Post by Ross Hanson on Oct 9, 2021 9:44:35 GMT -5
"hey evyrbebidyh ROss GHanoson here"
I'm drunk. I'm so God damn drunk right now. I don't even have a fucking joke for it.
"What's up Revo1..?>"
Hey, I didn't slur that time.
"Thish Thuesday I wil be at LEgacvyt on-on-onnme against former Chgocago DeeAyta Darius Alexander...."
Now, I am sure you're wondering why I'm so fucked up. You're probably wondering a lot of things. First off, why I'm laying in a hotel room bed trying to livestream myself cutting a promo. Second off, why I'm only halfway on the bed and halfway on the floor. Third off, where the fuck is my girlfriend and my kid?
"I wihsh Chelsea ocupld be there...but she'shnon Sin and I'm on LEgcayc! SO MUCH FOR SKYESON BEING A TAG TEAM HUH?!?"
Chelsea is at home, in the house I bought her, sleeping with another woman while my kid is with Uncle Leglock. To tell you the truth, I'm not entirely torn up right now over the idea that I won't see Chelsea at work on Tuesday. Right this second, I'm trying to get my shit together after partying all night at Velvet Rabbit in NYC. I've got a big match at OCW's big PPV in London tomorrow night, and in his great wisdom one of the management guys (Tony Savage) got the bright idea to host a giant fucking staff meeting slash drinking contest right before a overseas flight. I haven't seen Chels in a couple days already, and when I get back from London on Monday I might just head straight to Hartford and hide in a Motel 6 for two days. Oh, you wanted to know why I'm drunk and upset. My bad, I got totally sidetracked there thinking about how every time I feel like I'm moving forward in life, I get knocked back nineteen or twenty fucking steps.
"I know she and Meghan lost their match last weekl, but thatsh okplay!"
Look. If you can't do some fucking research and figure that out for yourself, I don't know what to tell you. I'm drunk. I have to cut a promo on someone I didn't even know who the fuck they were until yesterday. There's no fucking comedy material in a district attorney in a city that has more unsolved murders than Game Of Thrones. District attorneys are in that weird spot between law enforcement and lawyer, so I can't just go off on a tangent about cop jokes or lawyer jokes because neither make sense. And then there's getting into the whole "why the fuck would you want to go from prosecuting drug dealers to working in a business that was literally founded on pain pills and halcyon?" conversation. I'd love to have it with you, but I'm fucking drunk and falling out of bed.
"Chelsea's tough, she'll get back to it -AH SHIT!"
So you're probably thinking that now, face down on the carpet that was more than likely pissed on by the people who had this room before me, that I might wisen up, turn the livestreaming off on my phone, and just go back to fucking sleep. Fuck you. I have to piss. At least I didn't drop the phone underneath the bed.
"Syck my dick ass btivch omther fucker! I'll fucking northern lights suplex your bitch fuyck ass!"
That's right, you cheap fucking flea market mattress. Take this fucking flying elbow drop off the other bed. And don't you dare move in the 45 minutes it takes me to climb up onto the other bed to do it.
"Thish is what I'm gonna od to Darius Alexander at Leghacy!"
GET SOME MOTHER FUCKER
"YAA TRICK YAA!"
FUCK YOUR BED BUY ANOTHER ONE
"YEAH! THE STATE OF ROSS HANSON IS SEEKING A SENTENCE OF A THREE COUNT TO BE SERVED CONCURRENTLY WITH ME PINNING YOU! "
Oh God...oh fucking God...that was a bad idea....
"YOU WILL BE PROSECUTED TO THE FULLEXT EXTENT OF MY FOOT IN YOUR ASS! NOTHING PERSONA 5, JUST FOLLOWING THE LAW!"
I shouldn't have yelled so loud. My tummy hurts.
"YOU ARE NOW ABOUT TO WITNESS THE STRENGTH OF ROSS HANSON!"
And on that note, I threw the fuck up all over the TV set.
I'm drunk. I'm so God damn drunk right now. I don't even have a fucking joke for it.
"What's up Revo1..?>"
Hey, I didn't slur that time.
"Thish Thuesday I wil be at LEgacvyt on-on-onnme against former Chgocago DeeAyta Darius Alexander...."
Now, I am sure you're wondering why I'm so fucked up. You're probably wondering a lot of things. First off, why I'm laying in a hotel room bed trying to livestream myself cutting a promo. Second off, why I'm only halfway on the bed and halfway on the floor. Third off, where the fuck is my girlfriend and my kid?
"I wihsh Chelsea ocupld be there...but she'shnon Sin and I'm on LEgcayc! SO MUCH FOR SKYESON BEING A TAG TEAM HUH?!?"
Chelsea is at home, in the house I bought her, sleeping with another woman while my kid is with Uncle Leglock. To tell you the truth, I'm not entirely torn up right now over the idea that I won't see Chelsea at work on Tuesday. Right this second, I'm trying to get my shit together after partying all night at Velvet Rabbit in NYC. I've got a big match at OCW's big PPV in London tomorrow night, and in his great wisdom one of the management guys (Tony Savage) got the bright idea to host a giant fucking staff meeting slash drinking contest right before a overseas flight. I haven't seen Chels in a couple days already, and when I get back from London on Monday I might just head straight to Hartford and hide in a Motel 6 for two days. Oh, you wanted to know why I'm drunk and upset. My bad, I got totally sidetracked there thinking about how every time I feel like I'm moving forward in life, I get knocked back nineteen or twenty fucking steps.
"I know she and Meghan lost their match last weekl, but thatsh okplay!"
Look. If you can't do some fucking research and figure that out for yourself, I don't know what to tell you. I'm drunk. I have to cut a promo on someone I didn't even know who the fuck they were until yesterday. There's no fucking comedy material in a district attorney in a city that has more unsolved murders than Game Of Thrones. District attorneys are in that weird spot between law enforcement and lawyer, so I can't just go off on a tangent about cop jokes or lawyer jokes because neither make sense. And then there's getting into the whole "why the fuck would you want to go from prosecuting drug dealers to working in a business that was literally founded on pain pills and halcyon?" conversation. I'd love to have it with you, but I'm fucking drunk and falling out of bed.
"Chelsea's tough, she'll get back to it -AH SHIT!"
So you're probably thinking that now, face down on the carpet that was more than likely pissed on by the people who had this room before me, that I might wisen up, turn the livestreaming off on my phone, and just go back to fucking sleep. Fuck you. I have to piss. At least I didn't drop the phone underneath the bed.
"Syck my dick ass btivch omther fucker! I'll fucking northern lights suplex your bitch fuyck ass!"
That's right, you cheap fucking flea market mattress. Take this fucking flying elbow drop off the other bed. And don't you dare move in the 45 minutes it takes me to climb up onto the other bed to do it.
"Thish is what I'm gonna od to Darius Alexander at Leghacy!"
GET SOME MOTHER FUCKER
"YAA TRICK YAA!"
FUCK YOUR BED BUY ANOTHER ONE
"YEAH! THE STATE OF ROSS HANSON IS SEEKING A SENTENCE OF A THREE COUNT TO BE SERVED CONCURRENTLY WITH ME PINNING YOU! "
Oh God...oh fucking God...that was a bad idea....
"YOU WILL BE PROSECUTED TO THE FULLEXT EXTENT OF MY FOOT IN YOUR ASS! NOTHING PERSONA 5, JUST FOLLOWING THE LAW!"
I shouldn't have yelled so loud. My tummy hurts.
"YOU ARE NOW ABOUT TO WITNESS THE STRENGTH OF ROSS HANSON!"
And on that note, I threw the fuck up all over the TV set.
