Happy St. Patty's day

BAD ASS
MOTHAFUCKA!!!

..:: Stated the boisterous maniac as he came through out the bar room doors, held up by his boys. Many a cuss word came out of his mouth as he screamed red faced, trying to get the attention of anyone who would listen. You can say he enjoyed St. Patty's day ::..

BAD ASS
A PRINCE PLANS HIS WEDDING AND A WHOLE COUNTRY GOES ON PAUSE? GODDAMMIT THERE EVEN MAKING CONDOMS WITH THE PRINCE'S FACE ON EM?! I BET IT WAS A BRIT WHO INVENTED CONDOMS, HERE'S TO SAFE SEX, FUCK IF U GET ANY SENSATION OUTTA THE SHRINK WRAP! I SWEAR WHEN I SEE LORD BUTT-FUCKER I’M GOING TO RIP OUT HIS INTESTINES AND JUMP ROPE WITH THEM AS I STOMP ON YOUR YELLOW STAINED COVERED SHIT STAIN YOU CALL A FACE!!!

..:: No one wanted to listen, in fact everyone in the vicinity turned their shoulder to him. He was preaching to the only ones who would listen, his lackeys. Although he did happen to see one man ignoring him who he’d force a listening upon. Making like he was reading a copy of GQ, BAD ASS hobbled up and slapped the magazine out his hand. ::..

..:: Jim Ryan (Sports writer for a local paper) ::..
….The hell?

..:: BAD ASS ::..
HEY FUCK YOU, I'M SO DRUNK YOU CAN CALL ME COREY CASEY!!

..:: Jim Ryan ::..
Settle down ZIF, this is not the end of the world, it's St. Patty's day even sober folks get drunk today

..:: A look of pure astonishment crossed BAD ASS’s face, making him blink in a “goddamn are you that stupid” way. ::..

..:: BAD ASS ::..
I DON'T NEED A FUCKING HOLIDAY TO GET SHIT FACE...I'M MOFO BADASS...I'M THE WHITE VERSION OF SHAFT?!!

..:: Jim Ryan ::..
Who?

..:: BAD ASS ::..
HEY I EVER TELL YOU IM A RACISTS? I LIKE NIGGERS AND CHINO'S AND FAGS BUT CAN'T STAND A BRIT, YOU WOULD THINK THEY WOULD HAVE GOTTEN THE HINT AFTER THE REVOLUTIONARY WAR, STAY THE FUCK OUT

..:: Much like all abusive drunk assholes, BAD ASS turned his attention to a target with which he could vent his frustration. A finger pointed to Lord Virgin, who looked scared shitless right away. ::..

..:: BAD ASS ::..
YOUUUUU!!!! IT’S BECAUSE OF YOU!!!!

..:: Acting on instinct, Lord Virgin started backing up, knowing he was going to get attacked. Perching in an attack stance, BAD ASS lunged at Lord Virgin, tackling him and ending up on his chest. A fist raised high as he pressed down his face with his other hand, threatening to land the death blow. BTW, you don’t want to suffer BAD ASS’s death blow. Those who have interviewed spirits killed by BAD ASS’s death blow through mediums have come to known it’s like getting hit with a megaton nuclear warhead in the face. ::..

..:: Truth ::..

..:: BAD ASS ::..
ANY LAST WORDS BEFORE I LAND THE DEATH BLOW!!?!?

..:: Lord Virgin wisely nodded, then stammered as he tried to think of something to save his ass. ::..

..:: BAD ASS ::..
SPIT IT OUT FAGGOT!!! THAT’S IT!!!

..:: That fist came crashing down, but stopped half way as Lord Virgin watched his life flash before his very eyes, knowing that he had to raise his hands and come up with something, anything. ::..

..:: Lord Virgin ::..
WAIT!!! I got something, but I can’t say it out loud. Let me whisper it.

..:: At first BAD ASS acted like he was going to follow through with the death blow, but he stopped himself and bent down to hear the secret. After Lord Virgin finished telling him the plan, BAD ASS suddenly calmed down and got off of Lord Virgin. As he looked down at Lord Virgin picking himself up, he smiled ::..

..:: BAD ASS ::..
Great idea. Let’s put it this way, it was so great it saved your life. You owe me for just saving your life right now.

..:: All Lord Virgin could do is nod, knowing it’s best to not put himself in that situation ever again. With ‘the plan’ set in motion, BAD ASS confidently walked away from Jim Ryan silently, his crew following in toe. There stood Jim Ryan, wondering just what could have Lord Virgin possibly told him to calm BAD ASS down so much. Whatever it was, Ryan was just glad to get back to the centerfold spread of Chris Brown in GQ and not have a drunk maniac screaming in his face. :..

..:: Jim Ryan ::..
What an asshole.



You done fucked up Lord Butt-Fucker. Big time. When your vicadin dusted brain decided it was a brilliant idea to step into the ring with me, you wrote your fate right there. Right then you decided you were going to try to mess with me, instead of being happy that I would give a strung out scumbag such as yourself a shot in the first place. Who in the FUCK do you think you are you AIDS ridden needle collector? You think you can just barge right into IWF and do whatever the fuck you want? This isn't the land of No Limits

Fuck that shit, not on my watch.

It sickens me to think of how much a scabies infested alcoholic like you could ever join a group, even a group consisted of a few Brits and a not so important Canuck. I bet you are covered in enough British diseases to kill off a small village. Of course you’re immune to the effects of your own diseases though, much like all your rabid monkey team-mates. Your kind has learned to adapt over the years, even finding a love for the proper style that was popular back in 93. Right along with the legitimacy of the King of the Ring. It is often that cultures who have been in isolation are a little late with the fads. But let me assure you that amongst his fellow missing links, Lord Butt-Fucker has a cutting edge taste in clothing and music. Amongst the knuckle dragging, thick brow having ape men he is truly a fine upstanding gentlemen and a beacon of hope amongst their brain dead community. Through Lord Butt-Fucker realize that even they too can kick a bunch of cans in some wrestling fed and even form a stable just to get noticed.

A lot of good that did you Lord Butt-Fucker, if anything it put a bulls eye right on the back of your dreaded weave. You wanted my attention? You got it you trash digging alley sucker. I don’t want you to get noticed off of desperate bullshit like jumping a fine piece of ass in Loca. Jesus christ man I know you have absolutely no taste in women, but some of the atrocities that slither in and out of the RHG hotel door are absolute abominations of nature. I know that a hideous crotch rot having neanderthal like you has to fuck gutter wenches to keep from slitting his wrists in the bathtub, but do that dirt on your own time. None of us, well maybe except for Gunther can stomach seeing those animated piles of vomit ooze their way from the parking lot to the RHG lockeroom. So do us all a favor and keep your trippy hairy dick in your pants before you end up creating some new type of airborne STD with your spore producing pores.

One thing I can assure you of is I will decontaminate myself thoroughly when we cross paths. I’m not going to take the risk of ruining my career so some wet brain oxycotin zombie like you can take over the Full Throttle scene via me being quarantined. I’ve been cementing my legacy while you have been inflating yourself with false hope. You’re numbing yourself to reality Lord Butt-Fucker, and failing to realize that you’re way in over your head. That one more medicated peaceful moment is turning into an hourly routine, guiding you through a happy fog of false promises and diluted dreams. In your head you TRULY believe you are in your prime, It’s sad seeing a brain dead Brit fueled dementia guiding a poor, pathetic old homo eructus to what he feels is his road to glory.

Alas, I hope I’m the one to knock you into reality.

While I’m sure you’d love the feeling of a good ol’ fashioned fisting, I’m not going to let it get to that. If it does come down to you and me it will be a live evisceration on Battle Grounds. we all know you’re not going to make it as a wrestler so you need a plan to fall back on. A plan that doesn’t include lewd acts in the Huntington Beach bathroom. Because I can flat out tell you I will end your damn career should you try some bitch ass shit at BG. Your type do not belong in my field, and I’d be glad to show the most violent wrestling lesson you’ll ever get. Maybe you’ll make a better li...nah who am I kidding, you’ll be back to using seawater to wash off your hand cum. It’s all you’ve ever known, and will know you vomit inducing fagtard.

Grab a bottle of Cutty Sark, down it, break the bottle, then decide what is more important...pretending to be a IWF superstar or relieving the pain of being British? Only you can decide on that Lord Butt-Fucker. Just know I will be laughing my ass off either way.

Alright, here we are, the end. I’d like to thank you the viewer for braving through my cruel, spiteful rant, and I’d like to thank Lord Butt-Fucker for unwillingly getting his ass torn to shreds by me. In fact to Lord Butt-Fucker, please don’t let my evil words ruin your St. Patty’s. Call up your friends, get piss drunk, and forget for a night about how much I just fucked you up. The next day is when the headache begins, from both the hangover and you coming to know that I just broke you mentally. But please, don’t focus on the mental breaking, focus on blacking out.

Green beer and pink tang for everyone!