WFWF.com: Schneider's Slayings #4

The views expressed in the following piece are those of Phillip Schnieder and do not necessarily reflect the views of the WFWF or any of it's affiliates. Schneider's Slayings is for mature audiences only



Welcome to Schneider's Slayings, your unadulterated source for information without the sterilization and vain asepticism that the mainstream WFWF regurgitates.

Speaking of regurgitating though, how about that Supreme Gauntlet, huh? I walked right behind that dog, seen him squatting, and avoided stepping in that steaming pile of s**t and I'm ticked pink about the hole thing. If it was any more of a trainwreck of booking and disorganization and non-participation, we'd be looking at 2006 WFWF. And now I, Phillip Schneider, look at the steaming remains of the explosion of the tournament and survey the collateral damage.

But through the tournament, there's been one guy I've been watching. I don't think it's any secret I've been watching him. Hell, I even got to come out to that boss Lil Wayne song and make him more stumbly and confused than a teenager at midnight after prom. But now the tournament obligations are coming to a close and listen closely mother er because I'm only going to say this once. You're mine. Pay Per View. Big Match Phil is coming back and taking back his yard. You're chained, shackled, tied, cuffed, gagged, and about to get beat until you scream my name in ecstasy. You're going to meet your demise, you're going to see that all the things you think are exaggerations about me are not hyperbole, but actually dramatic underestimations of my sadism.

Understand you dumb bastard. These are your last days. You should go out and spend every dime in your bank account on the best meal you can buy, because your next few months of meals are going to come intravenously in a hospital bed. I don't give two squirts of piss about the finale of this joke of a tournament. You're mine and if this tournament somehow disrupts that, I'll burn the ing ring to ashes and beat your ass in the smoldering rubble. I don't care any more. You've pissed me off and at the Pay Per View, you're going to see exactly what the ing idol of this company brings to the table. Violence, for the sake of violence, bloodshed, for the sake of bloodshed, anarchy, for the sake of anarchy. The scars that will line your flesh will serve as a permanent reminder that you ed up the first time you laced your boots, much less having a passing thought in my league.

Welcome to Hell. Devil left me in charge while he's on vacation. I'm Phillip Schneider, and you're not.