Hello Darkness, My Worst Enemy
Scumbag Joey Ace has won back the ECWA Heavyweight Championship.
We’re in the thick of autumn, which means the days are shorter, Christmas shopping has begun and next week my parlay will finally hit, I just know it. As if the seasonal depression wasn’t enough to overcome, we’ve turned back the clock to the darkness of pre-Super 8. That’s right, the fairytale run of Mr. Ooh La La has ended in a nightmare as that scumbag Joey Ace has won back the ECWA Heavyweight Championship.
Of course, it was in unscrupulous fashion, as Ace snuck back in the Ultimate Rumble after being eliminated behind the referees’ backs at ECWA Super Clash. The last man standing, he “earned” a title shot at a time of his choosing. Naturally, the opportunist decided to pick immediately after Ooh La La endured his toughest challenge to date – A Very Good Professional Wrestler.
“The Five-Star Stud” stormed out, pushed play-by-play commentator Brady Hicks off his chair and drove it right into the legendary Frenchman’s stomach. Another chairshot and a flying elbow drop later, Reggie Parks rolled over in his grave as the ECWA Heavyweight Championship was strapped around Ace’s waist for the third time.
I haven’t slept a full night since. I keep waking up in a cold sweat, my heart pulsating and my teeth rattling. It’s as if the past six months have been erased. That no good son of a bitch – the coward who assaulted my girlfriend and me before shaving my head – is back on top of the longest-running independent wrestling promotion in the United States.
It’s sickening. Without any title defenses scheduled for the rest of the year, 2022 is already ruined. Just when I thought auld acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind, that jackass has moved back in, living rent-free in my head.
Joey Ace, I hate you. I hate your guts. I hope all the bad things in life happen to you and only to you. I hope just as you’ve raked all the leaves into a big pile, a gust of wind blows them all over your yard. I hope you get a flat tire and there’s no spare in your trunk. I hope you get catfished by Fat Bastard.
I hope all your fantasy QBs get injured in the same week and that your phone dies before you can change your lineup. I hope you pay off your student loans the day before Biden wipes all debt. I hope Amazon loses your package. I hope you go all in on a straight only to lose to a flush. Speaking of which, I hope you have to use the Golden Corral bathroom and there’s no toilet paper left.
I hope you run afoul of Dexter Morgan. Joe Goldberg, too. I hope you get stuck behind a shopper with an overflowing cart, and after his last item is rung up, the cashier goes on break. I hope all your shirts shrink in the wash and no loose change falls out of your pockets.
I hope the worst is yet to come.
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