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Napoleon Complex

Social stereotypin’ be as palpable in Arcadia as it is anywhere else in our sphere, ya na.

Some of it’s fair fuckin’ game; the rest ain’ so true. But one thing remains an absolute, irrefutable cert, ya get me?

People wit’ a Napoleon complex be da worst of all da motherfuckers out there.

Otherwise referred to as small man syndrome, Napoleon complex is characterised by lesser folk who present excessively hostile or autocratic social behaviours.

Consequently, S-M-S carries the proposition dat such conduct is compensatory for the subject’s ostensive physical or social shortcomings.

In other words – these Lilliputian motherfuckers offset their distinct lack of height by institutin’ aggressive attitudes and ancillary self-effacing attributes towards others, ya get me?

And da most common form of peculiarity for someone sufferin’ from small man syndrome? To go after some big, grizzly motherfucker, far bigger in bodily stature than their puny fuckin’ selves can handle.

By huntin’ down their predominant prey, these underdeveloped dumb bunnies fancy themselves as godlike beings, ya feel?

They tell themselves dat by showin’ the world they hold no fear, they can become heroes amongst men; puttin’ every ounce of faith they have into their own actions, and overcomin’ the impossible.

Ya na somethin’, Destructo Boy, Old School Wrestlin’ wouldn’t be complete without its own every day, have-a-go hero, now, would it?

Just like yo father before you, you’ve made Olympus yo home; vowin’ to follow in da old man’s footsteps by protectin’ the people of Arcadia against the forces of darkness that reside there.

Despite yo clear and obvious physical frailties, you carry that Kingdomshank around with you as a reminder to others dat every so often the smallest of men can pack the biggest surprise.

I’ve watched yo white ass wave it around, homie; I’ve heard you scream yo absurdities at the top of yo tiny lungs and point it in the direction of such creatures as The Burned Man.

As you scarcely grasp its broad blade in yo measly hands, the lil’ Napoleon in you feels disposed to wield it at his bandaged anatomy, don’t it?

You treat that thing as though it were your power – your influence – your great leveller against a man typically too high and fuckin’ mighty for a frame as modest and meek as yours.

Only just like that Arcadian Freak, Jimmy, I’ve come to the end of my tether when it comes to hearin’ about yo contentious attitude and arbitrary sentiments.

Like him, I can see through the visage of yo antagonistic and imperious demeanours – and come our encounter on Monday night, lil’ man – I’ll expose the so-called big I am for what he truly is.

Once Drexl gets his meaty hands on yo scrawny white ass, cracka, he’ll cut you down to size, ya hear?

First yo blade.

Then yo faith.

And last but not least, motherfucker, I’ll remove you of any hope you have left harbourin’ in that unbreakable cardiac organ of yours.

Ya see, Jimmy, it’s high time someone around here separated the men from the boys for their own good, ya feel me?

And as men around here go, homie…

They don’t cum any bigger than me.