“F*ck This Sh*t” by DDP

The Power of NEGATIVE Thinking

Yo. It’s me. It’s DDP.

For over 20 years you’ve all heard me talking about the power of positivity. I’ve preached positivity ever since I saw Tony Robbins in person and the powerful effect it had on me. I wrote a book called “Positively Page,” and created a yoga empire to help thousands of men and women get their lives back.

And you know what? I’ve finally realized it’s all BULLSH*T.

Seriously, man. F*CK THIS SH*T. Lemme tell you why.

Father Time

It’s easy to be positive when you’re YOUNG. Your whole Goddamn life is ahead of you, yo. Even for me, a late bloomer, I didn’t become a pro wrestler until age 35, and by the time I was red hot with WCW, I was already 42.

That’s over the hill, but I still had more years ahead of me than behind me.

But now? I’m f*cking SIXTY. In three months I’ll be SIXTY-ONE. Bro, that’s like 401k territory. I qualify for senior discounts, I’m a member of the AARP, and the young rats who used to fight for my dick now call me Grandpa when I’m at the store. It SUCKS!

What the Hell is there to look forward to anymore? I’ll never main event WrestleMania, let alone wrestle in one. The closest I got was inducting those two f*ck-ups Scott Hall and Jake the Snake. THEY got to be in WrestleMania, THEY got to be in the WWF, and THEY got into the Hall of Fame while I swung from their nuts so hard that I could’ve personally checked them for testicular cancer. F*CK me.

My time in the sun has passed. It’s all downhill from here. The highlight of my day is now watching WCW Nitro archives on the Network from 20 years ago, back when I was cool, relevant, and had the whole world by the collar. I remember Halloween Havoc where Goldberg and I drew a 7.2 rating; more than TWICE what Raw gets today. Now Goldberg is the hottest thing in wrestling while I’m peddling yoga to the fat f*cks who cheer him on. F*CK THIS SH*T.


And that yoga thing? I’m f*ckin’ sick of it! It was cool at first, pushin’ lard butts like yourselves to the limit and seeing you guys drop weight. Yeah, yeah, yeah, congrats and all that. Yay for healthy living, right?


What the fc*k do I want to extend this miserable life for? YOU GUYS HAD IT RIGHT, I should eat SH*T because it tastes f*cking GOOD. I should get FAT because young girls don’t want a guy in his 60s anyway, so why bother? And exercise is too much work! I’d rather sit on my ass and eat Cheetos. The only stretching I wanna do is stretch my arm to reach for the remote control.

I worked out for so many years, man. I’m burnt out. I bumped my ass off in the ring, night in and night out. And yeah, it paid off, I did well for myself. I’ve got enough money to live the rest of my life without ever working again. So why keep working?

And hey, I ran a good business. I made it on Shark Tank! But do you know what it felt like to have some ugly motherf*cker like Mark Cuban tell me my product ain’t sh*t? I wanted to slap his big, fat, ugly face. I wanted to make his eight chins ripple like the Atlantic Ocean, and then bury him at the bottom of it with a cement block.

THAT guy was gonna tell ME, DDP, I ain’t worth investing in? Seriously bro? F*CK YOU. I married a hot bitch like Kimberly BEFORE I was rich, so don’t even go there with me or I’ll choke your ass out, assh*le.

But then I figured, f*ck it. Every day, every night, DDP Yoga, DDP Yoga. I’m sick of it! Everywhere I go I gotta plug that sh*t, wear the stupid f*ckin’ t-shirts, and buy commercials on podcasts no one listens to. That was fine in my 40s and 50s, but not now, man. I’m lucky if I live another 25 years, and I don’t want to spend my days stretching on a blue mat while shoveling broccoli and carrots into my mouth.

I’d rather promote DDPizza than DDP Yoga, sh*t. Put some f*ckin’ cheese on that mother, piles and piles of pepperoni, and wheat crust with extra gluten. COME TO PAPA, motherf*cker! And supersize that Coke, bitch! You heard me.

Goddamn, I could even sell pizza Diamond Cutters. That sounds a Hell of a lot more appetizing than that organic sh*t I keep babblin’ about in my yoga program. “Grass fed this, grass fed that,” what the f*ck! Those cows could eat horse sh*t for all I care, just give me a slab of beef and milk those tits until they’re extra processed, gooey ass cheese! And don’t skimp on them bacon bits!


Oh man, she was SO HOT. So, so, so hot. And I lost her. Goddamn.

Believe me, I’ve had my share of rats, bro. Even when I was retired from the biz, I still pulled some trim. But nothing… NOTHING will ever approach how hot that girl was. I was lucky to have her for as long as I did, don’t get me wrong. But man, I want another one, and I can’t because I’m too F*CKIN’ old and it SUCKS.

Now the only women who recognize me are the pork fingered fatties who want me to sign their saggy tits at wrestling conventions. You know how f*ckin’ depressing it is to sign pictures at a flea market while Jabba the Hutt and her equally putrid husband ask me for selfies? So they can post them on their pathetic Fakebook pages that no one reads? Is THIS what my life has been reduced to? F*CK THIS SHIT.

And I’m supposed to stay POSITIVE during all this depressing-ass nonsense? Would YOU? I used to headline PPVs, bro. I ran the show with Karl Malone and rubbed elbows with Jay Leno in ’98. Now I’m rubbing elbows with second rate Star Trek nerds who get laid even less than I do. If only I could diamond-cut myself into a fiery pit of hungry alligators, who could then just rip my carcass to shreds and end this miserable life, already.

The best sex I get now is jerking off to the Nitro Girls when Kimberly was their leader. I’ve pumped enough milk to those hotties that I could fill a concrete truck if I wanted to. F*CK, those were the days. Didn’t even need Viagra back then, either. Now I pop those little blue pills like they’re candy, yo.

Scott and Jake

Lastly, let’s talk about these two drunks. Scott Hall and Jake “The Snake” Roberts.

Jake was good to me, man. He mentored me when I needed it, and I wouldn’t be here today if not for him. He showed me the way, and I owe my life to that man. Much respect.

But I don’t care if he f*cking rescued me from a well and handed me a gallon of water if I were dying in the desert… NOTHING was worth the amount of time, money, and energy I put in to gettin’ that bum sober. Talk about leading a horse to water, I had to ride his ass like a f*ckin’ matador just to get him down to 10 drinks a day from his usual 50.

Do you know how much energy that sucked out of me? Day in, day out, constantly on his ass. And it worked, bro. He got clean. But then he’d regress. Then get clean again. Then relapse. It never ended! Finally I said F*CK THIS SHT, you’re on your own, snake man.

And then Scottie? He was even worse! At least Jake was older, and out of shape. When his ass got out of line, I could stretch him. But Scottie? That dude’s a big motherf*cker! Try standing between him and a bottle of Absolut on a Sunday morning. His gorilla ass would toss me around like a rag doll just so he could get his hourly fix of Vodka. Not one of you knows what that was like! Try dealing with that AFTER dealing with Jake? No f*ckin’ way, man. NO F*CKIN’ WAY.

And then those two actors put on the greatest performance of all-time when I inducted their drunk asses into the Hall of Fame. Sh*t, those two got loaded before AND after the show. I had to stick my fingers down their throats before their acceptance speeches, so they could regurgitate everything in their system and make ‘em coherent enough to read a few lines at the podium.

And they went from reading a few lines to DOING a few lines… of coke. Yep, right after the show, both got loaded again. They’re hopeless. I give up. No miracle in the world could help those two derelicts.

So I abandoned those jerks and decided to focus on ME. DDP. DDMe. Yeah, that’s right. This is a shoot, bro. All about Diamond Dallas Page. All about me. From now on, it’s all about me and everyone else can kiss my diamond cutting ass.

So for my last years on this planet, I’m going hog wild, bro. Pizza, cookies, donuts, beer, liquor, bread, fried chicken…. You name it, I’m eatin’ it. And I’m using every last dollar from DDP Yoga to spend on hookers who look like Kimberly, yo. And those public speaking gigs? F*ck ‘em. Either unbook my ass or be prepared for me to give speeches on the power of NEGATIVE thinking. Because I’ve already started it and it’s pretty f*cking fun!

Hard work pays off later, but laziness pays off NOW. Hop on board the DDP train fellas, it’s headed right to f*ckin’ Hell. And I’m going out in a blaze of glory!

So I repeat: F*CK THIS SH*T. F*ck it all! And feel… the…. BANG!!!

Disclaimer: DDP didn’t really write this. The Armpit did. But we know it’s what DDP would say.