Alright, listen up…Sami Callahan, as much as I enjoyed your MySpace-styled bedroom threats against me, I’m not going to dignify your paltry attempts at intimidation by sitting in my living room yelling at my computer screen (Also, my web cam is fucked). In lieu of such silliness, I’ve decided to submit my response in the fashion of an adult, by way of A STERN LETTER
Dear Samuel Callahan:
In regards to: Your crappy emo haircut, etc.
Firstly, I don’t know where you got one of my shirts, but I will most certainly be having a word with the gimmick table crew here at CZW to ensure that you are heretofore disallowed from ever obtaining my merchandise again. I just got those shirts printed up, and now you’re going to throw one on over your tiny pants and wrap it in a stupid vest and it will immediately become unfashionable. I see how your subtle mind games work; you think you’ll get the better of me by making my merchandise uncool and causing me to lose money. Well, I’ve been dirt-poor my whole life, son, so you’ll have to do better than that. You say you’re going to teach me respect? You’re going to leave me bloodied and broken in the middle of the ring? All I can say is that the anonymity of hiding behind a computer screen to issue threats makes a lot of little mascara-streaked pussies into big men. Next month when we step into the ring together you’re going to have a lot of talk to back up and there won’t be any computer cords or satellite signals between us to keep me from stomping on your “unorthodox mind” until it leaks out of your fucking skull. As far as “bringing my A-game” is concerned, you needn’t worry about that…whether I bring my A-game or I show up smacked out of my skull with 2 broken legs, I’m still more than up to the task of beating a mincy little fairy like you. You don’t go anywhere without your switchblades? It takes a lot more than Lars Fredriksen lyrics to put fear into me, Sami. Go ahead, bring on the rotund lumberjack and the tiny-pants prettyboy, I’ll carve you all up and send you running back to your Fall Out Boy fan forums. You threatened to beat me within an inch of my life; well, FAR better men than you have tried, boyo. So cut some more holes into your jeans and prepare for a war, Sami-boy, because I’m not in any mood to take shit off of a self-important prick like you. There aren’t too many people in this company who’ve reliably had my back, but—in spite of having put each other through some wars—Drake Younger has, since the beginning. If you want to fuck with him and the Naptown Dragons, you’re also going to have to contend with me. But the primary issue on which Drake and I differ is this: he’s a wrestler, through and through. He goes out there to compete and win the respect of the fans and his peers. I’m just a mean bastard with a love for violence. And I’m going to fucking hurt you. As far as the stipulation…well, I’ll have to think on that…but if you’d like a hint: For whatever reason, the first thing that comes to mind when I look at you is “ladies shoes…”
I’ll see you in September, twat.
Daniel T. Havoc
PS—How are you a “Switchblade Conspiracy?”Did you always want to have a band with that name and you just had no musical talent, or what? Ok, if those rules apply, from now on my crew will be known as “Infantslaughter Babystomp.” Makes just as much sense, and it’s way cooler…