Post by Wolverina on Apr 12, 2011 21:30:00 GMT -5
Midway through the current TNT broadcast the shot opens up to Wolverina sitting on a bench in her locker room area. She's still clad in her ring attire, with a white towel draped over her lowered head, and is clearly still feeling the effects from the hellish tag match battle she participated in earlier. Without raising her head, the People's Princess begins to speak in a tone unlike her usual exuberant one. This time her tone is shallow, disdain very evident as she talks.
"Tonight wasn't nearly enough, Amanda. I will admit that when I first heard of the 60 minutes we'll fight in, I had my doubts and reservations. But after getting my hands on you tonight without having to worry about that little order, I finally realized how damned SEXY I am going to feel when I adorn my body with your beautiful red life force and skin. Yet still I will thirst and hunger. There will be no quenching it, I'm afraid. Brooks, the best I'll ever be is a sinner saved by grace. However, what you've done can not be undone. At NeXus, I will sin. And for the first time in my life Amanda, I honestly do not think God, with his endless love and mercy, will be able to blot out the inhumane transgressions that I have in mind, no matter how fervently I beg of him afterwards. You see Dark Princess, I'm not going to just beat you in the match. I'm not going to put you in the hospital. I'm not even going to send you to a grave six feet under. No, Amanda, I'm going to powerbomb your gutter slut ass straight to hell itself, Pit 69. So enjoy your sick game of control for now. Put me through your disgusting 12 steps, because with each step I am tallying up what is to be done to you at NeXus. You're predictable now; I know you won't kill daddy because you would've already. You need him to control me so go ahead and put me through the steps, every one of them. You will reap what you sow at NeXus. I'm going to abort you like your mother should have."
Wolverina finally lifts her head and removes the towel, tossing it aside. Her gaze is intense yet distant, a piercing stare that sees through you.
"I'll let what I just said sink into you Amanda, because the short term problems need spoken of now. The King of the Deathmatch Title .... "
The Deathmatch Darling raises a single closed fist into the air and sticks up only her pinky finger, wiggling the digit faintly.
"Do you know what this is? No, it's not a mocking of Jake Diamond's limp little half inch cat penis, although the similarities are quite striking. This represents my last nerve, which many of you are grating on. And by many of you I am talking about the Fighty fighty persons in the back here. Ever since I took control of this title, there's been a continuous uproar about it. Guys saying I was gonna paint it pink and such. I've heard nothing but endless whining and complaining, as if you MEN are the WOMEN all of a sudden. Whaaa whaaaa she can't be a King of the Deathmatch champion cause a King is a male whaaa whaaaa ... I bled trying for that title whaaa whaaaaa. Get over it. Am I not the one who has also bled for this title too, against Darth? Am I not the one who has competed in gruesome matches, where I bled like a stuck pig and was generally ripped to shreds almost? Am I not the same one who got raped then still had the guts to confront Jaggeroth in one of the most violent matches in history; a match in which I was almost literally killed in yet survived and won? I'm pretty sure I'm also the same woman who took the unbeatable Commonwealth to a draw, almost ripped Dom's Solid Core title away, and Superkicked Dave Carter into retirement. Yet somehow I am undeserving to hold a title like this, regardless of the means I used to get it, simply because I don't have that thingy between my legs that some disgruntled men around here CLAIM to have? It's really not my fault if I had to use my superior intellect in order to attain this title, since it was denied to me in the past due to my gender. So you've pretty much got two options folks: 1 - Accept it and 2 - like it."
She hefts up the QOTDM title and rests it on her shoulder, before leaning back against a set of lockers behind her, an almost chilled out demeanor coming over her. She points to the face of the pretty Princessey title.
"So, since I am a good person and have a big heart, and in order to appease you guys, I went and modified the title so that it said Queen not King. I even made it prettier by putting a different design on it. And look what else ... "
She flicks the W on the face of the belt and it begins to spin like John Cena's modified title. But as the W spins it turns different colors, from gold to purple to pink to glittery silver. The crowd looking on in the venue burst with cheers and applause at her brave bucking of the establishment, and the much needed title face-lift.
"But nooooo. That wasn't good enough either. Actually that made it worse. Even our General Manager Smarky Smark, the very man I outsmarted, served and pwned, had a few choice words for me, so I am probably on his not-so-good list now. But one person in particular spoke out above all the rest ..... Ryan Nuttsack."
While the fans boo then laugh loudly at hearing the foul mouthed man's name who besmirched their Princess earlier, Haven leans forward and looks into the eye of the camera with a steely gaze.
"Although this is 2011 and women attaining prestigious accolades in sports and entertainment is not all that uncommon, you've somehow missed the boat on that fact. It is apparent that you never went to school and have thus also never heard of the likes of Joan of Arc, Billy Jean King, Libby Riddles, Bonnie Blair, and the list goes on. Because of this, you saw fit to open your uneducated penis-holster and rant about me, calling me bad names, and just being a general sexist pig. I also know that you have a condition, you're apparently Schizophrenic. I know a little bit about it and the three stages of it: Positive, negative, and cognitive. Evidently you don't fall into the cognitive or negative, because you went on a very clear rant, and have no problem putting on a great match inside the ring. So that just leaves the Positive stage, which you most definitely are. You obviously do not comprehend reality, and are paranoid about me being champion. So what I propose is that I help heal you of that. Next week right here on Tuesday Night Triumph, if you can stop hallucinating and trying to read peoples minds, and refrain from living in the fantasy world where women are nothing more than underlings, why don't you come down to the ring where I can leave a smoldering crater where your face used to be? It'll be a painful healing, but such an enlightening one. Then, Ryan Nuttsack, the question/statement won't be 'A F****** WOMAN?!?!' it'll be 'WHO THE F*** IS RYAN MATUSIAK???'
With that, the Queen of the Deathmatches leans back against the lockers once more, her eyes trailing away from the camera as her mind drifts into deep thoughts.
EOT.
"Tonight wasn't nearly enough, Amanda. I will admit that when I first heard of the 60 minutes we'll fight in, I had my doubts and reservations. But after getting my hands on you tonight without having to worry about that little order, I finally realized how damned SEXY I am going to feel when I adorn my body with your beautiful red life force and skin. Yet still I will thirst and hunger. There will be no quenching it, I'm afraid. Brooks, the best I'll ever be is a sinner saved by grace. However, what you've done can not be undone. At NeXus, I will sin. And for the first time in my life Amanda, I honestly do not think God, with his endless love and mercy, will be able to blot out the inhumane transgressions that I have in mind, no matter how fervently I beg of him afterwards. You see Dark Princess, I'm not going to just beat you in the match. I'm not going to put you in the hospital. I'm not even going to send you to a grave six feet under. No, Amanda, I'm going to powerbomb your gutter slut ass straight to hell itself, Pit 69. So enjoy your sick game of control for now. Put me through your disgusting 12 steps, because with each step I am tallying up what is to be done to you at NeXus. You're predictable now; I know you won't kill daddy because you would've already. You need him to control me so go ahead and put me through the steps, every one of them. You will reap what you sow at NeXus. I'm going to abort you like your mother should have."
Wolverina finally lifts her head and removes the towel, tossing it aside. Her gaze is intense yet distant, a piercing stare that sees through you.
"I'll let what I just said sink into you Amanda, because the short term problems need spoken of now. The King of the Deathmatch Title .... "
The Deathmatch Darling raises a single closed fist into the air and sticks up only her pinky finger, wiggling the digit faintly.
"Do you know what this is? No, it's not a mocking of Jake Diamond's limp little half inch cat penis, although the similarities are quite striking. This represents my last nerve, which many of you are grating on. And by many of you I am talking about the Fighty fighty persons in the back here. Ever since I took control of this title, there's been a continuous uproar about it. Guys saying I was gonna paint it pink and such. I've heard nothing but endless whining and complaining, as if you MEN are the WOMEN all of a sudden. Whaaa whaaaa she can't be a King of the Deathmatch champion cause a King is a male whaaa whaaaa ... I bled trying for that title whaaa whaaaaa. Get over it. Am I not the one who has also bled for this title too, against Darth? Am I not the one who has competed in gruesome matches, where I bled like a stuck pig and was generally ripped to shreds almost? Am I not the same one who got raped then still had the guts to confront Jaggeroth in one of the most violent matches in history; a match in which I was almost literally killed in yet survived and won? I'm pretty sure I'm also the same woman who took the unbeatable Commonwealth to a draw, almost ripped Dom's Solid Core title away, and Superkicked Dave Carter into retirement. Yet somehow I am undeserving to hold a title like this, regardless of the means I used to get it, simply because I don't have that thingy between my legs that some disgruntled men around here CLAIM to have? It's really not my fault if I had to use my superior intellect in order to attain this title, since it was denied to me in the past due to my gender. So you've pretty much got two options folks: 1 - Accept it and 2 - like it."
She hefts up the QOTDM title and rests it on her shoulder, before leaning back against a set of lockers behind her, an almost chilled out demeanor coming over her. She points to the face of the pretty Princessey title.
"So, since I am a good person and have a big heart, and in order to appease you guys, I went and modified the title so that it said Queen not King. I even made it prettier by putting a different design on it. And look what else ... "
She flicks the W on the face of the belt and it begins to spin like John Cena's modified title. But as the W spins it turns different colors, from gold to purple to pink to glittery silver. The crowd looking on in the venue burst with cheers and applause at her brave bucking of the establishment, and the much needed title face-lift.
"But nooooo. That wasn't good enough either. Actually that made it worse. Even our General Manager Smarky Smark, the very man I outsmarted, served and pwned, had a few choice words for me, so I am probably on his not-so-good list now. But one person in particular spoke out above all the rest ..... Ryan Nuttsack."
While the fans boo then laugh loudly at hearing the foul mouthed man's name who besmirched their Princess earlier, Haven leans forward and looks into the eye of the camera with a steely gaze.
"Although this is 2011 and women attaining prestigious accolades in sports and entertainment is not all that uncommon, you've somehow missed the boat on that fact. It is apparent that you never went to school and have thus also never heard of the likes of Joan of Arc, Billy Jean King, Libby Riddles, Bonnie Blair, and the list goes on. Because of this, you saw fit to open your uneducated penis-holster and rant about me, calling me bad names, and just being a general sexist pig. I also know that you have a condition, you're apparently Schizophrenic. I know a little bit about it and the three stages of it: Positive, negative, and cognitive. Evidently you don't fall into the cognitive or negative, because you went on a very clear rant, and have no problem putting on a great match inside the ring. So that just leaves the Positive stage, which you most definitely are. You obviously do not comprehend reality, and are paranoid about me being champion. So what I propose is that I help heal you of that. Next week right here on Tuesday Night Triumph, if you can stop hallucinating and trying to read peoples minds, and refrain from living in the fantasy world where women are nothing more than underlings, why don't you come down to the ring where I can leave a smoldering crater where your face used to be? It'll be a painful healing, but such an enlightening one. Then, Ryan Nuttsack, the question/statement won't be 'A F****** WOMAN?!?!' it'll be 'WHO THE F*** IS RYAN MATUSIAK???'
With that, the Queen of the Deathmatches leans back against the lockers once more, her eyes trailing away from the camera as her mind drifts into deep thoughts.
EOT.
