Post by bad guy™ on Jun 10, 2017 13:35:24 GMT -5
ACT I Scene VII: Fake
You know the quality in people that most people hate? Fakeness. However, it has to be in a proper context. Wrong context example, why don’t you go into the hood and eavesdrop on a conversation between a woman and her man, arguing. I bet you the lack of money Lila Sleater pays me that, assuming you’re not shot for passing through, every other phrase out of that woman’s mouth is going to be ‘She a fake ass bitch.’ So what does that mean, exactly? Well, chances are she got her guy spoinking another girl, or she saw he liked a mutual friend’s new profile picture and she’s jealous and about to rip his eyes out with her fake nails done at some cheap ass Chinese salon that, oddly enough, probably caters more towards men. How is that other girl fake? Is it just some kind of word jealous women use to try and make themselves feel better about their ratty lives? A sort of self-confidence booster? Chances are, yes. But that’s not the TRUE meaning of fake. Now allow me to bring you back to the Donald Trump reality and pretend that sh*t doesn’t happen in the inner city.
People really, really like me in the WFWF. I don’t know why. I have no shame in saying I’m hot as f*ck, and quite possibly the most talented woman on the roster. Perhaps it’s because I’m the daughter of a living legend. Who knows, maybe people think I’m some kind of pure, innocent porcelain doll who should be protected and not corrupted if possible whose only vice is being a chain smoker. And, to an extent, they’re right. I’m hot as f*ck. I’m just as talented as Penny and Scarlett. My dad is my idol, but I’m far from innocent. I won’t say I’m not nice, because I really am. But relationships go both ways. If you show me some respect, I’ll reciprocate; this is a quality lost upon my generation who feel as if they are entitled to respect. Respect is earned, not given.
So last week when I went out there and called out Joe Bishop, I was no longer hiding behind my innocent façade. I don’t wish ill will towards Bishop, don’t get me wrong. But I was getting sick to my stomach when I was reading the WFWF forums and reading how impressed and elated the world was that Joe Bishop is now the WFWF Champion. He had finally attained the respect he desired. The problem is, it’s fickle as all f*ck. Six months ago, these same fans seriously wanted his head on a pike. He’s always been a wolf in sheep’s clothing. I would like to think people were just excited that Bishop had beaten WFWF’s resident scumbag David Brennan. I like Brennan, but he cast his die YEARS ago. I get the fans rooting for ANYONE who fights him. But Joe Bishop did NOTHING to earn the respect of the fans. The respect they have for him is real…it’s not the ‘I wish’ statement I just made. I can read people like a book, even on the internet. They’re dumb enough to believe in it. He beat, quite literally, no one of relevance on his way to the title match. I’m a rookie, Jass f*cking sucks, whatshisname quit, and Demon has quickly become the laughing stock of the WFWF after SuperBrawl. How do those wins mean jack sh*t? Joe Bishop is fake. He’s pandering to his newfound fans, and declaring himself the king of the mountain. Therefore, I could not remain silent any longer.
I had to speak out. I had to call Bishop and the fans out on their bullsh*t. Brennan, by all means, deserves to have trash thrown at him for his tactics but if there is a single person in the locker room or in the WFWF fandom that have no respect for Brennan’s in ring ability and the aura that surrounds him, I have a bridge to sell you…and subsequently shove you off of it with cement shoes. Frank Lynn didn’t enjoy my testimony very much. I’m surprised he didn’t tweet about it after the show, but he probably still has a flip phone and can’t call before eight PM anyways. Here he comes, running his damn mouth about how I need to stop drinking the spiked Brennan Kool-Aid and jump on board with his champion.
…if someone tells you to stop drinking your Kool-Aid and start drinking theirs, chances are they put something worse than whiskey in theirs…
So me and the lackey had our back and forth, which is fine. I’m not afraid to shy away from a verbal beatdown. But then he hit a sore spot, and he did it on purpose. He purposely attacked my father’s lack of knowledge of my existence because at one point in my youthful years, my mom knew my dad was not fit to be in my life at that time. Common knowledge, Sam nor myself ever shied away from that fact, doesn’t mean you have to bring it up. Maybe he thought he was ‘keeping it real’ but there are a few lines you just do not cross. Ask Thunder what happened when he brought up Malakai’s dead daughter. He took a United Airlines flight off of the tron, and the plane landed on him. Like I said, certain lines. So I kicked that f*cker Lynn in the head. Up until that point, I had respect for Lynn. Why he was siding with Bishop is still beyond me, but I had no problems with him personally.
Now, I do. And that makes our match at Pacific Rim that much more exciting.
When his skirt Carmen San Diego came out and took an ass whippin’ by me, I knew I was ready for an in ring return.
That brings me to tweedled dumb and tweedled dee. I’m going to start with tweedled dumb first. Sup, Mike Jette? Now, why are you dumb? Well, at some point you were aligned with Frank Lynn, who is now aligned with Joe Bishop, who are my enemies at the moment making you f*cking stupid for getting into the ring for me. Now, I know the Thunderbirds are long broken up…wait a second, what the hell did y’all even name that after, anyways? I Googled it expecting it to be a car, but all I got was a software company and some ancient Indian spirit. If it’s the Indian spirit, I’ll take my Jesus. If it’s the software company, no wonder you guys always lost…y’all needed a f*cking patch and the developers fell asleep at the keyboard. Anyways, after the Thunderbirds, what exactly have you done? To my recall, not very much. Now, You’re actually the veteran in this match, so congrats on that…it’s not often a rookie is the main dog but you are. But I could forget half about wrestling than you’ll ever know. You competed in tag matches for a while, then you disappeared. And now you’re trying to take a stab at a singles run? Now, I’ve made a lot of bad choices in my life. I chose to smoke, I chose to pander and I bought a Chevy. None of those choices involve wrestling. When you’re in a tag team, you literally always have a partner to count on. If it’s getting a little too hot in the kitchen, or the match keeps striking fire on you over and over again, you can get out just by tapping your partners hand. Tonight? You’re all alone. How are you gonna faire against a world title worthy contender and a rookie of whom you know nothing all at the same time? Best keep your head on a swivel, brother. Otherwise you’re gonna need yet another patch. At least the medics here provide them free of charge.
And that’s about all I have to blog about, ladies and gent…
Oh whoops, I forgot about tweedled dee. Didn’t I just mention him a second ago? Crikey, either I’m getting old, or this guy is that forgettable. The hell is his name, even? **Google Search** Danny Young, huh? Let’s see what your WFWF Bio says about you.
…you really don’t have one? Ok, time for Wikipedia.
…REALLY?
…ok…Indy Wrestler Database…? AHA! FOUND YOU! And the sponsored page of the week is Immune. Somebody PLEASE kill me.
So what we got, Danny Boy? You’re British…coulda guessed that by your last name, but ok. You’re a Lamb of God fan, making you dead to me…you have a lethal sleeper move that I can counter in about five seconds…oh look, you’re a striker just like me! You were trained in boxing…that explains the striker aspect. Your first match was in 2001 and apparently the ten seat firehall wrestling watchers think you’re a f*cking prick. That’s good, it means you’ll fit right in here in the WFWF. Danny, you’re in for a huge f*cking culture shock when you step into that ring. Ten and ten thousand is a HUGE jump. Trust me. I went from one to seventy-thousand my first night after SuperBrawl. I guess that means mine is bigger than yours. Now, you’ve no doubt heard about my father. If you watched wrestling in between firehouse drives, you know my dad. One of the greatest wrestlers who ever lived. And you’re probably thinking I’m riding his coattails, or that I’m not nearly as talented as him. Truth is, Trace Demon got me into the WFWF, and I got a chance to be in a WFWF Championship match almost ten years before my dad got his first shot. That is BEYOND ahead of the game.
So why are you, Young and Mike Jette completely screwed? Well, you're fake wrestlers for starters, and other than the fact that you have to fight each other on top of me…I’m just better, guys. Now, I’m not asking you to not show up, I would actually like a fight…but do me a favor and hang in there longer than it takes for me to hit a couple of Triple-A’s. I need to shake some rust off beyond what Sofia Vegara did for me last week. I also need to continue proving my point, that I’m the realist bitch around, and y’all are just wannabe fakes…like just about everyone else in the WFWF. Here’s to ya, I’ll say a prayer for you before I step out from behind the curtain, because that’s the closest to God you’re ever gonna get.
I hit post and toss my phone into the bag and tighten my kicks. Getting up, I grab my kendo stick and strap it onto my back and walk out the door. I can’t even take a step, and there’s a big, burly man standing in my way. The f*ck’s he want?
"Surprised? So am I. Blame Sam. I'm just gonna cut to the chase kid, you’re drowning by outnumbering yourself. You know it, too. You're a smart cookie. I’ve got a feeling you’re gonna need help with it."
I sigh, because I know he’s not entirely wrong. Someone called the principal on me though, and I'm a little pissed. He’s got a valid point, however. Brennan can be flakey every once in a while, so it’d be nice to have insurance for what I know is coming if I keep up this Lynn and Bishop path.
"Fine. But get in here before anyone sees you."
I pull him into the locker room and lock the door behind me. This oughta be interesting.
__
You know the quality in people that most people hate? Fakeness. However, it has to be in a proper context. Wrong context example, why don’t you go into the hood and eavesdrop on a conversation between a woman and her man, arguing. I bet you the lack of money Lila Sleater pays me that, assuming you’re not shot for passing through, every other phrase out of that woman’s mouth is going to be ‘She a fake ass bitch.’ So what does that mean, exactly? Well, chances are she got her guy spoinking another girl, or she saw he liked a mutual friend’s new profile picture and she’s jealous and about to rip his eyes out with her fake nails done at some cheap ass Chinese salon that, oddly enough, probably caters more towards men. How is that other girl fake? Is it just some kind of word jealous women use to try and make themselves feel better about their ratty lives? A sort of self-confidence booster? Chances are, yes. But that’s not the TRUE meaning of fake. Now allow me to bring you back to the Donald Trump reality and pretend that sh*t doesn’t happen in the inner city.
People really, really like me in the WFWF. I don’t know why. I have no shame in saying I’m hot as f*ck, and quite possibly the most talented woman on the roster. Perhaps it’s because I’m the daughter of a living legend. Who knows, maybe people think I’m some kind of pure, innocent porcelain doll who should be protected and not corrupted if possible whose only vice is being a chain smoker. And, to an extent, they’re right. I’m hot as f*ck. I’m just as talented as Penny and Scarlett. My dad is my idol, but I’m far from innocent. I won’t say I’m not nice, because I really am. But relationships go both ways. If you show me some respect, I’ll reciprocate; this is a quality lost upon my generation who feel as if they are entitled to respect. Respect is earned, not given.
So last week when I went out there and called out Joe Bishop, I was no longer hiding behind my innocent façade. I don’t wish ill will towards Bishop, don’t get me wrong. But I was getting sick to my stomach when I was reading the WFWF forums and reading how impressed and elated the world was that Joe Bishop is now the WFWF Champion. He had finally attained the respect he desired. The problem is, it’s fickle as all f*ck. Six months ago, these same fans seriously wanted his head on a pike. He’s always been a wolf in sheep’s clothing. I would like to think people were just excited that Bishop had beaten WFWF’s resident scumbag David Brennan. I like Brennan, but he cast his die YEARS ago. I get the fans rooting for ANYONE who fights him. But Joe Bishop did NOTHING to earn the respect of the fans. The respect they have for him is real…it’s not the ‘I wish’ statement I just made. I can read people like a book, even on the internet. They’re dumb enough to believe in it. He beat, quite literally, no one of relevance on his way to the title match. I’m a rookie, Jass f*cking sucks, whatshisname quit, and Demon has quickly become the laughing stock of the WFWF after SuperBrawl. How do those wins mean jack sh*t? Joe Bishop is fake. He’s pandering to his newfound fans, and declaring himself the king of the mountain. Therefore, I could not remain silent any longer.
I had to speak out. I had to call Bishop and the fans out on their bullsh*t. Brennan, by all means, deserves to have trash thrown at him for his tactics but if there is a single person in the locker room or in the WFWF fandom that have no respect for Brennan’s in ring ability and the aura that surrounds him, I have a bridge to sell you…and subsequently shove you off of it with cement shoes. Frank Lynn didn’t enjoy my testimony very much. I’m surprised he didn’t tweet about it after the show, but he probably still has a flip phone and can’t call before eight PM anyways. Here he comes, running his damn mouth about how I need to stop drinking the spiked Brennan Kool-Aid and jump on board with his champion.
…if someone tells you to stop drinking your Kool-Aid and start drinking theirs, chances are they put something worse than whiskey in theirs…
So me and the lackey had our back and forth, which is fine. I’m not afraid to shy away from a verbal beatdown. But then he hit a sore spot, and he did it on purpose. He purposely attacked my father’s lack of knowledge of my existence because at one point in my youthful years, my mom knew my dad was not fit to be in my life at that time. Common knowledge, Sam nor myself ever shied away from that fact, doesn’t mean you have to bring it up. Maybe he thought he was ‘keeping it real’ but there are a few lines you just do not cross. Ask Thunder what happened when he brought up Malakai’s dead daughter. He took a United Airlines flight off of the tron, and the plane landed on him. Like I said, certain lines. So I kicked that f*cker Lynn in the head. Up until that point, I had respect for Lynn. Why he was siding with Bishop is still beyond me, but I had no problems with him personally.
Now, I do. And that makes our match at Pacific Rim that much more exciting.
When his skirt Carmen San Diego came out and took an ass whippin’ by me, I knew I was ready for an in ring return.
That brings me to tweedled dumb and tweedled dee. I’m going to start with tweedled dumb first. Sup, Mike Jette? Now, why are you dumb? Well, at some point you were aligned with Frank Lynn, who is now aligned with Joe Bishop, who are my enemies at the moment making you f*cking stupid for getting into the ring for me. Now, I know the Thunderbirds are long broken up…wait a second, what the hell did y’all even name that after, anyways? I Googled it expecting it to be a car, but all I got was a software company and some ancient Indian spirit. If it’s the Indian spirit, I’ll take my Jesus. If it’s the software company, no wonder you guys always lost…y’all needed a f*cking patch and the developers fell asleep at the keyboard. Anyways, after the Thunderbirds, what exactly have you done? To my recall, not very much. Now, You’re actually the veteran in this match, so congrats on that…it’s not often a rookie is the main dog but you are. But I could forget half about wrestling than you’ll ever know. You competed in tag matches for a while, then you disappeared. And now you’re trying to take a stab at a singles run? Now, I’ve made a lot of bad choices in my life. I chose to smoke, I chose to pander and I bought a Chevy. None of those choices involve wrestling. When you’re in a tag team, you literally always have a partner to count on. If it’s getting a little too hot in the kitchen, or the match keeps striking fire on you over and over again, you can get out just by tapping your partners hand. Tonight? You’re all alone. How are you gonna faire against a world title worthy contender and a rookie of whom you know nothing all at the same time? Best keep your head on a swivel, brother. Otherwise you’re gonna need yet another patch. At least the medics here provide them free of charge.
And that’s about all I have to blog about, ladies and gent…
Oh whoops, I forgot about tweedled dee. Didn’t I just mention him a second ago? Crikey, either I’m getting old, or this guy is that forgettable. The hell is his name, even? **Google Search** Danny Young, huh? Let’s see what your WFWF Bio says about you.
…you really don’t have one? Ok, time for Wikipedia.
…REALLY?
…ok…Indy Wrestler Database…? AHA! FOUND YOU! And the sponsored page of the week is Immune. Somebody PLEASE kill me.
So what we got, Danny Boy? You’re British…coulda guessed that by your last name, but ok. You’re a Lamb of God fan, making you dead to me…you have a lethal sleeper move that I can counter in about five seconds…oh look, you’re a striker just like me! You were trained in boxing…that explains the striker aspect. Your first match was in 2001 and apparently the ten seat firehall wrestling watchers think you’re a f*cking prick. That’s good, it means you’ll fit right in here in the WFWF. Danny, you’re in for a huge f*cking culture shock when you step into that ring. Ten and ten thousand is a HUGE jump. Trust me. I went from one to seventy-thousand my first night after SuperBrawl. I guess that means mine is bigger than yours. Now, you’ve no doubt heard about my father. If you watched wrestling in between firehouse drives, you know my dad. One of the greatest wrestlers who ever lived. And you’re probably thinking I’m riding his coattails, or that I’m not nearly as talented as him. Truth is, Trace Demon got me into the WFWF, and I got a chance to be in a WFWF Championship match almost ten years before my dad got his first shot. That is BEYOND ahead of the game.
So why are you, Young and Mike Jette completely screwed? Well, you're fake wrestlers for starters, and other than the fact that you have to fight each other on top of me…I’m just better, guys. Now, I’m not asking you to not show up, I would actually like a fight…but do me a favor and hang in there longer than it takes for me to hit a couple of Triple-A’s. I need to shake some rust off beyond what Sofia Vegara did for me last week. I also need to continue proving my point, that I’m the realist bitch around, and y’all are just wannabe fakes…like just about everyone else in the WFWF. Here’s to ya, I’ll say a prayer for you before I step out from behind the curtain, because that’s the closest to God you’re ever gonna get.
I hit post and toss my phone into the bag and tighten my kicks. Getting up, I grab my kendo stick and strap it onto my back and walk out the door. I can’t even take a step, and there’s a big, burly man standing in my way. The f*ck’s he want?
"Surprised? So am I. Blame Sam. I'm just gonna cut to the chase kid, you’re drowning by outnumbering yourself. You know it, too. You're a smart cookie. I’ve got a feeling you’re gonna need help with it."
I sigh, because I know he’s not entirely wrong. Someone called the principal on me though, and I'm a little pissed. He’s got a valid point, however. Brennan can be flakey every once in a while, so it’d be nice to have insurance for what I know is coming if I keep up this Lynn and Bishop path.
"Fine. But get in here before anyone sees you."
I pull him into the locker room and lock the door behind me. This oughta be interesting.
ing thing I had to, had some comedy, and in actuality it's not as short as it looks...it's just spaced smaller. This is a quality over quantity piece. I needed some rust off, and I knew what I needed and wanted to say. Good luck, guys.
I dont know good luck 
