The Hype Begins...

[Daddy Mack]

       

So this is what it comes down to, booking WAR       myself, and with four fucking general manager's supposedly wanting the       job. One of the fucks has been missing in action for three years and the       rest are soon to follow. And why the fuck is Whitney a GM, that's fucking       wrong, she has insisted she is in charge of Evolution only and may help       with WAR, goddamn it. Time to call someone, fuck, who can I get a hold of       at this hour...       (Mack laying on the sofa of a cheap hotel room wearing just a pair of faded       jeans with a grey ballcap pulled over his eyes and he pulls a phone       from his pocket flipping it open like the ol' school cat he always been even       before he ever been old. A couple days of stubble on his jaw around a       bit of as goatte and the showsteala putting the phone to his left ear on the       outer edge of the sofa, then rests his right arm up and sort of behind       his head giving us a glance of them ever sarcastically sweet baby blues       shining like a chesire cat. Mack hearing someone pick up and immediately       says.)                                                                                                                                                        "Hey, Whitney Marret is not a WAR GM, she is       in charge of Evolution only, so remove her from the damn card and knock       that title off her name. She wants the fame she earned, but wants mo time       with the ones who deserve it the most, so just do it, I got a match to get       ready for."                                                                                      ...       "Yea, Jordan Brooks is the next in line for a       shot, so why not!?"                        ...       "I'm more or less doing my own thing with my       loved ones just a hop, skip, and jump away or less, so Jordan is in line       fo sure, maybe he and I can get something going from this match on WAR to       get him stepping his game up more!?!?"                                                                      ...       Yea, yea, fo sure, but I gotta get going, its       late and this cat gotta crawl home, so peace out dawg."                                (Mack flipping the phone shut, then slides the       phone back into his right pocket and swings his legs over dropping them to       the floor. After resting his elbows on his hands for a second, he stands       up to grab a grey hoodie throwing it on and zipping it up. Mack walking       for the door and opens it to head on out and his footsteps fade into the       distance as Footsteps by Pop Evil can be heard playing.)