Dinner time at the Newton household was always weird.
See, my old man always invited over my Uncle Dave. Pops and Dave had run the streets together for years. Every little thing they touched turned to gold. Their businesses raked in the cash, and their names may as well have been one, that’s how tight they were.
So it makes sense to invite him to dinner.
But I remember one night in particular. The table was set with all the fixings, and right there in the middle was a beautifully cooked turkey, dripping golden juices, ready to be carved up and served.
I’ll never forget the way my dad’s brow furrowed when Uncle Dave grabbed the knife, and cut himself the first piece, the prime cut off that turkey.
This was his house. His turkey. And Dave took the best cut anyway.
The rest of the turkey was still good, Dave could have waited, even could have had a double portion if he wanted. But no, he spat in my old man’s face instead.
What the fuck, I thought. I’ll never be disrespected like that.
Lo and behold, it’s dinner time for the Bad Mother Fuckers. The whole table is set, with all the trimmings ready to go, and that big fat turkey right in the middle.
A shot at the OSW World Championship.
Here comes Auntie Pam and Uncle Xav, ready to take their seat at the table.
That’s fine, cause we’re ride or die. bMf means all three of us, every damn day. We’ve cut through OSW like a knife through butter. No one can touch us, and we proved that at Triosmania. Everything we touch turns to gold. Our business is in whipping ass and asserting ourselves at the top of the mountain.
And business is good.
So please, have a seat. You’ve earned it.
But what I need you two to remember is that you’re sitting at my table, in my house.
The Slaughterhouse wasn’t built by your blood, sweat, and tears, it was built by mine. That table you sit at is an opportunity built by the Real fucking Deal. Earned through winning Ring King, the Eliminator, Lambs to the fucking Slaughter, and two World titles.
That Championship is mine, not yours.
Because you both know I’m the bad, and you’re the mother fuckers.
But still, I see those sharp knives in your hand. You’re going to try to take what’s mine, you’re going to sit at my table, look me in my eye, and take the prime cut for yourself.
I’d lay my body on the line for you two. I’d die for you.
But I won’t give up the prime cut.
I’m not my father, I don’t roll over for my siblings. You can try to spit in my face, but you’ll sit there and take what I don’t eat. Tag Titles? Sure, keep em. Invasion briefcase, good fucking luck!
But you won’t take food out of my mouth.
This daddy is taking the first cut.
The prime cut.
The OSW World Championship.
Because I’m the Real fucking Deal,
And I’m Real fucking Hungry!