✨Queen of the Vermins ✨
Mar 18, 2022 22:51:11 GMT -5
via mobile
Carter Shaw, Downfall, and 3 more like this
Post by Jill Park on Mar 18, 2022 22:51:11 GMT -5
Following a tumultuous couple of weeks, Jill Park and Regan Voorhees sat at a local cafe. A couple of lattes sat on the table between them. Of course, the cameras weren’t far behind. Jill had recently come under fire from her producers for a lack of content, or at least a lack of direction, she figured maybe some candid content featured Regan could help remedy that. However, Jill couldn’t quite get a read on her Tag Team partner. Either she was a master at ignoring the cameras, or she just simply held no regard for them whatsoever. It was as if they weren’t even there.
“So,” Regan began, as she lifted her latte up to take a sip. “You’re facing Mason Jones on Clash.”
“Yeah, easy tune-up.” Jill replied, setting down her own styrofoam cup.
“So.” Regan began, before trailing off. Curious, Jill questioned. “What?”
“Battlebowl.” Regan’s reply was succinct; to the point, and oh so chilling. An air of tension swallowed the ladies as Regan and Jill locked eyes. Jill could feel her palms sweating. She was nervous. Regan, on the other hand, seemed perfectly calm. She even had the hint of a smile. As Jill leaned back slightly in her chair, Regan took another sip of her Latte as if nothing was wrong at all.
“We kicked the shit out of Johnny Bacchus.” She finally offered, with a wink.
“Oh.” Jill replied, obviously relieved. “Yeah.”
“Mason Jones.
I seem to recall us finding our way onto opposite sides of a six person tag match around this time last year. I had just recently signed with Action Wrestling. I do believe it was my second or third match under the Action Wrestling banner.
And even back then, I was better than you.
I will admit, it’s a nice change of pace. I’ve come accustomed to facing egotistical meatheads who want to play off every little accomplishment I’ve achieved in the last year. I’ve come accustomed to them treating me like I still haven’t done shit. How’d that work out for you, Carter Shaw? Or they make their butthurt list about wHo WaS mEaN tO ThEm. But then, we have you: Mason Jones. A man so inconsequential he couldn’t POSSIBLY have an ego. Week in and week out, you treat the Action Wrestling faithful to the sight of you failing spectacularly. You treat them to the sight of you getting your ass kicked. Seemingly, every time is more spectacular than the last.
So that kind of makes me wonder. What do you expect to happen on Clash? Do you honestly expect to walk into Jacksonville on Monday night and BEAT JILL PARK?
I’ve been in wars, in my time here. I’ve been in match of the year candidates. Chased titles. Put down legends. The most notably thing you’ve done in Action Wrestling was watch Jay Price almost die at ringside, and then ask him to marry you like a fucking simp. Then, instead of actually trying to do ANYTHING of value, you followed him like a sick puppy. You must have some real big daddy issues, just sayin’.
So I guess when it comes to this week your thought process is something like…”
Jill clears her throat.
“Me Mason Jones! Me stronk MAN! Me pick Jill Park up and me throw Jill Park! Me win match HUEHUEHUEHUEHUE!
Shut the fuck up.
If you don’t take anything out of this match, which is highly likely because you’re a fucking idiot, take this one undeniable truth out of the beating you receive on Monday night…
Monday Night Clash is ABOUT ME.
It started with Carter Shaw. I reminded everyone that I’m not this Main Event fill-in. I’m not some fall guy they bring up to slot into a match knowing full well they’ll lose. There’s alot of fucking dorks in the locker room who’d like you to believe that, but that just ain’t the reality. They’re already spinning my victory over Shaw as inconsequential despite shitting their pants like Kaitlin Bennett when it happened live. I’m marching ahead to Havoc, and you better fucking believe I’m winning that shit. Meanwhile, you, Mason Jones, you’ll be spinning your tires the same way you have been FOR A YEAR.
Some refer to me as a vermin. Of course you know who. Possibly because I bashed his widdle head in with a steel chair. But you know what?
That’s exactly what I am. I’m a vermin to those that seek to keep the status quo in Action Wrestling. For those who want to try and keep their thumb over TALENT like myself and Regan Voorhees. That’s the entire reason Affluenza was needed, and still is needed. When an entire company tried to hold us in place, when a roster was determined to cast us aside, we knew we needed to have each other’s back. We pledged to be there when needed, and thats exactly what we’ve done, and it’s precisely what we’ll continue to do until we topple Action Wrestling.
So call me a snake, a vermin, or a whore(I’m sure Dandy DiVito does, even though I can’t understand a fucking thing that mush-mouth says anyways). Because these labels that these bad-faith actors lay upon me, at the end of the day, are just as worthless as they are. They mean absolutely nothing.
So call me the Queen of the Vermins.
Just remember to fucking bow as you say it.”
“So,” Regan began, as she lifted her latte up to take a sip. “You’re facing Mason Jones on Clash.”
“Yeah, easy tune-up.” Jill replied, setting down her own styrofoam cup.
“So.” Regan began, before trailing off. Curious, Jill questioned. “What?”
“Battlebowl.” Regan’s reply was succinct; to the point, and oh so chilling. An air of tension swallowed the ladies as Regan and Jill locked eyes. Jill could feel her palms sweating. She was nervous. Regan, on the other hand, seemed perfectly calm. She even had the hint of a smile. As Jill leaned back slightly in her chair, Regan took another sip of her Latte as if nothing was wrong at all.
“We kicked the shit out of Johnny Bacchus.” She finally offered, with a wink.
“Oh.” Jill replied, obviously relieved. “Yeah.”
“Mason Jones.
I seem to recall us finding our way onto opposite sides of a six person tag match around this time last year. I had just recently signed with Action Wrestling. I do believe it was my second or third match under the Action Wrestling banner.
And even back then, I was better than you.
I will admit, it’s a nice change of pace. I’ve come accustomed to facing egotistical meatheads who want to play off every little accomplishment I’ve achieved in the last year. I’ve come accustomed to them treating me like I still haven’t done shit. How’d that work out for you, Carter Shaw? Or they make their butthurt list about wHo WaS mEaN tO ThEm. But then, we have you: Mason Jones. A man so inconsequential he couldn’t POSSIBLY have an ego. Week in and week out, you treat the Action Wrestling faithful to the sight of you failing spectacularly. You treat them to the sight of you getting your ass kicked. Seemingly, every time is more spectacular than the last.
So that kind of makes me wonder. What do you expect to happen on Clash? Do you honestly expect to walk into Jacksonville on Monday night and BEAT JILL PARK?
I’ve been in wars, in my time here. I’ve been in match of the year candidates. Chased titles. Put down legends. The most notably thing you’ve done in Action Wrestling was watch Jay Price almost die at ringside, and then ask him to marry you like a fucking simp. Then, instead of actually trying to do ANYTHING of value, you followed him like a sick puppy. You must have some real big daddy issues, just sayin’.
So I guess when it comes to this week your thought process is something like…”
Jill clears her throat.
“Me Mason Jones! Me stronk MAN! Me pick Jill Park up and me throw Jill Park! Me win match HUEHUEHUEHUEHUE!
Shut the fuck up.
If you don’t take anything out of this match, which is highly likely because you’re a fucking idiot, take this one undeniable truth out of the beating you receive on Monday night…
Monday Night Clash is ABOUT ME.
It started with Carter Shaw. I reminded everyone that I’m not this Main Event fill-in. I’m not some fall guy they bring up to slot into a match knowing full well they’ll lose. There’s alot of fucking dorks in the locker room who’d like you to believe that, but that just ain’t the reality. They’re already spinning my victory over Shaw as inconsequential despite shitting their pants like Kaitlin Bennett when it happened live. I’m marching ahead to Havoc, and you better fucking believe I’m winning that shit. Meanwhile, you, Mason Jones, you’ll be spinning your tires the same way you have been FOR A YEAR.
Some refer to me as a vermin. Of course you know who. Possibly because I bashed his widdle head in with a steel chair. But you know what?
That’s exactly what I am. I’m a vermin to those that seek to keep the status quo in Action Wrestling. For those who want to try and keep their thumb over TALENT like myself and Regan Voorhees. That’s the entire reason Affluenza was needed, and still is needed. When an entire company tried to hold us in place, when a roster was determined to cast us aside, we knew we needed to have each other’s back. We pledged to be there when needed, and thats exactly what we’ve done, and it’s precisely what we’ll continue to do until we topple Action Wrestling.
So call me a snake, a vermin, or a whore(I’m sure Dandy DiVito does, even though I can’t understand a fucking thing that mush-mouth says anyways). Because these labels that these bad-faith actors lay upon me, at the end of the day, are just as worthless as they are. They mean absolutely nothing.
So call me the Queen of the Vermins.
Just remember to fucking bow as you say it.”