Get the snitch mug.yoooo what up snitchy?
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yoo snitchy, have a piece of pie.
yooo you snitchy grimy a$$ mothasucka
yooo wat up big snitchin?
yoo snitchy, have a piece of pie.
yooo you snitchy grimy a$$ mothasucka
by sudaku May 24, 2010
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Gene Snitsky’s debut on Sept. 13, 2004 In what was one of the most controversial match WCW/WWE history.
Snitsky is Americas NEW hope!!!!!
Snitsky is Americas NEW hope!!!!!
It wasn't my Fault.....
by fightinggato October 6, 2004
Get the Gene Snitsky mug.by Blood killa12 January 12, 2009
Get the snitch mug.Typically, a VERY low-class motherfucker. Usually a scrawny male from a very trashy broken family who owns a German Shepard of his own. Despite this, he gets caught selling illegal substances and narcs out the single man who's practically given him a way to buy everything he owns. He then proceeds to still go to prison and threaten and talk shit about his ex-girlfriend and ex-best friends to try to make himself feel better for fucking his own life up. These types of people usually end up back in prison.
"Damn, do you remember that scrawny Lee kid, he ratted his boy out for sellin' dope...what a snitch!"
"He thinks he's a man, but really he just talks shit to the few people who cared and sells his boy at to the cops. In other words he is a snitch!"
"He thinks he's a man, but really he just talks shit to the few people who cared and sells his boy at to the cops. In other words he is a snitch!"
by rEaLbiTcH73 March 3, 2010
Get the snitch mug.The lowest of the low. A filthy, sad excuse for a human being. Lower than rapists and pedophiles. A snitch is a person of minimal integrity, trust, ability and intelligence. They have mixed motives but are always wrong. The result of their actions causes unnecesary hardship and pain. It is essential to always exact justice upon snitches and the severity of the punishment is always justifiable.
by Snitch Justice November 23, 2011
Get the Snitch mug.The year is 2033. The world is blanketed in chaos, as the war between man and machine heads toward a frighteningly close nuclear finale. Grown men cower with their women and children, hiding from the soulless creatures that move silently through the night. However, there is one who walks through the huddled masses, unafraid of the robot killers, instilling hope in all he meets. The world knows him as General “Gene” Snitsky, humanity’s last chance in The War To End All Wars. This is his story.
“I have a job to do.” The gruff yet monotone voice echoed throughout the warehouse basement. Unlike most basements, however, this one is made of 3,000 tons of stainless steel and titanium, contains a multitude of high-radiation areas, and has surveillance systems covering every centimeter within 4 miles of the building. Before the hard times hit, the building also had Guinness on tap. Now, only Pabst Blue Ribbon flows through the slowly corroding pipes, but this is not the time for drinking.
“Sir, you’ve established that. But I don’t see how traveling back in time to 2004 helps us in anyway. The machines will use their warheads anytime now, and the window for a preemptive strike is closing more with each passing hour. With all due respect, General, we need you here.” This type of insubordinate backtalk would normally be met by Snitsky’s stiff right hand, but Jeff Hardy was never afraid of taking risks. While not always the smoothest of performers, as Second-in-Command he knew the General better than anyone; one could argue that he existed simply to inspire him. Now around 60 years old, Hardy also knew the stakes were greater than ever, and that he had to ensure things ran smoothly and without error. Yes, at times the very fate of the world rested on Jeff Hardy not blowing spots.
General Snitsky paused for a moment and looked at Jeff’s face, the middle-aged man’s neon green streaks illuminating the near-darkness. Why was there a blacklight in the time machine room anyway? He turned around and put his hands on a nearby table, palms flat as he bowed his head and leaned like a runner unable to catch his breath after a sprint. A heavy sigh escaped his lips; he never thought that, at 28, he would have to explain to a middle-aged former pro wrestler why he was responsible for the downfall of the entire human race. Rubbing his chin, he gathered himself and faced his right-hand man. Yes, he did have a job to do. First the truth, then the sacrifice.
“Jeff, I’m…I’m not who you think I am. You see, you’ve known me for what, 10 years? And to you, I’ve always been General, I’ve always been Snitski. But I haven’t always worn this uniform and these tags…” He gripped the metal around his neck and stood entranced by the inscribed letters. Although it was only ten seconds, when he continued his voiced seemed ten years older. “These tags haven’t always said ‘Snitsky.’ They used to say…” He paused again, this time deliberately. He turned away again, closed his eyes, and lifted his head skyward.
“Jeff, my name used to be…” He swallowed, fighting to say the word. “Kane. I'm the son of the man who murdered your brother."
“I have a job to do.” The gruff yet monotone voice echoed throughout the warehouse basement. Unlike most basements, however, this one is made of 3,000 tons of stainless steel and titanium, contains a multitude of high-radiation areas, and has surveillance systems covering every centimeter within 4 miles of the building. Before the hard times hit, the building also had Guinness on tap. Now, only Pabst Blue Ribbon flows through the slowly corroding pipes, but this is not the time for drinking.
“Sir, you’ve established that. But I don’t see how traveling back in time to 2004 helps us in anyway. The machines will use their warheads anytime now, and the window for a preemptive strike is closing more with each passing hour. With all due respect, General, we need you here.” This type of insubordinate backtalk would normally be met by Snitsky’s stiff right hand, but Jeff Hardy was never afraid of taking risks. While not always the smoothest of performers, as Second-in-Command he knew the General better than anyone; one could argue that he existed simply to inspire him. Now around 60 years old, Hardy also knew the stakes were greater than ever, and that he had to ensure things ran smoothly and without error. Yes, at times the very fate of the world rested on Jeff Hardy not blowing spots.
General Snitsky paused for a moment and looked at Jeff’s face, the middle-aged man’s neon green streaks illuminating the near-darkness. Why was there a blacklight in the time machine room anyway? He turned around and put his hands on a nearby table, palms flat as he bowed his head and leaned like a runner unable to catch his breath after a sprint. A heavy sigh escaped his lips; he never thought that, at 28, he would have to explain to a middle-aged former pro wrestler why he was responsible for the downfall of the entire human race. Rubbing his chin, he gathered himself and faced his right-hand man. Yes, he did have a job to do. First the truth, then the sacrifice.
“Jeff, I’m…I’m not who you think I am. You see, you’ve known me for what, 10 years? And to you, I’ve always been General, I’ve always been Snitski. But I haven’t always worn this uniform and these tags…” He gripped the metal around his neck and stood entranced by the inscribed letters. Although it was only ten seconds, when he continued his voiced seemed ten years older. “These tags haven’t always said ‘Snitsky.’ They used to say…” He paused again, this time deliberately. He turned away again, closed his eyes, and lifted his head skyward.
“Jeff, my name used to be…” He swallowed, fighting to say the word. “Kane. I'm the son of the man who murdered your brother."
by gokujont @ Gamefaqs.com October 6, 2004
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