Steve
the EX-QUEEN of FW~!
(FADEIN: Joey Melton in front of an NFW backdrop.)
MELTON: You know what I like about NFW?
What Brown can do for me: Deliver the checks to the front door of my mansion the first of every month. I don’t remember working a date for this company, this calendar year, yet, Miles’ enables me the luxury of wiping my ass with the raise he’s NOT giving the likes of Jason Payne, and Yori the bear.
“Hey boo boo, I uh work very hard, and blade in this very unnatural hell hole, how bout some, benefits?”
Yakamo if you want health insurance, or a ****ing dental checkup without taking out a loan, get your ass back to school, learn a trade, and find a real job. Miles won’t be fronting the bill for a root canal when he’s partnered up with every Sizzler west of the Mississippi just to pass out enough comps to fill a ****ing rodeo arena. Maybe you get a medium-rare steak, and potatoes before every show, but the money that you’ve earned goes to me. I know life’s unfair, you die, and are reborn as one of Cameron Cruise’s descendents. And one day I learned I evolved from an ape. It’s all so heartbreaking, really.
I’ve earned the right to get paid for your hard work, and not have to do a damn thing in return, because I’M JOEY MELTON! I suffered through Season One. I made Wrestlebowl, or whatever the hell it was, the number one show of the year. I planted a sunflower in Calvin Carlton’s ***** and helped him grow a set. I ran Eddy Love AND Shane Southern out of this company, exposed Manson for the bore than he is, made Ryan fear peeing in a cup, and when the clock struck twelve, I OVERCAME PARALYSIS! Had I the foresight to color scheme a bracelet, I could be a billionaire by now. But, **** Livestrong and Lance Armstrong. He overcame cancer, and learned how to ride a bike again.
Yeah, and?
The thing about beating cancer is, machines do all the work!! My rehab was hand-to-hand, day in and day out in the trenches, killing myself softly just to move an inch. Armstrong practically laid in a tanning bed with magical powers. And I learned how to ride a bike when I was six and never forgot how! But, he’s the one doing Leno and making Sheryl Crow whisper sweet nothings with a mouthful of Texan cock.
Who’s favorite mistake am I?
I’m NFW’s highest paid performer, and legally I just have to manage Lindsay Troy when the mood strikes, and cut a promo seasonally. This must be what Joltin’ Joe felt like in the 60’s when he sold his soul to Mr. Coffee. I’m a celebrity endorser. Think of me as Tony Robbins without the battleship of a forehead, and mutated jaw line. Miles wants me to tell you everything is going to be okay. Just believe in yourself, and stay clear of vats of toxic poison.
But, taking money for nothing, for telling LIES, just seems wrong.
None of you are okay.
I’ve been on NFW TV twice this year, and already I’ve put in more work than Deacon, or half the NFW West roster. So much effort phoned in like season two was a ****ing script read through of an episode of “Eve.” Hey, the work may suck, it may be public access television, but your irritants have to show up!
(condescending) You gotta have the effort! Or you just end up being Troy Windham. Winless, and having shirts printed, adorned with glitter and reading: I peed in some guy’s face. ****, man, I can go to a bar and do that. And probably for free!
Imagine what I can do if I give some bum off the street a ten dollar bill.
He probably consults with Sweet Melissa about coming back.
(drum bang)
Thank you.
I was promised by Miles if I signed that, that big ol’ bear in Pickens County would come back and bow before me, and sign the slave contract I had Adrian work up on a whim. But, what Eddy Love failed to understand, and again this is probably a result of his 5th grade education and smog poison inhaled from his out of inspection car…he failed to understand that serving Joey Melton is the one religion that won’t ask you to go to war. Or, live on a farm with no modern luxuries.
Eddy Love could be living in the Melton Family Mansion right now, being fed grapes by Doc Silver’s mother, and having it not cost him a dime! Sure, he’d have to clip my nails, do my bidding, and work in the vineyard ensuring the Melton line of jellies came out on time, early next year, but a small price to pay that is!
People just aren’t willing to work anymore.
They want everything to be free and easy.
Troy Windham. The champion of a belt that’s defended once a year, usually on the same date that the Simpsons is renewed for an additional three years. The Bono wannabe who has birth certificates forged so he can invade high schools in an desperate effort to stay hip…yes THAT Troy Windham. WINLESS! I could step in tomorrow and have as many points as that maggot has.
That’s leadership?
That’s entertainment?
What about Eddie Mayfield? Still sleeping with his right hand in plaster to avoid Eddie Gilbert’s cum shot from the 80s wearing off. You met your hero, Mayfield, and fed Miles enough botox to pass off another run around the block, but newsflash, nobody gives a **** about the Saved By The Bell Slater/Zac drama you’ve created. One’s a jock, the other gets all the shaved *****. One carried the team, and the other ripped the hand me down gimmick because when he first broke in the cool **** to do was to wrestle a bear at county fairs. And in other news, the chicken’s tired of asking the egg if he came first.
I don’t care.
Nobody cares.
Carlton’s momma doesn’t care, and she’s 500 lbs, and chained to a furnace. She watches some god awful **** on tv, but maybe only the threat of an enema could get her to invest in the storyline.
And amazingly I hear grumblings from some of you irritants ****ting a brick over me having a massive take home. The reality is, you people are poor and don’t matter. Poor people should be rounded up and gassed like Jews in the holocaust. You know, why is it that we can rationally conclude that major league baseball needs to lose 2-4 teams, but nobody wants to finger the real problem with America. There’s too many Troy Windhams, and Felix Reds running around.
There’s too many ****ing people in the NFW drawing checks and working about as much as Sweet Melissa in bed.
Contraction’s about to hit the NFW.
Each of you, kindly look inward, and then step forward if you’re ready to admit that you suck.
Manson, be a doll and go first.
(FTB)
MELTON: You know what I like about NFW?
What Brown can do for me: Deliver the checks to the front door of my mansion the first of every month. I don’t remember working a date for this company, this calendar year, yet, Miles’ enables me the luxury of wiping my ass with the raise he’s NOT giving the likes of Jason Payne, and Yori the bear.
“Hey boo boo, I uh work very hard, and blade in this very unnatural hell hole, how bout some, benefits?”
Yakamo if you want health insurance, or a ****ing dental checkup without taking out a loan, get your ass back to school, learn a trade, and find a real job. Miles won’t be fronting the bill for a root canal when he’s partnered up with every Sizzler west of the Mississippi just to pass out enough comps to fill a ****ing rodeo arena. Maybe you get a medium-rare steak, and potatoes before every show, but the money that you’ve earned goes to me. I know life’s unfair, you die, and are reborn as one of Cameron Cruise’s descendents. And one day I learned I evolved from an ape. It’s all so heartbreaking, really.
I’ve earned the right to get paid for your hard work, and not have to do a damn thing in return, because I’M JOEY MELTON! I suffered through Season One. I made Wrestlebowl, or whatever the hell it was, the number one show of the year. I planted a sunflower in Calvin Carlton’s ***** and helped him grow a set. I ran Eddy Love AND Shane Southern out of this company, exposed Manson for the bore than he is, made Ryan fear peeing in a cup, and when the clock struck twelve, I OVERCAME PARALYSIS! Had I the foresight to color scheme a bracelet, I could be a billionaire by now. But, **** Livestrong and Lance Armstrong. He overcame cancer, and learned how to ride a bike again.
Yeah, and?
The thing about beating cancer is, machines do all the work!! My rehab was hand-to-hand, day in and day out in the trenches, killing myself softly just to move an inch. Armstrong practically laid in a tanning bed with magical powers. And I learned how to ride a bike when I was six and never forgot how! But, he’s the one doing Leno and making Sheryl Crow whisper sweet nothings with a mouthful of Texan cock.
Who’s favorite mistake am I?
I’m NFW’s highest paid performer, and legally I just have to manage Lindsay Troy when the mood strikes, and cut a promo seasonally. This must be what Joltin’ Joe felt like in the 60’s when he sold his soul to Mr. Coffee. I’m a celebrity endorser. Think of me as Tony Robbins without the battleship of a forehead, and mutated jaw line. Miles wants me to tell you everything is going to be okay. Just believe in yourself, and stay clear of vats of toxic poison.
But, taking money for nothing, for telling LIES, just seems wrong.
None of you are okay.
I’ve been on NFW TV twice this year, and already I’ve put in more work than Deacon, or half the NFW West roster. So much effort phoned in like season two was a ****ing script read through of an episode of “Eve.” Hey, the work may suck, it may be public access television, but your irritants have to show up!
(condescending) You gotta have the effort! Or you just end up being Troy Windham. Winless, and having shirts printed, adorned with glitter and reading: I peed in some guy’s face. ****, man, I can go to a bar and do that. And probably for free!
Imagine what I can do if I give some bum off the street a ten dollar bill.
He probably consults with Sweet Melissa about coming back.
(drum bang)
Thank you.
I was promised by Miles if I signed that, that big ol’ bear in Pickens County would come back and bow before me, and sign the slave contract I had Adrian work up on a whim. But, what Eddy Love failed to understand, and again this is probably a result of his 5th grade education and smog poison inhaled from his out of inspection car…he failed to understand that serving Joey Melton is the one religion that won’t ask you to go to war. Or, live on a farm with no modern luxuries.
Eddy Love could be living in the Melton Family Mansion right now, being fed grapes by Doc Silver’s mother, and having it not cost him a dime! Sure, he’d have to clip my nails, do my bidding, and work in the vineyard ensuring the Melton line of jellies came out on time, early next year, but a small price to pay that is!
People just aren’t willing to work anymore.
They want everything to be free and easy.
Troy Windham. The champion of a belt that’s defended once a year, usually on the same date that the Simpsons is renewed for an additional three years. The Bono wannabe who has birth certificates forged so he can invade high schools in an desperate effort to stay hip…yes THAT Troy Windham. WINLESS! I could step in tomorrow and have as many points as that maggot has.
That’s leadership?
That’s entertainment?
What about Eddie Mayfield? Still sleeping with his right hand in plaster to avoid Eddie Gilbert’s cum shot from the 80s wearing off. You met your hero, Mayfield, and fed Miles enough botox to pass off another run around the block, but newsflash, nobody gives a **** about the Saved By The Bell Slater/Zac drama you’ve created. One’s a jock, the other gets all the shaved *****. One carried the team, and the other ripped the hand me down gimmick because when he first broke in the cool **** to do was to wrestle a bear at county fairs. And in other news, the chicken’s tired of asking the egg if he came first.
I don’t care.
Nobody cares.
Carlton’s momma doesn’t care, and she’s 500 lbs, and chained to a furnace. She watches some god awful **** on tv, but maybe only the threat of an enema could get her to invest in the storyline.
And amazingly I hear grumblings from some of you irritants ****ting a brick over me having a massive take home. The reality is, you people are poor and don’t matter. Poor people should be rounded up and gassed like Jews in the holocaust. You know, why is it that we can rationally conclude that major league baseball needs to lose 2-4 teams, but nobody wants to finger the real problem with America. There’s too many Troy Windhams, and Felix Reds running around.
There’s too many ****ing people in the NFW drawing checks and working about as much as Sweet Melissa in bed.
Contraction’s about to hit the NFW.
Each of you, kindly look inward, and then step forward if you’re ready to admit that you suck.
Manson, be a doll and go first.
(FTB)
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