Post by Press1269 on Nov 18, 2016 7:06:15 GMT
2300 Arena
Philadelphia, PA
11/17/2016
“That’s right, muthafucka’s. I’m out here in protest of some of this ole’ bullshit that’s running round here. Got unlucky bitches getting involved in matches. Got an aged uppity cracka with black and white clowns following him all over the place. Got a bitch that’s supposed to be a fortune teller, but wasn’t psychic enough to see her way past this joint. To top it all off you got a dick head running the place with three first names.”
SOB stares hard at the camera, no-nonsense.
“You can’t trust no muthafucka with three first names!”
His lip curls at the thought of Thomas Shane Elliot before continuing.
“I told you sumbitches to get me some production value, or at least a competent muthafucka to hold the camera, but ya’ll didn’t listen. So NOW, I’m taking matters into my own hands. That right, Muthafuckas! Ya’ll getting protested!”
SOB nods with a ‘hrmph’.
“Serves you right too. While everyone else is protesting Trump’s election win, or some fool who didn’t listen to the PoPo and got blasted, I’m out here protesting another kind of injustice. The kind that is perpetrated by honkey ass cracka’s to minimize my rights to tell my opponents, in HD quality, that they can all suck my dick!”
SOB’s hand flashes up in a halting manner.
“Now before Benny Stevens and Zack Fantana rush to the offer, recognize that I don’t mean that literally. I mean that figuratively, as in that’s about all you’re fucking good for!”
SOB’s hand falls back to his side.
“Now let’s just talk about this royal rumble they got us all signed up for. Everyone already knows what I’m planning to do so I don’t see any reason to reiterate. I mean, there’s only so many ways that you can say you’re going to rip a man’s head off and shit down his throat, and quite frankly I think I’ve done it very well. My advice to Zack Fantana is to strut around here like a Peacock for a few more days, cause come Sunday, I’m about to pluck that muthafucka and serve him for dinner at Thanksgiving!”
Nod.
“Nah, let me direct this bit of wisdom to the rest of you cracka’s.”
SOB reaches into his pocket, and unfolds a pub napkin.
“Ahem! Kimitsu Zombie. You trying to say that I said all that shit before because I was trying to save face? Bitch, please! Maybe I said it cause I fucking meant it, and the only face saving you’ve ever done is when you put on some sun glasses before the circle jerk finished their swan song.”
He shakes his head in disbelief and grumbles something.
“Austin Gale, I saw your little vlog where you tried to impersonate me. That’s real cute, son, only you missed a few things, which tells me that once again your rich uppity ass has chosen to overlook me. Well let me tell you, I don’t know what a ‘vlog’ is, but I’m going to guess it stands for VaginaL OratinG, since all that ever seems to come out yo mouth is pussy farts!”
Brief chuckle.
“Dominic Lawson, just let me say you got some stones comparing the two of us. Do I look like some methed out mic from South Boston, cause last I checked, I’m the only muthafucka in this joint who can claim any real hood status. That whiskey barrel you crawled out from under is about as street as a Canadian getting angry cause they ran out of maple syrup. Then you go so far as to talk about my speech?!?”
SOB looks perplexed.
“Bitch, is you serious? Well god damn, I’m sure everyone around here can understand that rickety-tickety language you’ve been spewing, but where I come from it’d get you wrapped in the fucking mouth with a tire iron. Best keep your comparisons between you and those Braveheart muthafucka’s, and leave my name out ya mouth!”
SOB nods in satisfaction.
“Then there’s Colgate Carnage. This muthfucka running around butt hurt cause nobody can get past his asinine name. Well shit, son, let me oblige you. The reason nobody seems to give a fuck, is cause you a fuck that ain’t worth giving. You claim to have a 14 year career of kicking ass and taking names, when the only thing on that shiny profile they made for you on AWE.com that really stands out is that you once punched Stevie Harris in the dick. With what? Your ass?”
SOB shudders in disgust.
“Listen, Cracka, just do us a favor and shut the fuck up. Nobody round here got time for that. God damn, who else is in this thing. I’mma need some water if I keep this shit up.”
SOB ponders, and then light bulb.
“Oh yeah, that ex-priest muthafucka with his little cheerleader straight out of a carnival side show. Muthafucka’s watched them little magic cracka movies and now he thinks he’s one of them. Damnedest thing I ever seen. I mean, how this is not obvious to everyone. Muthafucka gets kicked out of the priesthood, probably diddling altar boys, and then he ends up with some mentally challenged muthafucka as his ward. These muthafucka’s are an afterschool special!”
SOB shakes his head again.
“All I know is this. Come Sunday, Zack Fantana’s going over the top, and after that all bets are off, and SOB is going to prove why he deserves prime time real estate in the AWE!”
SOB waves his picket sign in the air as the scene fades to black.