Post by Jessie Lee on May 12, 2024 9:19:32 GMT -5
Well, ain't this just some serious deja fuckin' vu?
The Mighty DRAUGR, in all his monstrously unstoppable glory, holdin' tight to the championship strap I want. The Big Bad Bastard with a dragon mask doin' his fuckin' best to stand as the paragon of unparalleled fuckin' strength that nobody can stop like he's the fuckin' Juggernaut ripped outta an X-men comic. Meanwhile, ya got stupidly scrappy unbreakable BARBARIC BITCH dead set on unleashin' her claws to CARVE that United States strap from your meaty fuckin' mitts. Hell, you've even been hangin' 'round those Devil's Gate parasites like they're a tumor that ya just can't seem to cut out no matter how hard ya fuckin' try.
Not that ya REALLY tried, did ya?
I mean, it only took you three or four months of freedom to crawl back onto that cringy as shit MUNSTERS crap they've peddled for-fuckin'-ever. Did ya miss bein' their little bitch boy? Were ya feelin' lonely bein' the only edgy spook in your family? Or did your inner incel from the fuckin' forties rear its abusive drunken head 'cause ya felt insecure when watching Sara Pettis an' Lexi Sparkles work their shit like the STRONG WOMEN that they are?
Hm?
Is it 'cause YOU, THE MIGHTY DRAUGR, felt fuckin' WEAK?
NAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH, that can't be it. There's NO WAY that could be. Not after you KIDNAPPED Cipher an' Bishop for a couple of weeks so that ya could act the DOM 'fore goin' back to bein' the SUBMISSIVE GIMP for the dullard duo. I mean, if THAT was the case then what was the point of you HUNTING me down to beat the shit outta me an' leave me layin' in a puddle of my own blood? To establish DOMINANCE over the BITCH that TORE the WORLD TELEVISION STRAP FROM YOU AND ELEVATED IT; TO PUT THE FEAR OF YOU IN HER?
HA!
You're a whole lot of things, but STUPID ain't one of 'em. 'Cause we BOTH know if you "turned evil" for some weak-ass reasons like those then there's no fuckin' way you're lumberin' out of the Arizona Veterans Memorial Coliseum with the strap over your LARPtasical-ass shoulder. Even if ya, SOMEHOW, managed to survive the BEATING I'm gonna give you on Clash this Monday night then this little tit-for-tat wouldn't end with a simple one an' done. Not after you TRIED to step to the QUEEN BITCH OF ACTION WRETLING. Oh no, unlike your little Addams Family shtick, I wouldn't lock you up in some dingy fuckin' basement to try an' torture ya; Devil's Gate fucked you up mentally an' physically more than I ever could. NAAAAAH, I'd wear ya down by relentlessly goin' after ya over an' over again. Win or lose, I wouldn't be stopped from ETCHING MY NAME into your flesh next to that neat little Thirteen scar. I'd wear ya down until what remains of your fuckin' soul shatters and you WISH you hadn't woken the fuck up from bein' a lizard-cicle.
FUCK IT.
How about I just make those little "what ifs" into reality an' start the DECIMATION OF YOUR SPIRIT by ONCE AGAIN BEATING YOU for an oh-so-prestigious Action Wrestling Championship; REALLY kill ya with the American Dream. How about I turn this little "touch of evil" ya rediscovered on its fuckin' head and show you EXACTLY WHY this little "purge the weak" shit isn't gonna work for ya like it hasn't worked for The Green or Sicko.
Sounds fun, yeah?
The Mighty DRAUGR, in all his monstrously unstoppable glory, holdin' tight to the championship strap I want. The Big Bad Bastard with a dragon mask doin' his fuckin' best to stand as the paragon of unparalleled fuckin' strength that nobody can stop like he's the fuckin' Juggernaut ripped outta an X-men comic. Meanwhile, ya got stupidly scrappy unbreakable BARBARIC BITCH dead set on unleashin' her claws to CARVE that United States strap from your meaty fuckin' mitts. Hell, you've even been hangin' 'round those Devil's Gate parasites like they're a tumor that ya just can't seem to cut out no matter how hard ya fuckin' try.
Not that ya REALLY tried, did ya?
I mean, it only took you three or four months of freedom to crawl back onto that cringy as shit MUNSTERS crap they've peddled for-fuckin'-ever. Did ya miss bein' their little bitch boy? Were ya feelin' lonely bein' the only edgy spook in your family? Or did your inner incel from the fuckin' forties rear its abusive drunken head 'cause ya felt insecure when watching Sara Pettis an' Lexi Sparkles work their shit like the STRONG WOMEN that they are?
Hm?
Is it 'cause YOU, THE MIGHTY DRAUGR, felt fuckin' WEAK?
NAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH, that can't be it. There's NO WAY that could be. Not after you KIDNAPPED Cipher an' Bishop for a couple of weeks so that ya could act the DOM 'fore goin' back to bein' the SUBMISSIVE GIMP for the dullard duo. I mean, if THAT was the case then what was the point of you HUNTING me down to beat the shit outta me an' leave me layin' in a puddle of my own blood? To establish DOMINANCE over the BITCH that TORE the WORLD TELEVISION STRAP FROM YOU AND ELEVATED IT; TO PUT THE FEAR OF YOU IN HER?
HA!
You're a whole lot of things, but STUPID ain't one of 'em. 'Cause we BOTH know if you "turned evil" for some weak-ass reasons like those then there's no fuckin' way you're lumberin' out of the Arizona Veterans Memorial Coliseum with the strap over your LARPtasical-ass shoulder. Even if ya, SOMEHOW, managed to survive the BEATING I'm gonna give you on Clash this Monday night then this little tit-for-tat wouldn't end with a simple one an' done. Not after you TRIED to step to the QUEEN BITCH OF ACTION WRETLING. Oh no, unlike your little Addams Family shtick, I wouldn't lock you up in some dingy fuckin' basement to try an' torture ya; Devil's Gate fucked you up mentally an' physically more than I ever could. NAAAAAH, I'd wear ya down by relentlessly goin' after ya over an' over again. Win or lose, I wouldn't be stopped from ETCHING MY NAME into your flesh next to that neat little Thirteen scar. I'd wear ya down until what remains of your fuckin' soul shatters and you WISH you hadn't woken the fuck up from bein' a lizard-cicle.
FUCK IT.
How about I just make those little "what ifs" into reality an' start the DECIMATION OF YOUR SPIRIT by ONCE AGAIN BEATING YOU for an oh-so-prestigious Action Wrestling Championship; REALLY kill ya with the American Dream. How about I turn this little "touch of evil" ya rediscovered on its fuckin' head and show you EXACTLY WHY this little "purge the weak" shit isn't gonna work for ya like it hasn't worked for The Green or Sicko.
Sounds fun, yeah?
Alone in the apartment that he shared with his younger sister, Jackie stood hunched over the kitchenette as he frantically scrolled through past messages; elbows growing more sore by the moment as he focused solely on his phone's screen. By some miracle, he noticed that Jessie hadn't gotten home yet when he had gotten up to pee and get something to drink and he had now spent at least the last forty-five minutes checking and double-checking to see if he had missed a message from her. However, that was as far as his luck had gone and the more he looked the more he realized that there wasn't anything explaining her absence.
"Fuckin' hell," he grumbled "Maybe she's with that dipshit."
Anxiety mounting, Jackie quickly flicked over to the call screen and flicked the number he was hoping had answers.
"Y'ello?" came the groggy reply as a man answered.
"Mike?" he said a touch desperately "It's Jackie. I was wonderin' if Jess was with ya."
"Jess? With me?" Micheal repeated before the sound of shifting sheets could be heard "Nah man, she ain't with me."
"Fuckin' hell." Jackie breathed angrily as the worst-case scenarios flashed through his mind. His sister was a tough bitch, he knew that very well firsthand. However, there was still shit out there where being tough only got you so far.
"She ain't with you?" Micheal questioned; finally catching on.
"Nuh-uh," Jackie replied "I was hopin' she was with you."
"Nope. Last time I even spoke to her was earlier and she told me she needed to head home to train."
"Train? For what?"
"For the upcoming Monday Night Clash. Kept saying it was important and she needed to focus. Which is funny 'cause she seemed pretty out of it. Wasn't really into Netflix an' Chill."
"Fuckin' gross," Jackie said immediately "I'm her fuckin' brother, remember? Don't tell me that shit."
"Don't call me 'fore the sun is up then." Micheal said with a sleepy chuckle.
"Whatever. Just wake the fuck up and see if ya can't get a hold of her."
"Like, on my phone?"
"Yes!" Jackie snapped in exasperation "On your fuckin' phone!"
"What're you going to do?"
"Find her and kick her stupid ass." he said finality before ending the call and marching back into his bedroom to change. It had only been a few days since Monday Night Clash and of course she had been out of it. The stubborn girl had finally cut ties with those creepy fucks associated with Thaddeus Franklin King and had just been getting used to things. Alright, that was a lie. His sister HAD a direction and, unfortunately, the big lizard dude had decided to make it worse.
"I just hope she isn't doing something stupid."
Don't get shit twisted now.
Me TAKING the United States strap from ya ain't just about the get-back from the horseshit you did last Monday Night. It ain't even completely about REGAINING it either. It's about RE-ESTABLISHING the harsh reality that the Dommy Mommy is a REAL FUCKING CONTENDER; that she's a REAL FUCKING THREAT REGARDLESS OF CHAMPIONSHIP OR CHALLENGER. It's about PROVING the idea that The Sitcom WASN'T the silver bullet to the fuckin' MONSTER I AM. So when that bell rings an' we're left to tear down another bloody arena, IT AIN'T ABOUT YOU.
It's about ME.
It's about me PROVING, DEFINING, AND REDEFINING who I am in this fucking company and what's going to happen to people if they continue buying into their poorly conceived ideas about who I am. It's about demonstrating to the world that if given the chance ~A REAL FUCKING CHANCE~ I can do MORE than just SHATTER those glass ceilings that've been set for me by BOTH the motherfuckers in back AND the self-centered delusional cunts that THRIVE off playin' gatekeeper 'cause they've given up on BEING THE BEST.
DO YOU HEAR ME?
DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?
YOU can beat me, batter me, bloody me up a thousand an' one times but there isn't ANYTHING you can do that's going to keep me from accomplishing that goal. Alice Gemini, Jonny Cedrone, and Doc Holiday can't stop me. Cipher, Odin, and Addy couldn't keep me down. Most of all Downfall, Corey Black, an' Sitcom couldn't fuckin' KILL ME.
YOU?
You haven't even come close an' you NEVER WILL.
Oh, you'll fuckin' try. I EXPECT you to fuckin' TRY. It's just that when it comes to steppin' between those ropes and puttin' on a bloody good fight there isn't ANYONE BETTER than the MONDAY NIGHT MOMMY. 'Cause unlike YOU I don't BEND or BREAK. I DON'T tuck my tail between my legs an' go crawling back to what's FAMILIAR. Since I lost the United States strap I've GROWN an' I've ADAPTED while you RETREATED an' REVERTED to the silly little fuck-knuckle that you were when you "landed" in Action Wrestling; the same when I BEAT YOU.
So bring it on, DRAUGERNAUT. Bring the most SICK, TWISTED, DIABOLICAL mindset that you and your masters can muster 'cause I can PROMISE you that its going to pale in comparison to what I'm gonna do. An' what I'm gonna do is what I'm BEST at.
BREAKING.
HEARTS.
Me TAKING the United States strap from ya ain't just about the get-back from the horseshit you did last Monday Night. It ain't even completely about REGAINING it either. It's about RE-ESTABLISHING the harsh reality that the Dommy Mommy is a REAL FUCKING CONTENDER; that she's a REAL FUCKING THREAT REGARDLESS OF CHAMPIONSHIP OR CHALLENGER. It's about PROVING the idea that The Sitcom WASN'T the silver bullet to the fuckin' MONSTER I AM. So when that bell rings an' we're left to tear down another bloody arena, IT AIN'T ABOUT YOU.
It's about ME.
It's about me PROVING, DEFINING, AND REDEFINING who I am in this fucking company and what's going to happen to people if they continue buying into their poorly conceived ideas about who I am. It's about demonstrating to the world that if given the chance ~A REAL FUCKING CHANCE~ I can do MORE than just SHATTER those glass ceilings that've been set for me by BOTH the motherfuckers in back AND the self-centered delusional cunts that THRIVE off playin' gatekeeper 'cause they've given up on BEING THE BEST.
DO YOU HEAR ME?
DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?
YOU can beat me, batter me, bloody me up a thousand an' one times but there isn't ANYTHING you can do that's going to keep me from accomplishing that goal. Alice Gemini, Jonny Cedrone, and Doc Holiday can't stop me. Cipher, Odin, and Addy couldn't keep me down. Most of all Downfall, Corey Black, an' Sitcom couldn't fuckin' KILL ME.
YOU?
You haven't even come close an' you NEVER WILL.
Oh, you'll fuckin' try. I EXPECT you to fuckin' TRY. It's just that when it comes to steppin' between those ropes and puttin' on a bloody good fight there isn't ANYONE BETTER than the MONDAY NIGHT MOMMY. 'Cause unlike YOU I don't BEND or BREAK. I DON'T tuck my tail between my legs an' go crawling back to what's FAMILIAR. Since I lost the United States strap I've GROWN an' I've ADAPTED while you RETREATED an' REVERTED to the silly little fuck-knuckle that you were when you "landed" in Action Wrestling; the same when I BEAT YOU.
So bring it on, DRAUGERNAUT. Bring the most SICK, TWISTED, DIABOLICAL mindset that you and your masters can muster 'cause I can PROMISE you that its going to pale in comparison to what I'm gonna do. An' what I'm gonna do is what I'm BEST at.
BREAKING.
HEARTS.
DING!
Slumping down onto the stool that had been set in the corner, Jessie breathed heavily as sweat stung the open wounds on her face. Across from her sat an equally exhausted stranger who had gotten as good as they had been giving. Around them were dozens of drunken gamblers all eager to make bank on the impromptu bloodsport brawl that they were fortunate enough to witness. She wasn't sure how she had gotten there, but the Action Wrestling Bad Bitch had somehow ended up getting mixed into some weird-ass late-night bare-knuckle fight league where things were going about as well as one would expect. She wasn't sure how long it had been since she had got there, but this was her second fight of the night and her entire body screamed in agony with every breath she took.
'Look at that smug fuck. He thinks you're on the back foot and about ready to call it quits! Are ya gonna call it quits, huh? Gonna bitch out again like when that monster BEAT YOU?'
She wasn't! In fact, if she hadn't been busy heaving oxygen into her lungs the young woman would've shouted some pretty fucking obscene things in response. Which would've startled the two people tending to her facial wounds.
'C'mon, ya fuckin' loser! You're callin' it quits before the fight even starts! Is that what your daddy taught ya? How to be a loser your entire fucking life? Get up! Kill him! Beat him so badly that he's shittin' his teeth for the next four months!'
They were saying something, the people around her, but she couldn't hear anything other than the ringing in her ears. That and the incredibly infuriating intrusive thoughts that kept egging her on. Maybe DRAUGR's assault had bounced her brain around in her skull more than she thought because over the past few days that bloodthirsty little voice in her head had been clearer. No longer did is seem like an auditory hallucination when she was drunk.
'Break his fucking leg an' feed him his God damn heart! He BEAT YOU! Make him pay! Fucking do whatever it takes to KILL HIM! DON'T STOP! YOU DON'T NEED TO BREATHE! GET 'IM! GET 'IM! TAKE WHAT'S YOURS! IT'S YOURS! NOT THEIR'S! BEAT 'IM! BASH 'IM! DON'T STOP UNTIL YOUR BLOOD COATS THE FLOOR!'
Vicious. Savage. The voice in her head demanded that she press on. That she takes what's hers.
She would.
She would take back the United States Championship and she would take the fifteen pounds of flesh that DRAUGR owed her. The pain he would inflict upon her didn't matter. The mental torment he'd undoubtedly seek to inflict didn't matter. Nothing fucking mattered until she got what she WANTED and she wouldn't stop until she GOT IT. They could even try to send her to hell....
But she was already there.
DING! DING!