Dave told us to pick a fighter, and I didn’t need to think about it. Donnie “Donwon” Clevinger, out of Grundy, VA, is my guy. Morons will tell you that opposites attract, but intellectuals know that people are attracted to those in whom they see themselves. In Donnie Clevinger, I have a clone. Setting aside our obvious differences—he stands 5’5” to my 6’3”, he pierced his ears while I pierced my wall with screws to mount bookshelves, he went to Grundy High School and I went so much farther—I find that we have a great deal in common.
First, Donnie and I both love the confederate flag. What a proud banner from our nation’s rich history. The flag is the enduring symbol of the American confederacy. And if not for the civil war, Virginia would still be one state. Instead, because those libcuck northerners in West Virginia were so woke, the state split. From one became two: our glorious, shining Virginia proper, home to Monticello and forever the womb of states’ rights. Regrettably, the split also spawned the incest-practicin’, moonshine-peddlin’, teeth-rottin’ Hills Have Eyes hipsters of West Virginia. I grew up with a sister, and whenever I felt the devil filling my mind with impure thoughts, I would wrap myself in the rebel flag and shoot guns until I regained control. The confederate flag is my self-help book.
Second, Donnie and I both love deer. He likes to kill them, I like to pet them. They are, admittedly, hard to pet. Skittish and untrusting. That’s why it would be good to hang with Donnie; he can shoot them, then I’ll pet them. Much easier to pet a dead deer than a live one.
Donnie will fight Bill Price, Vibbs’ guy. He is the enemy of enunciation; the unicorn of unintelligible babble. Buddy, move your lips in time with the words. You have to open your mouth to speak. On second thought, who cares. Once Donwon is done with Bill Price, he’ll have to communicate using a pad of paper. Or a coloring book.
Tune in tonight. Buy the experience now!