“Brown Power, B*tches!” by JINDER MAHAL
The Maharaja is here, JINDER MAHAL, to give my long awaited victory speech to all the American haters who have rained on my parade since my championship win over Randy Orton.
It’s amazing just how many people were left with their jaws open when I got the 1-2-3. Sh*t, you’d have thought Brock Lesnar had just broken the Undertaker’s streak the way ya’ll reacted. Really? Is it THAT surprising I won? Seriously?
If I had no chance of winning, then why in the f*ck did you buy a ticket or bother tuning in? It’s a MATCH. It’s one on one, which means ONE of us was going to win. If I stood no chance of winning, then there wouldn’t have been a match, you simpletons. This is not 1988 and it’s not WWF Superstars of Wrestling on Saturday mornings. This was not a squash match where you expect the star to beat the jobber easily. I’m here to stay. Why? Because I’m big and I’m brown. Deal with it.
For those Americans lacking the intelligence and multi culturism to see the business impact of my historic title win, allow me to educate you. Follow the bouncing ball as I explain the world to you, little children.
I’M INDIAN
Enough said.
In case your racist American eyes haven’t noticed, Indians are taking over the world, motherf*cker. We’re breeding like Chihuahuas in Mexico, and there ain’t no slowin’ us down.
All I keep hearing is “Jinder won because WWE wants to expand into India,” blah blah blah. India this, India that.
Hey dumbsh*ts… ever been to a f*ckin’ mall?? Ever visited a company’s IT department? Ever been to any top high school in any city in America? We’re NOT just in India, geniuses. We’re EVERYWHERE.
Hell, I’m from CANADA. I wouldn’t even be able to find India on a Goddamn map. Punch up Google Earth and I’d have a better chance of pointing out India to you if I threw a dart at your computer screen.
So stop this India bullsh*t, ok? This is for INDIANS, not India. Like we only live in our own country? Hello, have you been there?? It’s a sh*thole! Breathe the air and you’ll have diarrhea for a month. Why in the f*ck would any of us want to stay there? So we leave, we fly over the Indian Ocean, and we populate ourselves into your neighborhoods, b*tches.
That’s right. How many times have you seen your American neighbor pack up and move out, only to see an Indian family move in? Knock on any door one day and you’ll see an American answer. Knock on the same door the next day, and it’s one of my peoples. In your face. They weren’t watching SmackDown Live when Randy Orton’s American ass was champion, or that tattooed trash Bray Wyatt. But with Jinder Mahal as champion, they’re all gonna tune in on Tuesday nights to see brown power shine like a diamond.
Indians are poor, you say. We don’t have money to spend on wrestling, you say. We don’t even have access to the internet, you say.
Somehow wrestling has drawn big crowds in Puerto Rico, Mexico, and parts of South America for decades. Are their citizens swimming in cash? Gimme a break; they take sh*ts on the sidewalk just like they do in India. How are we any different? I thought so.
No money to spend? Oh I’m sorry, how many movie tickets were sold in America last year? Punch that up on the internet, morons. Whatever the number is, DOUBLE it for India, mmkay? Bollywood dwarfs Hollywood, and soon our wrestling fan base will dwarf yours (if it hasn’t already).
No internet? Oh I’m sorry, how many social media followers does WWE have from America?? And how many are from India? Exactly. Now shut the f*ck up and come up with another excuse.
You don’t know sh*t about India or our culture. All you care about is having your indie spot monkeys taking MY title and having 5-star matches… as if that matters!
And like I said (keep following the bouncing ball), we’re EVERYWHERE. Sure, some of my peoples in poor neighborhoods don’t have the internet. Guess what. Far more of my peoples in YOUR country (among others) don’t just HAVE the internet, they f*cking PROGRAM it. We dominate Silicon Valley, and trust me, we have far faster internet speeds than your hillbilly asses living in the sticks.
And when you call to complain about your shtty internet, guess who answers the f*ckin’ phone? That’s right, MY PEOPLES. We’re everywhere! We’re surrounding your ass like a ring of fire, and you’re about to get burned. Your stupid American movies taught you to think we’re only selling you gas or sandwiches at the deli. But guess what, life is imitating art, you ethnocentric f*cks. Now we’re filling your cavities, programing your computers, crowding your neighborhoods and schools, acing your exams, teaching your children, taking your temperature, fondling your balls to check for testicular cancer, and soon we’ll be bending you over and shoving our fingers up your ass to check your American prostates.
Taking OVER.
I’M JACKED
Love it when people think Vince McMahon has changed with the times, allowing fat f*cks like Kevin Owens or short sh*ts like AJ Styles to headline PPVs.
Puh-lease, marks. The only reason Vince let some flabby gingerbread like Sami Zayn get a push is that he had no other options. And I used to be thin and flabby too. But guess what? I’m not anymore. I’m ripped to shreds, bigger than anyone on the roster since Ryback got his ass out of here. I don’t care if it’s steroids, flavanoids, hemorrhoids, or humanoids. I got me new muscles and veins, and Vince LOVES that sh*t no matter what he says.
So go ahead, 205’ers. Hop around like Mexican jumping beans, do flips like a pancake, and dive into flaming tables like Hollywood stuntmen. All I did was lift a few barbells, ingest a few supplements, and here I am WWE champion while you’re icing your shoulders and elbows and gulping down painkillers.
The funniest part? Those 5-foot-nothing pipsqueaks who ride my coattails are the perfect example of this. The Singh Brothers, or the Bollywood Boyz as they used to be called, worked their asses off and bumped like rubber balls in the Cruiserweight Classic. For what? To carry my robes, that’s what. I was born tall, and they weren’t. So guess who wins the title and gets the big push? Jinder Mahal, that’s who. They’re just Bollywood Boyz, but I’m a Bollywood MAN, baby. Maharajan all the way.
BROWN IS BEAUTIFUL
Go ahead, Americans. Worship your empty headed Hollywood celebrities. Your ignorant eyes look at them like they’re the only celebrities in the world.
Earth to Americans: Who do you think the biggest movie star in the world is? Hint: It sure as Hell ain’t the Rock.
It’s Shah Rukh Khan.
“Who??” I can hear your prejudiced voices all saying.
That’s right, gringos. Look him up in your little Google machines. Shah Rukh Khan is the richest actor in the world, and none of your Americanized ears have ever heard of his ass.
There’s more on this big planet of ours than just Hollywood, you sh*t for brains. There’s BOLLYWOOD too. It’s big, it’s bad, it’s brown, and it’s beautiful. Like I said, ignoramuses, we’re taking OVER. When the Blue World Order said that in ECW, it was cute, but fake. When I say it, it’s the REAL DEAL.
Oh, and those little Hollywood starlets of yours? Pathetic, man. What’s to admire about drugged up liberal airheads with no class? How can any young woman or little girl admire a crude, disgusting hag like Kathy Griffin holding your President’s severed head?? Like that sh*t is funny?
You’ll never see such low class behavior from the gorgeous ladies of Bollywood. They act with class, sophistication, and exude royalty. They’re far from the airbrushed, made over, Barbie Dolls pumped full of Botox you Americans look up to. Our brown Goddesses are natural beauties; they don’t need plastic surgeons or hair dye or Photoshop or lighting to hide their wrinkles. They don’t eat sh*tty American food and binge on drugs and alcohol. Our Bollywood starlets are every man’s fantasy.
Don’t believe me? Pull your hands off your c*cks for five seconds and take a gander at these lovely ladies. THESE are my peoples, and they put your American skanks to shame. So tonight when you slide your palm back and forth against your disgusting American penises, add a dollop of lubricant for one of these Bollywood beauties like Esha Gupta or Aishwarya Rai.
DIVERSITY, RIGHT??
Last but not least, you American hypocrites need to look in the mirror.
That’s right, I’m talking to you snowflake liberals who for years have bitched and moaned about the lack of diversity in wrestling. You whined and cried how wrestling is all about Southern white boys, while minorities don’t get a push.
Blah, blah, blah! You phonies are the same ones bitching on the internet about me, JINDER MAHAL, getting the WWE championship!
Wait, what happened, snowflakes?? I thought you supported diversity?? Minorities??
Just like I thought, you’re all talk. You say I’m not talented, right? Well what does talent matter, when I thought it was all about skin color and minorities? Suddenly talent matters? Or does it matter only when one of YOUR favorites doesn’t get pushed?
Selective affirmative action, that’s what it is. More American hypocrisy is all I see. You should all be celebrating the same diversity you’ve preached for years, but instead you’re sh*tting on my title reign. You don’t think the rest of the world is laughing at you guys? We live in a world where nuclear enemies are trying hard every day to blow you off the map, and you Americans are fighting over transgender bathrooms?? Hahahahaha!!! 1.3 billion of my peoples are laughing their collective asses off at you guys.
Go ahead, keep blaming Russia for your problems. One day you will all look in the mirror and see what’s really wrong with the world. That is, if your enemies don’t blow your asses up first while you’re figuring out whether you identify as a boy or as a girl.
And I’M the problem with pro wrestling, right??
Get used to it, Americans. I’m here to stay, and my peoples are taking over the world. And I, JINDER MAHAL, the Maharajan, is their new leader.
Brown power, b*tches. Brown power.
Harv! Gurv! Fetch me a coffee, will ya? Then find me a good Bollywood movie on Netflix, dim the lights, and go away until I tell you to come back. Shine my belt, iron my clothes, and wipe my ass in the meantime. And do as I say, because without me, you two don’t have jobs.
Disclaimer: Jinder Mahal didn’t really write this. The Armpit did. But we know it’s what Jinder would say.
