See, ever since you showed up, somethin’s been scratchin’ at the back of my head. I kept thinkin’, “I know this fella. I’ve seen this before.” You change the wig, change the name, scream a little different each time… but it's the same smell.

So I dug a little and found some tapes.

There was this guy, back in the '80s, who used to gallop out dressed like a unicorn. Said his name was “Hoof Hearted.” Wore spandex with glitter glue and tried to kiss the ref mid-match.

Then a few years later, there you were again. “Captain Loop.” Came down the ramp shoutin’ gibberish like a car alarm goin’ off inside a Hot Topic. Just screamed “HEE!! HEE!! ZIMBABWE!!” over and over, breakin' wind and spinnin' in circles.

And you kept goin. Said you were a “psychological tactician” who could "trigger people into oblivion". But you'd just sit there shoutin’ “EPIC HEE HEE BAZINGA” with tears and boogers runnin’ down your face.

Then came the wigs. The heels. You said you could become "anyone". But sir… no one believed. You couldn’t even keep your wig straight.

Then there was that real bad one. You called yourself “Lil’ Shota.” Wore a propeller hat and tried climbin’ the ropes like a jungle gym. But your plug fell out. You cried and called the crowd “insipid cunts.”

Same face every time. Chinless. Sweaty. Eyes dartin’ around like you were losin’ a fight in your own head.

Every gimmick worse than the last. Not ‘cause you were evil, or clever. Just… desperate. Like if you wrapped enough garbage around yourself, no one’d notice the fungal stink comin’ from underneath.

And now we got you here, callin’ yourself “Lillisfag”. You act like you got somethin’ to prove, but all you ever do is leak and whine and scream. Like the world's wrong for not clappin’ hard enough when you fall on your face.

Just one more thing…

You were never invisible.
They saw you every time.
They just wished they hadn’t.