Post by Jay on Feb 29, 2020 8:18:33 GMT
Move.
Move.
MO-fack!
“EDJ with a hyouge frog splash!”
“He got all of that one, that’s for sure!”
“Cover!”
“ONE!”
Kickout.
“TWO”
Kickout, nigga.
“THRRRRR-?”
MOTHAFUCKA! KICKOUT!
“NO!”
“Oh my god, how did he get out of that?!”
“Tyrone Walker stays alive, getting his shoulder up at the last millisecond!”
I can’t hear shit. Crowd is literally deafening and it’s makin’ my gotdamn ears rings. Plus my ribs hurt like a sonuvabitch. That dumpy fuck knows how to drop all that skinny fat right on ya.
Luckily he’s fuckin’ up right now. Arguin’ with the ref, he can’t believe I just kicked out. Good. Good. Keep yappin’, kid. I’mma roll my ass over here and try to breathe in or somethin’.
And what the hell is that poundin’? I dunno, look maybe? Oh shit, here he comes. Ow, ow, hey nigga stop tryna yank my gotdamn hair. Wait, what the hell does he think he’s doin’?
“Is Eric Dane Jr. looking to end it all with the STAR DRIVER?!”
“That would be a heck of a way to end this thing!”
OOOH, HALE NAAW!
I ain’t goin’ out like this, you assbaby mothafucka.
Breathe. Breathe. Ack, his pits smell, fuck!
“Dane hoists him up!”
“This is it!”
Wait. Is that Kels bangin’ on the apron?!
FOCUS!
Time it… Time it… Time it…
NOW!
“Walker twists and counters out!”
“What a DDT out of nowhere!”
Okay, okay. Good.
Now get up. He ain’t gonna stay down for long.
Gotdamn my ribs hurt. Fuckin’ fat assbaby punk.
Stop thinkin’ about it and GET. UP!
FINE!
Dunno how much I got left, so I better get this done now.
…
…
…
Alright, fuck it. Go for broke it is.
“What is he doing?”
“Looks like he’s putting EDJ up on the top rope.”
“No kidding, but… wait…”
Yanno, this is gonna suck if I don’t get all the way over on it.
Too late now. Lets see, this arm over here. Put my feets just like this.
Now stand up.
Why is Kels screamin’? Or what is Kels’ screamin’? I can’t tell.
“Walker hasn't hit this in ages.”
“Maybe because that one time he almost killed himself in 2004!”
Annnnnnnd…
“SPANISH FLY!”
“Walker breaking out all the stops tonight!”
...TAH DAH! I’M AHHHH-LYYYYYVE!
“ONE!”
“TWO!”
“THREE!”
“He did it!”
HOLY SHIT I DID IT, Y’ALL!
…
…
A’ight lemme roll off this dude. Pause. No homo. Heh.
Okay so breathing really sucks now. UGH! What the fuck? Who just jumped on me…
“You asshole! Don’t ever do that again!”
Ooooh. So that’s what Kels’ was screamin’ about. Makes sense, but I can’t breathe for shit!
“For the love of god, woman, get off my ribs!”
“Oh… Oh, sorry.” She giggles and then kisses me and then finally helps me up.
“Ow, hey, fucker!”
Gotdamn referee just yanked my arm up.
“Sorry man, but you like, won the match.”
Oh, right. There is that.
“Here is your winner… annnnnnnd…”
Jesus christ. I can’t even hear myself think over the crowd. The mic stand guy. The music. The pain just radiatin’ all over me. Why exactly did I think it would be a good idea to do this again?
“NEEEEEEW NORTH AMERICAN CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPION…”
The NAWC President, at least I think that’s who it is. He just gave me the belt.
Ooooh, right.
“TYYYRRROOONNNE WAAALKERRR!”
This is why.
Move.
MO-fack!
“EDJ with a hyouge frog splash!”
“He got all of that one, that’s for sure!”
“Cover!”
“ONE!”
Kickout.
“TWO”
Kickout, nigga.
“THRRRRR-?”
MOTHAFUCKA! KICKOUT!
“NO!”
“Oh my god, how did he get out of that?!”
“Tyrone Walker stays alive, getting his shoulder up at the last millisecond!”
I can’t hear shit. Crowd is literally deafening and it’s makin’ my gotdamn ears rings. Plus my ribs hurt like a sonuvabitch. That dumpy fuck knows how to drop all that skinny fat right on ya.
Luckily he’s fuckin’ up right now. Arguin’ with the ref, he can’t believe I just kicked out. Good. Good. Keep yappin’, kid. I’mma roll my ass over here and try to breathe in or somethin’.
And what the hell is that poundin’? I dunno, look maybe? Oh shit, here he comes. Ow, ow, hey nigga stop tryna yank my gotdamn hair. Wait, what the hell does he think he’s doin’?
“Is Eric Dane Jr. looking to end it all with the STAR DRIVER?!”
“That would be a heck of a way to end this thing!”
OOOH, HALE NAAW!
I ain’t goin’ out like this, you assbaby mothafucka.
Breathe. Breathe. Ack, his pits smell, fuck!
“Dane hoists him up!”
“This is it!”
Wait. Is that Kels bangin’ on the apron?!
FOCUS!
Time it… Time it… Time it…
NOW!
“Walker twists and counters out!”
“What a DDT out of nowhere!”
Okay, okay. Good.
Now get up. He ain’t gonna stay down for long.
Gotdamn my ribs hurt. Fuckin’ fat assbaby punk.
Stop thinkin’ about it and GET. UP!
FINE!
Dunno how much I got left, so I better get this done now.
…
…
…
Alright, fuck it. Go for broke it is.
“What is he doing?”
“Looks like he’s putting EDJ up on the top rope.”
“No kidding, but… wait…”
Yanno, this is gonna suck if I don’t get all the way over on it.
Too late now. Lets see, this arm over here. Put my feets just like this.
Now stand up.
Why is Kels screamin’? Or what is Kels’ screamin’? I can’t tell.
“Walker hasn't hit this in ages.”
“Maybe because that one time he almost killed himself in 2004!”
Annnnnnnd…
“SPANISH FLY!”
“Walker breaking out all the stops tonight!”
...TAH DAH! I’M AHHHH-LYYYYYVE!
“ONE!”
“TWO!”
“THREE!”
“He did it!”
HOLY SHIT I DID IT, Y’ALL!
…
…
A’ight lemme roll off this dude. Pause. No homo. Heh.
Okay so breathing really sucks now. UGH! What the fuck? Who just jumped on me…
“You asshole! Don’t ever do that again!”
Ooooh. So that’s what Kels’ was screamin’ about. Makes sense, but I can’t breathe for shit!
“For the love of god, woman, get off my ribs!”
“Oh… Oh, sorry.” She giggles and then kisses me and then finally helps me up.
“Ow, hey, fucker!”
Gotdamn referee just yanked my arm up.
“Sorry man, but you like, won the match.”
Oh, right. There is that.
“Here is your winner… annnnnnnd…”
Jesus christ. I can’t even hear myself think over the crowd. The mic stand guy. The music. The pain just radiatin’ all over me. Why exactly did I think it would be a good idea to do this again?
“NEEEEEEW NORTH AMERICAN CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPION…”
The NAWC President, at least I think that’s who it is. He just gave me the belt.
Ooooh, right.
“TYYYRRROOONNNE WAAALKERRR!”
This is why.