Post by Zasshu II on Sept 26, 2014 14:55:31 GMT
Bobby, Bobby, Bobby…
Can I be honest wit ya? As much as I wanna sit here an say I’m gonna beat the living shit outta ya because GOD done told me, I’m really doing it cause I just don’t like ya.
You’re a bitch.
A big sopping pussy of a bitch.
Ya come in here to OUR company an run ya mouth about all this shit ya gonna do and first chance you get you bury your head shoulder deep up Spike Kane’s ass an when that back fires, SURPRISE! You go waist deep into a bottle of cheap whiskey.
What kinda man are you?
You’re not, it’s pretty plain and simple, you’re not a man, you’re not even a boy, it’s like I said you’re a bitch. Ain’t no kind of man that runs an hides at the possibility of adversity. Ya face adversity, ya punch that shit in the throat and make it yours. You take it, beat it into submission and then stand on top of it and tell the whole world to go fuck itself.
Unless you’re name is Bobby Pooler.
Bobby Pooler runs and hides.
Bobby Pooler buries his head.
Bobby Pooler won’t dare to be challenged.
Bobby Pooler, ya came into our flock, pledged your allegiance and even then you flailed and floundered like a disgusting little fucking fish gasping for breath. GOD tried to help you, he tried to make you feel better, he tried to raise you up on his shoulders but there are some miracles even GOD can’t perform.
Ain’t no fixing what’s wrong with you.
You’re a gutless little coward. A yella bellied bitch. You’re the man I’m gonna beat utterly fucking senseless for the fun of doing it and when I’m done GOD himself is gonna come down to the ring and gut you like a fish.
Ya got a problem with that?
Ya getting mad?
Tell me what you’re gonna do Bobby? How are ya gonna stop me? You ain’t got the balls to put me down, you ain’t even got the balls to put down the man banging your wife.
What’s that?
Oh yeah, I remember Lance Ryan, I know what happened to Lance Ryan, I know where Lance Ryan was spending his nights, days, weekends, hell, his morning, noon and nights. The whole damn world knew Bobby, it wansn’t no secret. I know, I know you deluded yourself into thinking you was gonna get some happy fucking ending where your little woman comes crawling back to the man of her dreams but life don’t work that way Bobby.
Tell me, how is the ex misses?
See maybe if you had the nuts to put Lance Ryan down like the old sickly fucking dog that he is you’d still be sleeping in that house instead of drowning at a bar stool. Hell, the bitch may even still be breathing.
Sorry, was that low?
See I just don’t give a fuck anymore Bobby, I’ve been living in the shadow of the Lord for a while now and while I worship the man like the living Lord that he is I do miss having a bit of fun.
I miss the feeling of bones breaking beneath my fist, the feeling of flesh ripping, I miss the soft little moans men make as they feel ligaments tears and muscles shred. I miss it Bobby, GOD gets to have all the fun and it’s high time my loyalty be rewarded. It’s high time I get to cut loose and boy Bobby O am I gonna cut loose on you.
See I know there be rules in this match, I know the officials gonna be watching like a hawk but the thing is… I DON’T CARE!
Fuck the rules Bobby, fuck the win loss records and the rankings, fuck all that shit. I’m beyond caring about that, title shots, reign lengths, all that meaningless shit you stupid fucking monkeys waste your lives crowing about means shit to me.
I just wanna beat ass.
That’s it, seems pretty simple maybe even a little hill billy but I don’t care. I really don’t. I’m fucking old school, I didn’t get into this shit so women would suck me off while I stroke my championship belt. I got into this because I love kicking ass. That’s why I don’t do any fancy little flips or moves, I get in that ring, I boot you in the throat and then I choke you out.
I ain’t fancy, bitch.
I’m an ass kicker through and through and if ya don’t like it I honestly don’t give a shit. See you had ya shot at being bad ass, at being one of the apostles. You could of stood with us and just whipped the living shit out of anybody that stepped up to you and ya could of basked in his glory but instead ya shit ya pants.
Crapped out.
Chose that little ego over brains and walked away.
Ya think your some kind of man for taking the supposed high road? Nah, not even close. Frank, Mason and I, we’re the only real fucking men left in this bitch. We stand by our convictions, stand with our Lord and we lay waste to all the little whiney non believing mother fuckers out there.
Bobby, ya don’t believe, that’s fine, it’s America, ya got that choice. However we don’t take kindly to your infidel fucking ways. We don’t take kindly to just about anything you say or do. We just don’t tale kindly to people running their fucking mouths from behind cameras and cell phones.
Sunday night at Extreme Endurance I’m gonna spill your blood for the Lord, for GOD and his greatness and also for myself. For my own sick fucking pleasure.
Sunday, Bobby Pooler is gonna stand across the ring from one of the Apostles, from one of the last real men left, he’s gonna stand there and try and be the fucking hero everyone wants him to be but before it’s all said and done I’m gonna be the only one left standing.
Ya wanna die a hero?
I’ll help ya along.
Because only one of us walks away and you better goddamn believe it’s gonna be me Bobby. It’s gonna be me because there ain’t a damn thing you can do about it. Not. A. Damn. Thing.
So drink that whiskey up boy, get nice and sloshed Saturday night, find yaself a pretty little hooker that Lance Ryan ain’t already spun side ways on that legendary cock of his and maybe if you’re lucky she’ll look a little bit like that one dead chick you used to bang because Sunday…
You walk through the valley of death…
And you don’t come out.
Can I be honest wit ya? As much as I wanna sit here an say I’m gonna beat the living shit outta ya because GOD done told me, I’m really doing it cause I just don’t like ya.
You’re a bitch.
A big sopping pussy of a bitch.
Ya come in here to OUR company an run ya mouth about all this shit ya gonna do and first chance you get you bury your head shoulder deep up Spike Kane’s ass an when that back fires, SURPRISE! You go waist deep into a bottle of cheap whiskey.
What kinda man are you?
You’re not, it’s pretty plain and simple, you’re not a man, you’re not even a boy, it’s like I said you’re a bitch. Ain’t no kind of man that runs an hides at the possibility of adversity. Ya face adversity, ya punch that shit in the throat and make it yours. You take it, beat it into submission and then stand on top of it and tell the whole world to go fuck itself.
Unless you’re name is Bobby Pooler.
Bobby Pooler runs and hides.
Bobby Pooler buries his head.
Bobby Pooler won’t dare to be challenged.
Bobby Pooler, ya came into our flock, pledged your allegiance and even then you flailed and floundered like a disgusting little fucking fish gasping for breath. GOD tried to help you, he tried to make you feel better, he tried to raise you up on his shoulders but there are some miracles even GOD can’t perform.
Ain’t no fixing what’s wrong with you.
You’re a gutless little coward. A yella bellied bitch. You’re the man I’m gonna beat utterly fucking senseless for the fun of doing it and when I’m done GOD himself is gonna come down to the ring and gut you like a fish.
Ya got a problem with that?
Ya getting mad?
Tell me what you’re gonna do Bobby? How are ya gonna stop me? You ain’t got the balls to put me down, you ain’t even got the balls to put down the man banging your wife.
What’s that?
Oh yeah, I remember Lance Ryan, I know what happened to Lance Ryan, I know where Lance Ryan was spending his nights, days, weekends, hell, his morning, noon and nights. The whole damn world knew Bobby, it wansn’t no secret. I know, I know you deluded yourself into thinking you was gonna get some happy fucking ending where your little woman comes crawling back to the man of her dreams but life don’t work that way Bobby.
Tell me, how is the ex misses?
See maybe if you had the nuts to put Lance Ryan down like the old sickly fucking dog that he is you’d still be sleeping in that house instead of drowning at a bar stool. Hell, the bitch may even still be breathing.
Sorry, was that low?
See I just don’t give a fuck anymore Bobby, I’ve been living in the shadow of the Lord for a while now and while I worship the man like the living Lord that he is I do miss having a bit of fun.
I miss the feeling of bones breaking beneath my fist, the feeling of flesh ripping, I miss the soft little moans men make as they feel ligaments tears and muscles shred. I miss it Bobby, GOD gets to have all the fun and it’s high time my loyalty be rewarded. It’s high time I get to cut loose and boy Bobby O am I gonna cut loose on you.
See I know there be rules in this match, I know the officials gonna be watching like a hawk but the thing is… I DON’T CARE!
Fuck the rules Bobby, fuck the win loss records and the rankings, fuck all that shit. I’m beyond caring about that, title shots, reign lengths, all that meaningless shit you stupid fucking monkeys waste your lives crowing about means shit to me.
I just wanna beat ass.
That’s it, seems pretty simple maybe even a little hill billy but I don’t care. I really don’t. I’m fucking old school, I didn’t get into this shit so women would suck me off while I stroke my championship belt. I got into this because I love kicking ass. That’s why I don’t do any fancy little flips or moves, I get in that ring, I boot you in the throat and then I choke you out.
I ain’t fancy, bitch.
I’m an ass kicker through and through and if ya don’t like it I honestly don’t give a shit. See you had ya shot at being bad ass, at being one of the apostles. You could of stood with us and just whipped the living shit out of anybody that stepped up to you and ya could of basked in his glory but instead ya shit ya pants.
Crapped out.
Chose that little ego over brains and walked away.
Ya think your some kind of man for taking the supposed high road? Nah, not even close. Frank, Mason and I, we’re the only real fucking men left in this bitch. We stand by our convictions, stand with our Lord and we lay waste to all the little whiney non believing mother fuckers out there.
Bobby, ya don’t believe, that’s fine, it’s America, ya got that choice. However we don’t take kindly to your infidel fucking ways. We don’t take kindly to just about anything you say or do. We just don’t tale kindly to people running their fucking mouths from behind cameras and cell phones.
Sunday night at Extreme Endurance I’m gonna spill your blood for the Lord, for GOD and his greatness and also for myself. For my own sick fucking pleasure.
Sunday, Bobby Pooler is gonna stand across the ring from one of the Apostles, from one of the last real men left, he’s gonna stand there and try and be the fucking hero everyone wants him to be but before it’s all said and done I’m gonna be the only one left standing.
Ya wanna die a hero?
I’ll help ya along.
Because only one of us walks away and you better goddamn believe it’s gonna be me Bobby. It’s gonna be me because there ain’t a damn thing you can do about it. Not. A. Damn. Thing.
So drink that whiskey up boy, get nice and sloshed Saturday night, find yaself a pretty little hooker that Lance Ryan ain’t already spun side ways on that legendary cock of his and maybe if you’re lucky she’ll look a little bit like that one dead chick you used to bang because Sunday…
You walk through the valley of death…
And you don’t come out.
Well howdy there pardner.