Da Bitch Is Back
Nov 24, 2019 20:50:53 GMT -5
via mobile
Corey Bull, "The Yokai" Kabukii, and 1 more like this
Post by Abbi Stein on Nov 24, 2019 20:50:53 GMT -5
A crash is heard from another room. Lucious darts in to see Abbi Stein standing over a pile of mannequins and car parts.
What in the blue hell happened?! Are you okay??
Abbi looks at the mess around her, more confused than anything else. She looks up, Starr noticing the TV is playing an episode of the Kardashians. Starr shrugs, waiting for an answer.
I will never understand this. Plastic surgery, incessant meaningless rambling, three hours with a special crew to look mildly presentable to the public…
Lucy sighs, shaking his head. He looks to the television, then back to Stein.
They're overhyped nobodies who only got famous because the oldest one fucked Brandy's little brother back in the day.
Abbi looks to Starr, puzzled. She looks up to the TV, shaking her head as she chuckles. A finger is raised, pointing to a poster for Action Wrestling.
No, no. I'm not talking about Kim Karda-shit-an. I'm talking about that Shady Lube guy. You know; the irrelevant fuck from the Bollywood Defeat. Like, aside from advertising foot cream and being the posterboy for hanger abortions… what exactly is his purpose in Action?? I mean, is Turtle getting a deal on athlete's foot powder?? Is Gil Dugger getting a year's worth of condoms from Planned Parenthood??
Lucious holds up an index finger, looking about the room. He finds the object of his concern; tapping a few buttons and turning the camera to face Abbi.
So this is about the United States Title match. Go on.
Abbi scoffs, waving off Starr. She picks up a mannequin head, looking it over. She tosses it, looking amongst the rubble a bit more.
Seriously. Is this egomaniacal toilet seat licker even doing anything worth the hype?? Fuck. Y'know, I heard that Clash was originally only gonna be an hour long, but they had to start adding an extra hour and a half anytime Shallow Blob actually used his entrance. Like, that's two piss breaks, a food run, a quick visit to your grandmother and half-cooking a fucking roast. For what? Some pompous jackass to walk to the ring and remind people he exists?? Why not just- and I know this is a bit far fetched, but- maybe win a few extra matches? Y'know, make yourself relevant by actually doing something noticeable. Spray-tanned shit stain only has a tag title to his name cuz he rode Sam Adam's cock to the top of the division. Fucking pleb.
Lucious tries to keep his chuckles silent, but his amusement is glaringly obvious. Stein furrows her brow, Starr clearing his throat.
Okay; so how about the other two competitors? Jacqui M sounds…
...like my biggest fan? Calling herself the "Alpha Bitch"? Really?? First off, I was the boss bitch since that cookie-cutter slut was sucking indy cock. Second, there can only be one Alpha Bitch, and that's the first- and technically only- female Trinity World Champion. I'm the Queen Bitch. The Alpha and Omega Bitch. The reason this world came up with the phrase "Head Bitch In Charge". And this herpes infested taint thinks that putting a Q in her abbreviated name makes her special. The kinda special that requires a gawdayum helmet, maybe.
Lucious nods, a slight chuckle. Abbi continues to shuffle through the clusterfuck in the room; looking for something specific. Starr's cell goes off, Lucy looking up to Stein.
Sorry, babe. It's Lightning. I gotta take this.
Lucy takes the call from his head wrestling coach into another room, leaving Abbi's phone propped up. Abbi picks up various car parts, throwing them around and shrugging.
And then… then we have some fucktwit has-been who suddenly realizes that his legacy is shit. So instead of being Spanky Apples, it's now just POS. Gaiz, sursly. Have you seen this guy's resume?
Juicy Ice. Built, plateaued, died.
AW Heavyweight Champion. Plateaued, breakup of #FitShart, lost title and relevance.
Like, seriously. If my career went that far to shit, I'd change my name and skin color, too. Gawdz. Like, I just got one question for the idiot formerly known as Spicy Eggroll: What?!
And a follow up: Dafuq?!?!
For sursly, tho. Like, you got a World Title because you formed a faction of THE most pathetic pieces of genetic trash ever gathered in one place… and from what Lucy told me, didn't have the chops to win it back after you weren't even involved in the decision to lose it in the first place!! What kind of reject…
So you build a group of losers.
Win the World Title based solely on utilizing the numbers game.
Lose the title without being involved in the final pinfall.
Never get the title back.
Fucking pathetic. And yet, you think a changing of your name is suddenly enough to get you the United States Title.
Abbi steps out of the rubble, grabbing her phone. She hovers out of the room and out to a balcony at Starr Manor. She takes a second, a sigh.
So for those keeping score at home: my competition at Turmoil includes a cheap blonde knockoff of myself; an overhyped off-off-off-off Broadway wannabe; and some pathetic sack of monkey shit who destroys everything he lays his grubby hands on.
Seriously. Can we throw Jobber Dave in this bitch just so I have a mildly acceptable challenge? For fuck's sake…
I have a wash to prepare for, bitches and bastards. Y'all keep your eye on ya girl, and I'll see y'all at Turmoil when I win the United States Championship, mmkay? Toodles!!
Abbi closes the live feed to her Twitter, walking back into the room she previously trashed. She looks about the rubble, pulling what appears to be fabric of some sort. She looks it over, a grin.
I swear, I'd lose my fuckin marbles if'n I still had any. LUCY!! I need the maid!! My top needs washed before Turmoil!!
What in the blue hell happened?! Are you okay??
Abbi looks at the mess around her, more confused than anything else. She looks up, Starr noticing the TV is playing an episode of the Kardashians. Starr shrugs, waiting for an answer.
I will never understand this. Plastic surgery, incessant meaningless rambling, three hours with a special crew to look mildly presentable to the public…
Lucy sighs, shaking his head. He looks to the television, then back to Stein.
They're overhyped nobodies who only got famous because the oldest one fucked Brandy's little brother back in the day.
Abbi looks to Starr, puzzled. She looks up to the TV, shaking her head as she chuckles. A finger is raised, pointing to a poster for Action Wrestling.
No, no. I'm not talking about Kim Karda-shit-an. I'm talking about that Shady Lube guy. You know; the irrelevant fuck from the Bollywood Defeat. Like, aside from advertising foot cream and being the posterboy for hanger abortions… what exactly is his purpose in Action?? I mean, is Turtle getting a deal on athlete's foot powder?? Is Gil Dugger getting a year's worth of condoms from Planned Parenthood??
Lucious holds up an index finger, looking about the room. He finds the object of his concern; tapping a few buttons and turning the camera to face Abbi.
So this is about the United States Title match. Go on.
Abbi scoffs, waving off Starr. She picks up a mannequin head, looking it over. She tosses it, looking amongst the rubble a bit more.
Seriously. Is this egomaniacal toilet seat licker even doing anything worth the hype?? Fuck. Y'know, I heard that Clash was originally only gonna be an hour long, but they had to start adding an extra hour and a half anytime Shallow Blob actually used his entrance. Like, that's two piss breaks, a food run, a quick visit to your grandmother and half-cooking a fucking roast. For what? Some pompous jackass to walk to the ring and remind people he exists?? Why not just- and I know this is a bit far fetched, but- maybe win a few extra matches? Y'know, make yourself relevant by actually doing something noticeable. Spray-tanned shit stain only has a tag title to his name cuz he rode Sam Adam's cock to the top of the division. Fucking pleb.
Lucious tries to keep his chuckles silent, but his amusement is glaringly obvious. Stein furrows her brow, Starr clearing his throat.
Okay; so how about the other two competitors? Jacqui M sounds…
...like my biggest fan? Calling herself the "Alpha Bitch"? Really?? First off, I was the boss bitch since that cookie-cutter slut was sucking indy cock. Second, there can only be one Alpha Bitch, and that's the first- and technically only- female Trinity World Champion. I'm the Queen Bitch. The Alpha and Omega Bitch. The reason this world came up with the phrase "Head Bitch In Charge". And this herpes infested taint thinks that putting a Q in her abbreviated name makes her special. The kinda special that requires a gawdayum helmet, maybe.
Lucious nods, a slight chuckle. Abbi continues to shuffle through the clusterfuck in the room; looking for something specific. Starr's cell goes off, Lucy looking up to Stein.
Sorry, babe. It's Lightning. I gotta take this.
Lucy takes the call from his head wrestling coach into another room, leaving Abbi's phone propped up. Abbi picks up various car parts, throwing them around and shrugging.
And then… then we have some fucktwit has-been who suddenly realizes that his legacy is shit. So instead of being Spanky Apples, it's now just POS. Gaiz, sursly. Have you seen this guy's resume?
Juicy Ice. Built, plateaued, died.
AW Heavyweight Champion. Plateaued, breakup of #FitShart, lost title and relevance.
Like, seriously. If my career went that far to shit, I'd change my name and skin color, too. Gawdz. Like, I just got one question for the idiot formerly known as Spicy Eggroll: What?!
And a follow up: Dafuq?!?!
For sursly, tho. Like, you got a World Title because you formed a faction of THE most pathetic pieces of genetic trash ever gathered in one place… and from what Lucy told me, didn't have the chops to win it back after you weren't even involved in the decision to lose it in the first place!! What kind of reject…
So you build a group of losers.
Win the World Title based solely on utilizing the numbers game.
Lose the title without being involved in the final pinfall.
Never get the title back.
Fucking pathetic. And yet, you think a changing of your name is suddenly enough to get you the United States Title.
Abbi steps out of the rubble, grabbing her phone. She hovers out of the room and out to a balcony at Starr Manor. She takes a second, a sigh.
So for those keeping score at home: my competition at Turmoil includes a cheap blonde knockoff of myself; an overhyped off-off-off-off Broadway wannabe; and some pathetic sack of monkey shit who destroys everything he lays his grubby hands on.
Seriously. Can we throw Jobber Dave in this bitch just so I have a mildly acceptable challenge? For fuck's sake…
I have a wash to prepare for, bitches and bastards. Y'all keep your eye on ya girl, and I'll see y'all at Turmoil when I win the United States Championship, mmkay? Toodles!!
Abbi closes the live feed to her Twitter, walking back into the room she previously trashed. She looks about the rubble, pulling what appears to be fabric of some sort. She looks it over, a grin.
I swear, I'd lose my fuckin marbles if'n I still had any. LUCY!! I need the maid!! My top needs washed before Turmoil!!