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6/25/2025, 11:23:12 PM
“Ladies and gentlemen… I’ve seen barbed wire deathmatches in Tokyo, I’ve called Hell in a Cell from 20 feet up... but I ain’t never seen anything like this. There’s only one man in that ring. And somehow—he’s LOSING.”
>J-Tard stands center ring. Chair-bound. Twitching. Covered in lesions and rot. A stretched, foul-smelling wig clings to his scalp with glue and wishful thinking. He raises a phone, giggles, and bumps a thread.
“He just posted. He’s LIVE POSTING from the ring! We’ve got 20,000 in attendance and somehow he’s more focused on bumping his own thread about ‘shota being based’! Somebody unplug this pedophile freak!”
>The wig slips. Silence. It hits the mat with a wet thud.
“OH GAWD, IT’S OFF! THE WIG IS OFF! AND HE’S SCREECHING—NO NO NO—HE’S VOIDING HIS BOWELS MID-RING, KING! FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT’S HOLY, GET THE CHILDREN OUTTA HERE!”
>J-Tard stands center ring. Chair-bound. Twitching. Covered in lesions and rot. A stretched, foul-smelling wig clings to his scalp with glue and wishful thinking. He raises a phone, giggles, and bumps a thread.
“He just posted. He’s LIVE POSTING from the ring! We’ve got 20,000 in attendance and somehow he’s more focused on bumping his own thread about ‘shota being based’! Somebody unplug this pedophile freak!”
>The wig slips. Silence. It hits the mat with a wet thud.
“OH GAWD, IT’S OFF! THE WIG IS OFF! AND HE’S SCREECHING—NO NO NO—HE’S VOIDING HIS BOWELS MID-RING, KING! FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT’S HOLY, GET THE CHILDREN OUTTA HERE!”
6/25/2025, 8:00:46 PM
"GOOD GOD ALMIGHTY! Beady just came flyin’ off the top rope like a man possessed! What in the hell are we witnessing, folks?! This ain’t wrestling—it’s a damn fever dream from the darkest corner of Canada!"
>Troy waddles toward Beady, flailing like a drunk walrus in a bounce house.
"Troy’s stumbling in—this man’s got the coordination of a one-legged moose on ice! Look at him! He’s trying to slap Beady with what looks like... is that a cum sock?! For the love of God, somebody stop this."
>Beady twitches, murmuring sweet nothings to his dead mouse like it’s his manager.
"Beady’s whisperin’ to that creepy lil’ sidekick of his—what is that, a petrified rodent?! This man is unhinged! But damn it, he’s got heart! He’s got the instincts of a raccoon in a back alley knife fight, and he’s wielding that Face Peeler like it owes him money!"
>J-Tard wheels into the fray, disguised as Stone Cold but clearly not fooling anyone—his body oozing something unholy.
"And here comes J-Tard—my God, he’s in that chair again, rollin’ down the ramp like a possessed shopping cart! He’s got that thousand-yard stare—don’t look him in the eyes, King, you’ll lose your soul!"
>J-Tard hurls something unspeakable from his lap—Beady dodges with terrifying precision.
"NO! NO! He threw it! HE ACTUALLY THREW HIS SHIT-COVERED BUTT PLUG! I can’t believe what I just saw—I think I’m gonna be sick! Beady ducked just in time, and Troy took the full brunt of that!"
>The crowd erupts in horrified applause as Beady mounts Troy, peeling off slices of his fat, gormless face.
"It’s a massacre, King! Beady is unleashing years of madness onto that fat retard—Troy’s crying, fartin’, babytalkin’—this is pure chaos!"
>Troy waddles toward Beady, flailing like a drunk walrus in a bounce house.
"Troy’s stumbling in—this man’s got the coordination of a one-legged moose on ice! Look at him! He’s trying to slap Beady with what looks like... is that a cum sock?! For the love of God, somebody stop this."
>Beady twitches, murmuring sweet nothings to his dead mouse like it’s his manager.
"Beady’s whisperin’ to that creepy lil’ sidekick of his—what is that, a petrified rodent?! This man is unhinged! But damn it, he’s got heart! He’s got the instincts of a raccoon in a back alley knife fight, and he’s wielding that Face Peeler like it owes him money!"
>J-Tard wheels into the fray, disguised as Stone Cold but clearly not fooling anyone—his body oozing something unholy.
"And here comes J-Tard—my God, he’s in that chair again, rollin’ down the ramp like a possessed shopping cart! He’s got that thousand-yard stare—don’t look him in the eyes, King, you’ll lose your soul!"
>J-Tard hurls something unspeakable from his lap—Beady dodges with terrifying precision.
"NO! NO! He threw it! HE ACTUALLY THREW HIS SHIT-COVERED BUTT PLUG! I can’t believe what I just saw—I think I’m gonna be sick! Beady ducked just in time, and Troy took the full brunt of that!"
>The crowd erupts in horrified applause as Beady mounts Troy, peeling off slices of his fat, gormless face.
"It’s a massacre, King! Beady is unleashing years of madness onto that fat retard—Troy’s crying, fartin’, babytalkin’—this is pure chaos!"
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