The one where I drop bombs so hard that I am going to have t
Aug 25, 2018 14:45:21 GMT -5
Eden Morgan and Magdalena Lockheart like this
Post by cooltubesource on Aug 25, 2018 14:45:21 GMT -5
The one where I drop bombs so hard that I am going to have to apologize to Donovan, Ichy, and Chaos for making a member of the roster rage quit
The rain is pouring again in a deluge. I hate the rain. Always messing up my hair, ruining the hours and hours it took for the servants to get it JUST RIGHT with the string of diamond woven in, and then making it a frizzball when it dried. Of course, I had a couple of servants to treat it right after. That’s just about all they are good for, after all. Fix my hair. Straighten my clothes. Make sure I don’t get any mud on my Simpson Mary Jane’s. And they better not! These shoes cost $10 a pair and Heaven forbid the servants let mud ruin something so expensive; why, just one pair was three or four of their salaries!
Ugh. This rain. I go through ALL THIS TROUBLE to make sure that I look AMAZING in my Chanel dress that practically NO ONE could afford and it ALMOST GOT WET because some STUPID servant didn’t get the umbrella up in time. Stupid sot. I’ll make sure that he gets lashed a few times before he gets his meager meal back at home. Well, in the servants quarters at home, anyway. Not like they would be allowed to eat near me!
I turn and smile at Daddy as he gets out of the car. Thankfully he thought about the weather, because fuck me to have to worry about that kind of thing, and he had his driver bring out the Lambda Torpedo. There weren’t many convertibles around that I saw, which just made us look even richer, which was wonderful. I like being rich. It makes me feel warm inside. Unfortunately, I immediately feel cold inside when THAT WOMAN steps out right behind him. There was no denying that Step-Mumsie was pretty, but I know that she was also evil and cruel; how DARE she ask that I be home before dark? How DARE she ask that I wear knickers? UGH! She is HORRIBLE!
At least she makes Daddy happy. I haven’t seen him smile like this in AGES, and Lord KNOWS when he last went for a night on the town like this. He looks wonderful in his suit and with his hair pulled back like that, and his cane is as smart and neat as anyone could imagine, so I suppose Step-Mumsie has THAT going for her. Still, I wish she wouldn’t be so NOSY.
We turn away from the car, with both I and Step-Mumsie holding his arms on either side, and head toward the club. It takes four different servants to keep us under umbrellas, but they do a passable job. I think they are all wet, and one of them quite soaked through, but such is the life of a servant. I’m sure he will get dry when he waits outside the club all night. I’m pretty sure that is how it works.
Once inside and out of that DREADFUL rain, more servants (though these might be “employees,” but I doubt there is little difference) take our coats to dry off. Step-Mumsie looks radiant, even if I must admit grudgingly, and Daddy looks charming beyond all measure, but I know that I am the true star within the club. As usual. My black and red Chanel sparkles with diamond dust (actual diamonds no doubt farmed by starving people in some other country and then crushed by hand with hammers into a fine powder, but they were doing it for me, so I am sure they did it with smiles on their faces), and I have left just enough skin showing as to make eyes pop yet not enough to make Step-Mumsie force me to change. This was a special night, though she didn’t know it, and I did NOT want another one of THOSE conversations about what I was allowed to leave the house in.
Smoke and music assaulted us as soon as we walked through the foyer and my skin just about boiled with joy and anticipation. Clubs were not exactly Daddy’s thing, but a few sweet whispers from his darling daughter got us all up and moving. They retreated to our private table, no doubt for Daddy to discuss business over a glass of Absinthe or two with other pillars of Industry (capital I, of course) and discuss the impact of Mister Pierce's scathing editorial published today in "That's My Pierce!" on what he called "the coming Sweep from the Left" because of President Harding's policy and scandals, and I took the chance to scout out the adventure. The club was full of smoke coming from a combination of cigars and cigarettes. My own foot-long cigarette holder was at home (Step-Mumsie disapproved) but I was sure I could get a drag from someone.
“HI DO YOU REMEMBER ME I USED TO WORK FOR YOU”
I jump as I my ears are assaulted by what sounded like a walrus barking into an echoing cavern. It took me a moment to recognize the source of the voice, but once I did, I wished I had shut my eyes. Miss Parlour, all 350 pounds of her, was a maid that I had fired AGES ago. Outside of being the most clumsy servant one could be cursed with, the cow had also been caught eating half of contents of the cupboard on more than one occasion, and was known to speak behind people's backs. I don’t know why the idiot was wearing her uniform still, though I could venture a guess that she was trying to get her job back.
“Um...yes...I-”
“I’M LONELY AND HAVE NOWHERE TO GO AND NO ONE LIKES ME BECAUSE I SPEND ALL DAY BURSTING IN ON PRIVATE CONVERSATIONS ISN’T THAT FUNNY I ONCE PINNED A DOG”
Ugh. That was another issue with her. The cow seemed to be EVERYWHERE at once, every moment of every day, and never EVER closed her mouth for more than a second. I looked around for some kind of escape, and I saw a duo of people who I needed to see right away. Thankfully, I ALSO noticed a trolly of donuts going by.
“Look, Miss Parlour! Fried dough covered in sugar!”
“I LOVE DOUGHNUTS AND DONUTS AND BEIGNETS WHICH ARE A KIND OF FRENCH DONUT AND CROISSANTS AND I AM PRETTY SURE THEY WILL COMBINE SOME IN THE FUTURE AND I WILL LOVE THOSE TOO AND-”
I was able to slip away from the cow while she was salivating...literally SALIVATING...while looking at the donut cart. I slunk towards the pair I had noticed, all the while the music was driving me, pushing me. My body quivered at the jazz music, but I wasn’t quite ready to face THAT, yet.
“I can’t BELIEVE that they charged us FIFTY CENTS to come in here! We KNOW the singer!”
“Calm down, baby.”
I can’t help but smile at the two voices, one agitated and other smooth and husky. Two blondes, golden where I am platinum, stand back away from the seats leading to the stage. Both are tall, the thinner one freakishly so, and tower over me as I approach. They are all smiles when they see me, the taller blonde’s agitation gone and the somewhat shorter one spreading lips painted as red as my own.
“Hey, Sar!”
“Hello, baby.”
Angelica Vaughn and Roxy Cotton were an odd duo. Angie and I look so much alike that many confused us for sisters, and was such a true bearcat that everyone avoided her when she started to go on one of her raging rampages. And not only was Roxy quiet and reserved, she was also so voluptuous that she gave Marion Davies a run for her money. Our little circle had often joked that it should have been HER that had been cast in The Restless Sex, a movie we had all giggled over seeing due to its salacious content. My two annoyingly tall girlfriends worked together, which, by default, sounded HORRENDOUS...ugh…WORK...as private detectives. They had successful offices on both the West and East Coasts, and Daddy had used their services to track down thieves and other members of ill repute over the past few years.
I gave them both quick hugs but then I froze.
I heard my friends giggle as I started to sweat.
I can’t help it.
From the moment we met.
I belonged to her.
A Dark Goddess walked onto the stage and began to sing.
Now, this is the part where everyone expects me to do a vlog and talk about how awesome I am or use smoke and mirrors or namedrop a ton of people. Or the part where I might make statements which are MOSTLY true (sorry, Phrixy!) and belittle all of my opponent’s accomplishments. Or perhaps the part where I used a ton of short-hand or made-up words that text-to-speech programs have a hard time saying correctly. Or maybe even where I make a meme of a hippo, with a picture that conveniently leaves out how ferocious they are, that says something like “sigh….HI KEM”
But not this time. Because this isn’t about being funny, or pitching my variety of media activities, or even pushing the on-going adventures of the Cool Kids and our greater circle. No, this is about reminding everyone in the Coalition why I earned everything I did last year, why I was so successful, and why I, at 20 years old, am already someone people are talking about for future Hall of Fame consideration.
This is the time to force people to face the truth.
When I first came to the Coalition, I held up the mirror for people to have to look at themselves. I spent time in my very FIRST promotional video here to let the people in the main event, Eden and Jet, know that I was looking at them and wanted what they had. I forced Lockheart to face the truth that her training under Jan van der Roost was inferior to my own under Nikita Dolore, though I am sure the time is growing short until we two rookies, now in our “sophomore” year, face one another again for even greater stakes. And then week after week, I forced the hoard of older men and women face the truth that they were inferior to the new breed of wrestler. And now, with my return from my injury, I will continue to do so.
But, if you will allow me, a moment here: I wish to apologize. Most of you know just how difficult apologizing is for me (my Beloved knows better than all), so I hope that this knowledge brings context to this apology. I rolled my eyes in my characteristic way when I heard that Chill #3 might host a match between "Miss Parlour" and a man I know as the Dream. I rolled my eyes in that way because I don't know OF Dream...I KNOW Dream. Its complicated, but he was great friends with my late Godmother, so just trust me on that. Anyway, because I DO know Dream, I know he is a flake and probably would not be able to get the paperwork in on time for the show. So I, how HAD submitted paperwork for my Chill contract, hit up Ichabod with a different scenario:
Dynamo vs. Lacklan
That's a money match, dear friends. Two young and hungry competitors, both prior WrestleStock Cup winners, both returned from absenses which were due to things happening away from wrestling, and how had previously-stated difference of opinions on matters. In the main event? Easy money.
Thus my apology. I had hoped for a match in which then entire company, from Synergy to Chill to the faceless Consortium themselves, would be treated to a match-of-the-year candidate with action fueled by emotionally-driven and poignant promotional videos. Unfortunately, I have instead given Kem a platform to espouse a unending line of logical fallacies designed to justify her flawed view of wrestling and life. Instead of excellence, I have given voice to her brand of ineptitude and poorly-constructed rationalizations. Instead of the match I was hoping for, one to rival those of our elders for contention in end-of-the-year considerations, this has simply become a mercy killing. I take no pleasure in it.
UGWC: I am sorry.
Kem Dynamo, you are a disappointment.
You have no idea, no FUCKING IDEA, how excited I was when I saw that our faceless Consortium had signed you earlier in the year. Honestly, go ask my friends. Go “at” Roxy, or DM Angie, or call Kenzi, and they will all tell you the same thing: I was ECSTATIC that another WrestleStock Cup winner was in the company. Why? Because I LOVE this fucking company. The Cool Kids are here because I pitched it to them over and over with stories about INSANE matches like the Melee and the Stock, not to mention Outlast and the Global Tournament. I was the one who got them here, and so it was with true excitement that the previous WrestleStock champ was now here. I hyped you up. I dropped your name.
And then you opened your mouth.
I don’t know your daddy, Kid. I don’t have the preexisting hate that Lucy or Eden have for you. I don’t know jack about OVW or any other fed that has died that you were in. I don’t have any investment in the emotional baggage that you or your family carry with everyone else around here. All I have is you beating Pierce for the WrestleStock Cup and what you have done and said since you walked through the doors at Chill. And it is because of THAT, and NOT what has come before, that I make the argument of your disappointment.
I don’t cry foul at you defeating Roxy with a defensive maneuver on that first Chill. I, personally, know EXACTLY what it is like to have someone beat me in a table match with a defensive maneuver, and no matter how it may look, the reality is that the person on the defensive won that match. I DO cry foul at your attempt to paint the picture that you drove her through the table, as you have made multiple times, as you instead simply fell through it with your greater weight. That should have been the first clue that you were not exactly the person I thought you were, I suppose. But still, I held out hope that you WERE worthy of carrying the same accolade, the WrestleStock Cup, that I do. I held out hope for you being more than just someone who could only capitalize on luck or mistakes.
But it didn’t take long for you to disappoint me with your personality. When you first showed up, it was all “Fuck the fans,” and that is all cool, though a little foolish, in my opinion. I sell a TON of merch and it takes fans to buy it, after all. But very quickly, you realized that, no matter how badass you THOUGHT you were, you realized that you are NOTHING in the “catty bitch” department when you actually had to contend with people who understood the power of words. Truly, the idea of YOU being any kind of badass online when you have to deal with myself, Eden, Roxy, and Maggie is not only laughable, but it is sheerly ridiculous.
And so you go from “imma be a mean bitch online because that’s cool” to “imma start kissing babies and demanding that the crowd cheer me for no goddamn fucking reason because lulz” and then CRIED about it, both in your videos and online, when everyone called you out for doing a 180. And then when THAT didn’t work out for you, you tried being a little more “edgy” and got mocked AGAIN for “hey, which version of Kem are we getting THIS time?” and cried about it AGAIN. And THEN it was BACK to kissing babies because “JUST LET ME BE ME EMBRACE YOUR DEFECTS” while you cried about people not liking or respecting you.
You know why people don’t respect you, Kem?
Because you are a piece of shit, two-faced, forked-tongued SNAKE who will say ANYTHING to ANYONE in order to get even a SMIDGEN of love. But of course, the BEST version of your idiotic behavior happened on Friday when you accused me of using hate speech. You know, when you use speech to incite violence against a class of people? Now, I'm not gonna say that I can't be hateful when I am GAY, which I am, because that would be like saying a black person can't be racist, and that is as big of a fallacy as anything else which comes out of your mouth. But to outright accuse me of hate speech without any proof? To say that I do something so morally reprehensible without a single example of this supposed activity? It is clearly the final attempt of a person so desperate for a win after a day of being destroyed that you will, again, say ANYTHING in order to feel better about yourself.
Now, I need to take a moment and explain that for those not paying attention, one of the three times I shall ask for this moment during this video: On Friday, you decided to "come at" me online. This is mostly because I do rather enjoy making what we would call "subtweets," which are statements made without a specified target. The joke of it all is that I often make statements which are about any number of people, or my personal favorite, NONE AT ALL, and it is remarkable how many people are affected by them because the comments hit too close to home. You have been the victim of his fun little arrangement numerous times, mostly because you have gone on record as treating ANY subtweet to be about you, regardless of plausible context, which really does mean that you need to look at yourself and your NEED to be the victim at all times, and after being beaten up by me ALL DAY, you resorted to saying that I engage in "hate speech." As I said above, this was a move of desperation and exasperation by someone who has lost the battle and is too dumb to walk away. And when pressed for an example of my hate speech, for every ONE small bit, you became flustered and fled. Because, like just about everything else you have to say, you posses a premise but no valid conclusion. You have a statement, not an argument, and statements are naught but the platitudes of grand-standers.
Listen close: I am NOT a good person. I TRY to be. I WANT to be. But I fail. Often. But outside of THOTS who get plastic surgery every third day or ALSO bellow out your battle cry of “JUST LET ME BE ME” because people point out how fucking DUMB they are, I am RESPECTED in this business, and a LOT of that is because I DO NOT EVER sacrifice who I am to find the validation of some dumbass who only posts pics of themselves in their underwear in order to be an elite athlete. I don’t give a DAMN what someone thinks when that person will call me and my friends a “cancer” when they themselves have gotten FIRED from MULTIPLE places for being a dick behind the scenes; or someone who calls us the UnCool kids while they themselves are LAUGHED AT by the ENTIRE CWC for losing match after match after MATCH after promising to murder, literally MURDER, their opponents; or when someone gets offended because Roxy calls them out for being a fake and a waste of our time and so their recourse is to buddy up with those who have been rejected by everyone in the business for being flakes. But you FAWN over their opinion like a broken puppy waiting for a hello from their master after a weekend away.
And THAT is the biggest disappointment in your personality, Kem. By coming back to wrestling and the Coalition, you had the chance to surround yourself with THE most elite people in ALL of the business. Yes, the Coalition stalwart have a negative opinion of you, but it just takes a little consistency to earn their respect. Yes, people like myself and Roxy are harsh to people we just meet, but much of that is about vetting the weak before we invest any time. Yes, it is an uphill struggle to be someone with “defects” in a business which prides itself, if not outright demands, perfection. But your wishy-washy bullshit of changing who and what you are for the sake of a few likes on social media or smiles at catering before Synergy has created a persona which expels the excellent and gathers the failures.
I will speak about friends later, but I DO need to bring this up: You are probably going to attempt to lord over the idea that my Beloved has befriended you, and thus hurt my argument of excellence and failures, but this is where your horrendous personality skews your comprehension. Much how like many men think that any woman who smiles at them "wants" them, you seek to think that anyone who shows you kindness is your friend. Kenzi is not. All she did was take in a stray dog for a little while. She has an annoying tendency to do that, and the list of strays she has brought in for a little time is monstrously long. And yes, she helped you with some t-shirts and pictures, but she has already moved on to her NEXT stray dog, Gabrielle Montgomery. So if you wish to hold herself at the same level of "friends" with Kenzi as a disgraced porn star, so be it.
Now, I have MUCH more to cover as we go on, but for now, just remember this:
This is YOUR reflection in the mirror, Kem.
Embrace your disappointment.
“He’s got...HOT LIPS!”
I shivered as the singer broke out into a call-and-answer with her band. The song was about a trumpet player who had “hot lips” and could play notes so high into the sky that it hurt the ear, but I knew different. When the singer sang about hot lips...when she smirked as she sang hot lips…
She was talking about mine.
I fell in love with Kenzi Grey the moment I met her. A jazz singer who aspired to be an actor, the mixed-race girl was everything that I wasn’t. Caramel skin that I ached to touch, coarse hair that my fingers loved to get tangled in, thick lips that demanded to be-
“DID YOU KNOW THAT THE LYRICS OF THE SONG ARE THE MOST IMPORTANT THING I AM A MUSICIAN BECAUSE I PROBABLY LIKE TO LISTEN TO THE RADIO A LOT AND DON’T ACTUALLY TEACH IT OR PLAY IT OR ANYTHING BUT YOU CAN BASE SOMEONE’S ENTIRE VALIDITY ON THE SONGS THEY LIKE”
Now I am shivering for a whole different reason. A quick look to my left tells me that no only has the doughnut cart been emptied, it was sitting on its side with wheels spinning. Miss Parlour strikes again. I shoot another quick look to my other side and lock eyes with Roxy. She gave me a nod, and even THAT was somehow sultry, and she slid between the two of us.
“Parlour, baby, did I ever tell you about the time Angie and I-”
“TELL ME ABOUT THE TIME HOW ABOUT I TELL YOU ABOUT THE TIME THAT I INTERRUPTED EVERYONE I HAVE EVER MET AT ONCE AND EVERYONE LOVED ME FOR IT AND THEY WERE ALL WE LOVE YOU KEM UM ER I MEAN MISS PARLOUR AND WE APPRECIATE YOU OH WHAT A JOY IT IS TO HAVE YOU IN OUR LIVES”
Roxy was always there for me like that. Angie might LOOK like she could be my sister, but Roxy ACTED like it. She had a few years on us and was great for sneaking me cigs when Daddy wasn’t looking, taught me tricks to use to make the boys THINK I was interested in them without ever actually having to fulfill any supposed promises, and, most importantly, helped me keep the secret of my relationship. Of course, she also knew that I knew that she had the hots for Daddy, but we never talked about that!
I take this chance to sneak away past the cow that was my former maid and through the darkness. On stage, Kenzi had gone straight into a rendition of Bugle Call Rag, and I nearly swooned as she shook her hips to the beat. Those sweet gams made me quiver, and not just because she could dance like no other; we made each other’s gams quiver all the time together! I could feel my face flush just by thinking about it. Outside of my friends, the only people that knew about Kenzi and I was Auntie Eden, who told me that under NO circumstance should I EVER tell her brother. Daddy would NEVER outlive the shame if people within Industry (yes, Daddy, with a capital I) found out about his only daughter being one of THOSE women.
Once I get around the stage and head toward the bar, I can’t help but smile. I had met her right at that bar, third seat from the left, and I remember it like it was yesterday. The bartender, Mr. Rydell, was listening to another sob story from Mister Blackwell, who has almost always struggling with work. I went to see the man about a dog, hoping to get ossified with a double shot, and she sat down right next to me. I remember shaking when I asked her, quite slyly, if she wanted to maybe catch a show sometime, and the next thing I know, she’s got me stuffed in her changing room with blouse down to my ankles!
“Do I know you?”
I smile as I turn around and stare into her dark eyes. She glittered with diamonds in her hair and I was nearly blinded. I was so lost in my memories of the last year that I hadn’t even noticed that her set had finished.
“Have we met?”
One of our favorite games and it helped hide our relationship whenever in public.
“Not sure. Maybe we should-”
“-get to know one another?”
She smirked and my knees knocked. That smirk of hers OWNED me. She took me by the hand and we quickly moved through the club. She knew everyone and knew every shortcut, since she had been performing there for ages. Mr. Hastings had hired her to entertain the guests of his club and she never disappointed. Before I knew it, we were pressed into a corner and she was on me, attacking me, making my blood boil, making our first anniversary together memor-
“Bank’s closed!”
We were away from each other like a flash, my breath coming in gasps. But then my eyes focused and I realized where the voice had come from. My enemy. My nemesis. The girl who lived to make my life hell.
“What do you want, Maggie?”
Maggie Lockheart tossed her bees’s knees hair over her shoulder and smirked. I hated how amazing her hair was. She REFUSED to tell me what kind of flower she crushed up to paint it purple and it made me mad with envy. It also made me mad that she was able to lord this over me, lord the fact that she had stumbled across Kenzi and I one day and I had had to beg her...literally BEG her...to keep it a secret.
“Oh, just walking around. Trying not to upchuck over two bulldaggers. Everything Jake over here?”
I grimace and clench my fists. I loathe this woman, and had ever since the day we made co-captains of the cheer squad in high school. And its not like she was any better than me, anyway. No one talked about it, but EVERYONE knew that she was the reason why the Wylde’s broke up. SHE was the OTHER WOMAN that made CJ leave town from shame of infidelity and become police chief elsewhere. SHE was the OTHER WOMAN that drove Lucy to drink. Why, just the other day, I tripped, literally TRIPPED, over Lucy while she was laying in the street like some penniless dewdropper high on a shot of opium.
“Yes, everything is Jake.”
She smiles at me and flips her purple hair over her shoulder again.
“That’s swell. Got a few clams?”
Extortion has been her game since she found out about us. Over six months of paying her with my allowance from Daddy. Kenzi told me it was a necessary cost but I was having trouble with it lately. I just couldn’t keep smiling at the wretched woman.
“No.”
“No?”
She pursed her lips and smiled.
“Guess I will just have to visit Mister Lacklan soon at his warehouse. Tell him about his daughter and why she still isn’t married. Tell him-”
I can’t control myself. I am DONE. I leap at her and the next thing I know, we are on the ground and pulling each other’s hair. Then we are upright, both of us clawing and scratching at each other, while being held up by a couple of the bouncers.
“Take it outside!”
The bellow of Mister Chaos, the club manager, filled my ears as Maggie and I were unceremoniously carried and then tossed out the back door and into the rain.
Know what is more disappointing than your personality?
Your shitty take on wrestling.
Listen, I KNOW that you and I have been back and forth about this whole entrance music nonsense before, but it bears repeating:
Basing a full 20% of your argument on why you are going to win a match on song lyrics, music choice, or quotes from other people is a sure path to losing. And if you don’t believe that? Just go look at your own promotional video you called “The End Complete.” You like math? That’s the math. 20% was either you trying to justify why an entrance theme choice was why you were going to win, or you including OTHER PEOPLE’S WORDS through song lyrics and out-of-context scripture.
IN A FUCKING TITLE MATCH
I live in a world where I produce every week with exciting, relevant, and high-quality content, but you yourself deal in issues which do NOT matter and expect people to care about them. NO ONE FUCKING CARES ABOUT MUSIC. Here, check this out:
You know that insanely, stupidly, IDIOTICALLY planned out and rehearsed entrance you had for Day of Reckoning, where every second and motion was timed because ZOMG COHEED I’M WET? I bet you thought you were so fucking smooth, so fucking amazing, that the sheer BRILLIANCE of your choices were going to overwhelm Mizore.
You lost.
There were two other extravagant and artsy entrances on that show. Baal with his masks and druids, and Ava with her queen’s procession.
They lost.
Get the fucking point yet?!
THAT SHIT DOESN’T MATTER AND ISN'T RELEVANT
So you and I are clear:
I could walk to the ring wearing a smock and doing the Electric Slide while Baa Baa Black Sheep played through the P.A. and I’d STILL pin your bitch-ass. Why?
BECAUSE THAT SHIT DOESN’T MATTER AND ISN'T RELEVANT
And putting value in things which do not matter is the calling of the perpetual losers in our sport. And I know, because I was SURROUNDED by idiots like you for MONTHS. See, once upon a time I worked in a company called Ladies All-Star. I went to work there because that was were my Beloved was, and while it had two other major pluses (my record was STUPID good and its the birthplace of the Cool Kids), there was a major downfall: It was LITTERED with wrestlers, both past and present, who had meticulously detailed entrances and costumes who, once they got to the ring, couldn’t do jack shit. Seriously, person after person in the HR files were hawt-as-fuck, VERY “in” to themselves, and couldn’t even SNIFF the laces of my boots, much less tie them. These people were the same who are mocked mercilessly online for being “twitter lesbians” who only existed to get likes from one another, get balls deep in the DM sex, and whine about ACTUAL FUCKING WRESTLERS both beating them in the ring and clowning them online.
Sound familiar?
Its that mirror calling out to you again.
Another shitty take of yours that I find issue with is when you gave Roxy crap for being carried in tag matches. I mean, of all the many MANY MANY things you can give my Bully Sister crap for, being "carried" in a tag match is possibly the dumbest. This was, of course, back when you were trying to be catty to gain heat by giving nicknames like Cottontail and the Hardcore Croissant, because "ermahgerd Imma bad guy for five seconds." Do you not know how tag wrestling works? Do you not know that two people work together to overcome shortcomings and become something greater than the sum of their parts? Do you NOT understand tag matches are a matter of give and take, where one helps the other when is needed, knowing that they will do the same later on? Going by your reckoning, that "shitty take," my Beloved "carried" me when two matches ago and I "carried" her in our last match. And that is just plain stupid. Because, again by your own reckoning and words, YOU were CARRIED by Alan and Jet in your last two tag matches. Tell me, Kem: Were you carried? Do those wins NOT count for you? Good Lord, what a shitty-ass take and understanding on wrestling. But then again, considering what you find relevant in this business, at least your pathetic understanding of it is more consistent than your "what is going to make me popular today?" stance on personality.
A third shitty take that I find disappointing is what you consider this match of ours coming up. I know...I KNOW...that you think this is the story of the Hero rising to meet the Villain. I KNOW that you think that you are going to take down the Evil Ball of Hate (there's that word again) and all within the land is going to cheer. And while whether or not I can be considered villainous is a debate worth having, your place as the hero is certainly pure the stuff of imagination. I get that you think that kissing babies for a few weeks makes you a hero to the people, someone to aspire to, but the only heroics you have shown thus far is standing up for those like yourself who wish to be a PRETTY PRETTY GIRL online. You may be the Patron Saint of THOTs, but that does not make you a hero, no matter how you have tried to frame the scenario online, or I imagine will do so in your own promotional video. This match is not the story of a Hero rising to strike down the Villain, Kem: Its the story of a Snake being crushed under the weight of the Mirror of Truth.
Before I get to the final dumbass take on wrestling you have, I just want to use this moment to tell you that I understand. I GET what happened yesterday. You got all hyped up on yourself while thinking about this match and the narrative you are crafting. You probably had your entrance music playing in your ear buds while on your flight and you got all kinds of pumped of about being the hero who was going to take down the villain. "Yeah!" you cried out to yourself. "I'm gonna put the bitch DOWN!" You were SO SURE that you were in the right that you probably then talked to some of your THOT friends who are already biased in this scenario and they backed you up. "Yeah!" they cried. "You are gonna put the bitch DOWN!" So pumped up from your own thoughts, the thoughts of the THOTs (there's some word porn for a Maggie tweet), and lack of sleep, and you became manic in the idea that you were, indeed, gonna put me down. And so, with true bravado and belief in yourself, you came at me. Unfortunately for you, the people no doubt hyping you up with that bravado didn't tell you something important: You are wrong. A lie is still a lie, regardless of who believes it, and just because you BELIEVE that you can put me down doesn't mean that you CAN put me down. Which is the why and how of what happened yesterday. A day and night of tears and frustration for you while I occasionally smirked and wrote haiku.
This is what is going to happen on Monday, as well. Because, no matter how hyped up on yourself you are, no matter who much people who gush over you calling them "Hon" believe in you, you lack the talent, skill, and drive to defeat me. And a big part of your false bravado, outside of all the dumbass shit like the above mentioned, the OTHER main shitty take on wrestling you have expressed over and again which I find disappointing is your reliance on math. Now, I have made it pretty damned clear to those within the Coalition that I am no math major. I excelled at language, history, and psychology while I received an education in a private high school at the cost of which would make even the most affluent among us blush, but math...not so much. But you love to drop math throughout your research, even to the point of obsession, but there are only TWO numbers that you need to worry about:
20%: I swear to FUCKING GOD that if you WASTE 20% of your argument for me on the aforementioned shitty takes, you will lose SO GODDAMN FAST that they might as well just put up a picture of squash instead of our match. Because, as was mentioned not too long ago, my 51% is better than 73% of 90% of the roster, and I will be running about about 95% on Monday, so if you DO fuck up and only give me 80%, then you are mathematically disqualified from winning.
29: Does this number sound familiar? It should. Because 29 is going to be your legacy. See, you DIDN’T win the Melee because you were the BEST person in that ring. You DIDN’T win the Melee because you outlasted the rest. You DIDN’T win the Melee because it was YOUR time.
You won because you drew number 29.
Here’s the deal, Kem:
If Maggie had drawn 29? She would have won.
If Necron had drawn 29? He would have won.
If Ava had drawn 29? She would have won.
Eden.
Vain.
Kenzi.
IF I HAD DRAWN 29 I WOULD HAVE WON.
THAT is the truth of the matter, Kem, and EVERYONE in this company knows it. ANY of the people mentioned above would have won the Melee if they had the LUCK of your draw. Because EACH of them were just as prepared, ready, and focused as you going into the Melee, and ANY of them could have won it if there were in your place. If you had drawn ANY of our numbers, you WOULD HAVE LOST.
Angie’s, #2? Loss.
Kenzi’s #5? Loss.
Ava’s #11? Loss.
My #22? Loss.
THAT is the reality of 29. Every single person in this fed, hopefully including yourself, knows that you won more by luck than for skill. Now, I am NOT saying that anyone would have gone on to BEAT Lucy at WrestleStock, because I personally know how hard it is to beat her for a title (more on that in Part 3), but I AM saying this:
If ANYONE ELSE had won the Melee, they would have been PROUD of their achievement, been HAPPY to have their name forever in the Coalition history books, on NOT ABSOLUTELY SHIT ON IT like you did. The way you treat your accolades in this company makes me sick to my stomach and makes me glad that you are choosing to spend your social time with people who time-travel to get married, swap genders, and laugh about sharing racist monkey gifs. You can call me "toxic" on Twitter all you want, but the REALITY is that there is NO ONE who espouses the appeal and greatness of this company more than I, and if DEMANDING excellence from its roster is "toxic," then just call me the Toxic Avenger. Because I will NOT allow mediocrity to be the face and benchmark for the company I have worked so hard for in the last 16 months. I will NOT allow YOU to be the face of the UGWC.
Look in the mirror, Kem. Look and see yourself for who and what you are to the rest of the world who has to look at you. Look at your own shitty takes on what is good about wrestling, what WINS in wrestling, WHAT MATTERS in wrestling.
Look in the mirror.
Realize that you and your shitty takes and perspective on wrestling don’t deserve to be anywhere NEAR a UGWC ring.
AND EMBRACE YOUR DISAPPOINTMENT
“Kick her ass, Sar!”
I found myself laughing as I assessed the situation. As soon as Maggie and I had gotten our bearings and realized that we had been tossed out into the back alley, he had kicked off our heels, run at each other, and started trading blows that would make Dempsey and Brennan green with envy. It didn’t take us long to start connecting with heavy punches, and by the time my foul-mouthed friend Angie was cheering me on, both Maggie and I were bleeding and breathing hard. One of my straps was ripped and hanging loose, and my fingernails had severed off a few of the flowers on her blouse.
“Make the bluenose bleed, Mags!”
That was from Mizore. A whole host of people were surrounding us, people who came running when they heard Angie screaming out “Fight! Fight!” as Maggie and I laid into one another. Even through the downpour of rain and the sting of blood, I could recognize many faces in the crowd. Mizore, who was trying to get a job as a cartoonist, no matter how many times we told her that only men could do that. Elizabeth, a local baker who had sold me a cake just the other day. Jethro, the doorman at a local hotel who helped people carry their bags up to their room. Alan, who made special things with glass like mirrors, whose house had burned down earlier in the year for unknown reasons. More. We had quite the crowd.
“Ow!”
I didn’t see Maggie’s right cross and it caught me square on the temple. I staggered and she dove in, but I recovered and punched her deep in the stomach, doubling her over and giving me some time. My blood boiled as we fought. It felt like this was what I was born for. And the look in Maggie’s eyes told me that she felt the same. The two of us fighting, swinging our fists, trying to punch each other in the head.
Forever.
Of course, the look of annoyance and disapproval from Kenzi was plain. She stood there, her arms crossed under her breasts, with a scowl on her face. One of my servants, a pretty girl named Prenn, held an umbrella over my girlfriend’s head to protect her from the rain. Kenzi and I didn’t know how, but Prenn KNEW about us. And even though she KNEW how much Daddy would disapprove, she never said anything to anyone. Bless her hea-
“AHHHH!”
I screamed as I fell to the ground with Maggie on top of me. The bitch had tackled me?! That was dirty billiards! I growled and turned her over and got a handful of her perfect hair. I tried to pull it out, but then she got a handful of mine and pulled back. We both screamed, locked in a standstill as the crowd cheered us on. Maybe we WOULD be like this forev-
“I LIKE TO FIGHT DID YOU KNOW THAT I ONCE FOUGHT FIVE TIMES IN FIVE DAYS BUT I DIDN’T WIN OF THEM ISN’T THAT FUNNY”
I looked up and saw Miss Parlour looking at us. Still in her maid’s uniform and dripping from the rain, the cow was clearly trying to assert herself into someone else’s business again.
“I WIN LOTS OF FIGHTS THOUGH ONLY PRETEND ONES AND NEVER FOR A CHAMPIONSHIP HEY DID YOU KNOW THAT I LIKE MUSIC AND THAT MUSIC IS HOW YOU WIN FIGHTS”
I look down and see Maggie looking back up at me. We nod to each other and I stand up, then hold my hand out to help her up, as well.
“I REALLY LIKE TO FIGHT EVEN THOUGH I AM TERRIBLE AT IT ISN’T THAT FUNNY HEY CAN YOU GIVE ME A SECOND TO CRY ABOUT NOT BEING LIKED BECAUSE THAT IS KINDA MY THING IN FACT MAKING THINGS A THING IS NOW MY THING BECAUSE STEALING OTHER PEOPLE'S THINGS IS THE ONLY WAY I CAN GET A THING”
I look at Maggie’s bloody face and she looks at mine. We nod to each other again.
“ISN’T IT FUNNY HOW I AM ALL WOE IS ME AND THEN GET MAD WHEN PEOPLE LAUGH ABOUT HOW I AM WOE IS ME AND THAT LETS ME BE EVEN MORE WOE IS ME I AM SO FUNNY DO YOU LIKE ME YET”
Our fists launch forward and connect with Miss Parlour’s fat face with a thickening thud. Her eyes glaze over for a second before she falls to the ground and the crowd cheers triumphantly. The cow had FINALLY closed her mouth for a moment. I hold out my arm for Maggie.
“Want to get zozzled?”
She smiles and locks her arm in mine.
“Only if they have the jag juice!”
We step over Miss Parlour’s body and head back into the club, finally able to agree on something.
One more point of disappointment, Kem. And as you can imagine, this is the big one.
You ready?
Take a moment.
Dry your tears.
Fix your makeup.
Go online and ask some idiot to validate you.
Breathe.
Ready?
Okay.
On the surface, I would never begrudge you for joining seven wrestling companies in a few month’s time. People will belittle you for you, will say that you are “fed-hopping” in hopes of winning a title or some such, but I won’t. Because I myself was a paid and active roster member of several companies last year at the same time. The Coalition, Prime in the EWC, Ladies’ All Star, the CWC, Elysium, United Kingdom, including several “one-off” appearances and tournaments for the likes of HELL Lucha and World Crown, Neo-Gothic. The list goes on and on. So no, I will NOT give you grief for spreading yourself too thin with an exhaustive travel schedule.
But you know what I WILL give you grief for?
WHY you are doing it.
I went on what I called a “world tour” because I wanted to improve myself. Yes, I had a HELL of a baseline of skill because of my breeding, my natural drive, and my learned discipline from hall-of-fame trainers, and I had a HELL of a run in my rookie company, FSociety, where I dominated in a variety of matches and only lost once to the champ. But I wanted MORE. I wanted to LEARN. I wanted to learn that flippy-shit so I knew how to counter it. I wanted to fight super heavyweights so that I could cut them down. I wanted face every style so that I could adapt nuances into my own style, ultimately creating what I do now which is wholly my own. I wanted to learn how to fight when I was exhausted from travel, when my spirit was broken from loss, when my heart was racing from the elation of victory.
I wanted to LEARN.
But you? You didn’t join these feds to learn or to be a better person or wrestler. You didn’t join them to improve yourself.
You joined them because of your insatiable, inherent, unstoppable THIRST for validation. You joined them so that people can say, “WOW! Look at Kem! Isn’t she GREAT?!” You did it so that you could receive accolades, well-wishes, and goddamn weekly hashtags on social media. And there is a MASSIVE difference between my reasoning and your own. Mine was to build a mansion's foundation while yours was just to dress the windows with curtains.
And what is the end result? What is there end difference between our motivations? What is the difference between a desire to create legitimacy and a need to feel validated?
My success and your disappointment.
In my travels, I dominated. I didn’t always win, of course. That expectation would just be silly. But in those travels? Winning streaks in every company with VERY few losses. Finals performances in tournaments. More eyeballs and attention on me than, in some cases, the rest of the fed's roster COMBINED when I excelled. So much success, so many victories, that it made so-called internet badasses lose their shit, and to this day, still moan and cry like pissbabies at the mere mentioning of my name. You yourself will soon be in this category because, no matter how much you wish, plead, or pray, deleting a tweet doesn't erase if from the memories of those who saw it.
And your own success?
In your travels, you have run into loss after loss AFTER LOSS. How many is that in a row, Kem?! How many Ls have you taken NOT because of a desire to LEARN from your mistakes and experiences but because of your NEED to make people happy and smile at you? How goddamn DEEP is this losing streak of yours as you travel all of the world just to lay down and stare up at the lights? How many times will you allow yourself to be embarrassed in order to get a virtual pat on the head from people who don’t give a flying FUCK about your career beyond having another body on their show to fill it out?!
MY world tour was to help me develop into the best wrestler I can be and became a platform for my depth and excellence.
YOUR world tour was to get you likes and retweets and has become a platform for exposing your shallowness and ineptitude.
MY world tour has helped me find friends and supporters who stand with me, who are excellent on their own merits, and a spouse who is my equal and helps round me out in life. Friends who don't need me to suck their dicks, slobber over their pictures, and secretly hope that we can have sex.
YOUR world tour has brought you to people who you block on social media because they have a different opinion other than yours even as you cry out “JUST LET ME BE ME,” a group of gutter trash friends who need plastic surgery and new “loves of their life” every three weeks, and a girlfriend that you have simply because you need someone to occasionally respond to your woman crush Wednesdays. Friends who will never EVER challenge you to be better because everyone is happy with just being jobbers with nice tits.
MY world tour CONFIRMED that I am a champion both in pedigree and reality.
YOUR world tour CONFIRMED that all you are is a bunch of zeros in your profile.
On Monday, you fight a CHAM-PI-ON. You fight someone who doesn’t give a damn about what outfit you are wearing today, what you ate for lunch, or how you look in your airport bathroom selfie. You fight someone who throws everything they are into their matches and doesn’t stop until someone can’t get up. You fight someone who wins AT ALL COST. You fight someone who is a CHAMPION.
Now, I realize that you are probably crying so hard right now that you risk your phone shutting down due to so much wetness. You are absolutely one of those people who take offense at everything, and would probably stand up for the right of robots or dragons in wrestling or something equally stupid, and you are no doubt taking offense to how I keep saying CHAMPION and even considering THAT to be an example of my hate speech. Because the easily offended are absolutely offended that I keep saying CHAMPION when you have NO idea what being a CHAMPION is like.
Oh wait. You do, don’t you?
Intercontimacariatickle, or some such.
For those listening to this that don’t have a clue, allow me this moment to explain:
I have been telling my dear friend Angie to leave Rose City for nearly a year. “Its a dumpster fire,” I’d say. “Its a joke of a fed,” I’d say. But she persisted, because she has a wonderful gift of seeing the best in all situations, which is something I envy her for. And in that year, she has proven herself right and me wrong. Stacy got Tolson and Emi to put on matches that got the entire industry buzzing, and Angie's own accomplishments in winning the Grand Prix and the Crown are amazing moments. But for me, no matter HOW GOOD the company became from the moment Von Doom won the Crown, with a SLEW of KILLER matches in the last six months, it will ALWAYS be offset by Katie. See, before Katie was outed to be a rapist (look it up!), she was the “Intercontitickle” champion, a title meant to be won by tickling your opponent.
Think about that: In 2017, in a young all-women's fed desperately trying to cast off the immediate perception of being a trash “twitter lesbian” group like HYBRID, Foxy Boxing, or Perfect 10 Wrestling, your girlfriend let a rapist tickle people for the status of champion and LEGITIMIZED THE TITLE. Thankfully, Katie has since been laughed and mocked into her rightful place of obscurity and the dregs of society, and her title with her, but then here comes you. Again, for those not paying attention, a moment to explain:
In your desperate need for validation and a social pat on the head, you let your girlfriend give you a title by pinning a dog in the ring during one of her wrestling shows.
That actually happened.
I am going to pause here a moment and let that sink in for everyone.
......................
..........................
..........................
Are you proud of that, Kem? Are you proud that you are so desperate for SOMEONE to like you that you would lower yourself to the level of some turn-of-the-century carnival by pinning a dog on a wrestling show for the Macaria Championship? Its not just me that’s disappointed in you: The forefathers in the 40’s and 50’s who fought to get wrestling out of the carneys and into the legitimate sports in America are disappointed and rolling in their graves at what people like have you have allowed this sport to become.
On Monday, you fight someone who is the antitheses to who you are. See, I’m not disappointed in you for losing to Lucy Wylde at WrestleStock. I know EXACTLY what it is like to lose to her in a title match at a Coalition Pay Per View. What I AM disappointed in you for is how you reacted. You cried. You bemoaned. You sought the comfort of other perennial losers and sycophants online. Know what I did?
I sent her through a table.
See, when I lost, I stared up at the lights in wonder and shock at getting my shoulders pinned for three seconds. And then I sat up. Stood up. And tossed the bitch off the stage and through a table. I may have lost the match but I slept in my hotel bed with my Beloved while she spent the night in the hospital. Like everything else in my world tour, I learned from that match, learned from our following encounter at Outlast, and eventually took what I craved. But all YOU crave, no matter WHAT you say about championships, is that “You’re awesome! Love me some Kem!” affection online.
I am not the greatest wrestler in the world, but when standing next to you, I might as well be. Because in the eighteen times the Coalition bell has rung with me in its ring, only THREE people have been able to keep my shoulders down for three seconds. Maggie Lockheart, my equal. Kenzi Grey, my equal. Lucy Wylde, my superior, and I have no shame in saying that. All CHAMPIONS and deserved of my praise. But you? No matter WHAT you want or how BADLY you wish it were different, you got dropped and pinned by Mizore goddamn PAYNE, who I beat in the opening round of a WrestleStock.
And ultimately, in the end, here is result of the differences in our approaches to wrestling and life:
Listen close, Kem.
Just you and me right here.
Ready?
Raise your hand if you have defeated Maggie Lockheart for a championship in UGWC?
Oh, just me.
Raise your hand if you have defeated Eden Morgan and Jet Somers for a title in UGWC?
Oh, just me.
Raise your hand if you have defeated Lucy Wylde for a championship in UGWC?
Oh.
Just.
Me.
See, I know EXACTLY what it is like to be disappointed, to be truly GUTTED, by being THIS GODDAMN CLOSE to winning a championship. I know EXACTLY what it is like to become #1 contender, to earn title opportunities, and not win. But I also know EXACTLY what it is like to WIN championships. On Monday, you face not only your equal in WrestleStock Cups, but you face the person who has the MOST WrestleStock Open match wins, the person who ended Lucy Wylde’s truly EPIC Cross-Hemisphere Championship reign, and one half of the reigning and defending Co Operation Champions.
Me? On Monday, I am facing the person who embodies disappointment.
I truly understand that you LOATHE how certain people in this company roll their eyes at Synergy wins and losses and instead focus on the Pay Per View contests, but they have a point which you are ignoring in your moaning. Yes, you have a wonderful record overall on Synergy, as I have often pointed out with the Legion, but to what end has this brought you? Failure when those Synergies has given you momentum to those big matches. I dislike using a term as overplayed as choke artist, but that IS how the Coalition views you. I, by contrast, am given faith by both the office and rosters. I only mention this because you brought up the title shot "handed to me" in your silly attempt to "trigger" me online yesterday, and while it is CLEAR that you do not watch the promotional videos of others, as I brought my worry of Kenzi's decision myself in my own production, I can assure you that no one else thought of it as being handed anything. After all, I nearly the won both the Melee and Cup, further proof as to my ability in "big" matches, but your yourself have been severely outclassed in your own attempts this year in those "big" matches."
I suppose this means that the company and roster has faith in me to be an attraction that will pull through with consistent excellence.
And I suppose that means that the company and roster has faith in you to win matches with nothing on the line and choke when it matters.
Congratulations, Kem. You are the new Jessica Mathis.
So that you and I are absolutely clear:
If you come at me with justification of winning because I am mean or toxic; if you come at me with justification of winning with a 16-page dissertation on why the Moonlight Sonata is not an appropriate theme song; if you come at me with justification of winning because you try SO HARD TO BE NICE ONLINE; if you make the idiotic accusation that I have EVER used "hate speech" without a single thread of proof and think that THIS baseless charge is going to be what rallies the critics and helps you win on Monday:
You.
Will.
Lose.
One final thing, if I may. I would like to “call my shot,” as it were, to tell you how Monday is going to happen. Now, if this were a silly vlog or blog or something else heavy in the parlor tricks, I would have my staff put up the over-used by still wholly appropriate gif of Joker, because here...we...go…
I am going to kick the shit out of you. And I mean that. I am going to kick your left arm over and over AND OVER AGAIN until it is hanging at your side like a limp noodle, to where it is so covered in welts and bruises that you would think you had caught Captain Trips. Then I am going to take that arm as I slip behind you and hammerlock it. Then I will reach up with my right arm and use my forearm to push your head to the side in a cross face. Then reach...and push...until I can clasp my hands behind your back and lock in the Pigeon Wing.
I don’t want you to tap out. PLEASE do not cry uncle. I want you to endure. I want you to push yourself like never before. I want the entire crowd to hear the POP! as your shoulder dislocates. I want you to pass out of from the pain and for Mr. Burke to stop the match. This way, you can claim all day long that you never tapped out, you can crow to your idiot friends online that you never gave up as I handed you that massive L.
And then? Long after I have had a celebratory kiss with my Beloved and left ringside to enjoy a drink with the Cool Kids?
You will slowly make your way to the back.
Ichabod or Chaos will offer you a word of encouragement, perhaps a pat on the back, careful to not touch your injured shoulder.
You will stumble into your room.
Look down at your phone and ignore the 37 notifications compiled in the last 15 minutes.
Look up into the mirror.
Face yourself.
Face your reflection.
Face your truth.
And cry.
EMBRACE
YOUR
DISAPPOINTMENT
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2013, '18, '23 