You know what the worst part of my job is?
Well, aside from having to deal with egomaniacal shitweasels all day.
Let me try that again, d'ya know what the second worst part of my job is?
Besides all the politicking and institutional racism.
Dammit. Try that again from the top.
D'ya know what the third or fourth worst part of being a professional wrestler is?
Well, probably all the travel and being on the road 300 days a year and not being able to see your family unless you drag them along skipping merrily along the whole jet lagging way.
Okay now. Do you know what one of the worst parts of being an exquisite grapple-master is?
It's that a significant portion of people think you're a fucking idiot. Some are that way because they think there's a slider that has physical development on one side and mental development on the other, so if you're an athlete than you're also a barely functional, drooling moron who can't be trusted to put their singlet on with the correct side facing forward.
Some are the aforementioned egomaniacal shitweasels, and in between worming their way through a huge heaping heap of human waste, tracking mice with their little beady black eyes, and hopping around with a weasel war dance, they're plotting.
And because they are of course the pinnacle of human supremacy they put schemes together; often times with safety scissors and paste, in order to bring about desired outcomes in the professional wrestling industry.
Due to certain individuals lacking the good sense to be aligned with the schemers, they're considered to be of lesser intellects. After all, if they were so smart they would recognize the inherent greatness of the aforementioned scheming shitweasel and be standing proudly alongside them, held rapt onto their every word, treating each statement that comes forth from their lips like the one and true divine mandate of god, and gratefully inhaling every rancid poot of flatulence as if it were a grand perfume.
So, the plan is that two people who have got on reasonably well last week and entered into something of an alliance are thrown together because some idiot somewhere thinks that Obergruppensfurher Pusbucket's table scraps are worth hiring for some reason. And they gave that walking oilslick Frederick Flyfucker an unprecedented amount of control over the matches of his faction.
Why? Why do you give that jackass the power to gleefully fuck over your own federation? Because honestly, what the fuck does the Sinistry bring to the table in comparison to, say, the more athletic members of your typical Vampire: the Masquerade LARP? I mean it's not like the Sinistry is known for their stunning personalities, their keen minds, their snappy fashion sense, or the cheery and glowing disposition that they come in to work with each and every fortnight.
That's like giving a guy carte blanche to come around and kick you square in the dick whenever he wants, but you feel that the provision is okay to have in there because he swears up and down he'll only use it just a little bit.
So I have no idea how the Frost family works, beyond the fact that the vast majority of them are spooky darkity dark batshit dungeon fucks who are in league with demons, listen to too much Kraftwerk, and that they pull strings behind the scenes of professional wrestling to try and make my life a complete and utter shithole.
It doesn't help that there are ninety seven different factions and flavors of those factions. But the moment I came onto the scene in the IWC I got shoved into a corner with the physically, mentally, and emotionally handicapped, and then the moment I started clashing with the Faction Formerly Known as Aiken Frost's Personal Spooky Bitch Harem people started falling out of the woodwork to make accomplishing anything in ULW a complete and utter chore.
But I do know enough to peg any bat-winged, black eyed taint-sniffers as belonging to Cindy Todd, Aiken Frost, or Flyboy Cocko Cock as somebody I don't want on my Festivus card list.
And I don't know how Selena fits into the family, if she's just the white sheep amongst a bunch of siblings, is somebody's ex wife, got popped out after a parent looked upon the extended family in disgust after stumbling across Grandpa's selfies with Mengele, Goebbels, and Goering and fled to the frozen nowhere that is Alaska, or if she's just the Care Bear Cousin equivalent to the Junior I Wear My Sunglasses at Night Club.
Or maybe that redneck with the speech impediment had one last fling with Seth Brundle there, and brought over a sample of baby batter so that the Snow Queen and her loving bride could have a sproglet with the proper bloodlines and whatnot.
I admit I haven't really been paying attention. For all I know Captain Bouncing to the Left and to the Right could actually want some literal baby back ribs. Or needs to have the unborn child and mother partake in a demonic ritual involving thirteen chanting cultists in order to summon their dark god into this world in a mortal form, and due to his chronic abuse of guy-liner, his t-count is down the hatch and he can't maintain an erection, so the first born of the next generation of the Frost family is coming about having been fertilized by the good ol lesbian pollen that suffuses the air around here.
Nah, just kidding. You have to have the right kind of Goblin or Orc bloodline in order to reproduce by spores. Knew of a dwarven colony that reproduced that way. Prone to digging too deeply and releasing hordes of demons, cats, and lava into the world.
Honestly, I don't know how Selena's kidling came about. For a world that's pretty much lacking in magic, some of the medical tech one can use to get a gal knocked up might as well be sorcery.
I mean if it were me I'd get a few eggs extracted, in vitro fertilized, and put in my female partner, so that way one mommy was genetic and one mommy was the one to carry the kid to term. That's actually been done with sorcerous means back where I come from. Matrilineal bloodline enchantments tend to be the strongest, so you get one from genetics and another one from literally sharing blood with the birth mother.
Then again we've also good bloody high elves that have a magical ritual where they can basically have a viable offspring with pretty much anything and have their kid basically be an elf with superficial traits of the non-elven parent. Like ears and tails and stuff. S'how the Channeler caste got started.
Honestly, I prefer not to know exactly what's going on. It's like Schroedinger's Rambling over here, I get to make up scenarios ranging from the likely to the utterly ridiculous. Knowing the state of things for sure means that I don't get to say that Baal wants to kickstart the Book of Revelations and needs a kid to raise to rant and rave about "cursed Nazarenes."
Which I'm sure half of the Sinistry B-Team thinks is some kind of a fruit.
About now I'm sure there's some pudgy asshole in a suit and tie lamenting the fact that he's stuck producing pro wrestling segments. After all he had a moderate success on CBS producing a 6 episode formulaic sitcom based around living with irritable bowel syndrome stacked floor to ceiling with fart and poop jokes.
He's going "You're not getting paid to stand here and ramble all day about how eleven reproduction, elven spellcasting, elven castes, elven genders, and elves, period, are really fuckin' weird. You're here to talk about how you're going to take this pretender woman to your elemental power, who is dubbed the Alaskan Dragon, tell her how you're a real dragon, and how you're going to leave her a molecule-thick layer of lipids and proteins on the ring mat!"
To which I say, nah.
I'm not going to do that.
I'm going to do the opposite of that.
I'm going to go out to the ring with Selena Frost and do the complete and utter opposite of that. I'm not going to kick her ass, I'm going to have a tea party. We're going to play Trivial Pursuit in the middle of the ring, paint each other's toenails, have a pillow fight, and generally just conserve energy for the inevitable moment when the Sinistry B Team comes rushing down to the ring to beat the crap out of us.
Because that's what this whole thing is about. Because either Fancy Dress Baal thinks we're idiots and because we have to fight we will end up heated, hated rivals. Well, no, not heated rivals. We're both ice themed.
Or he thinks we're idiots because we're going to go out there and attempt to clobber one another into submission while Gothy McGothface stands around in his suit, grunting orders in guttural German, and waving the cast of characters he scraped out of the bargain bin at Hot Topic to battle to pound the peas out of two people he doesn't particularly like.
Because that's what the real fight's going to be. Not Selena Frost and Kalinda Kriegsdottir beating seven shades of shit out of one another, but the two ice-themed dragon-related women stomping a mudhole in the Quirky Miniboss Squad.
Of course my declaration that Selena Frost is a perfectly acceptable person is going to send Lilith Evans into yet another howling fit of angst, sorrow, and jealousy. "Nuuu! How dare you be pals with a woman who's being actively tormented by Dark Lord Buzz-Buzz who isn't me! Look at how sad and feeble and pathetic I am! Come defend me and my virtue from the evil overlord whom I willingly stay while I wail and gnash my teeth about how sad and depressed I am and how I want to die!"
And honestly, that's the difference between Selena Frost and Lilith Evans. Lil will go "Oh gosh golly gee, sir, would you please leave little ol me alone?" and then continue taking orders, including jumping me and attempting to kidnap somebody's pregnant wife on High Chief Kirian Diarrhea's say so. Selena beats the crap out of them with stunners and steel chairs.
Lilith professes to hate the Sinistry and want to be free of it, and yet she's still hanging around with them, still carrying out orders from the six-legged sociopath and Peg Leg Pete. Sure, she gets pounded out by the Sinistry from time to time, but she never actually ever fucking does anything about it.
You're a fucking pillbug, Lil. The Sinistry pokes you with a stick and you curl up into a protective ball and wail.
I mean the least you could do is bite the goddamn stick in half to give the bastards the minor inconvenience of going to find a new one.
Me? I'd yank the stick away and start beating the crap out of them with it. Along with anything else nearby that isn't nailed down, and everything that is nailed down I'd be throwing the fuckers against at high velocity.
I'm not at all concerned, because the only one out of the nWo Black on Black B-team that's being sent after me who is even remotely dangerous whatsoever is Dante, and he only shows up sparingly so that he can spend time between appearances plotting in the deep, dark, dank depths of his sex dungeon trying to plot his next move and how to milk the whole thing for sweet, sweet drama.
I mean he wasn't even at the last Outbreak. Maybe the giant penis-shaped teleportation machine he uses to pop in and out willy-nilly, pun intended, broke down and he couldn't make it to the show.
Oh yeah, that's why he always pops in when the lights are out, by the by. Because otherwise he'd show up stepping out of a giant mechanical penis. It's hard to be taken seriously as a spooky and ominous sinister man in a mask when your method of conveyance looks like it belongs parked outside of the Blue Oyster when the Village People are performing.
Honestly, Harbinger and Decay are so utterly non-entities in the grand scheme of things they don't even warrant mention on the UWA website. The Sinistry folks in charge, whom I get the feeling the shipping community would refer to as Jeze-Baal (which makes me want to start screaming about government mules and scalded dogs for some reason) have spent precisely zero effort on putting the promotional machine on these guys.
Oh yeah, yeah, they're wrestlers. Or one hundred percent real imitation wrestler-analog meat product. Or something. But they're not even considered important enough by their own group to warrant being properly placed on the UWA roster with a page, or a paragraph, or fuckin' something.
Yeah, I'm not going to be scared shitless of a bunch of guys that their own stable has less regard for than Lilith fucking Evans.
I mean what am I going to be scared of? The fact that they have upward of half a dozen people they might pull out of mothballs to attack me at any given moment? Yeah, that's not scary. I mean fucking Saint Nicholas travels around with six to eight black men. I'm not scared of six to eight men (and women) in black that could be randomly set upon me at a moment's notice.
Oh my god, they have four, maybe five people that they're going to sick on me all at once, whatever shall I do?! Oh no, how fucking terrible. It's not like I spent the vast majority of my career as an adventurer being outnumbered or anything. Fear the sheer numerousity of the warm bodies they rounded up to sick on me!
Because Baal actually gives a shit about Siqua and isn't about to put her within reach of me when I'm capable of biting off her fingers and shoving them so far up her own gods damned nose that she'll need surgery to get them out of her own gods-damned sinus cavity.
Baal actually isn't going to get his hands dirty, because Evil Overlords never do. They sit perched on their thrones, ranting, raving, giving orders, and terrorizing their underlings until they basically have no choice but to fight whatever has actually made its way to their throne room.
Wilde can't do shit. I mean all I've got to do is step on her foot and with all four hundred pounds of me pressing down, she's looking at another surgery and months of recovery to get her leg unfucked again.
Dante's got maybe a 50/50 chance of showing up. He's probably off getting his teeth cleaned or his braces realigned or something. After all, he's managed to finally get his near-lethal halitsosis down to a manageable level after a few years with that custom designed Listerine dispensing headgear and had upgraded into a plain ol mask to hide his hideous, coffee-stained, misaligned teeth.
Decay and Harbinger, the "..and Zoidberg" of the Sinistry aren't intimidating in the slightest. I mean my god with names like that they might as well be playing motherfucking World of Darkness in the back of a 24 hour diner. No one's going to be intimidated by the fucking Dark Lord of Denny's.
For fuck's sake, I've beaten the shit out of Flynn, Decay, and Harbinger on my own with pretty much zero effort.
It took that, plus Lilith, plus a chair before they actually managed to make anything even remotely likely going on the full offensive.
The Sinistry thinks that this is a cunning and well orchestrated plan to punish two rivals for daring to stand up to them. Stand up to us as a group and we will make your fight one another, and then pick over the scraps.
Of course that only works if you're a complete and total moron and don't realize that this is a heavily worn and dog-eared page right of the good ol Evil Overlord handbook.
It's called Let's You and Him Fight, and it's a droll, overdone cliche that everybody has seen done a bajillion times before.
Nope, what this is going to be is a friendly, decidedly non-punishing wrestling match between Selena and I that's going to get called off the moment the Sinistry tromps down to ringside.
Wherein they will promptly get their loathsome, spotty behinds kicked.
I've got two guesses for what's going to go down.
A, this is the time that Dante chooses to actually get involved with things, he actually gets physically involved, ruining my nice, friendly wrestling match and we're paired off to fight at the PPV in some sort of match involving fire and/or coffins on account of our mutual history of having been buried alive and set on fire.
B, somebody is just pretending that this is a bog standard Evil Overlord ploy, and they're throwing Selena and I out in the ring to make sure that depending that the two people who are most likely to be defending Deanna are occupied for a few minutes.
Doesn't matter if she comes out to ringside, hangs in the back, or isn't even in the arena. By the power of video camera and an internet connection, no matter where Deanna is the Sinistry can pop up with an attempted abduction, make Team Ice Blue Dragonesses willfully submit to a beating, and then twirl their mustaches while cackling gleefully while dragging the poor gal off to tie to the railroad tracks or whatever the fuck they want her for.
Of course THAT plan isn't going to work as well as they think it would either.
I keep having to remind you people of everything. That I'm not like everybody else. That I'm a dragon. That I'm not a hero. That despite being seven feet tall I actually have a fully functional thinking apparatus and not a hacked together hunk of grey matter made from leftover hot dog parts and bits that God rejected for use in sphincter tissue.
There's something there that the Sinistry has overlooked.
Something that's right there each and every time I compete in the UWA.
Jessica.
Baal.
You two DO realize that you're not the only one with minions, don't you?
See you soon, fuckaroos.
I look forward to gleefully ruining all your plans.
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