The following column was posted on whirlybirdz.com The opinions expressed therein are solely that of the offer, and do not reflect the opinions of either Terrence Thompson nor Wendy Briese.
Hey kids!
Well, I’m fairly sure everyone has become familiar with the events of Criminal Intent by now. Long Story Short, me, Anders, Cara, and Belle faced Gambini’s goons for the right to control SVW, and we lost. Not just lost, we kind of got punked. I mean, yeah. There was some serious cheating going on, but considering our opponents, we should have expected that. We blew it. All four of us. Plain and simple. No excuses.
Now, I’m not going to stand here and get all mopey or emo about this shit. I apologized to Spence, and to my teammates, and that’s all I owe anyone. What happened happened, can’t change it, move the fuck on.
Just one thing. I’m suddenly finding my place of employment a much less desirable place to work than I did a couple of weeks ago. I can’t figure on it. Maybe it’s that I’m being in bullshit matches. Maybe it’s because my boss is a mafioso cunt. Maybe it’s because I just dont give a fuck.
So here’s the deal. Fuck you, Anthony Gambini. And fuck you, Catherine McCallister.
Now I’m not quitting. Oh no, I’ve got a contract to uphold, and there’s nothing to be had in walking away. Not when there’s two lives to be made a living hell in the near future.
Because the way I see it, control of SVW should come with a price. Normally, I’d say the price would have been the blood and sweat of the people who won that competition, but let’s be honest, pulling feet off the ropes, bullshit DQs, and Alvin Shepherd are hardly winning with effort.
So I’m going to have to impose a different kind of fee. A fee that is going to cost my bosses every ounce of willpower and dignity they have left. Not that those shameless whores had much of either to begin with, but I can only really take what’s available.
This war ain’t over, Gambini. You may have occupied the territory, but the residents are still restless, and they’re more than happy to put up a hefty insurgence against you. And I’ll be in front throwing as many rocks as I can at the picket line.
And what are you going to do about it? Because the way I see it, if you fire me, that only proves that you couldn’t handle me. That you couldn’t put up with one rogue fat boy in your organization. Surely you and all your thugs can handle little ole me, right?
So you’re gonna do what you think will hurt me, then. Throw me in this three on one handicapped match against Johnny Moxie and Revolution X, and teach me a lesson about opposing you. Just like you’re turning Stark and Stone against each other, and I’m sure doing God knows what to Belle the moment you get the chance.
Good fucking luck with that, linguine breath.
Cara and Anders are the best you have in this company now, and they’re going to show that by tearing the house down. Me? I’m going to tear the house down too, but not in a way you’re going to like. In the coming weeks, I”m going to bring every member of Revolution X, including your precious champion, crashing to their knees. It’ll be an insurgency of such high regard that Yassir Arafat will be watching from hell, and he’ll facepalm and go “why the hell didn’t I think of that?”
And what are you going to do in return? Beat me up? Bitch, please. Wendy practically does that every other day. I’ve gotten used to it.
You’re not going to get used to this though. No sir. In fact, by the time Extreme Prejudice rolls around, there’s only going to be one thought running through yours, and Cat’s brains as you looked around at the Kingdom that the Northwestern Nightmare brought down.
“Oh. The Humanity.”
Polla Out.
Motherfucker.
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