Seems only weeks ago that Freakzilla was a well guarded secret kept locked away because they knew I’d grind all these sumbitches into the mat. But since my hoochy mamma Hera brought us all back up from that hell hole down south, Everybody now wants to know all about Big Poppa Doom. But just so incase you beta males don’t have good attention spans, I’ve gotta go back to the origins. What created the genetic freak in the first place. The so called blueprint for absolute perfection that calls himself doom.
You see, they say all men are created equal but you look at me and then you look at that fruity metal dickless bitch and you can see that statement is not true.
Sure, that absentee father may have given me life but the only reason he says I’m a mistake is because he looks at his pathetic shriveled excuse for manhood and then looks at the absolute perfection with the largest arms in the world and pisses himself in fear at the first little lovetap I give him cause he knows I made his genetics actually worth something and he can’t beat me.
I proved he couldn’t when I knocked his bitch ass out with a single blow two weeks ago, cause world and tag titles don’t mean shit when you come up against a genetic specimen like Big Poppa Doom. I punked his ass out cold and instead of sacking up, growing some nuts and fighting me like a man, he sends this little child molesting fruity bitch boy after me like it’s going to intimidate Freakzilla.
What are you gonna do Foley? Take me to the Funhouse where you show Timmy how to bend over and cough? Well news flash puppet boy, only the freaks get to experience the true satisfaction of the Big Poppa. You gonna throw me around like you’re a big man? Compared to the largest arms in the world, you’re nothing but a flabby old man who needs to lay down and die because in my world Foley, size does matter.
Why do you think Dahlia, my main Freak follows me everywhere? Cause she appreciates size, I’m the man with the PHD in satisfaction and when I go behind and do the bump and grind, it’s only a matter of time before they start moaning the Big Bad Doomy Daddys name.
Or maybe you just need some candy and donuts you fat bastard? Well I checked my pockets fat boy, I ain’t got no sugar for you but what I got is two fistfulls of an asswhooping for your bitch ass. You think going into your little basement of kid touching is gonna bother me? See any ordinary match I got a 75% chance of winning cause the 25% chance is the referee disqualifying me from kicking your ass too hard. But in that boiler room Foley, the only way this ass beating stops is cause I say it stops so the numbers don’t lie and at Bottom Line they spell disaster for you and that bitch ass doom
Cause Big Poppa Doom is your Hook Up, HOLLA IF YOU HEAR ME