Post by tonysavage on Feb 12, 2018 12:50:42 GMT -8
What can I say, Sammy; you've got spunk. Unfortunately,
it came out of Joe's dick, because the way you proverbially suck him off, you've got his fucking baby batter oozing out of your lips.
Tony's in the kitchen, with an apron on that says "Natural Born Griller"! Pots are boiling, veggies are chopped up,
and Savage is sharpening up a knife.
My grand-daddy used to take me out to the woods in Georgia to hunt for turtles. Had this thing for turtle soup. Guy couldn't get enough of it.
Sure enough, on Tony's cutting board...
Pretty fitting Sammy and his batch of cucked out malcontents would call themselves turtles. It fits them and their mentality to a T....
Not very fast. Not very smart. Their only defense is a shell that any creature with half a brain could crack open without much effort. They give off this vibe that they're gentle, noble creatures, when in reality, they're just weak, mindless, pointless food-stuffs. They're just meat for more developed predators. And like you an your bitch crew, Sammy, when a superior animal knocks a turtle on it's back, you hear a lot of this...
Tony flips over the turtle, which begins to squeal and flair about, helplessly.
Poor Sammy thinks I don't like him. He thinks because me and the boys are a buncha mean ol' schoolyard bullies out to give him and his girl-friends wedgies and jack their lunch money before biology class.
*Grabbing the turtle, which is still flailing* Sammy, it's worse than hating you. Hating somebody actually indicates you give a shit about them in whatever emotional capacity. You, fart-sniffer....
Are about as meaningful to me as my future lunch here.
The Dogs of War do NOT apologize for anything we do. We do not pander to fickle flip flopping fans like you assholes do. We don't let a management team who depends solely on us to put bread in their pockets off our blood and sweat dictate how we operate like your squad does. We don't let antiquated, misguided, and idiotic ideals about how wrestling should be, and how wrestlers should conduct themselves, handicap us. That's why every single one of us in the squad across the board have titles *points to his Premiere Fighting World strap around his waist*. That's why our name is respected across the industry while you dip-shits have to go on twitter and bitch like you've got diaper rash just to get anybody to pay attention.
We've got more firepower, more titles, more respect, and more feds under our control than any other stable has had in years, and your only arguments you have are....
Tony's just a butt-kissing meanie, and Dogs of War are rotten doo-doo heads that don't say please and thank you and shake their opponent's hands and go out for a nice chai tea with sprinkles with them after a match...
Between that pedantic man-child Kendrick, that pair of fossils, and the fans, not to mention your ridiculous and unasked for "crusade' to protect wrestling from excitement, and being something besides a locker room full of vanilla motherfuckers in spandex, I can't even be around you because all that ass you're kissing is making your breath smell like a fucking pig farm!
I guess why, like this critter here, you have to put on a shell to protect yourself, because you don't have any other weapons to fall back on. You don't have the resume to come at me, you don't have the crew to fuck with us, and you sure as FUCK don't have the brains nor balls to dispense with this played out "good versus evil" soap opera bullshit and just TAKE WHAT YOU FUCKING WANT!
There's a reason this business is dog eat dog, not turtle eat turtle. Because just putting on good matches doesn't put food on the table, it doesn't make heads turn, and it DOESN'T PUT BELTS AROUND YOUR WAIST!
But like this turtle, you just ain't smart enough to realize you aren't meant to survive this environment, considering what you bring to the table.
Tony picks up the turtle. It tries to retract into it's shell, but Tony pinches it's neck and pulls it's head out.
There is nothing honorable about weak, lethargic, sniveling creatures with delusions of super-heroism, hiding behind false honor and bravado. You're too afraid and too slow to evolve...
That's why I don't hate you, nor like you, nor respect you. You're just more meat for the D.O.W. feast.
You think I'm bad now, Sammy, I'll be hungry as a motherfucker come Global Heritage. And if you keep emulating this critter here...
*Snaps the turtles neck and starts removing the shell* Your name'll just be another dish on my menu.
it came out of Joe's dick, because the way you proverbially suck him off, you've got his fucking baby batter oozing out of your lips.
Tony's in the kitchen, with an apron on that says "Natural Born Griller"! Pots are boiling, veggies are chopped up,
and Savage is sharpening up a knife.
My grand-daddy used to take me out to the woods in Georgia to hunt for turtles. Had this thing for turtle soup. Guy couldn't get enough of it.
Sure enough, on Tony's cutting board...
Pretty fitting Sammy and his batch of cucked out malcontents would call themselves turtles. It fits them and their mentality to a T....
Not very fast. Not very smart. Their only defense is a shell that any creature with half a brain could crack open without much effort. They give off this vibe that they're gentle, noble creatures, when in reality, they're just weak, mindless, pointless food-stuffs. They're just meat for more developed predators. And like you an your bitch crew, Sammy, when a superior animal knocks a turtle on it's back, you hear a lot of this...
Tony flips over the turtle, which begins to squeal and flair about, helplessly.
Poor Sammy thinks I don't like him. He thinks because me and the boys are a buncha mean ol' schoolyard bullies out to give him and his girl-friends wedgies and jack their lunch money before biology class.
*Grabbing the turtle, which is still flailing* Sammy, it's worse than hating you. Hating somebody actually indicates you give a shit about them in whatever emotional capacity. You, fart-sniffer....
Are about as meaningful to me as my future lunch here.
The Dogs of War do NOT apologize for anything we do. We do not pander to fickle flip flopping fans like you assholes do. We don't let a management team who depends solely on us to put bread in their pockets off our blood and sweat dictate how we operate like your squad does. We don't let antiquated, misguided, and idiotic ideals about how wrestling should be, and how wrestlers should conduct themselves, handicap us. That's why every single one of us in the squad across the board have titles *points to his Premiere Fighting World strap around his waist*. That's why our name is respected across the industry while you dip-shits have to go on twitter and bitch like you've got diaper rash just to get anybody to pay attention.
We've got more firepower, more titles, more respect, and more feds under our control than any other stable has had in years, and your only arguments you have are....
Tony's just a butt-kissing meanie, and Dogs of War are rotten doo-doo heads that don't say please and thank you and shake their opponent's hands and go out for a nice chai tea with sprinkles with them after a match...
Between that pedantic man-child Kendrick, that pair of fossils, and the fans, not to mention your ridiculous and unasked for "crusade' to protect wrestling from excitement, and being something besides a locker room full of vanilla motherfuckers in spandex, I can't even be around you because all that ass you're kissing is making your breath smell like a fucking pig farm!
I guess why, like this critter here, you have to put on a shell to protect yourself, because you don't have any other weapons to fall back on. You don't have the resume to come at me, you don't have the crew to fuck with us, and you sure as FUCK don't have the brains nor balls to dispense with this played out "good versus evil" soap opera bullshit and just TAKE WHAT YOU FUCKING WANT!
There's a reason this business is dog eat dog, not turtle eat turtle. Because just putting on good matches doesn't put food on the table, it doesn't make heads turn, and it DOESN'T PUT BELTS AROUND YOUR WAIST!
But like this turtle, you just ain't smart enough to realize you aren't meant to survive this environment, considering what you bring to the table.
Tony picks up the turtle. It tries to retract into it's shell, but Tony pinches it's neck and pulls it's head out.
There is nothing honorable about weak, lethargic, sniveling creatures with delusions of super-heroism, hiding behind false honor and bravado. You're too afraid and too slow to evolve...
That's why I don't hate you, nor like you, nor respect you. You're just more meat for the D.O.W. feast.
You think I'm bad now, Sammy, I'll be hungry as a motherfucker come Global Heritage. And if you keep emulating this critter here...
*Snaps the turtles neck and starts removing the shell* Your name'll just be another dish on my menu.
