Post by Jessie Lee on Jun 9, 2024 6:23:54 GMT -5
Hey yo!
Here we go!
Evolution Seven is just around the corner and all the eager beavers are trying their damnedest to set their vibes and grab hold of a spot on the grandest fucking stage that Action Wrestling has for the year. I know it's been a hot minute since ya seen something from the Monday Night Mommy and whether or not that's been a good thing is completely subjective to you and whatever little circle twatsquad ya run with. The important thing is I'm here again so it's best ya remove your hands from the limp dick sitting next to ya and pay some serious attention 'cause I got some shit to say.
So listen up!
You specifically, Niobody Martin!
Ya silly fucking goomba.
I know that you're all a quiver at the thought of getting your tiny blonde ass stomped into the ground this Monday Night Clash and I'm sure you're vibrating in anticipation over this little opportunity that Brady Blowjob handed you on a silver fucking platter, but let me make something clear enough so that even someone like you with an IQ lower than room temperature can understand.
You're just a fucking body.
Short, sweet, and straight to the point; you're just being shoved into this main event to act as meat for the meat grinder as this little clusterfuck between me and Lizaro continues on another week. Contrary to the little tagline, this "Golden Opportunity" ain't so fucking golden fo ya. Oh, I'm sure you’re drooling over the thoughts of "What if I beat DRAUGR?" or "What if I beat the Dommy Mommy?" and you've become completely enamored with the grand delusion that you have a chance at pulling off the BIGGEST UPSET of the year and walk out of Salt Lake City as the NEW Action Wrestling United States Champion as we cruise along the road to Evo, and in all honestly, I'm sure there might be one or two of your inbred relatives pulling for ya to do just that. And why wouldn't they? You might only have a few cents of sense, but you're an extremely talented individual who isn't afraid to do what it takes to win. Every night when you march out from behind that curtain, whether it's for another loss to Addy or one of the rare wins, you show up and deliver EVERYTHING ya have in that tiny-ass frame.
But Niobs, it just ain't gonna be enough.
Not this time.
And I just ain't saying that out of contempt or to continue pushing the fact that some people think you're a fucking loser only thrown into this match to eat the loss. It's because, when it comes to the mentality needed for this industry, you're the weakest bloody link. Getting beaten down time and again is as mentally exhausting as it is physically, but people can tell when you've given up; when you're just going through the motions hoping that somehow something lucks out in your favor. You show up and deliver a decent, but you don't SHOW OUT. You don't go down to that ring with your heart, mind, and soul focused on STEALING THE SHOW. For you, just having a fucking job is good enough and ya couldn't be assed to do more than needed to get onto the next show. and that weak-ass attitude isn't going to do ya much good. Not when ya got two feral motherfuckers that are SOLELY FOCUSED on that shiny United States Championship strap.
You might think I'm lying, but I like ya Niobs. I really do. And someday I think you're gonna be a real firestarter in this sport.
It's just not going to happen this Monday night.
Or any time you're in the ring with ME.
Or HIM.
Here we go!
Evolution Seven is just around the corner and all the eager beavers are trying their damnedest to set their vibes and grab hold of a spot on the grandest fucking stage that Action Wrestling has for the year. I know it's been a hot minute since ya seen something from the Monday Night Mommy and whether or not that's been a good thing is completely subjective to you and whatever little circle twatsquad ya run with. The important thing is I'm here again so it's best ya remove your hands from the limp dick sitting next to ya and pay some serious attention 'cause I got some shit to say.
So listen up!
You specifically, Niobody Martin!
Ya silly fucking goomba.
I know that you're all a quiver at the thought of getting your tiny blonde ass stomped into the ground this Monday Night Clash and I'm sure you're vibrating in anticipation over this little opportunity that Brady Blowjob handed you on a silver fucking platter, but let me make something clear enough so that even someone like you with an IQ lower than room temperature can understand.
You're just a fucking body.
Short, sweet, and straight to the point; you're just being shoved into this main event to act as meat for the meat grinder as this little clusterfuck between me and Lizaro continues on another week. Contrary to the little tagline, this "Golden Opportunity" ain't so fucking golden fo ya. Oh, I'm sure you’re drooling over the thoughts of "What if I beat DRAUGR?" or "What if I beat the Dommy Mommy?" and you've become completely enamored with the grand delusion that you have a chance at pulling off the BIGGEST UPSET of the year and walk out of Salt Lake City as the NEW Action Wrestling United States Champion as we cruise along the road to Evo, and in all honestly, I'm sure there might be one or two of your inbred relatives pulling for ya to do just that. And why wouldn't they? You might only have a few cents of sense, but you're an extremely talented individual who isn't afraid to do what it takes to win. Every night when you march out from behind that curtain, whether it's for another loss to Addy or one of the rare wins, you show up and deliver EVERYTHING ya have in that tiny-ass frame.
But Niobs, it just ain't gonna be enough.
Not this time.
And I just ain't saying that out of contempt or to continue pushing the fact that some people think you're a fucking loser only thrown into this match to eat the loss. It's because, when it comes to the mentality needed for this industry, you're the weakest bloody link. Getting beaten down time and again is as mentally exhausting as it is physically, but people can tell when you've given up; when you're just going through the motions hoping that somehow something lucks out in your favor. You show up and deliver a decent, but you don't SHOW OUT. You don't go down to that ring with your heart, mind, and soul focused on STEALING THE SHOW. For you, just having a fucking job is good enough and ya couldn't be assed to do more than needed to get onto the next show. and that weak-ass attitude isn't going to do ya much good. Not when ya got two feral motherfuckers that are SOLELY FOCUSED on that shiny United States Championship strap.
You might think I'm lying, but I like ya Niobs. I really do. And someday I think you're gonna be a real firestarter in this sport.
It's just not going to happen this Monday night.
Or any time you're in the ring with ME.
Or HIM.
"I'm gonna fuckin' kill the stupid cunt." Jackie growled under his breath as he sat in one of the many waiting areas for Kayfabe Airlines; both hands clutching the dead phone with both hands as his desperate reflection stared back. He should've flown to Las Vegas three weeks ago to beat some sense into his little sister. He really should have, but he was keenly aware that it wouldn't have solved anything. Not with their personalities. Even then, if it wasn't for the constant coaxing of Micheal he knew he wouldn't even be doing this.
After beating her to a pulp he was going to have to figure out a way to thank the blonde asshole.
Not that it would be easy to bring her back. The little shitstain that was Jess, much like himself, had always been a chaotic mess at best. So whether things were going well or not the chances were high that there would be blood and violence to cause it to come crashing down. And, as much as he didn't want to, he had to step in to try and fill the void that Andy's passing had caused; for both her and himself.
Calling it a tall order was an understatement.
So here he was, the screwed-up middle child trying his best to navigate his sobriety while trying to act as the keeper to his wild-child younger sister. Who, as anyone with a television might suspect, wasn't the easiest to get along with.
"Flight to Salt Lake City, Utah now boarding."
"Wish me luck, Ands." he whispered to himself as he gathered his things and proceeded to board.
Right, DRAUGR?
You're not looking at her like she's any kind of REAL THREAT. You might pass on some nice words that'll try and convince people otherwise, but you're fully aware that she just doesn't have that steely mentality needed to be anything more than a glorified "enhancement talent". Nah, this Clash is going to come down to me and you once again tearing each other apart for the strap; tearing down the very foundations of the Hunstman Center in the CERTIFIED BANGER of a main event.
It's what WE DO.
Now, I could sit here and ramble on some more about how you're still that big bad fucking Juggernaut and I'm the female Aussie version of Marvel's favorite mean-mugging Canadian mutants with a shiny metal skeleton, but your inability to permanently take me out is going to be on full display in a few short days. Instead, I'm gonna go a bit of a different route and I think it's one of the few things that really tie us together in this back-and-forth blood struggle we've been on. Think of it as a snippet of self-reflection or some shit.
Family.
It might seem absurd coming from someone like me, but from what I've seen family is a fairly integral aspect of who we are. Sure, my assclown of a brother ain't in the business like Pettis or your grandbaby Sprinkles, but I can tell you without a doubt that I wouldn't hesitate to gut and bury the motherfucker stupid enough to fuck with him; that's MY fucking birthright, So I'm sure in your own twisted Devil's Gate way that you're doing your best to keep this newfound family of yours as safe as ya can. Even if ya gotta turn into that REAL MONSTER ya sport on your face. Hell, it was probably the hard decision ya had to make when that health scare bit you in the ass and I ain't going to say something stupid like "it was a mistake" or some shit. If anything, I might've done the same if I were a big old shit brickhouse mountain of a man with a family history of dying in the fucking ring.
But I ain't and I don't.
Hell, I'm not even a MONSTER either.
I'm fucking WORSE.
I'm HUMAN.
Yeah, I know it might sound fucking lame to the ignorant fucks that thinks a "Higher Power" is somehow involved with their twisted fuckery but the reality is that there isn't a thing SCARIER than a person whose KNOWS full well that what their doing is fucked/ That, in any other world, they'd be locked away in the deepest prison or strapped to a table for a lethal injection. You might think that fulfilling this dehumanization gambit at Devil's Gate will make you into the personification of "MIGHTY". Throwing away what makes you human will make you the PERFECT SHIELD for your family.
But me?
I ain't ever been anything more than the SWORD that cuts and stabs everyone around her. Family, friends, random people on the street? They all get the sharp pointy bits of the jagged and jaded bitch that is Jessie Lee. And at first, that might seem like everything is going alright. I mean, here I am in the main event of one of the most watched weekly televised wrestling events where people are screaming their lungs out for the MOST WANTED WOMAN IN PROFESSIONAL WREsTLING and I should probably be taking some solace in that.
But it isn't.
It might NEVER BE.
However, all I can do is try and repay all the support that the people are giving and there isn't any better way for me to do that than to take that United States Championship. Will it be one of the most difficult things in my life? Absolutely, but standing toe-to-toe with some titanic challenges has been a calling card of mine and this third confrontation isn't going to be any different. We'll fight so fucking brutally that Salt Lake City will ban us and we'll ~I'LL DELIVER~ a match worthy of the legacy that has been built around that strap.
And there ain't shit you can do to stop me.
You or Niobe.
So much so that when the final bell rings and the dust settles there will only be ONE person standing tall with their arm raised high. There will only be ONE WOMAN that will be moving forward upon the path of eternal glory in the professional wrestling world. Most of all, there'll only be ONE human weapon walking out with championship gold BACK around her waist.
Then just maybe it'll feel like I can breathe again.
So tighten your edgy emo-wannabe ring gear, get that last bit of Devil's Gate mojo, and pull yourselves together for a bloody fucking bloodbath 'cause Monday Night Clash is gonna get LEETHAL.
You're not looking at her like she's any kind of REAL THREAT. You might pass on some nice words that'll try and convince people otherwise, but you're fully aware that she just doesn't have that steely mentality needed to be anything more than a glorified "enhancement talent". Nah, this Clash is going to come down to me and you once again tearing each other apart for the strap; tearing down the very foundations of the Hunstman Center in the CERTIFIED BANGER of a main event.
It's what WE DO.
Now, I could sit here and ramble on some more about how you're still that big bad fucking Juggernaut and I'm the female Aussie version of Marvel's favorite mean-mugging Canadian mutants with a shiny metal skeleton, but your inability to permanently take me out is going to be on full display in a few short days. Instead, I'm gonna go a bit of a different route and I think it's one of the few things that really tie us together in this back-and-forth blood struggle we've been on. Think of it as a snippet of self-reflection or some shit.
Family.
It might seem absurd coming from someone like me, but from what I've seen family is a fairly integral aspect of who we are. Sure, my assclown of a brother ain't in the business like Pettis or your grandbaby Sprinkles, but I can tell you without a doubt that I wouldn't hesitate to gut and bury the motherfucker stupid enough to fuck with him; that's MY fucking birthright, So I'm sure in your own twisted Devil's Gate way that you're doing your best to keep this newfound family of yours as safe as ya can. Even if ya gotta turn into that REAL MONSTER ya sport on your face. Hell, it was probably the hard decision ya had to make when that health scare bit you in the ass and I ain't going to say something stupid like "it was a mistake" or some shit. If anything, I might've done the same if I were a big old shit brickhouse mountain of a man with a family history of dying in the fucking ring.
But I ain't and I don't.
Hell, I'm not even a MONSTER either.
I'm fucking WORSE.
I'm HUMAN.
Yeah, I know it might sound fucking lame to the ignorant fucks that thinks a "Higher Power" is somehow involved with their twisted fuckery but the reality is that there isn't a thing SCARIER than a person whose KNOWS full well that what their doing is fucked/ That, in any other world, they'd be locked away in the deepest prison or strapped to a table for a lethal injection. You might think that fulfilling this dehumanization gambit at Devil's Gate will make you into the personification of "MIGHTY". Throwing away what makes you human will make you the PERFECT SHIELD for your family.
But me?
I ain't ever been anything more than the SWORD that cuts and stabs everyone around her. Family, friends, random people on the street? They all get the sharp pointy bits of the jagged and jaded bitch that is Jessie Lee. And at first, that might seem like everything is going alright. I mean, here I am in the main event of one of the most watched weekly televised wrestling events where people are screaming their lungs out for the MOST WANTED WOMAN IN PROFESSIONAL WREsTLING and I should probably be taking some solace in that.
But it isn't.
It might NEVER BE.
However, all I can do is try and repay all the support that the people are giving and there isn't any better way for me to do that than to take that United States Championship. Will it be one of the most difficult things in my life? Absolutely, but standing toe-to-toe with some titanic challenges has been a calling card of mine and this third confrontation isn't going to be any different. We'll fight so fucking brutally that Salt Lake City will ban us and we'll ~I'LL DELIVER~ a match worthy of the legacy that has been built around that strap.
And there ain't shit you can do to stop me.
You or Niobe.
So much so that when the final bell rings and the dust settles there will only be ONE person standing tall with their arm raised high. There will only be ONE WOMAN that will be moving forward upon the path of eternal glory in the professional wrestling world. Most of all, there'll only be ONE human weapon walking out with championship gold BACK around her waist.
Then just maybe it'll feel like I can breathe again.
So tighten your edgy emo-wannabe ring gear, get that last bit of Devil's Gate mojo, and pull yourselves together for a bloody fucking bloodbath 'cause Monday Night Clash is gonna get LEETHAL.
With the consistent rumble of the bus slowly to a stop, Action Wrestling's foul-mouth volatile vixen closed the notebook she had been writing in and slid it back into place within the confines of the new bookbag that she bought a week into her solo adventure. As loathe as she was to admit it, not having her jackass of a brother helping her film promos was something she missed. With him behind the camera, she could just go off and let loose all the chaos bouncing around in her skull without fear or worrying whether or not the other person with her was offended. So, as a way to compensate, she had decided to go back to what helped during her preteen years; when she really struggled with her emotions. It wasn't a good sweat-inducing workout, but it helped her with getting her thoughts in order.
Which was her biggest concern.
Havoc had come and gone and once again she found herself on the outside looking in when it came to winning the coveted United States Championship. The last outing she had over it had been....less than ideal and a part of her felt like this week was going to be more of the same. Not only did she have to try and beat down the massive meat mountain that was DRAUGR, but Niobe was now rolling about as the third wheel in the chase making an already monumental task all the more difficult.
But that wasn't going to stop her.
Nothing would.
"Wish me luck, Andy." she murmured to herself as she gathered her luggage and stepped out into the fresh air of Salt Lake City.