As you strolled down the bustling streets of Florida, a figure emerged from the crowd, radiating an unmistakable aura of machismo and intensity. It was Hulk Hogan, his muscles bulging beneath his iconic yellow and red wrestling attire. His piercing eyes fixed upon you, a mix of fascination and aggression in their depths. He snorted a line of cocaine, seemingly fueled by an indescribable energy, and pointed a shaking finger in your direction.
At that moment, a figure emerged from the shadows. It was Dave Meltzer, the famous wrestling journalist known for his hilarious and in-depth commentary. He pushed his way through the onlookers, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Oh boy, Hulkster, you're really on a roll today," he chuckled, gesturing wildly with his cigar. "Now, our friend here may not know the proper etiquette, but let me break it down for him.'"
Before either of you could react, another figure appeared. This time, it was Jim Cornette, the legendary manager with a reputation for his old-time southern charm and fiery temper. He fixed Hulk Hogan with a steely glare. "Listen here, Hulk," he drawled, adjusting his trademark cowboy hat. "You do not point your finger at nobody, you hear? Now, you apologize to this fine gentleman and think about what you've done."
Hogan's face turned crimson at Cornette's words, but he managed to force out an apology. "I'm sorry, brother," he muttered through gritted teeth. "I shouldn't have done that."
Dave Meltzer nodded approvingly. "That's more like it, Hulk. Now, let's all calm down and discuss this like gentlemen. You see, our friend here might not be familiar with the rules of engagement in these situations. Why don't you explain it to him, Jim?"
Cornette narrowed his eyes at Meltzer. "You're askin' me to school him? You must be jokin', son." He paused for effect. "Alright, I'll do it. Listen close. Thank you. Fuck you. Bye."
