FADE IN: Sars stands on two steel chairs with a steel chair wrapped around his neck, two chairs through his legs, two covering his arms and one taped around his waist.
...oh yeah, and he's naked.
SARS: "HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! Behold, Joe! The mechanization that will undo your commode-stained overalls, pull down those bedsheets you try to pass off as man-panties, and proceed to savagely rape-rape-rape (and rape, rape, rape) you in ways you haven't even had wet dreams about yet.
I dug thee: CYBER CHAIR SARS!
DESIGNED by relatives of Kin Hiroshi who are no doubt good math but bad at taxin' age-appropriate ass (he's mexican, right?), FORGED in the salisbury-steak valley of Luci4's loose and slimey cunt - which reeks vaguely of moldy bangers and mash, GARNISHED with nut crust carefully "ninja'd" from the smega covered, untouched nutsack of Steve "Why don't I have a girlfriend?" Knox and CONTROLLED via E.S.P by m'main man "BIG N' TASTY" BILL "JUDOn't wanna fuck with 'em" JUDO!"
Sars points at the camera with a steel-clad arm.
SARS: "Nyah, Nyah! See? You thought you were callin' me out, but ya just got OUTED. You came out yakkin' your slackjaw and got dropped faster than the 3-seconds it takes Legion to cut one of their utterly confusing- shitty, cluttered, uninteresting promos. And just like them, you didn't even seem to be trying. Me and the Judo-ster left you in the middle of the ring gasping for either air or chili cheeseburgers, I couldn't tell which, the reaction to you being deprived of either seems to be exactly the same."
Sars put his hands on his hips (as best he could) and took on a more "stately" presence.
SARS: "I kinda feel sorry 'fer ya, Joe. Everybody seems hates your fucking guts. Too bad you can't "Pull a Varga" and metamorph into an even shittier gimmick so that the next time someone reminds you that you're a worthless knobstain, at least you'll be *in* on the joke. And right about now your other sister must be besides herself with grief- bringing her from a "portly but sporty" 260 pounds up to her "original fightin' weight" - a biscuit soppin' F'AAAHVE-TWENTY! HAHAHAHA! Poor thing. She coulda been living it up with me and Big Billy. Dropping rap albums, sweeping up all the adult teeth I'm gonna shatter at the Grand Prix.
But no. Now what's she doing? Spending her time convincing the Bush Administration not to drill your greasy ass for oil. Holding you and telling you everything is gonna "be alright" when you wake up at night screaming at your dick. But ya know what, Joe? Everything isn't gonna "be alright" it's gonna be "AW HELL NO, SARS JUST GAVE JOE A C-SECTION WITH HIS STEEL CHAIR HANDS!" and I'll be all: "RAWR! STEEL CHAIR HAND BITCH! TAKE IT SLUT!" and you will, because you like it when a clown talks DURTY.
Hohohoho.....
Joe, the clock is tickin'. On your reign, your shit-streak and your entire fucking career. What you got at Crash 45 was a mere butt-nugget compared to the 6 feet of "Anal Soils" I'm gonna bury you in.
Get ready fuck-O! It's gonna be a real horror show!
HAHAHAHhahahaHAHAHAHAhahahaHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!"
...oh yeah, and he's naked.
SARS: "HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! Behold, Joe! The mechanization that will undo your commode-stained overalls, pull down those bedsheets you try to pass off as man-panties, and proceed to savagely rape-rape-rape (and rape, rape, rape) you in ways you haven't even had wet dreams about yet.
I dug thee: CYBER CHAIR SARS!
DESIGNED by relatives of Kin Hiroshi who are no doubt good math but bad at taxin' age-appropriate ass (he's mexican, right?), FORGED in the salisbury-steak valley of Luci4's loose and slimey cunt - which reeks vaguely of moldy bangers and mash, GARNISHED with nut crust carefully "ninja'd" from the smega covered, untouched nutsack of Steve "Why don't I have a girlfriend?" Knox and CONTROLLED via E.S.P by m'main man "BIG N' TASTY" BILL "JUDOn't wanna fuck with 'em" JUDO!"
Sars points at the camera with a steel-clad arm.
SARS: "Nyah, Nyah! See? You thought you were callin' me out, but ya just got OUTED. You came out yakkin' your slackjaw and got dropped faster than the 3-seconds it takes Legion to cut one of their utterly confusing- shitty, cluttered, uninteresting promos. And just like them, you didn't even seem to be trying. Me and the Judo-ster left you in the middle of the ring gasping for either air or chili cheeseburgers, I couldn't tell which, the reaction to you being deprived of either seems to be exactly the same."
Sars put his hands on his hips (as best he could) and took on a more "stately" presence.
SARS: "I kinda feel sorry 'fer ya, Joe. Everybody seems hates your fucking guts. Too bad you can't "Pull a Varga" and metamorph into an even shittier gimmick so that the next time someone reminds you that you're a worthless knobstain, at least you'll be *in* on the joke. And right about now your other sister must be besides herself with grief- bringing her from a "portly but sporty" 260 pounds up to her "original fightin' weight" - a biscuit soppin' F'AAAHVE-TWENTY! HAHAHAHA! Poor thing. She coulda been living it up with me and Big Billy. Dropping rap albums, sweeping up all the adult teeth I'm gonna shatter at the Grand Prix.
But no. Now what's she doing? Spending her time convincing the Bush Administration not to drill your greasy ass for oil. Holding you and telling you everything is gonna "be alright" when you wake up at night screaming at your dick. But ya know what, Joe? Everything isn't gonna "be alright" it's gonna be "AW HELL NO, SARS JUST GAVE JOE A C-SECTION WITH HIS STEEL CHAIR HANDS!" and I'll be all: "RAWR! STEEL CHAIR HAND BITCH! TAKE IT SLUT!" and you will, because you like it when a clown talks DURTY.
Hohohoho.....
Joe, the clock is tickin'. On your reign, your shit-streak and your entire fucking career. What you got at Crash 45 was a mere butt-nugget compared to the 6 feet of "Anal Soils" I'm gonna bury you in.
Get ready fuck-O! It's gonna be a real horror show!
HAHAHAHhahahaHAHAHAHAhahahaHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!"
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