Post by Bonnie Blue on May 11, 2018 15:49:37 GMT -5
Framed against a generic white backdrop, the Viceland and Action Wrestling logos in an alternating pattern, is Bonnie Blue. Dressed in jeans and a faded UCI t-shirt, her aquamarine locks washed out to a dull greenish hue, she gazes at the camera with a dwindling spark of defiance in sea-blue eyes.
“This was s’posed to be a fresh start. A do-over after getting repeatedly sodomized at WCF. After Spencer Adams went and sold UCI to that scumbag Vincent Pryde. I was s’posed to walk up in here, start kickin’ ass an’ takin’ names.
Instead, ya girl goes on a losing streak that makes Waterloo look like a water park. And yes, that was a random Bill and Ted reference for no fucking reason, because I got four thousand words to fill and, honestly, not that much to say.
See, I was gonna do this whole promo addressed to ol’ Spence, ‘cause we still got us a score to settle. Was gonna run down the competition, explain to him why it'd be Bonnie Blue facing his cowardly ass at Evolution an’ takin’ that shiny title for herself. And then I got a look at the real competition, the ones not officially named. By the way, that's not a fun surprise, it just means I'm getting eliminated faster.
Because, let's face it: I'm only in this rumble so that somebody gets to brag about eliminating Bonnie Blue. Which ain't much to boast about, unless you're Max Masked -- and that's probably exactly how this shit’s gonna go down. ‘Cause apparently, every title I've ever held has been a joke, every victory hollow as the space between Odin Balfore’s ears. I was just real slow to get the punchline. Ell-oh-ell!
I mean, I haven't lost a step. If anything, I'm better’n ever. Which, again, ain't saying much. No wonder Wade’s off chasing other bitches; I wouldn't be interested in a loser like me, either.”
Her shrug is a study in exaggerated casualness, though her eyes glisten with a hint of pain; quickly squashed, just like her career.
“Y’know, Reece Shaw said I just go whichever way the wind blows, that I'm a hypocrite, using my alliance with #beachkrew as an example. Yeah, I hated them bois for the longest time, and the feeling was mutual. Which was why joining was such a dramatic swerve. But, see, I thought joining #beachkrew was a point of character growth for me, as a person. Putting aside all our hard feelings, working together toward a common goal -- with the whole nifty subplot about finding love in the arms of a former enemy -- an entire character arc that lends me more depth.
For that matter, I could admit that, in part, I was using #beachkrew to further my own career. Woulda been a fool not to. Or I could claim John Rabid brainwashed me with his vampire mojo, and forced me to join against my will. But fuck that. That would be a lie, and that’s what would make me a hypocrite; I was proud to count myself, however briefly, as a member of #beachkrew -- even if it was, as Rabid once said, the B-team. Because whatever anybody wants to say about it, the fact is, I earned my place among the likes of Jared Holmes, Wade Moor, and John Rabid.
But no, Reece, you're right: I'm a talentless hack with no substance. You would be the resident expert on those matters, considerin’ the company you keep, ya shallow twat.”
Bonnie flips a backward peace sign at the camera for emphasis.
“Ok, which of these pathetic cocksuckers is next? Bear with me, guys. I have a list and I really didn't take the time to prioritize because I already know who's winning this bullshit. Spoilers: Not Bonnie Blue.
Nah, it's gonna Oldman Ballsack. He always wins everything. Ain't that right, old man? This gonna be a repeat of WCF all over again. You gonna win Havoc because you're Oldman Ballsack, the GAWD of WAR. Then you gonna assrape Spencer Adams outta his A-Dub World Title -- and promptly turn around and lose it to motherfuckin’ Adam Young. ‘Cause y'all all think this shit’s a joke.
Y'all all think I’m a joke.
I'd say it's high time I showed y'all diff’rent.
Except it really don't matter. My career ain't salvageable. I've eaten too many losses. Might as well change my name to Karlie Nash, start munching gray carpet, amirite? At least then I'd have some kinda substance, instead of some retarded sci-fi gimmick that only appeals to twelve year olds or whatever. Shit, I'll be lucky to ever sell another t-shirt again.
Ok I'm still mad about this fucking shitstain Reece. Fuck you, Reece. Fuck you and your tag partners. Talk about I'm the one sucking a fat man's cock, but your black ass be spending an awful lotta time with Philly behind closed doors. Fgt. Further to your point, Wade ain't fat. There was a whole story arc about it. Now who ain't researching? You two fuccbois got way too much interest in who's fucking what or whom, but I guess that's a good strategy for keeping hold of a couple of trash titles y'all couldn’ta got on your own. Enjoy not eating out of garbage cans -- that's ‘rubbish bins’ to you British fucktards -- while y'all can. I give it two weeks before you job those belts to somebody else equally awful, another month until y'all decide to hit the unemployment line, and by the time summer is over, y'all ain't nothing but a dim, unpleasant memory.
For that matter, I already forgot the other one's name. I mean, he didn't really piss me off, since he fixated on my partner and mentioned my name exactly one time. Yeah, how's that for research? Ya boi, what's-his-face; Felicia maybe? That sounds mostly right -- Felicia Simpleton. I could really reach and call him Fellatio, shove that whole dick sucking reference right down y’alls throat… but I got more class than that.”
Untinted, pale pink lips turn up in a cocky smirk; sea-blue eyes glitter with mischievous intent.
“I'll content myself with a simple ‘Bye, Felicia’ and move on to the next chump. That's a wide field to choose from. I heard Kyle Kemp volunteered to get squashed in this thing, too; but at least he’ll last longer than me. Least talented member of #beachkrew, the one so dull he didn't even get a cute pun for a nickname. Although to be fair, mine wasn't cute or a pun. #DeepBlueSea. Jared hung a lot of responsibility on ya girl with that, and I reckon that trust was misplaced, because look at the fucking failure I am now. Nah, Kemp, I ain't got room to talk shit. You beat me for my WCF hardcore belt, and if you'd been capable of defending it one time, that mighta made you better than me. Instead, what do you do but roll right over for Mikey X? One week as hardcore champ. At least I managed to make it work for over a month, and Bonnie Blue is the biggest loser in this industry.
But hey, you pinned me once, and -- oh wait. Nah, ya didn't. It was that silly bastard Jason O'Neal you pinned. So you're better than him -- but who isn't?”
Another elaborate shrug accentuates the modest curve of her breast, unbound beneath her well-worn UCI t-shirt.
“Yeah, that's rhetorical. So speaking of Mikey X -- I know, it's Michael now, but it's a really hard habit to break -- I reckon your inclusion in this massive clusterfuck is kinda an open secret. That Hawt Amerikan Dankness or whatever, right? Now you, unlike Kemp, do have a pinfall victory over Bonnie Blue. Congratulations, that means exactly fuck-all. There are three people left in this business who remember when I used to be good. Or at least when Spencer took enough pity on me to let me have a title or two. I'm not even sure anymore. Point is, the competition at UCI can't have been that tough if I had titles over there.
Everyone at WCF was right. Everyone who ever hated my character was right.
So, at least you accorded me enough respect not to immediately dismiss me as the garbage I actually am. For that, you have my gratitude. Although it does make me wonder about your judgement.”
She gives the camera a theatrical wink.
“I used to feel confident in all these accolades I thought I'd achieved over the last year or so: being the first ever UCI tag team champions, the only three-time tag champ, the only two-time dual champ and the first woman in UCI to do so, the only two-time UCI Intercontinental champ, and the second-longest reigning UCI World Champ. That sounds impressive as fuck, don't it?
All that in the span of less than a year!
…. all a fucking joke. Because clearly, that was all to shut me up. No way I could have earned all those titles, especially judging by my performances in the ring lately. Or maybe always. I even bet my ‘fans’ were, I dunno, crisis actors probably. Ain't no Blue Ballers, not for real; just people who collect a paycheck for pretending to like me.
That's a much more plausible conspiracy theory, ain't it? That a fed owner would risk his reputation and his livelihood and his entire company just to keep one unskilled and unpopular wrestler happy. Or is it more believable that my career is being horrifically mismanaged?”
The young goddess’ words drip with sarcastic venom.
“I think it's hilarious how everyone wants to put the word conspiracy in my mouth, when I never once even suggested there was anything sinister going on. Well, aside from that time in WCF when Gravedigger took a payoff from Seth Lerch in exchange for taking me out in the WAR match…. Or did ya think I'd forgotten that little detail, Digger?
Nah. Ya girl don't forget some dirty, underhanded shit like that. Just like you apparently still ain't forgot that time I cost you and me both our shot at that Final Destination briefcase. But that one I will blame on Rabid and his Jedi mind trick. Why else would I abandon a guaranteed world title shot, just to put your aging ass through a table? But you've had it out for me ever since, even when I wised up and made peace with #beachkrew -- ya still managed to find fault with me over it. That, from a guy whose loyalties shift like ocean tides.
But it's totally inconceivable that you're still harboring some kinda grudge, right? Maybe subconsciously?
Whatever. You're not even in this match. Unless you are because there are more mystery entrants than there are people on the roster at this point. Gravedigger. Torture. Some Make-A-Wish kid, and I was gonna no sell that, but I mean…. you know what? I'm just gonna let that kid pin me and get out of the way. It's fine. I'll make it look good. Then I can go back to my hotel, order room service, and kick back with a fat blunt. Matter of fact…”
The Daughter of Time pulls a blunt wrapper and a small plastic baggie out of her pocket, sits on the floor on front of the A-Dub backdrop, and proceeds to roll herself a huge blunt, so dank you can smell that shit through your tv screen. This is no ordinary strain, but Bonnie's very own, carefully cultivated homegrown. She rolls that shit with expert precision and fires up. A slow smile spreads across her lips.
“Let's see, speaking of mystery entrants, I'm gonna guess Goku. Yeah that guy's a huge sandbagger. That's his entire gimmick, really. Hold back until the last minute, then unleash hell. That's pretty heelish, when you think about it. At least Vegeta puts his whole heart into it, every damn time, even if it's just a sparring match! Everybody thinks he's the bad dude, but he's the only one with any integrity. He fights for his family, his friends, and the planet that welcomed him even after he tried to kill everyone on it. Goku does it for fun and only considers the consequences afterward.
Oh, wait, those are fictional characters. Well, whatever, point’s still valid. Also the larger overall point, which is that I hate these clusterfuck matches. My daddy figured out how to win War that one time, when he beat Oldman Ballsack. The one and only time in history Odin didn't win War -- no, wait, that's just the hype. That's the expectation the marketing team builds, whether here or there: that the almighty GAWD of WAR wins every battle royal he even thinks about participating in.
Then there's the reality, where he basically gets tired and takes a nap until the match is almost over and all the legit competition is gone. Then he still gets eliminated by some scrub anyway.
One day, maybe I'll be that scrub.”
Bonnie Blue takes another long draw from her blunt, steady gaze fixed on the camera's eye.
“Am I gettin’ my point across yet, or am I being too subtle?
Gravedigger an’ Torture both begged me to come work for this comp’ny, offered all kinda incentives, but stupid me, I thought I didn't need any advantage based on who I am -- or, more accurately, who my daddy is; that I could earn a title shot on my own, without banking on Johnny Reb’s legacy.
Well, at least I'm still getting that fat paycheck, though. Show up, get paid. No effort required.
Not like when I was busting my ass at UCI to win all those belts. Or busting my ass at WCF to be consistently denied any chance at gold -- at least until Management stuck me with the career-killing hardcore belt. I mean, what was I gonna do? Not kick Leon Hayze’s ass for the third week in a row? I'm not sure I coulda lost to the guy if I'd wanted to.
Wait. Why am I still talking about WCF bullshit?”
She takes another toke and pretends to consider.
“Oh, right. Because in spite of the fact that WCF management is lukewarm to me, and basically couldn't care less if I vanished off the face of the Earth, I still have more success there than I do here. Seriously, if I hadn't had the foresight to secure my pay rate at a specific level, I'd be standing in line at soup kitchens like Felix does, drinking cheap gin and whining about how there's no growth in the bar bouncer industry. Fuckwit.
If I were to take any part of my A-Dub career and hold it up as an example of the caliber athlete I am, well… “
She shakes her head and hits the blunt again.
“Honestly, I can't even afford to be in this match. It's gonna tank what was left of my career. So, fuck it. I'mma let the little dying kid pin me, then I'mma grab a chair and wait -- and every time anybody I got a problem with gets eliminated, I'll be there to give ‘em a piece of my mind. That is my strategy for this match. Ain't even gonna bother tryna win, when I can have way more fun taking out my frustration on management's favorites.
Dudes like Donald Deruty and Roy Speede, each hand selected to be champions; or that insufferable bore TFK, with his typical privileged white male viewpoint; or the even more insufferable ‘Big’ John Frost -- is there a ‘Little’ John Frost? Like a midget version? -- who is basically the cookie cutter from which all unseasoned scrubs are molded. UCI Champ? The fuck you are! Anybody oughta be after that belt, it should be me. I was denied every time I tried to invoke my rematch, right up until Spencer Adams sold the company. Me and L Verez got the only legitimate claim to that title, so you best watch back, son.
For that matter, how'd a pleb like you get past Corey Bull, when a multiple-time champion like myself… barely did?
Oh, right. Because I'm an utter failure as a wrestler, and the actual conspiracy was every title reign I ever had.”
Bonnie looks at the blunt smoldering between her fingers, hits it one more time, then lets out a heavy sigh.
“I mean, don't get me wrong. Corey Bull is one tough motherfucker, I just don't see how a guy who has to go out of his way to emphasize how ‘Big’ he is can stand up to that level of brutality.
Ok, look, I'm running out of words, and I wanted to try to mention everyone at least once. But I wasted so much time talking about Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup that I totally don't have much for anybody else. And frankly, I'd rather save what I do have for when it might actually mean something.
By the way, before anybody gets any ideas, I ain't feuding with that guy. I'm done jobbing to nobodies. From now on, Bonnie Blue only jobs to the very best in this business. And terminally ill children. ‘Jobber to the Stars’ -- that's my new gimmick. Does that meet with your approval, Reece, you ignorant cunt? I mean, at least its not some retarded Doctor Who shit, right?
Not that even one promo of mine has involved either superhero shtick or time travel nonsense. Because I know how y'all all feel about anything more creative than chest thumping and shit flinging. I mean, I guess space stuff is fine if you're a Jared Holmes or a John Rabid, because they're geniuses. Demonic possession is totally believable if you're Howard Black or Wade Moor. Immortality is perfectly acceptable if you're Zombie or Crow McMorris.
But all the shit I do is stupid. Because I'm not one of the popular kids, and even when they take pity on me and try to bring me up to their level -- I'm just such a fucking pathetic nerd that my dorkiness actually contaminates everyone around me. That's the real reason there's no #beachkrew anymore. They were caught up and destroyed in my vortex of dorkness.
None of which changes the fact that my Guardians not only rose to prominence under my leadership, but quickly became the most successful, most dominant, most decorated faction in wrestling today -- far outstripping either #beachkrew or Pantheon in their respective first years. And we did all that in spite of Polar Phantasm trying to tank all our careers in the first three months by insisting we not focus on wrestling at all.
Yeah, nobody else remembers that fucking part of the story; when the man we trusted to lead us, instead dragged us through the mud until the name ‘Guardian’ was a joke and even the Marvel Cinematic Universe was putting as much distance between us as possible; how I got the responsibility of leadership dropped right on top of my head; how, in spite of being so woefully underprepared I was afraid Gordon Ramsey was about to start shouting at me -- I nevertheless persevered, and pulled my team out of the muck and mire; how together, we shot through the stratosphere and into superstardom.
Together, but with Bonnie Blue at the helm. But it all came crashing down after Spencer sold out to Pryde. Then Alex Richards went missing under suspicious circumstances, only to turn up later as Pryde’s henchman -- at least until the Insurgency prevailed and put New Blood Wrestling down for the count.
Except when the dust finally cleared, Alex was nowhere to be found. Not him, or Zach or Becky. Like they never existed, until our boi pops back up, but without his superpowers. Ok, sure. Repackage. I get it.
Only you never came back to the Guardians. Didn't let us know what was going on. We coulda helped you, Alex. Guardians do that. But you abandoned us instead. Shit, we coulda done a whole elaborate story arc where we track down your girl and your brother; probably kidnapped by the Society, only this time -- spoiler alert! -- it's Andre Holmes in charge, and he's amassing an army of superpowered degenerates in a bid for global domination! Somewhere along the way, you'd have a big, emotional breakthrough and discover that the power has been inside you the whole time. If we could get Alex Ross to illustrate that shit, we'd all get an Eisner Award!
Which is all well and good, if you're in comics as a profession. But we're wrestlers, and unless there's an Eisner Title Belt, that ain't gonna help us much.
Of course, I can't talk about Guardians without mentioning my boi Kaine -- don't let that shit with that television title get in your head, man. You're one of the best rookies I ever saw, and it was Kevin Bishop's loss when he let you go. Get in that ring, bust some domes, show these beta cucks how a Guardian do!
Which brings me to my current tag partner, L Verez.”
Bonnie cocks her head to one side, a genuine smile playing at her lips.
“Girl, I ain't never seen anybody with the fire you got! The way you come into this business, hit the ground running, never looked back. The way you took on Corey Black and made him your bitch -- even I couldn’ta done that!”
The smile fades.
“So where was that fire last week? Stepping into the ring with Simpleton and Shaw was a real willy-wilter, I know. Those guys couldn't excite an ion. But damn, it ain't like you're any stranger to shenanigans, especially when we both knew full well they'd pull every dirty trick to keep us from those tag titles.
But maybe it was my fault. Clearly, you weren't ready. You can go head to head with a legend like Corey Black, but fall flat in the ring with a couple of fgts nobody ever heard of until they cheated their way into a championship. Or maybe your heart wasn't in it. You'd rather be going after John Frost and that UCI strap -- and who wouldn't?”
Bonnie sighs again.
“It's fine. It's good. You do you. Tag titles can wait.
Nah, besides, there's one thing bothering me a whole lot more than getting outsmarted by three dudes that share one brain -- and that's taking a chairshot from my boyfriend. Maybe Camila had a point, all you had to say for yourself was a halfassed ‘sorry’ after ya damn near knocked me out -- and even that didn't hurt as much as knowing I can't take a few days to get my head on straight before you're running into the arms of some fucking skank. Like, I coulda understood spur of the moment, a few too many shots, and almost doin’ something you'd regret. But you had time to think it over before you called that bitch.
Do the last ten months mean nothing to you, Wade, or are you just that damn insecure?
I dunno, man. Maybe this is for the best. I mean, you're half the reason I needed my space for a few days anyway. It's the way you make me feel… like maybe wrestling ain't the only thing that matters. You make me want things I never really thought about before, and it's weird, and I just needed a little time. Yeah, I shoulda told ya, but it didn't take you long to replace me, so it was all academic anyway. Thanks for setting me straight, Swagrid.”
Sea-blue eyes blaze with the righteous fury of a time goddess.
“I had more, and honestly, no way to comfortably end this nonsense, so…”
She snaps her fingers and the scene fades to black.
“This was s’posed to be a fresh start. A do-over after getting repeatedly sodomized at WCF. After Spencer Adams went and sold UCI to that scumbag Vincent Pryde. I was s’posed to walk up in here, start kickin’ ass an’ takin’ names.
Instead, ya girl goes on a losing streak that makes Waterloo look like a water park. And yes, that was a random Bill and Ted reference for no fucking reason, because I got four thousand words to fill and, honestly, not that much to say.
See, I was gonna do this whole promo addressed to ol’ Spence, ‘cause we still got us a score to settle. Was gonna run down the competition, explain to him why it'd be Bonnie Blue facing his cowardly ass at Evolution an’ takin’ that shiny title for herself. And then I got a look at the real competition, the ones not officially named. By the way, that's not a fun surprise, it just means I'm getting eliminated faster.
Because, let's face it: I'm only in this rumble so that somebody gets to brag about eliminating Bonnie Blue. Which ain't much to boast about, unless you're Max Masked -- and that's probably exactly how this shit’s gonna go down. ‘Cause apparently, every title I've ever held has been a joke, every victory hollow as the space between Odin Balfore’s ears. I was just real slow to get the punchline. Ell-oh-ell!
I mean, I haven't lost a step. If anything, I'm better’n ever. Which, again, ain't saying much. No wonder Wade’s off chasing other bitches; I wouldn't be interested in a loser like me, either.”
Her shrug is a study in exaggerated casualness, though her eyes glisten with a hint of pain; quickly squashed, just like her career.
“Y’know, Reece Shaw said I just go whichever way the wind blows, that I'm a hypocrite, using my alliance with #beachkrew as an example. Yeah, I hated them bois for the longest time, and the feeling was mutual. Which was why joining was such a dramatic swerve. But, see, I thought joining #beachkrew was a point of character growth for me, as a person. Putting aside all our hard feelings, working together toward a common goal -- with the whole nifty subplot about finding love in the arms of a former enemy -- an entire character arc that lends me more depth.
For that matter, I could admit that, in part, I was using #beachkrew to further my own career. Woulda been a fool not to. Or I could claim John Rabid brainwashed me with his vampire mojo, and forced me to join against my will. But fuck that. That would be a lie, and that’s what would make me a hypocrite; I was proud to count myself, however briefly, as a member of #beachkrew -- even if it was, as Rabid once said, the B-team. Because whatever anybody wants to say about it, the fact is, I earned my place among the likes of Jared Holmes, Wade Moor, and John Rabid.
But no, Reece, you're right: I'm a talentless hack with no substance. You would be the resident expert on those matters, considerin’ the company you keep, ya shallow twat.”
Bonnie flips a backward peace sign at the camera for emphasis.
“Ok, which of these pathetic cocksuckers is next? Bear with me, guys. I have a list and I really didn't take the time to prioritize because I already know who's winning this bullshit. Spoilers: Not Bonnie Blue.
Nah, it's gonna Oldman Ballsack. He always wins everything. Ain't that right, old man? This gonna be a repeat of WCF all over again. You gonna win Havoc because you're Oldman Ballsack, the GAWD of WAR. Then you gonna assrape Spencer Adams outta his A-Dub World Title -- and promptly turn around and lose it to motherfuckin’ Adam Young. ‘Cause y'all all think this shit’s a joke.
Y'all all think I’m a joke.
I'd say it's high time I showed y'all diff’rent.
Except it really don't matter. My career ain't salvageable. I've eaten too many losses. Might as well change my name to Karlie Nash, start munching gray carpet, amirite? At least then I'd have some kinda substance, instead of some retarded sci-fi gimmick that only appeals to twelve year olds or whatever. Shit, I'll be lucky to ever sell another t-shirt again.
Ok I'm still mad about this fucking shitstain Reece. Fuck you, Reece. Fuck you and your tag partners. Talk about I'm the one sucking a fat man's cock, but your black ass be spending an awful lotta time with Philly behind closed doors. Fgt. Further to your point, Wade ain't fat. There was a whole story arc about it. Now who ain't researching? You two fuccbois got way too much interest in who's fucking what or whom, but I guess that's a good strategy for keeping hold of a couple of trash titles y'all couldn’ta got on your own. Enjoy not eating out of garbage cans -- that's ‘rubbish bins’ to you British fucktards -- while y'all can. I give it two weeks before you job those belts to somebody else equally awful, another month until y'all decide to hit the unemployment line, and by the time summer is over, y'all ain't nothing but a dim, unpleasant memory.
For that matter, I already forgot the other one's name. I mean, he didn't really piss me off, since he fixated on my partner and mentioned my name exactly one time. Yeah, how's that for research? Ya boi, what's-his-face; Felicia maybe? That sounds mostly right -- Felicia Simpleton. I could really reach and call him Fellatio, shove that whole dick sucking reference right down y’alls throat… but I got more class than that.”
Untinted, pale pink lips turn up in a cocky smirk; sea-blue eyes glitter with mischievous intent.
“I'll content myself with a simple ‘Bye, Felicia’ and move on to the next chump. That's a wide field to choose from. I heard Kyle Kemp volunteered to get squashed in this thing, too; but at least he’ll last longer than me. Least talented member of #beachkrew, the one so dull he didn't even get a cute pun for a nickname. Although to be fair, mine wasn't cute or a pun. #DeepBlueSea. Jared hung a lot of responsibility on ya girl with that, and I reckon that trust was misplaced, because look at the fucking failure I am now. Nah, Kemp, I ain't got room to talk shit. You beat me for my WCF hardcore belt, and if you'd been capable of defending it one time, that mighta made you better than me. Instead, what do you do but roll right over for Mikey X? One week as hardcore champ. At least I managed to make it work for over a month, and Bonnie Blue is the biggest loser in this industry.
But hey, you pinned me once, and -- oh wait. Nah, ya didn't. It was that silly bastard Jason O'Neal you pinned. So you're better than him -- but who isn't?”
Another elaborate shrug accentuates the modest curve of her breast, unbound beneath her well-worn UCI t-shirt.
“Yeah, that's rhetorical. So speaking of Mikey X -- I know, it's Michael now, but it's a really hard habit to break -- I reckon your inclusion in this massive clusterfuck is kinda an open secret. That Hawt Amerikan Dankness or whatever, right? Now you, unlike Kemp, do have a pinfall victory over Bonnie Blue. Congratulations, that means exactly fuck-all. There are three people left in this business who remember when I used to be good. Or at least when Spencer took enough pity on me to let me have a title or two. I'm not even sure anymore. Point is, the competition at UCI can't have been that tough if I had titles over there.
Everyone at WCF was right. Everyone who ever hated my character was right.
So, at least you accorded me enough respect not to immediately dismiss me as the garbage I actually am. For that, you have my gratitude. Although it does make me wonder about your judgement.”
She gives the camera a theatrical wink.
“I used to feel confident in all these accolades I thought I'd achieved over the last year or so: being the first ever UCI tag team champions, the only three-time tag champ, the only two-time dual champ and the first woman in UCI to do so, the only two-time UCI Intercontinental champ, and the second-longest reigning UCI World Champ. That sounds impressive as fuck, don't it?
All that in the span of less than a year!
…. all a fucking joke. Because clearly, that was all to shut me up. No way I could have earned all those titles, especially judging by my performances in the ring lately. Or maybe always. I even bet my ‘fans’ were, I dunno, crisis actors probably. Ain't no Blue Ballers, not for real; just people who collect a paycheck for pretending to like me.
That's a much more plausible conspiracy theory, ain't it? That a fed owner would risk his reputation and his livelihood and his entire company just to keep one unskilled and unpopular wrestler happy. Or is it more believable that my career is being horrifically mismanaged?”
The young goddess’ words drip with sarcastic venom.
“I think it's hilarious how everyone wants to put the word conspiracy in my mouth, when I never once even suggested there was anything sinister going on. Well, aside from that time in WCF when Gravedigger took a payoff from Seth Lerch in exchange for taking me out in the WAR match…. Or did ya think I'd forgotten that little detail, Digger?
Nah. Ya girl don't forget some dirty, underhanded shit like that. Just like you apparently still ain't forgot that time I cost you and me both our shot at that Final Destination briefcase. But that one I will blame on Rabid and his Jedi mind trick. Why else would I abandon a guaranteed world title shot, just to put your aging ass through a table? But you've had it out for me ever since, even when I wised up and made peace with #beachkrew -- ya still managed to find fault with me over it. That, from a guy whose loyalties shift like ocean tides.
But it's totally inconceivable that you're still harboring some kinda grudge, right? Maybe subconsciously?
Whatever. You're not even in this match. Unless you are because there are more mystery entrants than there are people on the roster at this point. Gravedigger. Torture. Some Make-A-Wish kid, and I was gonna no sell that, but I mean…. you know what? I'm just gonna let that kid pin me and get out of the way. It's fine. I'll make it look good. Then I can go back to my hotel, order room service, and kick back with a fat blunt. Matter of fact…”
The Daughter of Time pulls a blunt wrapper and a small plastic baggie out of her pocket, sits on the floor on front of the A-Dub backdrop, and proceeds to roll herself a huge blunt, so dank you can smell that shit through your tv screen. This is no ordinary strain, but Bonnie's very own, carefully cultivated homegrown. She rolls that shit with expert precision and fires up. A slow smile spreads across her lips.
“Let's see, speaking of mystery entrants, I'm gonna guess Goku. Yeah that guy's a huge sandbagger. That's his entire gimmick, really. Hold back until the last minute, then unleash hell. That's pretty heelish, when you think about it. At least Vegeta puts his whole heart into it, every damn time, even if it's just a sparring match! Everybody thinks he's the bad dude, but he's the only one with any integrity. He fights for his family, his friends, and the planet that welcomed him even after he tried to kill everyone on it. Goku does it for fun and only considers the consequences afterward.
Oh, wait, those are fictional characters. Well, whatever, point’s still valid. Also the larger overall point, which is that I hate these clusterfuck matches. My daddy figured out how to win War that one time, when he beat Oldman Ballsack. The one and only time in history Odin didn't win War -- no, wait, that's just the hype. That's the expectation the marketing team builds, whether here or there: that the almighty GAWD of WAR wins every battle royal he even thinks about participating in.
Then there's the reality, where he basically gets tired and takes a nap until the match is almost over and all the legit competition is gone. Then he still gets eliminated by some scrub anyway.
One day, maybe I'll be that scrub.”
Bonnie Blue takes another long draw from her blunt, steady gaze fixed on the camera's eye.
“Am I gettin’ my point across yet, or am I being too subtle?
Gravedigger an’ Torture both begged me to come work for this comp’ny, offered all kinda incentives, but stupid me, I thought I didn't need any advantage based on who I am -- or, more accurately, who my daddy is; that I could earn a title shot on my own, without banking on Johnny Reb’s legacy.
Well, at least I'm still getting that fat paycheck, though. Show up, get paid. No effort required.
Not like when I was busting my ass at UCI to win all those belts. Or busting my ass at WCF to be consistently denied any chance at gold -- at least until Management stuck me with the career-killing hardcore belt. I mean, what was I gonna do? Not kick Leon Hayze’s ass for the third week in a row? I'm not sure I coulda lost to the guy if I'd wanted to.
Wait. Why am I still talking about WCF bullshit?”
She takes another toke and pretends to consider.
“Oh, right. Because in spite of the fact that WCF management is lukewarm to me, and basically couldn't care less if I vanished off the face of the Earth, I still have more success there than I do here. Seriously, if I hadn't had the foresight to secure my pay rate at a specific level, I'd be standing in line at soup kitchens like Felix does, drinking cheap gin and whining about how there's no growth in the bar bouncer industry. Fuckwit.
If I were to take any part of my A-Dub career and hold it up as an example of the caliber athlete I am, well… “
She shakes her head and hits the blunt again.
“Honestly, I can't even afford to be in this match. It's gonna tank what was left of my career. So, fuck it. I'mma let the little dying kid pin me, then I'mma grab a chair and wait -- and every time anybody I got a problem with gets eliminated, I'll be there to give ‘em a piece of my mind. That is my strategy for this match. Ain't even gonna bother tryna win, when I can have way more fun taking out my frustration on management's favorites.
Dudes like Donald Deruty and Roy Speede, each hand selected to be champions; or that insufferable bore TFK, with his typical privileged white male viewpoint; or the even more insufferable ‘Big’ John Frost -- is there a ‘Little’ John Frost? Like a midget version? -- who is basically the cookie cutter from which all unseasoned scrubs are molded. UCI Champ? The fuck you are! Anybody oughta be after that belt, it should be me. I was denied every time I tried to invoke my rematch, right up until Spencer Adams sold the company. Me and L Verez got the only legitimate claim to that title, so you best watch back, son.
For that matter, how'd a pleb like you get past Corey Bull, when a multiple-time champion like myself… barely did?
Oh, right. Because I'm an utter failure as a wrestler, and the actual conspiracy was every title reign I ever had.”
Bonnie looks at the blunt smoldering between her fingers, hits it one more time, then lets out a heavy sigh.
“I mean, don't get me wrong. Corey Bull is one tough motherfucker, I just don't see how a guy who has to go out of his way to emphasize how ‘Big’ he is can stand up to that level of brutality.
Ok, look, I'm running out of words, and I wanted to try to mention everyone at least once. But I wasted so much time talking about Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup that I totally don't have much for anybody else. And frankly, I'd rather save what I do have for when it might actually mean something.
By the way, before anybody gets any ideas, I ain't feuding with that guy. I'm done jobbing to nobodies. From now on, Bonnie Blue only jobs to the very best in this business. And terminally ill children. ‘Jobber to the Stars’ -- that's my new gimmick. Does that meet with your approval, Reece, you ignorant cunt? I mean, at least its not some retarded Doctor Who shit, right?
Not that even one promo of mine has involved either superhero shtick or time travel nonsense. Because I know how y'all all feel about anything more creative than chest thumping and shit flinging. I mean, I guess space stuff is fine if you're a Jared Holmes or a John Rabid, because they're geniuses. Demonic possession is totally believable if you're Howard Black or Wade Moor. Immortality is perfectly acceptable if you're Zombie or Crow McMorris.
But all the shit I do is stupid. Because I'm not one of the popular kids, and even when they take pity on me and try to bring me up to their level -- I'm just such a fucking pathetic nerd that my dorkiness actually contaminates everyone around me. That's the real reason there's no #beachkrew anymore. They were caught up and destroyed in my vortex of dorkness.
None of which changes the fact that my Guardians not only rose to prominence under my leadership, but quickly became the most successful, most dominant, most decorated faction in wrestling today -- far outstripping either #beachkrew or Pantheon in their respective first years. And we did all that in spite of Polar Phantasm trying to tank all our careers in the first three months by insisting we not focus on wrestling at all.
Yeah, nobody else remembers that fucking part of the story; when the man we trusted to lead us, instead dragged us through the mud until the name ‘Guardian’ was a joke and even the Marvel Cinematic Universe was putting as much distance between us as possible; how I got the responsibility of leadership dropped right on top of my head; how, in spite of being so woefully underprepared I was afraid Gordon Ramsey was about to start shouting at me -- I nevertheless persevered, and pulled my team out of the muck and mire; how together, we shot through the stratosphere and into superstardom.
Together, but with Bonnie Blue at the helm. But it all came crashing down after Spencer sold out to Pryde. Then Alex Richards went missing under suspicious circumstances, only to turn up later as Pryde’s henchman -- at least until the Insurgency prevailed and put New Blood Wrestling down for the count.
Except when the dust finally cleared, Alex was nowhere to be found. Not him, or Zach or Becky. Like they never existed, until our boi pops back up, but without his superpowers. Ok, sure. Repackage. I get it.
Only you never came back to the Guardians. Didn't let us know what was going on. We coulda helped you, Alex. Guardians do that. But you abandoned us instead. Shit, we coulda done a whole elaborate story arc where we track down your girl and your brother; probably kidnapped by the Society, only this time -- spoiler alert! -- it's Andre Holmes in charge, and he's amassing an army of superpowered degenerates in a bid for global domination! Somewhere along the way, you'd have a big, emotional breakthrough and discover that the power has been inside you the whole time. If we could get Alex Ross to illustrate that shit, we'd all get an Eisner Award!
Which is all well and good, if you're in comics as a profession. But we're wrestlers, and unless there's an Eisner Title Belt, that ain't gonna help us much.
Of course, I can't talk about Guardians without mentioning my boi Kaine -- don't let that shit with that television title get in your head, man. You're one of the best rookies I ever saw, and it was Kevin Bishop's loss when he let you go. Get in that ring, bust some domes, show these beta cucks how a Guardian do!
Which brings me to my current tag partner, L Verez.”
Bonnie cocks her head to one side, a genuine smile playing at her lips.
“Girl, I ain't never seen anybody with the fire you got! The way you come into this business, hit the ground running, never looked back. The way you took on Corey Black and made him your bitch -- even I couldn’ta done that!”
The smile fades.
“So where was that fire last week? Stepping into the ring with Simpleton and Shaw was a real willy-wilter, I know. Those guys couldn't excite an ion. But damn, it ain't like you're any stranger to shenanigans, especially when we both knew full well they'd pull every dirty trick to keep us from those tag titles.
But maybe it was my fault. Clearly, you weren't ready. You can go head to head with a legend like Corey Black, but fall flat in the ring with a couple of fgts nobody ever heard of until they cheated their way into a championship. Or maybe your heart wasn't in it. You'd rather be going after John Frost and that UCI strap -- and who wouldn't?”
Bonnie sighs again.
“It's fine. It's good. You do you. Tag titles can wait.
Nah, besides, there's one thing bothering me a whole lot more than getting outsmarted by three dudes that share one brain -- and that's taking a chairshot from my boyfriend. Maybe Camila had a point, all you had to say for yourself was a halfassed ‘sorry’ after ya damn near knocked me out -- and even that didn't hurt as much as knowing I can't take a few days to get my head on straight before you're running into the arms of some fucking skank. Like, I coulda understood spur of the moment, a few too many shots, and almost doin’ something you'd regret. But you had time to think it over before you called that bitch.
Do the last ten months mean nothing to you, Wade, or are you just that damn insecure?
I dunno, man. Maybe this is for the best. I mean, you're half the reason I needed my space for a few days anyway. It's the way you make me feel… like maybe wrestling ain't the only thing that matters. You make me want things I never really thought about before, and it's weird, and I just needed a little time. Yeah, I shoulda told ya, but it didn't take you long to replace me, so it was all academic anyway. Thanks for setting me straight, Swagrid.”
Sea-blue eyes blaze with the righteous fury of a time goddess.
“I had more, and honestly, no way to comfortably end this nonsense, so…”
She snaps her fingers and the scene fades to black.