Post by Deleted on May 20, 2016 15:43:12 GMT -6
Today, on....
It's the case of the bail bondsman, versus the jilted country club brat turned skid mark on humanity's underwear.
The Plaintiff, Tony Savage, is making a legal claim that the defendant is a pissy, over-rated, douchey Mason jar full of nutt-sack sweat, who enjoys being a high school bully until somebody pulls his underwear over his head. Mr. Savage further claims the validity of his injunction in that, with the whimpering, non-answer having promotional material riddled with excuses and conspiracy theories to mask the odor of the performance, the defendant has pretty much resigned himself to getting his chest cavity punched in by a superior fighter.
The Defendant, Crocs Molestinsects, when presented with the evidence from Mr. Savage about his inequities and a potential Little League World Series guffaw on the birth cetificate, Mr. Molestinsects has refuted the claims with bizarre Jesse Ventura conspiracies about Mac running the entire wrestling industry, dumping out his lovely little Prada purse all his emotional baggage, and flashing back to 5th grade; using terms like "vagina baby" before he gets punched in the face on picture day.
Seriously...*snickers*..."Vagina baby!" *pfft* Between that and "inbreeds", somebody needs to get this dude a "Insulting People For Dummies" e-book. Just....
*ahem* Anyways....Real Cases....Real Verdicts....REAL NASTY SATIRICAL DICK KICKING BRONXY IS GONNA GET! JUDGE JUDY!!
Judge Judy: Alright everyone, be seated....
Judy looks over in disgust as an oil slick runs down Crocs' seat:Good, Lord, what the hell is that sludge coming off your scalp?
Oh, hey, Tony's using Donny again for this spoof:Yeah; why is this shit in my scalp, Tony? It's like fire ants partying in my scalp, and I'm looking like I'm going to do a Soul Glo ad.
Authenticity, Donny. It's what Bronx actually uses to get those coiled pieces of fecal matter he calls hair looking like curly fries: nitric acid, used Valvoline, his own tears every night he cries before bed because he found out his dad turned his old bedroom into a mini-gym.
That's just great; now the studio's going to be crawling up my ass about re-upholstering the carpet. Already, let's get this crap over with; I just woofed down too much sashimi, and now my colon's committing contempt of court. Begin your arguments, Mr. Savage.
He stands up:Thank you, your honor....
Thank you, your honor....nyah....such a suck up titty-baby....
Mr. Molestinsects, I won't tolerate any outbursts in this court...
Eh, let him. Can't help it if I damaged him so emotionally, he can't sync up his vocal chords with intelligent thought.
Your honor, ladies and gentlemen of the court and the Internet Wrestling Community...in my last promotional entry, yours truly, EWC International Champion and friend to all woodland creatures, meticulously, ruthlessly, and viscerally not only tore apart Mr. Molestinsect's paltry arguments and chop-shop psychological warfare attempts, he also was subjected to being exposed for the generic, hypocritical, excessively self-promoted legend in his own mind. His lackadaisical and sloppy research methods left him wide open to having his by the numbers persona and background being jammed into a plastic shredder, his rancid and immature personality, coupled with deep seated fear of commitment and loyalty and shitty cry-for-attention tactics, has forced him to become a traveling circus, when true talent and willingness to help build a company instead of simply striving to be on the marquee each and every night would suffice.
While talented to a degree, my prior dissertation revealed severe, chronic shortcomings and ass backwards priorities in the defendant....
*Bolts up* You like ass backwards.....queer....I hope my mommy Ramona shoves a bazooka up all your EWC caca inbreeds....
It's inbreds, Mr. Molestinsects: inbreds! Somebody get this special needs kid a juicebox.
As I was saying, after such a carefully crafted, well balanced with humor and malice shoot, it's become painfully obvious Mr. Molestinsects has not learned a DAMN thing, and is continuing with the same course of action that's about to drive him headlong into a giant fucking iceberg come fight night. As expected, when bitched slapped aurally to the point of a nervous breakdown, the defendant responded with an incredibly forced, pedantic, reminiscent of the Fine Brothers griping about people not joining their little on-line pyramid scheme gripe piece, moaning about a company he claims he hates, but indirectly works for, retorting with the same comments a butt-hurt teenager who got worked on-line in Call of Duty would spit instead of presenting a convincing case of how he'll do his job in the ring, and generally proving once and for all to the world, that Twitter fingers don't equal triggers fingers, and he's about to get his clavicle busted in for it.
Because of this, myself, the plaintiff, is seeking restitution.
And what is it you're seeking?
Not only for wasting my time and bukkake'ing me and everybody that can watch a television or computer screen with banality and sour grapes, and disappointing me by proving me wrong if I lit a fire under his ass, I'd get a fighter instead of the petulant idiot thinking comparing me to a wrestler with a good resume is even remotely close to an insult, I'm seeking to inflict at least one Heart Punch, a lifetime of embarrassment, and a reminder to all other competitors out there in the sport that the Twitter followers don't give you super powers or improve your ability in the ring.
Hmmm...thank you Mr. Savage. Mr. Molestinsects, it's your turn....Mr. Molestinsects, turn off your damn smart phone....
I can't; Brennan sent me a Tweet of him fresh out the salon....*stares way too fondly at it*....such magical follicles....if I could just touch it once...
Dammit....PAY ATTENTION!!
Oh, sorry.....yeah, Judgey, about what he said.....*stammers, stutters, brain starts smoking from trying this think called coherent thought*...
Jack Savage is nothing more than whiny doo-doo titty fuck-infant....
It's TONY, doorknob....
Again, let him. He turned himself into Rain Man last promo; let him keep falling down the hole...
He sucks. He royally sucks. I told Ramona that this morning when I was cutting the crust off her toast, and she agreed with me, so it's gotta be Gospel truth. Of course, it's hard to tell sometimes; I keep confusing her agreeing with me with her telling me to fuck off and pick up the dry cleaning. I get confused, I don't even know my age at this point, and I often over-value my accomplishments in feds. Anyways...
The only reason he wins in EWC is cause they're trash, and he has his head up Mac's ass...*phone rings*...hang on....
Jews are Terrible People speaking. Oh, hi Brennan. Hey, when I was cleaning your toilet...yeah, you left the door lock, so I just broke it down...okay, I'll fix that, no problem, no problem....I wanted to mention how minty fresh that double decker you left in the sink with a note saying "just for you, Bronxy" was; that was the best present ever....okay, I understand, I....yes sir....yes sir. I'll get right on it after I'm out of the tournament...yes sir...I love you...no, I'm not gay, Mac's gay. Stupid queer clitoris toddler. *please call me!*....he hung up.
Starting to wonder what they put in the water in Maine. Please...for the love of God...wrap this up.
Tony and his friends suck. They said mean things about me on their little chat box, throwing terms around like "over-rated" and "fuck-boy" and "worst aspects of the wrestling industry." They're bad people. Of course, if I say offensive and uninspired shit about people, I'm trendy. Hey, Judy, wanna hear me spoil Captain American: Civil War for you?
I don't want you even in the same visual range as me, but I'm getting a pretty penny doing this crap.
I'm the only thing that matters in this tournament, sugar-tits: ME! I bring in ratings, not Jack. I've got way more Twitter followers than Jack, so that means I win wrestling always. I'm the king of social media....
And how, exactly, does having more angry kids on a glorified global SMS message service translated into: better style, better work ethic, and a more refined and effective approach to our upcoming match, hm? 'Splain that one to me, Bill O'Reiley?
Yeah, I'm interested in your reductive reasoning on this one, too.
Uh, er, uhmmm....because I'm more popular? Is that how this works? Plus, 500 more followers, I'll have high enough thetan levels to levitate.
What?
Oh, lord...
That's when Judy nearly blows her over-quaffed stack and digs into him:Mister, I don't know what the hell you take in the morning, but from what I'm seeing and hearing, I'm going to make a judgment right now.
Your attempt to insult Tony by comparing him to Jack, a damn good wrestler in his own right and family man, is not only asinine, it's completely contradictory to anything revolving around a slander. That's like trying to degrade my abilities as a judge by comparing me to friggin' Thoroughgood Marshall!
Who's that? Does he have me blocked, as well?
I'll tell you what the deal is, 10-30w hair. Tony PUNKED you! Pure and simple. He made you look ridiculous. You thought all your jabs and your little Rat Pack of trouser sniffers found a mark and ganged up on him. But he's made it very clear, when you don't have backup and your rancid little cheerleading squad, you ain't shit! He ripped you apart! You tried to rag on his side job; he made it very clear your own sob story of mommy and daddy kicking you to the curb is the most overplayed cliché in pro wrestling since smashing up the foreign announcer's table. You've made a living off vulturing weak feds for mid-level trinkets, never fully realizing your potential. You accuse Mr. Savage of being a suck-up, yet, you're up the asses of an emotionally stunted wench and her idiot Ken doll boyfriend like a suppository. You've been practically FORGOTTEN in 4CW!! And while he made a DAMN convincing case of how your sketchy resume, shitty demeanor, unwarranted delusions of entitlement, penchant for burning bridges, and overall confusion on how to conduct your in the way you proclaim in every fed you're in, while a the same time, doing his job and showcasing what his federation can do, you....
You....have been a complete discredit to this tournament, the industry, and whatever company you work for. You've degraded into a toddler grasping at straws, throwing a fit. You turned a potentially blockbuster match into "Bronxy and his beef with EWC", made yourself look like a petulant child, and clearly displayed you are indeed not ready to fight Mr. Savage unless it's behind a keyboard.
Fuck it; I find for the plaintiff. G'head and beat this moron even dumber than he already is.Judy then slams the gavel down:Now, could somebody get me something with vodka in it?
After the verdict, we caught up with the plaintiff, who was very happy with the verdict.
I'm not surprised at the verdict at all; after his last cut, it was obvious I did damage to him. I mean, what I did to him was like if a parent scolded their kid for giving the dog a bath in the toilet, then said kid decided to pout and refuse to eat their vegetables. And frankly, it's a shame, too.
All these rumors about Bronxy, about what he can do in the ring, to hear some people speak, this guy was some multi-fed monster that would shred me to bits. Instead, after one thorough tongue lashing, he broke down like a box and went back to being sour puss over some shit that happened months ago. What I got was the hurt little boy pops used to look at in disappointment. What I got was the guy who turned his back to all the success and potential he has time and time again. What I had left on my doorstep like a bag of flaming dogshit was a broken, humbled, put in his place whimpering dog that instead of adapting to the situation around him and realizing he was up against a potential landmine, produced one of the pettiest, lamentable, self-serving, wallowing in his own despair wrestling promos that has EVER been produced.
I understand now why you have so much animosity towards EWC, pal. You see a company that's successful, stable, and respected, and you can't stand it. You see a man in me that's confident and comfortable with himself, who uses his flaws as a weapon, repping said company with pride, and it eats you alive. You thought you got some free pussy against me, and instead, what you got was a man that completely DEMOLISHED every argument and conception you had about me, tore about every aspect of you, from career to personality, down to the molecular level, and you couldn't do anything but hide behind an empty suit in the corner and mope.
I call that last promo you did "The Bronx is Burning" 'cause I lit your sorry ass on fire!
You should've asked around, Bronx. You should've asked Pettis, or Aidan, or even swallowed your pride and talked to Mac; they'd have told you what I do to people who piss on my shoes and come at me limp-wristed.
Too late now; you were too busy man-crushing on Jack Savage and those pussies back in AC to do your job right.
Twitter fingers aren't trigger fingers. You asked me to not miss, and I carpet bombed your ass off the map!
Enjoy a new chest injury to brag about to your angry nerd pals, and the view from the sidelines after round 2, dipshit.
Tony grabs a gavel:This case, and Bronxy...dismissed!*WHACK!*
It's the case of the bail bondsman, versus the jilted country club brat turned skid mark on humanity's underwear.
The Plaintiff, Tony Savage, is making a legal claim that the defendant is a pissy, over-rated, douchey Mason jar full of nutt-sack sweat, who enjoys being a high school bully until somebody pulls his underwear over his head. Mr. Savage further claims the validity of his injunction in that, with the whimpering, non-answer having promotional material riddled with excuses and conspiracy theories to mask the odor of the performance, the defendant has pretty much resigned himself to getting his chest cavity punched in by a superior fighter.
The Defendant, Crocs Molestinsects, when presented with the evidence from Mr. Savage about his inequities and a potential Little League World Series guffaw on the birth cetificate, Mr. Molestinsects has refuted the claims with bizarre Jesse Ventura conspiracies about Mac running the entire wrestling industry, dumping out his lovely little Prada purse all his emotional baggage, and flashing back to 5th grade; using terms like "vagina baby" before he gets punched in the face on picture day.
Seriously...*snickers*..."Vagina baby!" *pfft* Between that and "inbreeds", somebody needs to get this dude a "Insulting People For Dummies" e-book. Just....
*ahem* Anyways....Real Cases....Real Verdicts....REAL NASTY SATIRICAL DICK KICKING BRONXY IS GONNA GET! JUDGE JUDY!!
Judge Judy: Alright everyone, be seated....
Judy looks over in disgust as an oil slick runs down Crocs' seat:Good, Lord, what the hell is that sludge coming off your scalp?
Oh, hey, Tony's using Donny again for this spoof:Yeah; why is this shit in my scalp, Tony? It's like fire ants partying in my scalp, and I'm looking like I'm going to do a Soul Glo ad.
Authenticity, Donny. It's what Bronx actually uses to get those coiled pieces of fecal matter he calls hair looking like curly fries: nitric acid, used Valvoline, his own tears every night he cries before bed because he found out his dad turned his old bedroom into a mini-gym.
That's just great; now the studio's going to be crawling up my ass about re-upholstering the carpet. Already, let's get this crap over with; I just woofed down too much sashimi, and now my colon's committing contempt of court. Begin your arguments, Mr. Savage.
He stands up:Thank you, your honor....
Thank you, your honor....nyah....such a suck up titty-baby....
Mr. Molestinsects, I won't tolerate any outbursts in this court...
Eh, let him. Can't help it if I damaged him so emotionally, he can't sync up his vocal chords with intelligent thought.
Your honor, ladies and gentlemen of the court and the Internet Wrestling Community...in my last promotional entry, yours truly, EWC International Champion and friend to all woodland creatures, meticulously, ruthlessly, and viscerally not only tore apart Mr. Molestinsect's paltry arguments and chop-shop psychological warfare attempts, he also was subjected to being exposed for the generic, hypocritical, excessively self-promoted legend in his own mind. His lackadaisical and sloppy research methods left him wide open to having his by the numbers persona and background being jammed into a plastic shredder, his rancid and immature personality, coupled with deep seated fear of commitment and loyalty and shitty cry-for-attention tactics, has forced him to become a traveling circus, when true talent and willingness to help build a company instead of simply striving to be on the marquee each and every night would suffice.
While talented to a degree, my prior dissertation revealed severe, chronic shortcomings and ass backwards priorities in the defendant....
*Bolts up* You like ass backwards.....queer....I hope my mommy Ramona shoves a bazooka up all your EWC caca inbreeds....
It's inbreds, Mr. Molestinsects: inbreds! Somebody get this special needs kid a juicebox.
As I was saying, after such a carefully crafted, well balanced with humor and malice shoot, it's become painfully obvious Mr. Molestinsects has not learned a DAMN thing, and is continuing with the same course of action that's about to drive him headlong into a giant fucking iceberg come fight night. As expected, when bitched slapped aurally to the point of a nervous breakdown, the defendant responded with an incredibly forced, pedantic, reminiscent of the Fine Brothers griping about people not joining their little on-line pyramid scheme gripe piece, moaning about a company he claims he hates, but indirectly works for, retorting with the same comments a butt-hurt teenager who got worked on-line in Call of Duty would spit instead of presenting a convincing case of how he'll do his job in the ring, and generally proving once and for all to the world, that Twitter fingers don't equal triggers fingers, and he's about to get his clavicle busted in for it.
Because of this, myself, the plaintiff, is seeking restitution.
And what is it you're seeking?
Not only for wasting my time and bukkake'ing me and everybody that can watch a television or computer screen with banality and sour grapes, and disappointing me by proving me wrong if I lit a fire under his ass, I'd get a fighter instead of the petulant idiot thinking comparing me to a wrestler with a good resume is even remotely close to an insult, I'm seeking to inflict at least one Heart Punch, a lifetime of embarrassment, and a reminder to all other competitors out there in the sport that the Twitter followers don't give you super powers or improve your ability in the ring.
Hmmm...thank you Mr. Savage. Mr. Molestinsects, it's your turn....Mr. Molestinsects, turn off your damn smart phone....
I can't; Brennan sent me a Tweet of him fresh out the salon....*stares way too fondly at it*....such magical follicles....if I could just touch it once...
Dammit....PAY ATTENTION!!
Oh, sorry.....yeah, Judgey, about what he said.....*stammers, stutters, brain starts smoking from trying this think called coherent thought*...
Jack Savage is nothing more than whiny doo-doo titty fuck-infant....
It's TONY, doorknob....
Again, let him. He turned himself into Rain Man last promo; let him keep falling down the hole...
He sucks. He royally sucks. I told Ramona that this morning when I was cutting the crust off her toast, and she agreed with me, so it's gotta be Gospel truth. Of course, it's hard to tell sometimes; I keep confusing her agreeing with me with her telling me to fuck off and pick up the dry cleaning. I get confused, I don't even know my age at this point, and I often over-value my accomplishments in feds. Anyways...
The only reason he wins in EWC is cause they're trash, and he has his head up Mac's ass...*phone rings*...hang on....
Jews are Terrible People speaking. Oh, hi Brennan. Hey, when I was cleaning your toilet...yeah, you left the door lock, so I just broke it down...okay, I'll fix that, no problem, no problem....I wanted to mention how minty fresh that double decker you left in the sink with a note saying "just for you, Bronxy" was; that was the best present ever....okay, I understand, I....yes sir....yes sir. I'll get right on it after I'm out of the tournament...yes sir...I love you...no, I'm not gay, Mac's gay. Stupid queer clitoris toddler. *please call me!*....he hung up.
Starting to wonder what they put in the water in Maine. Please...for the love of God...wrap this up.
Tony and his friends suck. They said mean things about me on their little chat box, throwing terms around like "over-rated" and "fuck-boy" and "worst aspects of the wrestling industry." They're bad people. Of course, if I say offensive and uninspired shit about people, I'm trendy. Hey, Judy, wanna hear me spoil Captain American: Civil War for you?
I don't want you even in the same visual range as me, but I'm getting a pretty penny doing this crap.
I'm the only thing that matters in this tournament, sugar-tits: ME! I bring in ratings, not Jack. I've got way more Twitter followers than Jack, so that means I win wrestling always. I'm the king of social media....
And how, exactly, does having more angry kids on a glorified global SMS message service translated into: better style, better work ethic, and a more refined and effective approach to our upcoming match, hm? 'Splain that one to me, Bill O'Reiley?
Yeah, I'm interested in your reductive reasoning on this one, too.
Uh, er, uhmmm....because I'm more popular? Is that how this works? Plus, 500 more followers, I'll have high enough thetan levels to levitate.
What?
Oh, lord...
That's when Judy nearly blows her over-quaffed stack and digs into him:Mister, I don't know what the hell you take in the morning, but from what I'm seeing and hearing, I'm going to make a judgment right now.
Your attempt to insult Tony by comparing him to Jack, a damn good wrestler in his own right and family man, is not only asinine, it's completely contradictory to anything revolving around a slander. That's like trying to degrade my abilities as a judge by comparing me to friggin' Thoroughgood Marshall!
Who's that? Does he have me blocked, as well?
I'll tell you what the deal is, 10-30w hair. Tony PUNKED you! Pure and simple. He made you look ridiculous. You thought all your jabs and your little Rat Pack of trouser sniffers found a mark and ganged up on him. But he's made it very clear, when you don't have backup and your rancid little cheerleading squad, you ain't shit! He ripped you apart! You tried to rag on his side job; he made it very clear your own sob story of mommy and daddy kicking you to the curb is the most overplayed cliché in pro wrestling since smashing up the foreign announcer's table. You've made a living off vulturing weak feds for mid-level trinkets, never fully realizing your potential. You accuse Mr. Savage of being a suck-up, yet, you're up the asses of an emotionally stunted wench and her idiot Ken doll boyfriend like a suppository. You've been practically FORGOTTEN in 4CW!! And while he made a DAMN convincing case of how your sketchy resume, shitty demeanor, unwarranted delusions of entitlement, penchant for burning bridges, and overall confusion on how to conduct your in the way you proclaim in every fed you're in, while a the same time, doing his job and showcasing what his federation can do, you....
You....have been a complete discredit to this tournament, the industry, and whatever company you work for. You've degraded into a toddler grasping at straws, throwing a fit. You turned a potentially blockbuster match into "Bronxy and his beef with EWC", made yourself look like a petulant child, and clearly displayed you are indeed not ready to fight Mr. Savage unless it's behind a keyboard.
Fuck it; I find for the plaintiff. G'head and beat this moron even dumber than he already is.Judy then slams the gavel down:Now, could somebody get me something with vodka in it?
After the verdict, we caught up with the plaintiff, who was very happy with the verdict.
I'm not surprised at the verdict at all; after his last cut, it was obvious I did damage to him. I mean, what I did to him was like if a parent scolded their kid for giving the dog a bath in the toilet, then said kid decided to pout and refuse to eat their vegetables. And frankly, it's a shame, too.
All these rumors about Bronxy, about what he can do in the ring, to hear some people speak, this guy was some multi-fed monster that would shred me to bits. Instead, after one thorough tongue lashing, he broke down like a box and went back to being sour puss over some shit that happened months ago. What I got was the hurt little boy pops used to look at in disappointment. What I got was the guy who turned his back to all the success and potential he has time and time again. What I had left on my doorstep like a bag of flaming dogshit was a broken, humbled, put in his place whimpering dog that instead of adapting to the situation around him and realizing he was up against a potential landmine, produced one of the pettiest, lamentable, self-serving, wallowing in his own despair wrestling promos that has EVER been produced.
I understand now why you have so much animosity towards EWC, pal. You see a company that's successful, stable, and respected, and you can't stand it. You see a man in me that's confident and comfortable with himself, who uses his flaws as a weapon, repping said company with pride, and it eats you alive. You thought you got some free pussy against me, and instead, what you got was a man that completely DEMOLISHED every argument and conception you had about me, tore about every aspect of you, from career to personality, down to the molecular level, and you couldn't do anything but hide behind an empty suit in the corner and mope.
I call that last promo you did "The Bronx is Burning" 'cause I lit your sorry ass on fire!
You should've asked around, Bronx. You should've asked Pettis, or Aidan, or even swallowed your pride and talked to Mac; they'd have told you what I do to people who piss on my shoes and come at me limp-wristed.
Too late now; you were too busy man-crushing on Jack Savage and those pussies back in AC to do your job right.
Twitter fingers aren't trigger fingers. You asked me to not miss, and I carpet bombed your ass off the map!
Enjoy a new chest injury to brag about to your angry nerd pals, and the view from the sidelines after round 2, dipshit.
Tony grabs a gavel:This case, and Bronxy...dismissed!*WHACK!*