Wow, amazing, isn't it? Once again I've defeated the goober the Shadow Cartel has sent to put an end to me, I've shrugged off damage that would put a normal person in the hospital, and yet again Jason King and Willow Wilkes have a title match and have to be wrapped in bubble wrap and put up on a high shelf for a month so they don't shatter and explode into a million bajillion pieces.
What the fuck.
Seriously.
Once again we've got the champ and the ex-champ doing fuck all in the ring after a big show, and not merely a big show! This is, supposedly, the biggest show of the year! I would think that it would be Booking for Babby 101 level shit here to have the people involved at your PPV main event actually wrestling on the very next show, to capitalize on that hotness.
But no, this is Raymond the Fart we're talking about here. Ray Ray the Methane Powered Jet Plane who decided to stack Paranoia from top to bottom with part timers. I don't see Dante around here wrestling matches after his fucking with every main event match for the span of months. I don't see Cindy Todd skipping around a ring. I don't see the pasty face of Silencer the Evil Mime looming over the children in the crowd, taking their candy, and terrifying them. Hell, Lethal Weapon shot me in the motherfucking face and not only did I win my match, but I'm here to take ass and kick names, while he's fucked off back to the Weapon Cave to plot his next assassination attempt from a client in Gotham City.
Hell, of all the champions ULW has, we've got all of one of them wrestling on this show! Clay fucking Colton is the only champ not made of ceramic bits held together by Elmer's glue. Willow isn't wrestling, Gracie isn't wrestling, Mason isn't wrestling.
Isn't it strange that one show after Paranoia there are exactly three people who have been with this company for more than two months actually wrestling on it? Doesn't it seem a touch odd that we've all been crammed into the same match?
Gee, it's almost like when you try and cram in as many wrestling old timers to try and artificially inflate your ratings and buyrates for one night of the year, everything else suffers. Amazing how that works, that when you spent your time focusing on part time wrestlers and coddling your own little pet projects the show suffers.
Because of course the newly minted champions of the Shadow Cartel get time to sit on their loathsome, spotty behinds, dry humping their title belts and not having to do literally anything. Just like there's been exactly two tag team title matches in ULW history thus far. For fuck's sake, Gillberg defended his title more frequently than that.
And of course Jason King, whom Clogs Pluggerman has decided is his golden goose, gets to sit out as well. This has not escaped my notice and thus I've begun referring to him as Mr. Glass, and earlier today set out to have the prop department make him a bubble wrap onesie so that we can preserve his precious, fragile, merch-selling body from undue hardship so Raymond can keep milking his cash cow for a long, long time.
What does it say about your champions, Ray, when they can't wrestle one show later, but all the title match losers that don't make you moist over t-shirt sales are completely and utterly able to put on matches? What dark sorcery is this that allows Cameron MacNichol and Eli Legacy to have sustained, supposedly, the biggest beating in their championship matches, lose, and yet be able to come out to the ring to compete two weeks after the fact?
And yet despite everybody and anybody aligned with said Shadow Cartel shouting from the heavens that I am some horrible, dangerous monstrosity whose very existence mocks the sport of professional wrestling almost as badly as Mogui mocks the industry of tattoo artistry, here I am!
Here I am in ULW's main event once again because the company literally doesn't have anybody else to turn to. Half of their new signings have turned out to be avian-obsessed douchebag hipster jackoffs, wanking it to the sound of Vincent Price reading Edgar Allen Poe on a motherfuckin' phonograph. Wind up, got a speaker on it the size of a lampshade and a dog listening to it with his head tilted.
The other half? Well we got an unreliable piss-head more interested in screaming about the scary, scary brown people and fondling her guns in between wrapping her head with an ever-increasing amount of tin foil in order to block out the government sent radiation to befoul her precious bodily fluids.
We got a gal who decided to steal the name of one of ULW's legends and a Hall of Famer.
And we got an endless string of complete and utter suckbags that have done nothing but drag down the overall ratings of Fucked Up Friday. Thankfully we have a gatekeeper for that. Mya Denton is the lowest level of suck that we as a company are prepared to tolerate, apparently, and I'm glad that she's there to keep taking out anybody objectively worse than her with a cattle prod.
Even if she's fallen under the sway of that batshit wackaloon Brandon Vow. With his greasy overalls and unkempt facial hair. Beards contain a not-insignificant amount of fecal matter, I will have you know! I have objective proof that there is more shit in the ring than is normal whenever Vow is out there!
But you know what concerns me the most? That basically everybody in the fed that isn't made of glass that has a beef with the thralls of the Shadow Cartel are in this match. Everybody that's had a problem with somebody in a prized position of power who gets away with fuckin' everything is right here in this match.
Clay Colton? Oh noes! Clay Colton is teh horribles! He drags out his manager person out wherever and literally hurls her and his opponents so that she gets hurt. Oh noes, how terrible! Such a horrible person!
Cameron MacNichol? Oh noes! Cameron Dick Pickle is teh horribles! He is a horrible misogynist woman beater that makes #GamerGate go "Hold on buddy, you're being a titch mean," and flies into a rage whenever he sees someone sporting two X chromosomes! Oh noes, how terrible! Such a horrible person!
And then there's Kalinda Kriegsdottir, what can I say about this bitch? Oh noes, she is teh horribles! She doesn't like it when people interfere in her matches so she impales them! She kicks small children! She eats barely formed babbies for breakfast. Oh and she's blue. A person of color. Cindy Todd eats babies and murders people too, but she's okay cause she is, as the Mormons would put it, white and delightsome. OH NOES, HOW TERRIBLE! KALINDA IS OBVIOUSLY AN ANIMAL AND NOT EVEN A PERSON AT ALL. DESPITE THAT SOUNDING HORRIBLY RACIST, IT ISN'T, 'CAUSE PRO WRESTLING IS POST-RACIAL, DON'TCHAKNOW? EVEN THOUGH THE BIGGEST NAME IN PROFESSIONAL WRESTLING EVAR GOT CAUGHT ON TAPE SAYING HE IS IN FACT A RACIST AND DROPPING THE N WORD SEVERAL TIMES AND IT'S HYPOCRITICAL CAUSE TEH BLAH PEOPLE USE THAT WORD ALL THE TIME AND SO ON AND SO FORTH.
*blows a raspberry*
Seriously. People have been up my big blue butt for dragging them out of their comfort zone of pasty privilege and saying "Oh, this isn't about racism! You're BLUE we can't possibly be racist against YOU! Here's a bunch of things we've said about you that just so happen to have an exceptionally vague similarity to nasty things said about people of other, legitimate, decidedly not blue colors! Because white privilege only selectively oppresses people with skin tones in this pre-determined set categories. And you're blue, so you don't count."
Amazing, isn't it, that with a few rumblings in the works and behind the scenes that the only two people of color in ULW get pulled to the forefront. After months of Zachary Quintin working dark matches and pre-shows, he finally shows up on the main roster after Ho Kogan's racist bullshit comes to light.
And amazingly after being told that I am quote "A beast that cannot control herself," an unsafe monster that cannot be trusted in the ring with any opponent, and having the leading Dutch advocate for Hair Club for Men DEMANDING my firing from the ULW board, I'm main eventing.
Yes, that's right, the horrible scary blue person that is being literally referred to by her boss as an uncontrollable animal is not being fired, not being suspended, and after fighting off a literal fecking assassin at Paranoia, has mysteriously wound up in the main event!
I wonder why this could be? I mean with such a racial controversy sweeping pro wrestling as big orange man talks about how he doesn't want his daughter banging a blah person unless he's disgustingly wealthy and dropping the N bomb and all. I can't imagine that after ignoring her for fucking ever and race baiting by putting the big blue scary person in match after match with itty bitty white women that Raymond is giving me a main event out of the goodness of his little black heart.
Yeah, remember that last main event I was in? You know, the one where they outright REFUSED every option I gave them to get me a replacement tag team partner? You know, the one where New Eden basically tried to end my career? You know, the one where if I wasn't a magical creature of grace and beauty from another dimension might have put me on the shelf for who knows how long?
Yeah, the last time I was in a main event der Vaart and the Shadow Cartel were basically trying to eliminate me from ULW entirely. It was the highest rated segment in ULW history, and it was a handicap match that I lost. But even with the beating that got laid on me, I was back out there the next week. I didn't even get to the fun part of sandwiching Adam's skull between two chairs and being able to eat the delicious cream filling. I hit one high impact, but relatively normal move, and Adam broke. Supposedly.
I still haven't heard what injuries the fucker's supposed to have suffered. Especially since he was out there later in the evening seeming right as rain doing an entrance alongside the rest of New Eden.
It's killing two birds with one stone. On one hand, if I am this horrible dangerous monstrosity that threatens the livelihood of all the white peoples in professional wrestling simply by the virtue of my very presence I'm being given what the administration deems as two perfectly suitable targets.
I mean ULW's spent how much time and effort trying to create bullshit controversies for Cam Cam and Clay? Almost as much as they've spent on drumming up a bullshit controversy on me. If I give in to my innate, uncontrollable racial feelings of hatred, rage, and wrath and accidentally pop Clay and Cam's heads like grapes, there isn't any real damage done for the company.
After all, this match contains three people that won't toe the company line. If I break Clay Colton in half, like so, over my knee Raymond's got his proof that I'm some horrible nasty beast that's out to HOSS SMASH everything that stands in her path.
Though of course that face that Lethal Weapon has all his limbs intact and his throat not torn out also proves this.
But still! I'm one of those scary colored people! I could go off at any second, especially if there is even the teensiest tinsiest trace of marijuana involved. The drug that makes white people hungry, prone to making stupid, vaguely philosophical comments, and watch Spongebob that will make a person of color into a lycanthropic juggernaut, capable of tearing apart an armed police officer with each terrible, darkly hued hand. OooooOOOOOoooooO scary!
So to show that ULW is definitely not a racist organization, no siree, they've got me in the main event. They can jump around and point and go "See? See? We have a blue person main eventing our show, we can't be racist! Even though we call her a beast and an animal on air and let a mush mouthed Southerner calls her slurs and demand that she be put in a zoo and call her humanity into question."
i'm surprised they haven't sold my contract to Silas Mason, put him in a cowboy hat and string tie with a mint julep in hand, and have him lead me out to the ring in chains. Which, may I remind you, IS SOMETHING PROFESSIONAL WRESTLING DID! IN NINETEEN NINETY FUCKING THREE!
But you know what? Do you know what I feel like doing in the midst of all this crap? Of being tossed into a random main event filled with people Raymond doesn't like because he's cuddling New Eden and the pro wrestling families, and can't book his pwecious part timers on two sequential shows?
Sure, I can go out there, I can wrestle, I can be dominant. I can probably fold Michael Bolton over Mr. Dick Pickle and suplex and powerbomb them both to death for the whole of the match.
But I'm not going to play into der Vaart's hands. I'm not going to hive him the opportunity to pull his crap, and neither should my opponents.
Guys, ULW's been pulling shit on you for ages now. If Cameron wins they're just going to add me onto the least of women that his horrible misogynist ass has struck. They'll probably try and have some crew member "accidentally" get hurt when Clay irish whips my found hundred pound self tail and all outside the ring. If I win they'll be all "Grr! She beat up two guys who had title belts, she is a dangerous beastie!"
So do you know what I think we ought to do?
We just walk right down there out to that ring and play Hungry, Hungry Hippos for fifteen minutes. Or Monopoly. Or Cards Against Humanity. Or something.
Literally anything but a wrestling match, yet something where somebody comes out a winner.
Because that's what we need to do. We need to stand up for ourselves and show ULW that we are not going to be pushed around. That we are not just going to accept being treated like second class citizens because we don't have ties to people with last names like Chase, Mason, or Frost.
We're the backbone of this company and they know it. Without the three of us this entire card would fall apart.
And you know what? No matter what we do here, somebody is going to come and fuck it up anyway. I mean why else would you have three babyfaces fighting in the same match with literally zero build up and backstory?
It's obvious der Vaart's got you guys in there because he thinks I'm a rabid dog and I'm going to rip you apart. But that's not going to happen.
And let's face it, you guys aren't particular piles of anger and silent rage that are going to snap and go crazy on your opponents either.
But what we do have is at least two factions out there that are not particularly pleasant and that want to make a point, and since Jason King is sitting in storage wrapped in packing paper and bubble wrap for the time being, that makes us the three most popular, well-liked wrestlers on the show.
So we're a nice, ripe target for New Eden or Brandon Vow's brand new little cult thing. Wear each other out wrestling 3/4ths of a good and proper wrestling match, and then before someone can get on a tear, start powering up, and getting ready to end the thing down they come. Skipping merrily and gleefully to ruin the match and put down all the good guys that serve as ULW's mainstays.
A fight happens, weapons are involved, and they get the nice, happy image of standing tall over three of the people that the fans adore that have been here in ULW from the very beginning. They think they'll take advantage of OUR popularity, and OUR good will with the audience for not being corporate shillmeisters. They think they'll make themselves look good at our expense.
I say no. I say we don't let them. I say we give ULW management a big fuck you, go out there in the ring, and refuse to give them what they want.
We've been mistreated, each and every one of us.
The very fact that this match even exists tells us a great deal.
Raymond der Vaart and the Shadow Cartel want us to tear each other apart, to work at cross purposes.
To stay divided, rather than band together.
If Cameron or I win this match, do you know what's going to happen? An immediate feud for Clay's Livewire title. We're going to be forced to clash, repeatedly and violently over ULW's second place prize.
When we're doing that we're not going to be struggling against the factions amidst our ranks. The crazed cults of personality that have begun to once again run rampant in ULW.
Someone needs to stand up to them, gentlemen. You've seen the endless run ins from Dante, the interference from Cindy Todd. You've seen the degrading, dehumanizing way the Part Timer Queen does things. With a tattooed jacket, a noose, and a pair of floppy meat curtains.
And Brandon Vow? Why he just wants to be surrounded by warm bodies to try and fill the hollow ache inside of his cold, cold heart. He wants followers, he wants worshippers, he wants to rip out the heart and soul of each and every person he can and turn them into a flesh and blood robot, endlessly repeating his propaganda.
That's why at the end of the night at Paranoia I was out there, why I defended Jason King and Jackson Adams from the predations of New Eden.
Because if I wasn't going to do it, no one else would.
And that, gentlemen, is exactly what we need to do. Stand tall, stand together, and fight to make this company fair. To drive injustice, favoritism, nepotism, and trickle down Hoganomics from our home.
And ULW is our home. We're the ones who have stuck through it since the beginning, despite all the shit that Raymond der Vaart, New Eden, and the Mason family have decided to spew out their entitled asses and throw at us. None of it's sticking, but I sure am pretty damned tired of having filth flung at me.
We need to band together, boys. Band together so that we can look this company and all its corruption in the eye and say "No more."\
We need bargaining power, we need leverage, and we need to have the numbers to match anything that they can throw at us.
We need to unionize, guys.
That's what ULW needs from us right now.
Unity.
I emerge from the recording booth adjusting the half mask I made to cover up my injuries from a few nights ago. A goodly portion of my face had the outermost layers of skin seared away, charred, blackened, crispified and falling away, leaving pale pink replacements underneath.
Part of an Isaac Saine/Psycho mask liberated from the majority of it with a pair of tin snips, riveted onto the backing from one of Johnny Kingdom's absolutely ancient "Poor Xavier" masks, and the whole thing held in place by some braided cords made out of eyepatches that Desolation could never make Dave Fields understand that he didn't need. But then again that guy was so dumb he spent a goodly portion of his time pissing into the wind.
I can't do anything for the radiant blonde strands of hair that have also been disfigured from the blast. Icky, picky pale platinum blonde. Hair that belongs on porn stars, strippers, models, and princesses. Not on warriors. Not on me.
I can't even dye it back to normal, my hair is much like the rest of me in that it resists damage. I could cut it off, but it would take forever to grow back and it'd mess up my hairstyle.
So I'm stuck with a blond streak until I decide to cut it, and looking like Mikhail Gorbachev's unluckier sister until I grow a few new layers of skin naturally. It's a titch tender and feels like what I imagine a sunburn would feel like. Peeling the dead bits off of my face was gross, though a little bit fun.
"Hiss, hiss! i'm a snake! I like to hurt old people! Harry Potter!" my muse says joyfully, quoting "Wrestling Isn't Wrestling."
A small orb of electrical energy forms above my shoulder, and Spark pops out into the world in his physical form; that of a electric and navy blue, kitten sized dragon.
"Good afternoon, Spark. How, pray tell, have you come to ruin it?" I say with a grin. He knows I'm joking, though more than likely he has actually come to wreck my relatively good, positive mood.
"First of all by saying that you missed a spot with your mask." he says, circling around my head in a glide like the world's largest and most annoying gnat.
"Where?"
"You appear to have a case of Correction the Demon Kane eye going on there."
"What? Really?" I hadn't actually bothered to give myself much of a look in the mirror. I just plucked off the bits that were flaky and crispy from my face. Kind of like how I eat friend chicken. And I would like to state for the record that I did not eat my skin peelings. That would be gross and auto-cannibalistic. I fed them to Kitty instead.
"Yeah, you've got the one normal, yellow one, and then you've got a blue one."
"Is it scary, pale, and unspeakably hideous?" I ask, hoping.
"Nope. It's a very pretty, stunning near lavender shade of blue. The kind of purple-blue that marks mary sues, special snowflakes, and author self inserts."
"FUCK!" I growl and punch the wall, breaking the cinder block that I just whacked and leaving my bare right hand completely untouched.
I reach into the pocket of my coat and pull out a roll of duct tape. I tear off a strip and slap it over the eye hole of my piecemeal mask.
"We could probably get you a contact lens for that."
"No thank you! I'll just get costuming to sew a mesh patch on the lining so I can see but not have my disfigurement to gaze upon! Goddess, I'm glad it was only a little fireball and not a sustained blast like from a flamethrower or something. Can you just imagine if I had to come out and wrestle while being as pink as your average five year old ballerina's room?"
"Yeah, when you get totally blasted with fire you look like a fairy princess. They'd stuff you into a lacy ball gown for interviews and make you go out and wrestle in a skirt."
"Well on the bright side that definitely rules out self-immolation as a protest for the unfair treatment we've been getting. Seriously it's like motherfucking apartheid between faces and heels in this place. The baddies get everything, the goodies get fake image campaigns to make them all look like shit. We need some proper protesting going up in this bitch."
"Well, I don't think your plan of playing Hungry Hungry Hippos with Clay Colton is going to work. Though ostensibly on ULW's shit list for having the crowd dare to cheer him without Toots van der Poot worshipping the ground he walks off *cough* Cindy Todd *cough*, he's one of those guys that's kind of full of himself."
"Worshipping the ground that he himself walks on?"
"Or just skipping a step and worshipping himself. He's going to be a hard sell to put aside matters of ego and work for the betterment of his fellow man, women, and also dragons."
"I fit in all three of those categories, so obviously I'd benefit the most, so I'm sure that an egomaniac couldn't POSSIBLY do something that would help out somebody else more than it would his own silly self."
"Yeah, you've tied in the LoS. Winning a match over you puts him at the tippy top, tied with King, and the same goes for you. It's an opportunity for him to give himself a boost over you and get the monies and the fame and the umm… the ladies, I think? That's what you physical people want, yeah?"
"The straight males and the lesbian and bisexual women. I think half of my trouble in ULW stems from all the lesbian pollen in the air and sexually frustrated wrestlers wanting to get into my pants to see what my parts look like and if I have a cloaca or something."
"You don't. Your reproductive bits are pretty much human normal. You're not going to be firing eggs out of your poop chute like some fetishized, backwards blue Birdo. They do come in blue, you know! And also pink, so being on fire wouldn't save you."
"Quit being gross, spark."
"Anyway, he's probably not too concerned about you because he's pinned you at some point."
"After Lenore Price-Mason hit me with the one move she uses to attack everybody, and then hit me with the Golden Mullet Spear."
"No, that's Lethal Weapon that does the Golden Bullet, Clay calls it the Goldrush. But he still speared you."
"Right in my nonexistent cloaca."
"In his mind because he hit the one move he did all the work so that means it was so totes a fair fight. Even though it wasn't."
I sigh. "I'm not going to be able to get him on my said, am I? He's going to become this paranoid nutcase that I'm trying to steal his spot, his title, and his place on top of the League of Superstars that he was destined to take via being expelled from that particular parent's vagina."
"I was snooping around amongst the tapes earlier and he said something about having the heart of a Welsh dragon."
"What? Like pickled in a jar?"
"No, no. He was all derpy and like "Inside me beats the heart of a Welsh dragon, and I shall roar a fire hotter than yours!""
I make a disgusted face. "I've seen the paintings and the tapestries and shit. Welsh dragons barely grew to be much bigger than Dragon Kitty. They're itty bitty things. The dragons back home can curl around entire city blocks."
"And well, technically the whole planet is a dragon as well. And it's basically a donut to Earth's donut hole."
"And the hotter fire thing is stupid. I breathe cold fire, my breath is negative some hundred degrees. We can classify severe halitosis after eating at Taco Bell as fire and under those circumstance by the very definition everyone else has hotter fire than me."
"The metaphor just doesn't work. I bet he'd say the same thing to you.
"And I spit lightning! So yes, he does indeed "roar a hotter fire" than me, on a technicality! And what sort of self respecting dragon roars fire? If you expel your draconic weapon in a roar that's a sonic attack, which is decidedly not fire!"
"I has a dragon on mah flag, I is can be ig-nant 'bout dragons all I want an still be right cause I can has flag dragon."
"Bleeeeeh. But hey, you've moved up in the world! At least your opponent this time actually acknowledges that you're a dragon and can breath fire. Even if yours is blue and does damage by the nature of its chilliness."
"Herp derp Kalinda is a big faker and wears a big fake tail that grabs things and is not realistic. Her tail is so totally fake and she is a fake dragon despite her tail being prehensile and able to functionally grab things better than the best prosthetic limbs that are on the market today. Kalinda is a big fake dragon because she is actually a magical cyborg."
"It's just trading one supposed unreality for another.
"Now Kal, there might possibly be robots and cyborgs and stuff in professional wrestling."
"Oh no no no, don't get me wrong here. I'm just saying that if I am a robot I'm an amazing and wonderful, well-built and well programmed robot because I can, you know, effectively emote and not just repeat the same four pre-programmed talking points like Angel Kash."
"BEEP BOOP KALINDA IS NOT MARKETABLE. SHE IS UGLY. SHE DRIVES DOWN THE RATINGS EVEN THOUGH ALL LEGITIMATE RATINGS SOURCES SHOW OTHERWISE. BEEP BOOP, BELIEVE THE THINGS SILAS MASON HAS PROGRAMMED INTO ME AT HIS BIMBO FACTORY."
"Yeah, that."I give another big sigh.
"That's going to be the hard part, Spark. Getting a bunch of professional wrestlers to set aside their egos and work for the greater good. I wish more people would understand that by making ULW a better place that we all benefit, you know?"
"That we don't have to spent time frothing at the mouth defending ourselves from heinous accusations that management hurls at us. That we don't end up having to scrabble for a place to find paychecks because some ignorant jackass can't build up new talent and intent on riding old timers right into the ground, takign the whole company with them. That we all have the same opportunities at titles because some asshole in a gimp mask magically teleports his bald ass into each and every main event without so much as a single slap on the wrist."
"Yeah, it sucks."
"And the shitty thing is even with all this crap going on, ULW is still one of the better feds to be employed by. It sure says something about the drive and desire of professional wrestlers that they will put up with this shit just so they can go out and wrestle in front of fans every so often."
"And the thing is, it doesn't have to be this way. It doesn't have to be a horrible, emotionally draining slog. All it takes is for enough people to band together, to work with one another for the benefit of the whole federation, to stand up to the bullshit Raymond der Vaart is peddling, slap the onrushing pile of poop out of his fat, flabby hand and go 'No more.'"
"My guess is some people just decide to get used to the smell of poop and hope that in time they'll get to be the ones doing the flinging."
I shake my head, "That sounds like such a pitiful, horrible, soul-sucking way to live your life, Spark. I'm not going to let it go any further in ULW, and I'm not going to let it happen to me."
"If Clay Colton wants to stand in the way of progress, of hope, and of a fair and just future for the entirety of ULW, well then I guess he'll just have to get run the fuck over.
"Roadkill on the road to glory."
"Angry Amish Roadkill?"
"No, just the regular kind." Spark says with a chuckle as we head towards the costuming department. Because I sure as shit am not going to allow myself to be seen with an eye that will inspire purple prose.
Ugh, the dirtsheets would be all over it, rapt in the majesty of my beauty, composing rhapsodies containing phases like "limpid pools" or "lustrous orbs."
Ick.
Ick. Ick. Ick.
Just another thing that I won't stand for.
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