Eight
Interlude 'a boxing matter'
Fuck that f*****g head of yours.
- Grow a pair crybaby. You broke your hand, so my head won. Deal with it.
In your dreams, I destroyed you.
Sweet and utterly. That tiny stone you portray to call a head, you can't claim to win because you broke my hand getting punched in the face by a superior fighter.
- Cry me a river!. Case closed.
Talk about a sour loser man. My hand will be all healed up tomorrow like nothing ever happened. But your skills, man, you are so behind. You move exceedingly slow, you are easy to read, you are not durable enough, you are not quick and fluid enough, and you lack variety in your striking and movement.
And let us not talk about that defense of yours. Blocking my strikes and kicks with your stone of a brain, that´s lacklus
