Your Manhattan Champ Loves You!

By: Paul Montuori

Writing Prompt: Yes

Date: 18th Feb 2022

I’ve been around the game for quite a bit, at least off and on. The majority of that time has been spent winning. I was always that guy that people dreaded facing. Dreaded seeing my name across from theirs on the card. And I got used to it. Got used to winning. Got used to being a winner. For a long time. Even when the world turned their backs on me and I had to fuck on film under a lucha mask, I was still winning. Winning AVN Awards. Best Male Newcomer. Best Leading Actor. I got’em all displayed back at the crib in the Hills of Hollywood. All while wearing a lucha mask, covering up these beautiful cheekbones. Gawd I’m gorgeous..


That loss to Dickie at Ascension, that was a huge kick in the nuts. My poor, fragile ego. Down the rabbit hole I went, only to emerge a better man. A better Paul Montuori. Hyped as fucked leading up to Dinero de Sangre Parte Dos. I hadn’t felt as good since I won my Oscar for Best Screenplay for Crackytales. Before those fucking Hollywood Elitests blackballed me for a few ‘Un-PC’ words..

I don’t ever recall coming across someone that I’ve not only been unable to defeat, but been unable to defeat on more than one occasion. In a row. Back to back. And it seems now, as I’m down on my knees, staring at a strap.. A strap. Not THEE strap. A strap. The Manhattan Championship. Not THEE Empire Championship.. That it’s now back to back to back. 0-3. Fucking horrible. I don’t even think the Little Giants were 0-3 before they beat the Cowboys with the Annexation of Puerto Rico. But as a brand new, enlighted, dope ass dood, I have to learn to put that in the past. Leave it behind me, right? Move forward, or some positive affirmation like that, right? Some shit Young Ricardo would say.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Dickie walking towards the bright lights, before disappearing into it. I can’t look at him. My eyes fixated on the Manhattan strap in my hands. I don’t know how to feel. I lost the Island straps. I lost my third shot at the Empire strap. But I’m the Manhattan Champ. I’m too tired to sulk. Too exhausted to be happy. I need a drink. Some h2o though, where’s the Water Boy when you need him? But gotta be at least Fiji or above, none of that tap bullshit. I only deserve the best, FIGHT! really has to invest in me. I’m a top tier Champ, I’m the Manhattan Champ now.

I’m the Manhattan Champ now.

I like the sound of that.

“Are you OK?” I look up to an EMT staring down at me. I’m brought back to reality, back to the carnage around me.

“Where’s Michelle?” I say as the EMT helps me to my feet. I try and push them away. “I don’t need your help. I ain’t no bitch. I can walk on my own two legs.”

“Sir, please,” they say as they go to grab me again. I don’t even fight their help. I’m too fucking spent. I’m a Champ anyway. The new Manhattan Champ. I shouldn’t have to work anywhere. I should have people carrying me above their heads..

“Where’s Michelle? Is she OK?” I ask again.

“I don’t know who that is,” the EMT replies. He doesn’t know who that is? Who the fuck is this clown?

I’m drag.. I’m helped outside as the EMT tries to put me on a stretcher. I wave them off. No way the new Manhattan Champ is going to ride out of here on a stretcher. Not after I’ve just seen Dickie walk out on his own two feet. After beating me. I stagger over to a golf cart and plop down on the back. The EMT sees no use in arguing and hops in the driverseat and off we go. Through the main entrance. Memories of staggering out of the park sloppy come flashing back, such happy times. Out in the parking lot huge tents have been set up. The EMT weaves us through rescue crews and stagehands and medical personnel helping some of the other kats in BM Parte Dos. I try to lock eyes with all of them as we drive by, hoping they see me holding the Manhattan Championship. But the nerve of the majority of them to be so self-centered that they wouldn’t even look at me. Fuck your wounds, when a Champion is in your presence you pay him some mind.

The cart comes to a stop, I’m inside a huge tent that doubles as a triage center. I’m helped off the cart and helped to a bed where I lay down. They try and take my Manhattan strap, I swear I think I hissed at them. No one’s taking this from me. I just got it.. I’m hooked up to an IV. A doctor comes over and stitches my eye up .

“Where’s Michelle? Is she OK?” I ask.

“I’m not sure,” the doc replies.

“Not sure? Well can you check? Michelle Moore. She was in the match. She has a big mouth. And her husband was with me. So she was out there alone, with those animals.”

“Alright, I’ll check for you. Michelle?”


“Moore. Well I’m all done here. Just lay back and rest. Someone will be here when the IV’s done to help discharge you. If you have any pai..”

“Yeah yeah.. Michelle, please check on her.”

She assures me she’ll ask about Michelle as she leaves me alone. To lay there. Hooked up to an IV. Just me and my thoughts..

I try to go through the events of the night. Standing in that tube, waiting for it to open. I knew exactly what Katniss felt as she waited in that tube. As it slowly ascended into the arena. That feeling of anxiety, of excitement, the adrenaline beginning to pump through you. I remember my hands getting all clammy. Running through different scenarios in my head of what could possibly be thrown at me. It wasn’t any regular match, it was Dinero de Sangre Part Dos. Part One was fucking chaos. I knew FIGHT! always stepped their game up. No way Part Dos was going to be nothing but fucking insanity.

I remember the tube opening up and stepping out. How dope it was, realizing that. We were inside the ball at Epcot. Huge grin across my face as I looked around to everyone. Betsy’s fine ass. Dave the Dope Dinosaur. My old nemesis Apathy. Atara, she’s fine too, for a Greek. None of them looked as excited as I was.

Then there he was. Dickie Watson. My new nemesis. If you can call it that. At that point I was 0-2 against him. I knew this was it. Win or lose, this was it. People were tired of Dickie/Paul, they’ve seen it twice at that point. All with the same result. I knew I was done chasing Dickie, had to be done chasing him..

I remember being excited to see Miss F pop up like the head dood from Power Rangers. Literal head. The excitement continued as she explained the rules for Part Dos. I had a chance at Dickie. At the Empire strap. But I’d have to give up the Island straps. No brainer I thought as I looked across at B who nodded to me in agreement. I remember thinking that I had to get B to help me eliminate Dickie once and for all. Even with all the tension between us, I knew B wanted Dickie gone as Empire Champ as bad as I did. And that nod told me he was onboard.

The brawl itself is a blur. Dave smelled horrible. He was gone first and the rest started to follow. Betsy and Atari took our Island straps, leaving B, Dickie and myself as the top three. I remember thinking we had this. Dub Dub vs Dickie as we watched Betsy and Atari being escorted out. This was my chance. Best chance. Last chance.

Then just like that, everything changed. Dickie took advantage. Came up behind B and laid him out. Just like that. I remember seeing the blood as he tried to stir back to life. I couldn’t look at him. He fucked up everything. We had a chance to take out Dickie, a chance for one of Dub Dub to be Empire Champ..

After that.. I.. I can’t remember. Like a piece of the puzzle missing. Last moment was Dickie giving a monologue. Then I’m staring at the Manhattan strap in my hands..

The lights above me start to flicker. Then it’s as if everything slows to a screeching halt. Not a sound. I start to feel a chill start at my toes, up my legs, engulfing my soul. The light above me suddenly starts to grow brighter. I can’t help but start at it until it’s blinding. The light shuts off for a moment and when it turns back on..


That voice, almost a whisper. I.. I try to close my eyes shut. Hoping that if I pretend he isn’t there, he’ll go away..

“Paulie.. Look at me..”

That voice, louder this time. I shake my head no, muttering ‘no’ under my breath. Over and over as I continue shaking my head. That voice..

“Paulie.. Look at me!”

With that my eyes open. There he is standing before me, at the foot of the bed. iMaGiNe..

“Is that how you treat an old, dear friend? After everything I did for you tonight?”

“Tonight? I didn’t.. You weren’t there.”

“But wasn’t I?” I didn’t see him. He wasn’t there. I would’ve remembe.. “Preciously Paulie. The memory of me coming to your aid, of always coming to your aid in the moments you need me the most.. It’s too much for you to bear. So you lock it away. Lock it away so that don’t have to admit that I’m real. That you need me. That without me, you’d be nothing.”

“No. You’re not real. You can’t be real. I’m not.. You’re not..”

“I saved you tonight. Saved you from Dickie destroying your career. Destroying your life. I saved you from his rage. Saved you from being completely embarrassed. Again. And for that you’ll forever be indebted to me.”

“Bullshit! I took Dickie to his limit! By myself! With no one’s help! Not even from you!” I’m practically screaming as he stands before me, cackling. That sound, dear gawd.

“You’re a dreamer, but you’re not the only one..”

“Fuck you! You’re not.. Leave me the fuck alone!” I scream out, exhausted. I can’t help the tears. “Please, just.. Leave me alone..”

“Paul?” I look over to see Denzel Porter standing there, with a worried look on his face. I look back over to the foot of the bed to see him gone. I turn back to Denzel, wiping away the tears with my arm.

“Denzel, fuck you doing here?”

“You OK?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“You sure? I can come back.”

“Nah I’m good,” I try to say reassuringly. Fuck, how long was he standing there? How much did he see? “What’s up?”

“You know, making my rounds. Getting quotes for my Blood Money 2 Recap. Or at least trying to. Everyone’s pretty banged up.”

“Have you seen Michelle?”

“Michelle? No. She was at another park. I’m going there after I leave here. How are you doing? Must be tough, losing to Dickie again.”

“Yeah uh.. Not exactly the outcome I dreamed of when I was a kid, watching my da.. Uncle on TV. I spent the majority of my career chasing a major title in a major promotion. Politics and my huge ego kept that from happening. Until I came back after my sabbatical. Sort of. I won second highest prize in OPW, only for the promotion to legit end not soon after that. Like I have the Kiss of Death. Then I come to FIGHT! on that momentum, riding high into first Blood Money. That loss to Dickie, something I wasn’t used to doing. Then the lost to him at Ascension and NSQ the next night.. My struggles during Season 2 are well documented. Is what it is. I pulled my shit together in time for tonight. I came in super hype. I lost to Dickie. Again. Three times. But at the same time, I’m the Manhattan Champ. Second highest prize in FIGHT!. Can’t all be bad right?”

“Seems like you’re taking the loss well.”

“What am I supposed to do? Go crawl back into a bottle? I wasted an entire season feeling sorry for myself. My boy Vinnie Black once told me it’s idiotic of people to think they couldn’t lose, after all this time doing this. And he was right. 100%. But what’s there to say anyway? 0-3 against Dickie. Time to move on, right? Can’t get stuck on some old shit, time to look forward. I got nothing but respect for him, for what he’s done, what he’s proven. Kid has a lot of haters and he repeatedly backs up what he says. Have to respect that. And I’m looking forward to seeing my boy Shawn battle it out with Dickie.”

“What’s next for Paul Montuori?”

“The Manhattan Championship, 100%. It’s sort of been a Hot Potato strap. How many people have held this? Fuck, even Joe had it at one point. I’m looking to change that. I’m looking to make this strap finally mean something.”

“What about Brandon Moore?”

“What about him?”

“Well, you two are no longer Island Champions. There was also a moment there, where you wouldn’t look at him as he lay bleeding. Think he’s going to take that well?”

“Waddya want me to say? It’s business. It’s ego. It’s Championships. B gets,” I’m drowned out by a commotion of people speaking excitedly. Denzel looks out and turns to me.

“Sorry to cut it short, Dickie just showed up. Thanks,” he says. And before I even have a chance to think of a reply he’s gone..


Laying on that bed, in that tent at Epcot, I had a lot of time to think. To reflect. And bruh, for sure I thought I’d have this dope ass celebration after winning the Manhattan strap. A fucking parade. Like Prince Ali, dancing elephants and all. Instead, instead I’ve been holed up in a hotel. Laying in that bed, as the adrenaline started to wear off, I was fucked. I could feel every time Dickie connected. My poor face. Worse once they let me go. I found a PA and paid him to help me back to the hotel. Then paid him to come check on me a few times a day. Bring me food. I hid out for over a week, waiting for my face to return to its perfectly beautiful state.

And here I sit, in a bathtub full of ice, attempting to subdue my aches and pains. It’s been getting harder and harder to come back from these crazy matches. How do you prepare for fucking chaos?

I’d been trying to get a hold of Michelle, check up on her. But her phone kept going straight to voicemail.

And just on cue, my phone rings. Michelle.


“Where the fuck have you been?”

“I’d ask you the same thing,” I reply. How dare she? I’ve been trying to get a hold of her this entire time. And she has the nerve to cop attitude with me. “I’ve been trying to call you. If ya would’ve turned your damn phone off before Part Dos like I told you, ya would’ve been alright.”

“Turned my phone off?! Are you fucking kidding me?! I was hit by a fucking boat?!”

“A what?”

“You heard me.”

“Quit playing. Listen, I wanted to ask you for a favor,” I say. She doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, before signing.


“I need a date for Valentine’s Day. You have any friends you can hook me up with?”

“I can’t even.. I just told you I got hit by a boat and you’re worried about a date for Valentine’s Day?”

“What? Been a minute. Seems so long ago that Alexis threw her drink in my face before Countdown. And you ain’t tryna do shit with me.”

“Paul, for the millionth time. Never, in your wildest dreams, would we ever be together.”

“I know, isn’t that what I just said? So, got any friends? And no Does, been there done that.”

“I think I know someone that can help a lost cause like you. I’ll let you know.”


Michelle hit me up a few days later. Sent me a text of a time and a place to meet her. The night before I couldn’t sleep. Like the first day of school. I even stayed up late, making sure I picked out the right outfit that would accentuate my beauty the best.

Pft.. Who am I kidding? I look amazing in anything.

My driver pulls up to the address. And not an Uber or Lyft. Your boy’s a Champ now. High rolling. I step out and see Michelle standing on the sidewalk, coffee in hand. With one of those fucking foam neckbraces on. She sees me and instantly looks annoyed.

“Late as usual,” she says.

“It takes time to look this beautiful,” I reply. She’s not amused. “What’s up with the neck brace?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I guess I gotta dumb look on my face cause she doesn’t look pleased. “I fucking told you that dick Raven hit me with a boat.”

“Oh, that was for real?”

“Seriously? You know what? Whatever, come on everyone’s waiting.”

“Everyone?” Been a while since I’ve been in a gang bang. Not since I won the AVN Award for Best Group Scene. I swore never again when some creep tried to stick a finger in my ass. You have to warn a guy before you try to do something like that.

I follow her into the building and down a hallway decorated nice enough. Some guy with one of those ear pieces stands up from behind a desk. He leads us down another hall and through a door into a bar. Fucking New York, whatever happened to an old fashioned storefront.

Lined up along the wall on stools are women of all color, shapes and sizes. Michelle walks past me to the center of the room where there’s a table and two chairs. Some older broad in a bidness suit walks up to Michelle.

“Sorry we’re late, he spends an hour putting lotion on his face before he even leaves the house,” Michelle says all bitchy.

“Hey, it’s not lotion. It’s a tamanu face moisturizer. I’m trying to make sure my face heals back to it’s natural, beautiful state.”

“I don’t think that’s any better,” Michelle says.

“Paul, why don’t you sit down here,” the lady says. I oblige. “Michelle, why don’t you find a seat?”

Michelle walks over and grabs a chair from the bar. She drags it over to me and sits right behind me.

“Michelle, I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to sit there?”

“Excuse me? I paid for all of this. I’ll sit wherever I damn please,” she says as she slurps from her coffee cup. “Go ahead, continue.”

“Alright,” she says, shaking off Michelle’s snobby attitude. “The rules are simple Paul. You’ll have two minutes with each woman. If you would like a second date, just ask for their nametag. Sound easy enough?”

“Easy peasy,” I reply.

“Easy peasy? Really?” I hear Michelle whisper in my ear. “No wonder you’re single.”

“Alright, first up is Amanda,” the host announces. A hot, yet super pale chick steps forward. She smiles all cheesy and walks over, sitting down across from me.

“Hiya,” she says.

“Hey, nice to meet you. So uh.. Where you from?”

“I’m from Tejas. You ever been?”

“Of course, Steers and Goths right? So uh.. You eat steak, huh? Being from Tejas and all.”

“Of course I do. I love my steak well-done, like burnt. But like super well-done, then dipped in sauce,” she says like a serial killer. Who in their right mind would eat a steak well-done, like super burnt?

“Yeah uh.. This isn’t going to work,” I say. She gives me a confused look.

“Because of the steak?”

“I mean.. Duh. Well-done? And you’re from Tejas? You should know better..”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” 

And thank the heavens, the bell rings. Another hot broad sits down.

“What happened to your eye?” She asks.

“Oh I was in a big match and I got hit pretty good.”

“Does that happen a lot?”

“What? Getting hit? Getting stitched up?”


“Yeah uh.. Duh.”

“It’s just, I thought wrestling was fake. Like choreographed.”

“Excuse me bitch!” I hear Michelle say from behind me. Here we go. “I got hit by a fucking boat! How the fuck do you choreograph getting hit by a boat?!”

“Well, there’ stun..”

“Shut up Paul! Let this bitch answer for herself!”

“Mam, please. If you’re going to be disruptive I’m going to ask you to leave,” the host says.

“No it’s OK,” I say as I turn to Michelle. I grab her arm and pull her back down in her seat. “Relax. She doesn’t know any better. You behave and I promise to buy you whatever you want. Deal?”

“She started it.”

“I know,” I say as I turn back to the date.

And that’s pretty much how all of the dates went. Either I’d get a dud or I’d start to click with someone and Michelle would hop in and ruin it. Always with some snarky ass comment.

“That bitch got lizard lips like Sahara.”

“Bitch smells like a tuna can like Dru.”

“That bitch looks like one of the 28 Austin’s.”

Chick after chick, broad after broad. Until I ran through all of them. Not one name tag in front of me.

The host wrapped up the event and excuse the ladies. Some waved bye, most of them gave us dirty looks. Mostly Michelle though.

“You didn’t find one person you want to have a second date with? Really?” The host says, with a look of half-confusion and half-annoyance.

“I don’t know. I guess I’m a hard guy to please.’

“OK, uh. So what do you look for in a woman?”

“Well.. I don’t know. I like short chicks with booty. Blondes with blue eyes and a mean streak. But knows how to fool everyone into thinking she’s super nice. Kids aren’t a deal breaker for me as I have my own daughter.”

“You’re kidding, right?” She says with an annoyed look on her face as she eyes Michelle up.

“Wha?” I ask, following her gaze to Michelle. “Wait, you think.. Michelle? We’re only friends.”

“Ew I would never,” Michelle says laughing. I suddenly find myself not laughing along with her. Ew? She’s married to Brandon Moore. She’s related to Dame. Even though I am related to Joe. Can’t really talk shit in that department..

“Really? You two have a lot of chemistry,” she says as Michelle’s quick to avoid my gaze. Bitch, divorce that fuck already..

We found ourselves outside of the building, standing on the sidewalk all awkward as fuck. We fiddle through our phones, pretending to be looking at something.

“So uh.. You wanna go get something to eat?”

“Are you seriously asking me out on Valentine’s Day weekend?”

“Valentine’s Day Weekend? Is that even a thing? Ya know what? Nah. Fuck it. I’ll go get something myself.”

“I’m fucking with you. It’s Valentine’s Day Weekend, we won’t be able to get a table anywhere that’s good.”

“That’s totally not a thing. And don’t worry about getting a table. I got that handled. So is that a yeah?”

“Let’s go,” she says. We start to walk down the street when she stops for a second. “Remember this?”

She then proceeds to trip me from behind. I almost topple over, dropping the Manhattan strap. All the while she’s cracking up as she skips ahead. I scoop up my title and watch her rip off the neck brace and toss it in a trash can.

I think I’m in love with this broad..


Hello FIGHT!

And anyone that’ll read this when they click on the link I’ll post on Twitter..

What the fuck is up?!

Not sure if you’ve heard, your boy, P Mo.. Paulie.. THE NEW FUCKING MANHATTAN CHAMPION BAY BAY!

That’s right. Somehow I went into Part Dos with an Island strap and came out as Manhattan Champ. Came up with a big time upgrade. Lost an Island strap without ever actually losing it. And gotta doper strap in return. That’s FIGHT! for ya, huh? And honestly, after that last season, bruh I’m good with it.


Toe to toe, face to face with Dickie, again. For the third time. Losing for the third time. It’s enough. I’m going to make sure I get a couple dubs against him before I hang them up. But right now, obviously he’s the better man. Plus, I got better shit to do..


Boy are you guys in a treat. Most of you have never seen Paulie El Campeon before. Lucky for yous, I’m in your lives.

You’re welcome..

Back to the fucking grind. Why this business isn’t for the weak. Venom #16. And what a fucking card. Dane and his two broads. Gawd he’s so lame he’s prolly gonna end up fucking both of them in the ring. We get it, you get pussy. You don’t see me flaunting all the pussy I get.

Wait, when was the last time I got laid?


If the wrong Austin shows up, that’ll be the end of the dinosaurs as we know it. Total extinction. Bruh fucking Pinkston?! Doods helped me outta so many HR issues. But the real Main Event of the card..

America’s Favorite Love Triangle, James Raven, Atara Themis and Betsy Granger.

Versus America’s Least Favorite Love Triangle, Dub Dub and Michelle.

You know, in the spirit of Saint Valentine, and becoming NEW FUCKING MANHATTAN CHAMPION BAY BAY!! Manhattan Champion, I’d like to do this a little differently. Instead of tearing everyone down, I want to lift them instead. The three of them, with their love triangle, they need a tender hand. And as your NEW FUCKING MANHATTAN CHAMPION BAY BAY! I’ll take on the responsibility of giving them just that..

Betsy, my sweet Betsy. I know it must be tough, getting dumped by a dreamboat like Raven. But you must know that life will go one. You will find someone again. You’re a beautiful woman. Of course, they won’t be as amazing as James, but at least you can say you’ve tasted the best. And I do mean that in the context you’re taking it as.

Betsy, my dear Betsy, I’ve seen many a woman bounce back from being dumped and humiliated so publicly. Look at Sahara. She was such a mess when Young Ricardo kicked her to the curb for Jennie. She was in the exact same boat you’re in right now. Cast aside for the new Delight of the Night. How shameful it must’ve felt for Sahara and how shameful it must feel for you Betsy. My lovely Betsy..

But Sahara bounced back. Bounced back big time. She’s married to a dood with a lion. What does Young Ricardo got? He’s cute and all, but a fucking lion?!

So there’s hope for you Betsy, my sweet angel. There’s plenty of hope that one day people will forget the humiliation, forget James left you for a Greek. And you’ll find someone. I mean, just imagine how many James Raven Starfuckers will want his sloppy seconds. People are lining up around the block right now just to try and perform cunnilingus in you just so they can try and taste James Raven’s dick. Could you imagine? Half the locker room are already waiting in line, my darling Betsy.

And I know I have your Manhattan Championship. But hey, at least you have my Island Championship. Keeping it warm for me before I can get it back. You should rejoice in the fact that you’re now an Island Girl. Just an Island Girl.

Atara, the Greek chick right? Opa and shit. I guess this match doesn’t really mean much. I mean, you’re fucking James Raven. You already won, right? And you’re the other Island Champ. Gold on your waist and a golden dick inside ya..

But I got respect for you. You saw something you wanted. And you took that dick. Anyone be damned. Including Betsy. Who, funny enough, is your partner. Not just at Venom #16 but a.. I mean y’all get it? I already yapped about Betsy being an Island Champ. Just said Atara was. Y’all can put dos y dos together..

Everyone’s thinking you two aren’t going to last as Island Girls. Why would you? Your partner is the chick who’s man you stole. Ripe for disaster. But see, what everyone forgets is that James Raven is involved. And he’s like a gawd or something. He could easily turn that into some sister wives shit. Just like..

We get it Dane!

Oddly enough, this whole tryst has been well received. This looks like it’s going to be amazing for your career. Great job popping that p and getting yourself into the limelight. I got 15 AVN Awards, I’ve fucked plenty for adoration. I get it. Again, lotta respect for you. Leveled up big time. 2022 looks like it’s the fucking year for the come up. Vhodka’s Champ Champ in PWE, I’m Manhattan Champ, Sahara married Thad so she’ll finally be able to pay off all her bookies and you’re banging James Raven.

And of course..

You always save the best for last.

James Raven.


It’s me.

Paul Montuori.

So I know we’re supposed to be beefing and all. You know, with the whole “Me vs Dickie” and “NSQ Against Everyone.” But I’ve moved on to becoming Thee Dopest Manhattan Champion FIGHT! has ever seen, Dickie’s not really worth my time anymore. I did good business and I put him over. Made him a Star. Now it’s time for me to focus on myself. Plus I’m pretty sure NSQ isn’t like one of those “Ride or Die” groups like the Crips or the Republican Party. You really don’t need to stick around with them. Especially with all the issues that are coming up on the horizon. I’ve seen issues like what’s plaguing NSQ implode many a factions..

I mean, the most obvious, Dickie and Shawn. No such thing as “friendly competition” when there’s egos involved. But even more so when the Empire Championship is on the line. Tell me you wouldn’t jump at the opportunity to snatch that Empire strap from Dickie? We’re very much the same, remember James? Me and you, not that much different. Well outside of the fact that everyone worships you. And you’re a ladies man. And your abs are better than mine..

Who can avoid the drama between you and Betsy. I mean, talk about a woman scorned, huh? Like I get she’s heartbroken and she’s not taking it well. But come on James, is it really your fault? The heart wants what it wants right? The love with Betsy was not what it used to be. There was new love blossoming with a certain Greek woman. And you started to feel alive again, that new found love. A feeling you hadn’t felt in some time James. You followed your heart, like a true romantic. Isn’t this what Valentine’s Day is all about?

And I get it James. Some people are gossiping that I’m in a love triangle too. Well, except like you’re the one that’s doing the picking. So Michelle would be you in this scenario. And she’s with B. So that makes him Atara. Which leaves me as Betsy? That math can’t be right..

Now everyone needs to leave this man alone. He’s doing his fucking best. Dealing with an internal struggle none of you have a clue about. But I do James, I understand. I understand what you’re going through. That internal struggle, that voice in your head that wants to destroy everything you’ve built. That inner voice that never lets you forget what you’ve done. Never lets you forget that you don’t deserve it. All of it. But I do James. And so do you papi. That voice, fuck that voice. Fuck it’s Debbie Downer attitude and its shitty breath. Fuck it for trying to bring out the worse in you. You’re an angel James, don’t you forget it.

Know that if you need anything, even if it’s someone to talk to, you know where to find me.

Actually, you probably don’t. We’re not really friends..

Is it tacky to tell you to slide in my DMs on Twitter?

Bumble would be better..

You’re a smart guy, you’ll figure it out.

And hey, maybe after Venom we’ll all become besties and get naked and jump in a pile. Well except for Moore, he’s into that weird shit..

On this romantic of all events, I leave you with a quote from the greatest romantic the world has ever seen. Sir Pepe Le Pew..

Toujours l’amour!