wrote in the back of the classroom when he wasn't busy carving Swastikas on his desk.
Next time you come up with a nickname, take more than your usual 3 seconds to process rational thinking to come up with some shit that makes fucking sense!
Damn! And dudes wonder why I smoke so much damn weed. Deal with this shit for a month....
He stops to take another puff and gather his thoughts.
And get this, that whole hour it took numbnutts to spit his shit, all that time meandering through material nobody gives a shit about, what was the payoff?
What was the grand prize for millions of people wasting their lunch hours YouTubing your cut on the company computer? What was the grand revelation you just had to waste all that oxygen that would enlighten the masses?
Survey says....
That you're Billy Badass unstoppable killing machine, and I'm a weed smoking moron!
A midcarder to boot! and....*pfft*....
You.....*giggles*...are gonna.....*can't stop giggling*
Carry the match!
......
BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
.....
Okay, I'm good.....
BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Dude, the real reason I was booked in this match is because management figured out your promos induce narcolepsy in people, and I was the only cure for it! We didn't want to tell you this because it'd hurt your feelings and you'd blog about it while listening to Snow Patrol, but now it's real talk time.
And Real Talk is, you wanna play the midcarder card on me? You really, REALLY do, Jenny?
Okay. Where do I begin? Hmmmm....
Man, so many options with you, so little time....
Okay, how about this?
How about a couple of years ago when we both made our big PPV debuts in E-Dub, you ended the evening crying in your beer backstage because you got bounced faster than a bad check from the Insanity Cage while I ended the night winning the motherfucker?
Or, how about when I was main eventing shows with Level One and guys like Rev and Chambers week after week for nearly three months straight, your ass was on the website making excuses about not making the booking and practically begging the boss not to fire you time and time again because of your flaky attendance record?
Or, when I was busy rocking out with 2 HCW World Titles and single handedly carrying that fed from bingo halls and gymnasiums in podunk towns to HBO deals and PPV's, your monkey ass was curtain jerking in piss break matches.
Hell, I can even go more recent and in this territory....
How about I'm facing a cat who got his balls handed to him not once but TWICE in the biggest stage this promotion has to offer, and all those months of grinding it here, I catch up to your spot in less than two weeks and didn't even have to wrestle a single freakin' match?
Or your whole steez is ripped off from some cat that works up in Stamford and has to pump the owner's sea cow of a daughter to win matches?
Nigga, is this shit starting to calculate in your brain? Are you starting to re-realize what the fuck you have to deal with again? DId you forget who exactly I was and what I can do to your fragile little self esteem for coming at me like some sugar addled 5 year old?
Fuck it, you know what? You pissed me off. I don't expect shit from anybody in any fed except for a good fight and a little respect and common sense, but I'm seeing right now I'm not gonna get one bit of that from you, Elephant Man.
So, you official lost your nicknaming privildges, punk. Seeing you still rocking out like that curtain jerking mental midget that couldn't accomplish jack shit anywhere else despite supposedly being a World Class Champion here has reminded me you still need to be put in your place.
So, Retribution Killer, kiss that bullshit goodbye. You are now officially....
THIS cat!
Cannabis points to the Tron, and this image pops up to the delight of everybody!
That's right, bitch. You're official APW's version of the fucking Cookie Monster!
A puffed up, blowhard, nonsensical noise making imaginary beast who sounds like a deranged murderous mutant, but when you start examining what this thing is really like, just like the real thing, it's fake, it's got a hand up his ass propping him up, and a bloodstream full of nothing but sugar and with a game so primitive and elementary it should be on Sesame Street!
This verbal beatdown brought to you by the letters K, C, and the number 8, the number of hours it'll take the doctors to surgically remove my boot from the crack of your ass!
Jenny, you're not built to fuck with me! Your whole image and strategy is so manufactured, you might as well have had a serial number stamped on the back of your head, because I break units like you on a regular basis!
You weren't built to fuck with me, and you never will be. Because despite what you did here before I came, you are still that one note stalled out on a midcard hamster wheel little rodent putz the rest of us who did shit laughed at all the damn time!
You've got no weapons in your arsenal to beat me, no original course of attack with me, and no heart whatsoever.
And if you do have a heart, Triple HHH, Jr., believe me....
Cannabis cracks his knuckles.
At Overdrive, I'm gonna One Hitter Quitter that motherfucker straight out of your chest!
Cannabis throws the mic off to the side while the crowds cheers, slides out of the ring and out of the arena, and we end the party with these words.
(Smoke Out!)
