Awrite Taker? I’m no wan for ripping the pish outta legends or that, cept for aw the other times I’ve done exactly that, but Taker gies it the “old guy fawin aboot at the front door while he looks for his keys” stumble on the way in the ring, and gies it the typa patter yer mad uncle hits ye wae when he pulls ye aside at a family party. Haverin some shite here wis he no? jesus fuck man. I hink he bumped this promo straight ootae the wee bin Bray Wyatt keeps in his locker room wae the word “SHITERS!” on it. Apparantely the only things ye can be sure of in life is death, taxes and the streak. The fuckin Undertaker said that. The phenom. A guy I’m sposed tae fear and respect, gien me da patter. Da patter that’s even worse than my ain da’s shite patter.
I cannae even kid ye on, I fuckin hated this for the most part. Its the first angle Heymans been involved in during this run as a manager where I’m no intae his words, and of the 3 folk involved, Brock Lesnar is by far the most entertaining. Screechin aw err the place, and lookin like he’s shat his skants. Heyman gies it some patter, before Brock teases gaun intae the ring. There’s a lot of bobbin aboot ringside and tae me this shit wis draggin fuckin errrrrrrse. Its the last RAW before Mania ffs, lets rumble boayzies! Eventually efter tap dancin for a bit, a Heyman distraction gies Brock the opening tae get in amongst it. He sneaks behind Taker, but Taker is wise tae it and gets a jab or two in, but Brock isnae tae be bested this time. Knocks the auld bag ah bones doon wae a double sledge, before hoisting him up for a quite magnificent F5. Once again Brock fuckin Lesnar is the guy I care the most aboot, which is quite a remarkable turnaround considering I didnae have a minute of time for the cunt a year ago. He wont end the streak, but he left me kinda hoping he does here, so fair play tae the big boulderheided cunt.
“WE GOT US SOME ANNOUNCEMENTS JACK!”
“It’s Martin…ma name’s Martin”
“Alright brother, we got us a memorial rope trophy royal brother. 30 humans enter a bull pen, and the last man standing turns into Andre The Giant brother, yeah brother Jack”
“Whit you even on aboot?
“I dunno, I blacked out about 10 year ago and everything since has been confusion Jack!”
“Many times dae I huv tae tell ye, ma name’s Martin”
“Yeah brother. Like I told that chick I slayed in that porno movie I was in, if you not Jackin, then you aint my brother Jack! Brother Jack Jack brother, Hulkamaniacs”
“Mate you’re away wae it”
Imagine sitting doon tae preview a WWE PPV and ye find yersell with nothing but hope and a tingling in the testicles for it. A unique proposition tae say that least. Not that I anticipate this being any less arse bursting than most of the PPVs from the tail end of last year, but d’ye know whit? It has the Wyatts vs The Shield, and a wee chance that either Daniel Bryan or Antonio Cesaro could stroll oot wae aw the belts, so for those reason I’m gonnae allow that pure, unfiltered, rarefied optimism tae flow aw the way from ma chest pubes, right down tae ma ball fro.