Part 2
Hell, Ian, own up little, puffy man. You tried to replicate everything about me. So what you used a few more wrestling moves. Nobody cares and even fewer will remember. It was the Ultimate Jaburg intensity and look you strove for. You knew this was the ticket. It became your mission. You even took up a serious interest in bodybuilding and began rubbing your very narrow shoulders with famous bodybuilders, like doing this would make you more of a real bodybuilder like I once was and, you prayed, more like an Ultimate Jaburg. Difference is, Ian, it didn’t work. Ironically, your bodybuilder friends are some of the same guys who used to ask for me for training advice when RDCW came through town and we’d train at The Mecca, THE Gold’s Gym in Venice, CA. Yet we can be sure -- they don’t ask you. It’s a good thing Rob backed off the drug testing as he did because without them you wouldn’t have made muscle grade enough for the real freaks to even let you be one of their friends. BTW, to get rid of the puffy look get off the GH and train hard. Yeah, that’s right -- train hard. Your body tells us all that you train like a twat and rely most on your “sports supplements.”
Yes, Ian, sorrily, your whole career has been a mission to outdo Ultimate Jaburg. But guess what little, puffy man? You failed. Oh, how you failed. I set an iconic standard none of you could reach. And you are bitter about it. So bitter. You all are. Indeed, it is this bitterness that you most have in common with your brother-in-law. In fact, he recognized the depth of it in you and knew if something ever happened to him you would continue the mission to fulfill HIS vendetta. To secure it, he gave you his sister. But he must be a little concerned, because it seems the only masculinity you can drum up is while you are hanging onto her booking skirt. You know, think about it. If I hadn’t been smitten with my own honey at the time and Rob would have been more sensible, he might have hired me to become his brother-in-law. You know, the Original Ultimate Jaburg, not a dismal imitation. On second thought, I had strong self confidence and Rob never felt sorry for me as he evidently does for you.
As for you, Louie Bastardo, it’s just too difficult to keep a straight face talking about the pure two-faced bag of shit you are (and have always been), what, with you also actually wearing one as a piece of body jewelry. You are dying, dis-eased on the inside, and no more time is left to get back any of the integrity that matters the most on death’s bed. Imagine what it will be like, lying there taking in your last breaths, knowing you whored yourself out your whole life, and had to, in your final years, be faced with emptying your own personal shit bag affirming to you the true value of what you achieved in your life. Not even Rob could come up with a better finish than this. Karma is just a beautiful thing to behold.
Mikey Monroe. For the life of me, I don’t get what your beef (should I say pork?), Mikey, is with the sane and happy ole’ Jaburgman. Of course, I can only imagine that a whole hell of a lot of anal pressure must come with being one of Rob’s top ass-wipes. Yet, still, can I ask -- just when did you get to know me well enough to go on and on about me as you seem so fit to do? Can we substantiate some time period, here? Discussions or meetings that were held? Or is this too much to ask? I’m not the only one who’d like to know. Everyone is asking the same question: “Just when did Mike Monroe get to know Jaburg so well to have these endless opinions about him that he does?” All anyone can think of, largely because it is so apparent across the board throughout the entire DVD, is that, again, envy alone provides you (and everyone else for that matter) with the enlightenment and answers.
You are obviously jealous of both the fact that I never let Rob have his way with me as he has with you and everyone else and, also, that you never had the chance to bend me over either since becoming the Mother Hen over the talent around about ‘96 when I was last there. Well now, Mikey, come on. It’s hard to take you so seriously, considering prime talent such as myself would never answer to you about anything. I mean, what in the hell would you know about succeeding at the level I did? And here you go on and on to others about how “Jaburg is so full of himself.” Get your head out of the pork and beans, Mikey. And actually, it is not true that I am full of myself, even when I am arrogantly pounding the broad chest of my own healthy personal self-esteem. No, it is that I am loaded for bear defending how FULL The Ultimate Jaburg persona should be of itself, because IT WAS GREAT AND MADE AN IMPACT ON THE INDUSTRY LIKE FEW OTHERS.
Can we ask, Mikey, just how many tickets have been sold to people to come and sit in an arena for a wrestling card just so they can see you? NOT ONE. That’s how many. Don’t even need a damn calculator to do that math. Guys like me who have what it takes to make a persona work pay your bar-b-q bill, Mikey. Your fat ass and your silly ten gallon cowboy hat were on the plane to the next city on the tour because TOP TALENT like me performing Ultimate Jaburg bought your ticket.
You seem to forget that there was once a “better” day when talent didn’t need their hands held, noses blown or picked, and their asses wiped, especially by a drooling gotta-get-closer-to-those-sweaty-wrestling-bodies feminine cowboy like you. Great talent knew what to do and did it, and they didn’t run crying to numb-nut writers and out-of-control, head-tripping, power freak babysitters like yourself. You, Mikey, are the one who needs to get a grip, not I. When I talk about the great career of the Ultimate Jaburg, I do so with the authority of millions of minds filled with the great, on-the-record memories. Yet when you criticize it, your authority comes only from the fact that you have a cubicle at RDCW offices and it has gone to your head. You’ve been sniffing too many of your own bean farts, Mikey.
The best I can say about you is that you remind of a sodomized Ned Beatty squealing like a pig in Deliverance. How weirdly well it fits, too. You being so into bar-b-q as you are and Rob being into porking others as he has long done. My question: you still squeal after all these years, Mikey? Wherever your problem about me arises from we may never find out -- after all, up there in Roboken the truth doesn’t rank too high on the to-do list. But one thing is for damn sure and the DVD proves it. It is your unsubstantiated opinions about me and your non-objective animus toward me that are delusional and insane.
Ah, hell, that’s enough fun for now. In the next couple of weeks I’ll know more and will say more -- maybe even cut a rough rebuttal DVD. Just bring in a camera crew and let it rip. Maybe, no promises. I may just decide to be done with it... I’ve heard there are so many others on this thing. Batty, Franta, Bsams, Doctor, LLance, Mandrell, and even some of the new, talentless, uncharismatic punks -- All these eunuchs have done me a huge favor in some ways. Of course, about whether or not there is any legitimate slander, I will hold off and legally find out. But it really is a great cultural illustration of how deviantly dumbed down mentoring and masculinity have become. And, interestingly enough, engaging these serious ideas is what propels me in the career interests I have today.
As for you young kids up there at RDCW jumping on the bandwagon mocking the Ole’ Jaburgman along with everyone else, let me give you a piece of manly, mature life advice. It's obvious none of the perverted, adolescent old-timers are giving you any.
I am always conscious of giving you young guys a break whenever I express criticisms about the storylines and creative direction in the business. I figure you are dumb and naive and still figuring out your philosophy of life, so I am not as hard on you for your youthful behaviors. Maybe one day you'll come around. Maybe not and you’ll just turn out like all the other grown men who are letting you down. We will all see. But you’ll want to keep in mind, that I stand up and defend my integrity in person just as seriously as I do when I write about it. It’s not a work. And it’d be to your misfortune if I was traveling through some airport in this country one day and happened to see you standing there surrounded by little sexpot groupies and adoring fans, and I just took it upon myself to approach you, not to pick a fight but to ask you to explain your ridicule of me, and suddenly you couldn’t speak and started to go to the bathroom all over yourself. Let me tell you from my own life experiences, there’s nothing to intimidating and embarrassing as another human being who can kick your ass with their mind. Take it from a guy who made quiet a success out of throwing his muscle around, and learned this lesson the hard way.
You know, when I was really "getting it" in the business, truth is, ALL you young guys were huge Ultimate Jaburg fans. Everyone of you. (Even that punk Grimmonowski let this cat out of the bag and then cowardly tried to put it back in.) Now that you get meal tickets from Rob, it’s risky to say so. I understand -- I don’t respect it, but I understand. Yet instead of being one of those who just fall in line thinking all the disrespect and ridicule is funny, you might just want to use your own mind to make your own decisions, hold your tongue, not say anything at all. Because, you see, I am sorta old-fashioned about many things. One of those things is that a person should never be afraid to defend their integrity, especially when they have it. I do. And another thing is that young people should have both manners and respect for their elders, especially when they are deserving of it. I am. So, when you disrespect me, you leave me with no other choice, being the grown, adult man I am, but to embarrass you like a childish fool if I was to cross paths with you. And if you thought Ultimate Jaburg as a physical thing was so intense it made you an awe-struck, speechless kid, you’re not going to be any less awe-struck and speechless when I give you a piece of my mind with the same kind of intensity.
Well, now, I’ve gone and done it again. Damn if I haven’t. This delusional, insane, dumb, muscle-headed former wrestler has scrawled another classic masterpiece.
Your Founding Father of Ring Intensity --
Jaburg
