Darren Rovell And His Black, Dead Eyes Just Got To Eat A Reese's Pieces Filled Peanut Butter Cup Before Me
This son of a bitch! I never really was looking to make an enemy out of Darren Rovell. I mean sure I hate some of the nonsense he puts out, but in the end it’s all to build his stupid #brand. Plus Big Cat is already the Rovell bully in these parts. I respect seniority. But by my count, this is the second time Rovell has come onto one of my corners like Marlo’s crew and I ain’t backing down. I’m the fat, white Bodie. Except instead of slinging pandemic to junkies, I’m slinging peanut butter cups into my mouth. Meanwhile, Rovell probably uses his big boy ESPN credentials to get Reese’s to send his skinny fat ass a freebie so he could be the “first” person to try it. Just like when he used to Worldwide Leader to meet my lord and savior on a basketball court, only to have his entire body turn into Jell-O thanks to a jab step.
Followed by the sickest burn ever.
Now this. Knicks and junk food, that’s what my dumb, fat ass does. It’s what pays the bills in the Clem household. It’s what keeps a few local delivery guys in business and will one day put their kids through college. You are not just hurting me, Darren. You are not only hurting my family, Darren. You are hurting my community. I don’t know what I did to deserve this, other than send out a fake retweet in jest that got me blocked for a few years until you showed mercy and unblocked me earlier this year.
And to add insult to injury, he takes two bites of this confectionary gift from heaven and then chucks the rest of it in the trash. Without giving a score or a real review. At a Dave and Buster’s. In the middle of Times Square. All because he didn’t want to gain a few pounds after losing a bunch of weight. Be more Rovell, Darren. You can’t. Being a junk food reviewer means you are all in or not in at all. Like the mafia. Instead of a blood oath, you take an insulin oath. Just the way it works, you Uncle Charles, great white shark, black dead eyes having motherfucker.
So this goes out to Darren. Stay off my corner or settle this in a Hell in a Cell match. Your choice. But if I see you start to write up an Eliminator blog on ESPN, I will take it as a declaration of war on myself and my employers. You have been warned.
And to the Reese’s conglomerate, I don’t know what I have done to deserve this. I have given you my money and my boyish figure all in the name of your sweet treats. I called out Chief for switching to Justin’s organic peanut butter cups because Reese’s are the GOAT and it was a weak, hippie move. I’m not mad at Reese’s. I’m disappointed. Why is it the ones we love hurt us the most?