I have years of 15 minutes left. I'm the one they call on when they need a star, I'm the one who goes and visits the sick kid, I'm the one on the posters, the magazines, the DVD covers, I'm reliable, I'm loyal and I'm awesome
Believe dat? What's next Suffering Succotash? You're brain is clearly already damaged
I wrestle to live, you, you wrestle to die. You can have all the fighting spirit you want but when you fight recklessly you'll end up like Daniel Bryan, sad, broken and desperate to get in there even when your body and your doctor say no, just so you can die you in the ring. Meanwhile I'll be rich and safe and die peacefully at 90 with the people I love. But you? You'll be a black mark, a cautionary tale, a story wrestling fans tell their kids to warn them against the business. Me? I'll be the girl they point to and say she's who you should be little Tammy, little Timmy, she's awesome, she's passionate, and most importantly she lived a long life and didn't disgrace the business by expiring in the ring.