Post by Awesome Stick Labor on Feb 23, 2016 9:55:58 GMT
~RECORDED LIVE ON FACEBOOK FOR IWF.COM ON 2/23/2016 - 3:30 AM (CST)~
We find Jack Gaither sitting at the desk of his hotel room, his face beet red after watching Spike Kane attack fiancee Fiona McFly during Sacrifice a few hours ago. Jack's eyes are bloodshot from a lack of sleep as he readies himself for the live, impromptu broadcast.
Jack Gaither: I've been in this gig for less time than you Spike...but regardless of whether it was Premiere or IWF, I've always harbored a deep respect for you. Deep down--despite everyone's perceptions about my bravado--I respected ya more on a professional schematic than I did just about anyone else...with the exception of 'Hawk or Malaki Toala. Twenty years is a helluva long time, and somewhere 'long the way, you must've learned a l'il somethin' about not takin' a professional feud to a personal level.
You fucked it up, son. You flunked...miserably, and for WHAT?! Just so ya can put a l'il bitty Band-Aid on your wounded pride.
I ain't afraid of bein' wrong sometimes even if I think I'm right...for I TRY my goddamndest to be as honest as I possibly can. Despite the fact that your l'il high an' mighty rat-faced dude guy you call a son decided to cost you our last match, I still harbored respect for you--'cause it wasn't a fair win. I wanted to win that match THE RIGHT WAY--BY MYSELF--yet ya couldn't handle the fact that your kid had to fuck up your own l'il ego.
Back then...it was all on Warren. Now...it's gonna be all on you when I take my snakeskin boot and shove it so far up your ass you'll be shittin' Big Macs outta your piehole. You made this personal--now you're gonna have to live with the consequences.
Start prayin' to God, Allah, Buddha, Shiva, or whoever ya believe in, bub. I REALLY hope ya got good life insurance...you'll be sendin' inheritance checks to your next of kin when I do more than simply put your keister to the deck for a ten-count.
I'm gonna put ya outta yer fuckin' misery.
Jack Gaither: I've been in this gig for less time than you Spike...but regardless of whether it was Premiere or IWF, I've always harbored a deep respect for you. Deep down--despite everyone's perceptions about my bravado--I respected ya more on a professional schematic than I did just about anyone else...with the exception of 'Hawk or Malaki Toala. Twenty years is a helluva long time, and somewhere 'long the way, you must've learned a l'il somethin' about not takin' a professional feud to a personal level.
You fucked it up, son. You flunked...miserably, and for WHAT?! Just so ya can put a l'il bitty Band-Aid on your wounded pride.
I ain't afraid of bein' wrong sometimes even if I think I'm right...for I TRY my goddamndest to be as honest as I possibly can. Despite the fact that your l'il high an' mighty rat-faced dude guy you call a son decided to cost you our last match, I still harbored respect for you--'cause it wasn't a fair win. I wanted to win that match THE RIGHT WAY--BY MYSELF--yet ya couldn't handle the fact that your kid had to fuck up your own l'il ego.
Back then...it was all on Warren. Now...it's gonna be all on you when I take my snakeskin boot and shove it so far up your ass you'll be shittin' Big Macs outta your piehole. You made this personal--now you're gonna have to live with the consequences.
Start prayin' to God, Allah, Buddha, Shiva, or whoever ya believe in, bub. I REALLY hope ya got good life insurance...you'll be sendin' inheritance checks to your next of kin when I do more than simply put your keister to the deck for a ten-count.
I'm gonna put ya outta yer fuckin' misery.
{END BROADCAST}