L.A Kief vs Matt Slater

[Deleted]

For the PCW Youngblood Championship

1 RP a piece. Good luck.

[Deleted]

Mouth Full Of Nothing

‘We’re almost there, Cera.’

‘You ... really care for me, huh?’

‘Of course I do.’

Cera generated a weak smile of comfort at the affectionate honesty of my words, trying to maintain her equilibrium against me as I guided her down the corridor to our hotel room in Los Angeles. Our standard luggage was being sorted by a serviceable bellboy, unlocking our door with his master key before he carried the bags into the room, so all I had to do was keep Cera supported and hope she didn’t stain the carpeting or walls with liquid vomit that the alcohol in her system would inevitably manifest.

Yet despite Cera’s developing sickness needing my constant attention, I couldn’t help but think back to Insanity and what had unceremoniously occurred. Never mind the superiority complexes that Ryan Pugh and Roger Wright crafted when they terminated Sarah Pugh’s ownership from Pugh Championship Wrestling. Never mind Johnny Stylez’ developing agendas in regards to the cRu’s next move and the Youngblood Championship that I cherished. Never mind Cera succumbing unto the temptation of alcohol and allowing the intoxication to riddle her solemn entity for reasons that I thought were calmed, but were in fact still unclear to me.

My mind was focused on one event that transpired that evening.

It was the travesty that was the Six-Man Tag Team Match.

People, especially Adrien Specter, would fault me entirely for tagging myself in when he could have sealed the victory after crushing L.A Kief with a Double Rotation Moonsault that he poetically called the Sent From Above, but I couldn’t receive the major extent of the blame. Sure, Specter could have secured the successful pin-fall if I hadn’t have been selfish and stubborn by changing the legal participation of the match, but what happened anyway? Tommy Kain entered the fray and targeted Specter with a quick running spear. So any chance of Specter formulating our victorious stance was made invalid by that crucial detail, and even if I was to pin Kief after the tag had been officially confirmed, I’d have been the one to receive the rushing spear from a man who I felt superior to in comparison.

Still, I gave Tommy Kain a Raining Shadows after that manoeuvre was established, thus preventing him from breaking up any future opportunities, but what happened next? Kenath Israel dropped the ball when Inkt overcame his onslaughts outside the ring, causing him to disengage my Your Merciless Demise on L.A Kief that would have made him tap out at any second. If Israel had simply kept his guard up and prohibited Inkt from returning to the squared circle, I would have garnered the victory for the team with Kief surrendering unto my punishing hold.

But what truly made us lose in the end, I wonder? That’s right, Kenath Israel being made the legal man after we inadvertently connected with each other. I was driven through the ropes by an excruciating Dull Needle – one I was lucky to stand up from and tolerate afterwards, all things considered – and Israel’s arm met my shoulder, being constituted as an acceptable tag. By that point, Kief had recovered, when really he should have stayed down after my submission hold had come to fruition, and Israel dropped the ball again when he created an opening for Kief to strike him down with a Mouth Full of Kief and pin him.

This had become a catastrophe. I will accept that my motives didn’t generate the desired results, but what I couldn’t accept was Israel messing up things twice. He was supposed to be a team-player. He was supposed to be our muscle, our brawn. Instead, it proved that he had no brain inside his head, and no enduring fortitude. Any vows of him being a worthy competitor at this point were hereby nullified because he screwed things up, just as I predicted he would, and that is despicable. At least Adrien Specter attempted to keep things in order, but in the end, it came to nothing, all because of a few factors that could have been avoided if we had focused on the bigger picture instead of the one we were singularly concentrating on.

I guess we were doomed from the start, and to make matters worse, who were the ones laughing after these festivities had been fulfilled?

Inkt, Tommy Kain and L.A Kief were the ones rejoicing our disappointing downfall, the ones that wanted to prove that we weren’t in the same calibre league as they were, and that we had agonizingly extinguished our chances of being faithfully dominant inclusions in PCW.

Well things were about to change; very, very quickly.

Ryan Pugh may have been a grotesque, disgusting, psychopathic maniac most of the time, but I couldn’t doubt his ingenious bouts of creativity and originality; whenever he had them that is, which was a rarity. If there was one thing Ryan Pugh did that kept people enthused and enamoured, it was generating interest factor; even with his obnoxiously vulgar exploits and with his terribly entertaining methods that would make a child scream in horror instead of giggle innocently. Those distinguishing qualities were what he demonstrated at the conclusion of the match, when Inkt and I were the last two men standing; just like at World War X, which was an interesting coincidence.

Kenath Israel and L.A Kief had fallen prey to our signature moves of annihilation yet again when things turned ugly, and I was expecting Israel to be given another dose of vindication from my cold, callous hands next week in a match of immense brutality and pain, much the same way that Inkt wanted to finally rid Kief from his challenger’s list once and for all in a torturous manner.

But that wasn’t to be the case.

Pugh decided that in order to test the strategic prowess of me and Inkt individually, our common challengers to the championships we possessed would be switched. Therefore, Inkt would face Kenath Israel in action for his Television Championship, and I would be facing L.A Kief for my Youngblood Championship, a man who I despised based on his repugnant hobbies and annoying personality traits that made Pee Wee Herman, Gary Busey and the entire cast of Jackass and Dirty Sanchez seem like rational, sane individuals in our typically-bizarre society.

A fortunate title defence, this was not.

‘Straight to the toilet, Cera...’ I advised her smartly, nodding towards the bellboy to silently thank him for his cordial services before he departed the room.

‘No ... I’ll ... I’ll be fine...’

‘You’re far from fine.’

‘Trust me Matt ... I’ll be...’

Unfortunately, Cera wasn’t able to conclude her sentence with words; instead she culminated her speech of holding on and being strong with projectile vomit that coated my shirt and the carpet beneath. The stench was unbearable, but she needed to be treated hastily. I rushed her to the toilet protectively and helped her down in front of it just as she regurgitated the alcohol again, this time correctly into the porcelain bowl.

‘Damn it...’ I whispered with frustration as I checked out my blue shirt, beginning to unbutton it and disrobe it from my upper body before washing my hands in the sink. The cleaners were going to have a field day with this, and I was supposed to depart Los Angeles the next day for Oakland.

‘... Demons always need to suffer...’ Cera choked out with exasperation and weariness as she kept her face near the bowl, staring sombrely at her own distributed waste that cast a morbid reflection of her weakened self. ‘... We shouldn’t be able ... to have what we desire...’

‘Don’t be foolish...’ I objectively replied as I rubbed her back comfortingly, but in a way that would force the excess sickness to come out. ‘You just need to clear whatever it is from your mind that’s causing you this distress.’

‘It’s everything, Matt...’ Cera responded, coughing considerably before she spit into the murky waters. ‘... Fucking everything...’

Cera had indeed suffered through a lot of turmoil and grievant occurrences lately. The kidnapping, falsified death, brainwashing and re-emergence of Tyler, the spontaneous, nervous procedures of Jen who had mysteriously disappeared without a trace, the endless ridicule and disrespect, the loss of trust and the exhibitions of betrayal, and from the fact that she wasn’t being treated like she was worth somebody, when she should have been. She was worth everything to me, that was certain, but there was more to this than simple romance from one individual she wanted to care for and love just as equally.

She couldn’t stand to be alone, and with just me by her side – Jen was on a temporary basis nowadays – she felt that her loneliness would materialize soon enough and set her fears into motion.

But I wouldn’t leave her. I had already left someone I loved once ... or used to love. I wouldn’t repeat the same process of elimination again.

I had no one left too ... except her. We were both in similar positions caused by differing circumstances. Staying with each other would dilute the potency of future isolation and obscurity, and that was what we both didn’t want to happen.

‘I’ll always be there for you, Cera...’ I soothingly stated to reassure her depressed mindset, ‘but you need to concentrate on the future instead of dwelling on the past. The drinking doesn’t help. It only makes things worse.’

‘Listen to Mr Reasonable going on ... as if he hasn’t done this before...’

‘I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t, but I learned from my mistakes and misfortunes and turned to sobriety and redeemable ambitions.’

‘Which is why you’re ... you’re...’

‘Exactly, and that’s something that L.A Kief will understand soon enough.’

Cera’s eyes focused on me for a moment until they started to look down, a frown appearing on her face before I stroked her cheek with my finger and thumb.

‘... Come on, let’s get you to bed.’

After helping her wash away the vomit and getting her changed into some comfortable evening garments, I guided her towards the bed and laid her down carefully onto her side – a helpful position for her own benefit to stop the tragic implications of choking – also making sure that we didn’t disturb Tyler from his sleep on the other side as I pulled the covers over her barely naked body.

‘Everything will be okay, Cera. I’m certain of it.’

‘Just ... one more thing...’

‘You can ask me anything, Cera. Don’t worry.’

She paused momentarily as her eyes flickered with tiredness, attempting to retain her conscious mentality and vocalize the question she had on her mind.

‘... What does Seth Iser want with us?’

Looking away from her in contemplation, I did think back to Seth Iser’s atmospheric return, adorned in a white suit and appearing angelic and sanctified; a complete contrast to his usually dormant, chaotic behaviour and maniacal infatuations. Iser savoured bloodshed and punishment, much like Cera did ... maybe to a greater degree. He was the absolute personification of sadistic. But what he did want with us, I wasn’t sure.

He was the one behind those grotesque, viral videos that were playing throughout Ignite and Insanity. He was the one who foreshadowed the rebirth of destruction and diabolical affliction. He was the one who had directed a threatening finger towards us, silently indicating that he had something in store that couldn’t be denied.

Whatever he had planned, I’d be waiting for it to occur. And if he wanted to try and bludgeon me or victimize me in some barbaric capacity that was typical of his standards, then I’d retaliate in the same fashion.

‘He’ll be dealt with if he has anything in mind for us as a whole...’ I answered back coldly, watching Cera as she frowned slightly. ‘But for now, you get some rest. Okay?’

After kissing her on the forehead, I made sure that the covers weren’t too tight, leaving her room to breathe freely and inhale some rejuvenating oxygen. It was a matter of time until Cera drifted off to sleep – with some trouble due to her inebriation – and that was when I decided to focus on my own future; something I needed to plan ahead for and intricately revise until it was close to perfection.

Consolidating my luggage, I unzipped the bag and retrieved my Youngblood Championship, residing on a vacant chair nearby the window and studying the platinum-decorated title in its glorious entirety.

L.A Kief was going to be pulling out all the stops to get this championship, but I wouldn’t falter as easily as Kenath Israel had on Insanity. I was a wholly different entity, a wholly different wrestler, one that Kief needed to thoroughly research and prepare for before he made a foolish mistake, one that would cost him everything.

If he figured Inkt, Frank Finelli and Spaz were challenging prospects, he was about to enter a new realm of difficulty and diversity. He had not seen or fought the likes of me in singles competition. I had defeated some of the greatest wrestlers to step foot inside a New Edge Wrestling and Pugh Championship Wrestling ring throughout my contracted tenure, and it wasn’t going to stop with a man who should be locked away in an asylum seeking isolative refuge from a society he didn’t belong in.

What had he accomplished that would make me estimate him further than a man who was about to have his desires crushed and burned into ashes? For a man who was credited as being someone not to underestimate, given his championship acquisitions and boisterous, flamboyant actions, he hadn’t really struck me as a genuine threat. He was more of a detriment to the wrestling business than a valuable commodity, and the longer he was left to roam freely without restraint, the more he would be poisoning an industry that I wanted to lead into the next generation.

Sure, he may have defeated Al Envy and Johnny Stylez for those Tag Team Championships along with Tommy Kain, but guess what? So had I; with a broken arm put into a cast. Cera had also suffered head injuries and spinal problems before the Tag Team Ladder Match for the NEW Tag Team Championships long ago, but did that prevent us from defending them with resilience and powerful chemistry against that corruptive duo? Not by a long shot. We both stood triumphant on that ladder when it was all said and done, holding aloft our accolades as Wrestlingz Most Wanted remained on the outside of the ring, being enveloped by self-doubt and failure as Merciless Demise stood supreme.

Had he attained something impressive that would make people take notice of him and elevate his status as a respectable, tenacious wrestler? Not in my mind, he hadn’t, and I would show the world that whilst he was being considered the sympathetic favourite in this match, it would amount to nothing. Their support for him would become an irrelevant factor, obsolete from defining the changes they wanted. He was about to enter a match that he couldn’t escape from or re-shape to give him some much needed leverage.

He was entering my domain, and I was going to leave him down and out with no chance of getting back up.

Not even his disgusting grease container that he kept in his pants and called Mr Fry-O could save him now.

All L.A Kief had going for him in this match was being motivated by his compatriots and by the beloved support of the repulsive hypocrites and freaks that populated this world. He was just like them; disillusioned, delusional and pathetic. His bodily hygiene was abysmal, just like his bewildering personality that left people confused and hilariously entertained, and I have to say that whoever laughed at his exploits were easily-amused idiots who had no sense of logic or common sense.

I wasn’t laughing; I was contemplating the futuristic motives of a competitor that needed to be eradicated and punished for his wrong-doings and nonsensical activities, and I would exercise my goals of bringing that closer to the truth in order to retain what shouldn’t be taken from me. He didn’t deserve to capture this Youngblood Championship, and I would prove that in Oakland. I wasn’t going to allow him to contaminate and impoverish what I was slowly starting to make prestigious again. I wasn’t going to let him prevail in a contest where he could potentially ruin the task of rectifying a championship with splendour that I was willingly crafting.

I had been the last man standing at World War X as the Youngblood Champion. I had taken this despicably-treated title and made it something again by prying it from the hands of Kenath Israel. I wasn’t about to let this championship fall into the abyss of mediocrity that I had ascended it from, something that Kief would naturally plunge it into without care or foresight.

This resurrection of a division that needed to be viewed and monitored with respect would continue with me leading the way, not with a joke of a man like L.A Kief who would probably use it to wipe his ass when he ran out of toilet paper. My credibility and fortitude as a wrestler and intellectual individual was what the Youngblood Championship needed, not someone like L.A Kief, a man who preferred to constantly masturbate and commit heinous acts against humanity that would force him into a mental institution ... if they didn’t allow him to get away with it.

Well he wasn’t going to get away with this accolade of mine. If he wanted it so bad, he would have to kill me and drag me down the street with him, because I wasn’t going to let it go. I wasn’t going to be taken lightly, and he needed to realize that; that is if he could mentally comprehend a strategy or tactic that didn’t revolve around fucking someone in grossly perverted ways or doing something with his rotund body that sickened me to the core.

The fans would want him to unleash his Mouth Full of Kief on Insanity and take away what was rightfully mine to behold and improve. He wasn’t going to unleash shit. I was either going to leave him unconscious with the Shockwave or with the Your Merciless Demise, and this time he wasn’t going to be saved by a rampaging champion that was currently having trust and allegiance issues.

Nothing was going to stop me from making sure that L.A Kief would be banished from challenging me again, exiled through agony and brutality, and then he could go and cry to Tommy Kain and Ophelia Pain about how I was being an asshole; while being stowed away in the forgettable depths of a hospital ward that is, where he would be obscured from being properly visualized after the mess I would leave him in.

This was my championship. This was my moment. This was my opportunity to showcase what I could and would always do, and I was damn sure going to receive respect and adulation for it.

L.A Kief ... he was running out of time, time that he needed to savour before it all ran out and set forth his upcoming misery.

And all his mouth would be filled with after our bout was broken teeth, blood and tears from the eyes that should have seen his decimation coming from the start.

Rapid knocks emanating from the door suddenly disrupted my thoughts, turning towards it with acknowledgment and groaning with annoyance. Placing down the Youngblood Championship onto the chair, I trailed towards the door and opened it quietly, looking over my shoulder momentarily at Cera and Tyler to make sure they were still asleep.

What I noticed first when I opened the door were two widened-eyes full of shock and terror staring at me, and once I took in the entire presence of this individual, I understood that their arrival here was on an urgent basis.

‘Mr ... Mr Slater!’ he gasped with exhaustion and fright. ‘You need ... to come...’

‘I’ve gotten the message...’ I interrupted, knowing full well what he was trying to say. Peering at Cera and Tyler once more, I sighed before I shut the door quietly behind me, the uniformed serviceman of the hotel leading the way with quickening steps. I instantly wondered if L.A Kief had sent me an early gift in the form of a male prostitute, or if he had arrived by himself in a ballerina costume to twist and manipulate my mentality. But whatever it was, I hoped it was meaningful and nothing pointless that didn’t need my immediate attention.

Reaching the downstairs reception of the hotel, I realized that things weren’t as I had previously thought.

On the floor was a delivery man covered in blood and sickening lacerations, gasping for air as he was being tended to by the staff members on duty. Walking towards him cautiously, I surveyed my surroundings to make sure that nothing caught me by surprise; intentionally or otherwise.

This was no act by L.A Kief; if that were the case he’d be covered in semen or something else that would churn the stomachs of those who weren’t squeamish.

‘He came in a few minutes ago...’ the same individual who had alerted me earlier clarified. ‘He said there was ... something for you, and that he was under strict orders to give it to you.’

Of course he was. Nobody in this state would be lying.

‘What was it exactly?’ I questioned coldly, wanting to know every conceivable detail. All I got as a response was the man pointing to a stained box near the counter, the staff too scared to search inside.

‘Open it...’ I instructed sternly, the man looking at me as if I had just shot his child.

‘But what if it’s a...’

‘Open ... it...’ I repeated in the same tone, the man finally abiding by my instructions and walking over to the package. The seconds ticked away in unnerving quietness as he delicately stripped the outer layers of the box away, pulling up the flaps gently before he peered inside.

‘It’s ... it’s a note...’

This was certainly intriguing.

Walking over to the box, I leant forward and inspected its confines; there were no devious traps in place, just the one letter on its own. Picking it up with ease I studied the letters until I actually read the words, forming a sentence that got me thinking instantly.

“You should have been more careful.”

‘What does it mean?’ the man enquired, waiting for me to intellectually respond. And after thinking things through, I finally understood what it meant ... and that the culprit who had organized the delivery of this package was in the vicinity.

Dropping the note, I spun around and raced towards the stairs, my mind engulfed in images of Cera and Tyler in the hotel room.

‘Where are you going?!’ the nameless man shouted behind me, but I wasn’t listening. I knew what was going on, and I needed to get there as quickly as possible.

If he hurt them, he was going to pay the consequences on a scale that no one could duplicate or surpass. They were innocent in all of this.

They wanted me only. I was sure of it.

Just as I suspected, my room door was open, with no traces of a forced entry. Did they have a key, or did they manipulate someone else? Entering the accommodative suite my first instinct was to look towards where Tyler and Cera were sleeping, merely to find them still inside the bed.

However, Tyler was awake, and his eyes showed that of immense confusion.

‘What happened, Tyler?’ I asked, nearing him to check on his health. All he did was point towards something on the bed, an object that I had overlooked. Turning towards it, I saw that it was another championship belt, much like my Youngblood title – which was still resting on the chair, untouched. Walking around the bed to focus on its designed details, I finally saw what the culprit had left in his wake; an item from my past that summarized part of his obsessions with me.

It was the GWF Pride Championship, smeared with blood that took away its pristine texture.

‘... Iser...’ I coldly said unto myself, knowing that it was him from his history in GWF and his previous conductions with me. He knew this from my past, but why had he consulted those experiences now, and how did it fit in to his current agenda?

I wasn’t sure about those answers, but what I did know was that his threat was nothing to ignore or neglect; just like L.A Kief wasn’t a man that I needed to shrug off and label as a waste of time and energy.

My role as the Youngblood Champion was going to take a rather interesting turn, and I was sure that along the way blood would be spilled, irrefutable damages would surface, and careers would be altered forever.

[Kief]

<The chaos of the infernal firestorm swept through the canyons of cellular decay, the beasts of the roaming astro glide cowered in terror as the infernal firestorm rages past their shallow tunnels, the weak and the old were carried away as they were the ones up front. Saving the strong and virile, to carry on the tribe.

On top of the canyons walls was a lone figure, he watches impassionately as the dying beasts of the roaming astro glide consumed by the the infernal firestorm. He shed no tears,for that was the way of life here on Fragnon. A hostile environment, with even more hostile life forms. 

He wasn't here by choice, he was sent here to reclaim the stolen Orb of Euroneatha. The thieves thought they were safe here on this barren world. They thought wrong. For those who seek a passage from justice, always ends up in a dead end. >

<A dead end name....>

"Damnit!" Kief shouted. "I can't think of a heroic name. This fan fiction was going to the bomb of all bombs." Kief was a little upset that he couldn't think of a name for his hero in the fan fiction he was writing. "Hmm..."

<A dead end name...Psivage.>

"Yes! Perfect name, plus he is dead or insane or was is it insanely dead, or deadly insane? Either way, I claim the name!"

You better hope he is dead. 

"Shut up Bob, I know for a fact that using the name Psivage, won't be a problem."

< the name strikes fear even in the most harden criminals.>

Footsteps were heard coming down the stairs, in walked Ophelia.

Ophelia: Snacktime.

She put down a big bowl of mix chips. 

Ophelia: Oh god, you aren't writing anymore slash fiction starring Tommy and Chip are you? Do we need to have that talk again.

"Nope! Lesson learn on that one. It's a new story starring a guy  name Psivage.

Ophelia: Psivage? Wasn't he a wrestler from that one place? 

"Yup."

Ophelia: Before my time I think. Well good luck, and take a bath tonight and wash your hair, been a week.

Ophelia leaves.

"Take a bath and was your hair," Kief said mockingly after she left. "Why don't you take a bath and was out your vagina, I'm sure it's getting clog up with all of Tommy semen. I'm an artist, we don't bathe"

Meanwhile upstairs...

Tommy and Ophelia was making out.

Elsewhere....

Two mice plot taking over the world, well one mouse is the other is pondering how a zebra would look with blue and yellow stripes.

And over there...

A man just check out this girl nice ass, but it wasn't really a girl but a long hair man with a tiny ass.

And now back to L.A. Kief.

And now to a man eating a pork sandwich.

Back to Kief again.

Dinner time, Ophelia bellows from upstairs, Kief drops writing his super fan fition and hustle his juicy ass upstairs.

"What cha cooking good looking." Kief asked as he pranced his way into the kitchen. Tommy and Chip were already at the table.

Ophelia: Lasagna! 

Ophelia turns around with a fresh right of the oven homemade lasagna, Kief face twisted up as he thinks back a week ago. 

Hmmm, he thought what was it? What did his future self say to him? Pugh loves him, yes but that wasn't the important one, though. He knew  Pugh is sweet on him. What was the bad thing? Then he remembers!

Ophelia places the lasagna on the table.

~Flashback!~

 Future Kief: Ophelia is going to make lasagna in the next week, don't eat it, for the love of god DON'T. EAT. IT. 

Future Kief: Double explosive diarrhea!

~End Flashback!~

"Nooooo!" Kief screams as he flips the table over. Everything went flying. They look at Kief with surprise and disbelief.

"Screw you D.E.D.! Future averted!"

Kief walks off as happy as  Jerry Sandusky in a shower room full of ten year boys.

Promo time!!!

L.A. Kief was seated in the middle of dark room a lone spotlight shone down on him, illuminating him. He holds a microphone to his mouth...

"What does the NEW Youngblood title means to me?" Kief gives a thoughtful thought to this question he just asked himself. "Doesn't mean a damn thing."

"NEW is dead, deader than my peener after looking at Apathy's perforated anus." Ewww gross. "That belt is meaningless in PCW, it is a relic of a gone by age, an age of mediocre wrestling with less than mediocre talents."

"You carry that belt like it means something, like it is important, it isn't. Maybe once upon a time in that little fed you were in it meant something special, but not here, the only special thing here is Johnny Stylez's brownies."

 Wait...I think that was an insult against you and PCW. 

"Matt, the only way to make that title means something is....actually I think it is beyond repair, I think the best thing for that worthless title is to retire it. And that is what I'm going to do. Put that belt out it's misery."

"The Youngblood title is like a wounded animal, and I am a animal lover" In more ways than one, if you catch my drift. "I hate to see a dying animal suffer, so it is up to me to put it down."

"Matt, really have nothing against you it wasn't your fault that you joined a fed that was doomed to failure. It wasn't your fault that you are stuck with a failed belt. And it isn't going to be your fault when I take that archaic title and put it on the shelve, where it belong."

"Yet fret not, for your name will go down in history as being the last champion of this title, for I shall not disgrace my legacy with this  useless belt. NAY! I shall not. Once I walk out of PCW super show, with the NEW Youngblood Championship Title, you won't ever see that belt again.

"And cut!"

Lights come on. Kief gets up from his chair and waddles over to the director/producer.

"I think that went well, I nailed that son of bitch. I rule and that British bangers and mash eater drools my left over cum! Woooooo!"

Director/Producer: Well, actually. PCW already stated that the Youngblood belt is an official title now. So it is sticking around. Win or lose.

Kief furrows his eyebrows.

"Come on man! Everything I just said is worthless? It makes no sense?"

Director/Producer: Well...I saw what you trying to do, but yeah. 

"Poop fuck!"

Director/Producer: On the plus side, most of your promos don't make sense, so there is that.

"What do you mean? Everything I say is in perfect English and grammar!"

Poor Kief he had no idea.

Pep talk time!

Tommy: You can beat Matt, Kief!

Ophelia: Go my favorite fat man! Beat Matt!

Chip: Go fuck yourself, you ate my pumpkin cheesecake.

Alpharius: ........

Sarah Pugh: Take him to pound town, like you took me ,yeah you know I like it dirty with a shot of hot Kief injection in the backside.

Ryan Pugh: Come on man! You are breaking the rules. 

Badd: Grrrrrrrrrrrrr! 

Lord Thog: Miscreant, how dare you bother me with this nonsense, away with you peasant, before I make you this evening entertainment. Think upon that and tremble!

Future Kief: You lose.

Spoiler alert, dickhead! Now you ruined it for everyone. 

Zombie Jesus: Bless you my child, go with brains.

Zombie Beniot: Why didn't they tap?They were supposed to tap!!!

Zombie: Morrrreeee Braaaiinnssss

BWA Panda: sqeeeeee! 

Ahhh, the BWA Panda, I miss him. Don't worry little guy you can be the PCW Panada now!

PCW Panda: sqeeeeee! 

Real Mom: Brian, you are a 42 year old man, don't you think it is time for you to stop this foolishness? And stop asking me to do this. Clean your house, it's a pig sty.

Real Dad: Jesus Christ, you are bothering for what?  Go away, your keeping me away from my naps.

Grayskull: Meow (translation leave me alone and let me sleep)

Teah: Meow (translation feed me, love me, go away)

Stranger: What the fuck? Are you retarded? Get the hell away from me before I beat your ass.

Therapist: Why do you feel the need to win this imaginary belt? For some sort of validation?

911: Sir this number is for serious emergencies. Please hang up and call back only if it is an emergencies.

Hot Girl I Like: E-fedding? Is that a gay thing, you do?

Damn she thinks I'm gay.

On that note....

THE END!