DTW DeathTube #8, Double Dragon RP 1/1: Of Edgelords and Excrement

A truck, seriously? You can drive a mother fuzzing truck into a wrestling match and have it be considered a legitimate weapon?

After all the trouble I went through to have my clowns construct a nice arsenal of amusingly horrific hardcore weaponry and packaging it up in a nice display, all arranged in a very aesthetically pleasing fashion, some wankwomble drives his Compensationmobile onto the field and not only eliminates me, but outright kills beloved mascot Mitsubishi Kowabunga.

Oh I'm sure someone would say that it was a mercy killing, what with Kawamata being a crispy critter from that flamethrower. But third degree burns don't really hurt. All the bits that are capable of going "Oi, brain! Something's really gone wrong down here!" are as fried as a bucket of the Colonel's finest.

Though honestly the thing I was the most upset about was the fact that somebody ELSE had went and offed somebody on the Deathmatch Demolition football pitch aside from me.

Consider it a look into the crystal ball of America's future. A guy who was just out there trying to make things better for himself and his girl is angrily run down by some tiny-dicked jackwagon in a gas-guzzling, oversized truck that is probably equipped to roll coal on every Prius and Smart Car that has the misfortune to get stuck behind it. Something that American lawmakers are attempting to make a legal reality. Protester in you way? Perfectly legal to run them the fuzz over.

Having been stuck to the hood, I couldn't be completely certain as to the presence or absence of a set of Truck-Nutz, but even if there weren't a pair on the trailer hitch dangling obscenely, they were there in spirit.

And the worst part was that Devereaux was going to get away with murdering a guy on film, and that sucked.

I'm sure that sounds hypocritical as hell, but I didn't crush a helpless co-workers ribcage underneath the wheels of my chrome-wheeled penis extension. I slit the throat of a rapist who wasn't even human to begin with.

Well, technically I'm sure he was human at SOME POINT. Hell was set up to keep hold of Fallen Angels, and thus the rebellious Devils tended to remain where they were. They'd existed since the world began, after all. They'd only fallen after Man entered the picture, which was only 200,000 or so years ago.

On the grand scale of things that was equivalent to a 12 year old sitting in timeout in his room for about 81 minutes.

If Heaven didn't want you, basically you got to wander around the ethereal until you found some place to settle. Problem is that all the "good" spots are taken. You can't just plop down anywhere, you start to discorporate.

The only way to make sure you stayed you was to hit up some place where there was a wellspring of energy, and for all their other flaws, you could never say that the fires of Hell weren't energetic.

At least that was the way it worked where Kalinda was from, and despite being in some weird state in between life, death, and undeath I wasn't about to start tempting fate by trying to poke and pry where I wasn't wanted trying to work out the mechanics of the afterlife.

Oh, and speaking of poking in the afterlife, I had work to do! A few pops here and there, and I'd gotten most of what I'd needed for the ghastly business ahead.

Item 1: ritual circle in blood. There was plenty that had poured out of the guy whose throat I'd cut. It'd turn out that they guy had been listed as missing for years, maybe decades. Coma patient who just up and vanished one day.

You can get hit hard enough to have your soul decide "Nope, I think I'm going to go now, rather than wait for my body to die, thank you very much," and that's how we get terminally braindead coma patients whose brains are literally rotting, but their bodies are still made to go through the motions of living when there's no longer anybody inside.

It's like leaving a Ferrari idling on the curb with the keys still in it in the shittiest part of the shittiest city in the world. Somebody is going to snatch it up and take it for a joyride. But it's worse because while there are cops that'd be out looking for somebody in a stolen Ferrari there's no supernatural police making sure that nobody is running around in pilfered meat suit that used to be Uncle Albert.

Item 2: the deceased. Kawamata was obviously dead. Paramedics had given him a cursory check over once he'd been thrown over the fence, but they'd just stood there bored, snapping their gum while the guy lay out there on the field in shock, burned to a crisp, leaking fluid out of every inch of his singed, charred body.

He wasn't going to get up in a show of fighting spirit and win the match with third degree burns over a significant chunk of his body. Though if he could, that would've been fuzzin' GLORIOUS, and I was just sad that I hadn't been the one set on fire like that show I could show off just how hard it was to do lasting damage to me.

Lucky bastard. I hadn't been run over by a massive douchewagon's douchewagon, and I'd not been utterly engulfed in flames before. I was always open to new experiences.

Item number 3 was on its way, as it wasn't something I could grab and teleport back with me. Well, not without shifting into my most bestial form. But that tended to be terrifying for everyone else involved. The one time I'd done it, people had dropped dead out of fright. And then they got up again, bound in living death to my unholy will.

Accidentally making yourself a cult sucks, and I heartily recommend not doing it.

Item number 4 was currently in the shower, cleaning off the poo mess from her championship opponent about a month down the line.

So that just left item numbers 5 and 6. A few dark, spooky, ominous items scattered here and there for atmosphere, a bunch of properly dribbly fat candles in black and blood red, a ring of dark robbed cultists, who actually weren't cultists, but were merely some store mannequins I'd pilfered from the Gap and hung properly cult-y robes on.

If you pulled them aside you could still see the khakis.

And a record player with a record of ominous chanting! You need a record player to get properly ominous ambient noise. Just like Vincent Price reading "The Raven" just doesn't sound right without the faint hiss.

So that just left item number six: the deceased's bereaved girlfriend Hamtaro Tamagachi. Oh yeah, sure, a guy just died and all and here I am making bad jokes about the names of him and his main squeeze. I make bad jokes about everything, buster.

Um… and when I got brought back from the point of death my brain kind of got itself rewired. Honestly, as bad as being an incorporeal spirit was, I think it was far more traumatic getting stuffed BACK INTO my body than it was being yanked out.

When you don't have a body, you're just you. Your thought processes operate entirely based on knowledge, without the messy influence of things like hormones and glands. It's amazing how quickly you learn just how fleeting emotions can be, and how they work when you don't have the byproducts of your fight or flight response maintaining them.

It took an incredible effort to be able to stay angry at Kalinda for what had happened. Cutting me out of the memory of the world, getting infected by a demon-fungus because I was an idiot and came to threaten her with a gun into giving me my old life back, and then having to basically be a ghost for months because my body was a broken down, agonized wreck that was made to waste away and rot until it was an inch away from death and then forcibly held their my the diabolic mushrooms.

But she could've just left me to die, or be picked up by demonic recruiters who would offer me a life of sitting in the passenger seat of my own body in exchange for making the hurting stop, or dipped in Lucite and put on display as a modern art piece.

The horror.

She gave me two options: stay alive and do a radical treatment involving an arcane ritual of draconic empowerment and enslavement overseen by a cannibalistic dragon goddess that was basically a ball of tangled spaghetti noodles made out of dragon parts and the spirit of an Evil Overlord Lifestyle Coach crammed into a glove-shaped can made by the God of Death, Undeath, Demons, Devils, Dark Magic, and Stringed Instruments.

Kalinda insisted I always include that last one. I think it was so that every time the lofty titles of Arimus the Smoking Scythe were mentioned there was always a bit of the piss being taken.

"You may be the god of all that is fearsome and holy, but you are also the god of harps, of lutes, of three cat hairs strung across a pig's anus! You sir, are a god of BARDS! BARDY BARDY BARDY SPOONY BARDY BARDY BARDS!"

Welp! Better get the unpleasantness over with. It's like pulling a bandaid, get it over quick and easy with a minimum of pain, or draw it out and prolong the agony.

I step through a crack in the pavement of reality and pop out behind Hanako. My hand falls upon her shoulder, and before she can even register a protest we're between realities, and then we're in the ritual room.

"Sooo… remember all that talk we had about making you some sort of undead abomination so that Masatake could be made somewhat interesting?" I say with a grin, and promptly have it slapped off of my face.

"How dare you! The man I love is dead and here you are making jokes about it!"

"I make jokes about everything. I'm a clown. I joke, therefore I am. And if you like I can put you right back where you were and I'll bring back your one true love with precisely zero input on what sort of undead to make him from his next of kin. I'm leaning towards gay buttsecks yaoi bishie sparkle vampire." And I'm promptly slapped across the face again.

"If this is making you feel better, by all means keep doing it. But I've already been hit by a truck tonight, so the pain is nothing. And I am by nature a clown, so I have no dignity to lose by being slapped repeatedly by a tiny slip of a woman."

She just glowers at me.

"I mean it. We're bringing him back. Unfortunately he's dead as a doornail, so we can't do for him what was done for me. But honestly, considering how I turned out, I really don't think you'd want to try that."

"You can't bring back the dead."

"You have two fire-breathing, teleporting dragonesses that have tails. One of whom cannot have her flesh damaged by anything but fire, and one who will recover from even the most debilitating, fatal injuries in minutes, if not seconds."

"I don't… it's impossible. That's what I've been made to believe all my life."

"What do I have to do, commit seppuku in order to prove it to you?"

"No."

"Too bad. Doing it anyway!" With a flourish I bring a katana out of nowhere and with a surprisingly quick motion I've disemboweled myself.

"It's kind of a slow way to die, so let's speed things up." I've got the katana's companion blade, the wakizashi, in my other hand. With a practiced swipe it's across my neck, my life blood spilling forth in a tremendous gush that requires Hanako to hop back to avoid being splattered, and I plunge the short sword into my heart for good measure.

I use one hand to pinch my windpipe closed so I can speak. "Back in a sec..." I say as I pass out from lack of blood to the brain.

It's a pretty nice attempt at killing myself. It takes me a whole ninety seconds to regain consciousness, and about three minutes to where I'm at the point where I can stand up without any bits that ought to be on the inside falling out.

Hanako is curled into a horrified ball in the corner. I approach her, offering my non-bloodstained hand. Well, my non-literally bloodstained hand. On a metaphorical level they're both pretty well saturated in the stuff.

That's one way to avoid the whole Lady MacBeth "Out, out damned spot!" thing. Just commit so many atrocities that there are no longer any spots, just seamless red gloves of slaughter. And you can't spell slaughter without laughter!

"Come with me if you want to live." I say in my best Schwarzenegger voice.

"His body is just… right over there. He's… he's really dead. And you… you just came back from...." she shakes her head.

"This is a world of nightmares, and I can't wake up."

"There is only one way to escape a nightmare from which you cannot awake." says a familiar voice, but one that also features a susurrus of of additional voices speaking the same words at the same time, as well as one loud, strong, oddly accented voice speaking right along with it.

The boss lady is still in full on Diamond Despot, empowering herself by channeling her link to me. But that link also pulls in the Manyfold Matriarch and the Hand of Arimus. I'm not sure how long this is going to last, and I have no idea what she's going to be like.

She hates to borrow power, but with flamethrowers and trucks and exploding shit everywhere, she needed to tap into the Matriarch's power in order to make sure that she didn't end up as crispified as poor Kawamata over there.

Being a dragon of all elements, Her Royal Hungriness can absorb fire elemental energies, which would otherwise mar and weaken Kalinda's connection to her innate icy chill. If she hadn't drawn on her power, she could end up weakened and hurt going into what could very well be two title defenses in a row next month, presuming that Riddick doesn't bring out a brand new flamethrower and Teiji doesn't start lighting his farts, dealing more fire damage to her before their potential title matches.

"And that is to take control of the dream, to make it your own. If you lack the will to seize it utterly and force your wishes upon it, however, the only option is to become a nightmare yourself."

"Masatake Kawamata faced his nightmares, and they destroyed him." every spoken word is accompanied by a tiny cloud of swirling white mist, as if we were in the depths of a winter field instead of somewhere indoors. Her hair, wet from the shower, has frozen into the simple ponytail she'd drawn it back into.

"The choice is yours, Miss Takeuchi, what sort of nightmare should your paramour be?"

-o-

Later that night, with the deed done, Kalinda hasn't slept. She doesn't look tired in the slightest, and since reviving our mascot, she's had this tiny little smirk on her face. With a wave of her hand and a flash of light she summons Spark, the cat-sized electric blue dragon that bonded with her long, long before I did. With a few words she sends him off to set up the cameras.


"I am going to say something that you seldom hear from someone in my profession, in my position. In a world rife with egomania and entitlement you seldom see anyone give voice to these words, let alone in professional wrestling where an overinflated sense of self-worth seems to be all but a requirement on one's resume."

"I was wrong. I was arrogant. And because of it, I lost."

"I had presumed that with all their talk of violence, of viciousness, of hatred, and of anarchy that the Ultraviolence Union would be unable to contain their individual desires for glory and gold and stab one another in the back at the perfect opportunity to eliminate the other whilst he was focused on me."

"They did indeed turn on one another, but they cooperated long enough to see my elimination. This is a mistake that I shall not be repeating in the days and weeks to come."

"Teiji Shintaro and Riddick, He Who Sports the Mononym, have proven that they can work together at times to achieve something that they both want."

"But what both men want is my DTW World Championship. It is not a title that can be shared, and it is not a belt that is on the line in the days to come. Oh no, it will be weeks before Teiji Shintaro faces me, receiving the prize he earned from his victory at Deathmatch Demolition."

"And two weeks after that I face Riddick on Bikini Atoll, the nuclear testing site, where the most destructive force known to man was unleashed in the distant past."

"Thus the only way to assure that Riddick has a chance to take the DTW Championship will be for Teiji Shintaro to fail in his own quest to acquire the selfsame belt."

"Oh I'm sure that a paragon of fairness, sportsmanship, and logic like our dear friend Teiji will graciously offer his long time associate Riddick a shot at the belt if he wins. But it will be weeks later. It may be a whole month or two before that bald, moldering washrag used to mop up an erotic movie theater's floor worth of discarded spunk receives what he believes to be his god-given right."

"He's Riddick, the man who absolutely positively has to be in every DTW main event EVER. A man so loathsome, so horrendous, so disgusting that even his own body thinks he's unworthy of adoration and affection. This is a man, ladies and gentlemen, that he is so hated that even his own hair abandoned him."

"Riddick is such a wretched human being, unworthy of praise, unworthy of devotion, and unworthy of affection that his own body has long since recognized how much he sucks as a human being."

"He's such an egg-looking scumlord because even his own flesh and bone can see how undeserving he is. Undeserving of DTW main events. Undeserving of fans. Undeserving of hair. Undeserving of love."

"Riddick deserves NOTHING. Nothing less than a brutal beating each and every time that someone lays eyes upon him. Which, fortunately, is exactly how I treat this fetid, pustular abscess that peers out of the anus of humanity. I just want to wrap my hands around his neck, and squeeze, and squeeze, and squeeze until the sickening goo within him spews forth. Discarded upon the ground and left to rot."

"And his associate? Just as undeserving. Just as unworthy. These are not men of which their nations are proud. These are not men with whom one should trust the future of a company. They are not fit to be put in a position of authority over so much as an anthill, let alone carry the glorious burden of being the face of an entire wrestling promotion."

"They are agents of chaos sewing the seeds of anarchy and discord. They are representations of the repressed, bestial nature that dwells within us all. The snarling, selfish animal within that is concerned only with the drives to eat, sleep, and fuck."

"Two weeks ago Teiji Shintato opened his mouth, and for once something came out of it other than his own fetid shit. Though instead of bodily excreta, this too was also of a fetid, fecal nature. Only in this case the bullshit was of the verbal nature."

"He expressed a nihilistic philosophy, called for a revolution. Bring down the corporations, he says, bring down the radio stations, the television studios, the websites. Break down the walls of corporatism and conformism he says."

"Do this, he says, discard the drudgery of work, of social standards. Do what you like, he says. Do what your heart desires, and be free."

"But that is not freedom. That is destruction. That is death. And the citizens of this world recognize what those like Teiji and his ilk are just as well as they do in my own."

"There are those who are merely monsters, creatures like myself. Dragons, goblins, orcs, were-beasts. Beings who deviate from the physical norms of most sentient creatures, most of which you could easily assume are simply funny looking humans."

"And then there are the monstrous. Those that are not monsters in the body, but in the mind and in the soul. They are incapable of coexistence with other sentient life. They exist only to cause pain, to bring misery, to murder, to kill, to rape, to steal. To them you are not thinking beings like themselves, you are merely toys. Playthings of flesh and blood that exist solely for their own hideous amusements."

"This is freedom, Teiji promises. Freedom from societal norms, free from the drudgery of work, free from rules, free from laws, free from anything and everything binding you from achieving your every desire."

"I am not a leader, do not follow me, says Teiji, but follow my ways and you will be free."

"And you will be."

"You will have the freedom to being released from the burdens of this life as you are shot dead like the mad dog you are."

"Because mad dogs cannot band together. They cannot coordinate. They cannot maintain alliance or allegiance for an extended period of time. Freedom to do whatever you like comes with a price."

"And that price is that all those freedoms can be taken away from your by someone who is stronger than you. In the lawless paradise of anarchy Teiji imagines there is no room for love, no room for life, there is room only for fear, anger, and paranoia."

"To lash out at others, to slake your pleasures, to rip away anything you desire from those too weak to keep it from you. Nothing saves you from having this very same fate visited upon you save through the strength of your own hands and the weapons you carry."

"Teiji snarls at "Political Correctness." And I snarl at him for it. For the term has become a catch-all phrase that people cower behind. "I cannot say this thing," says Teiji and those like him, "For if I do I shall be called politically incorrect, and I will be shunned for saying this thing. I will be made an outcast. I will be made pariah.""

"For all the sneering at the concept of "safe spaces," those that similarly sneer at the concept of political correctness want the safest space of them all. They want to be able to say what they want, when they want, to who they want, and they want to be completely and utterly free of any consequences that their words have."

""Oh no!" screams Teiji and those like him, "I can't call somebody a cum-guzzling kike-loving nigger-faggot anymore! I am being unjustly persecuted for exercising my right to free speech! This is political correctness gone mad!""

"Excuse me whilst I play the world's smallest violin for your misery. What those like you refer to as "political correctness" the rest of the world calls "not being a complete and total fuckwad." You say offensive things, people get offended, and people decide that they don't like the words you're saying and collectively agree to exercise their own right to free speech by criticizing your anti-semitic, homophobic, bitter, racist ass."

"You don't have a right to an audience. You don't have the right to a platform with which to shout messages of hatred. If you say something so unpleasant that your employers decided that your continued employment would reflect badly upon the company, they have the freedom to no longer have to employ your sorry-ass self."

"And all the dark, wicked, perverse powers that seek to control and dominate your life? Those aren't the result of society stuffing you into a nice, neat little box. Oh no. Having to a life of never-ending drudgery at your workplace, made to meaningless shuffle papers while seventeen different layers of morons provide "oversight" and "management?" That's not the result of the relentless press of society."

"Oh no. That is the relentless press of greed. With all the advances in automation, in computer technology, in communications, individual productivity is up on an unprecedented scale. Each day in this world mankind achieves more than it has at any other point in history. But most of us do not reap the benefits of these advances."

"What has instead has happened is that the extra capital earned by these increases in efficiency go straight into the pockets of people like Teiji. Selfish sacks of scum that treat people as play toys instead of human beings, as toy soldiers on a battlefield of commerce, as nothing more than disposable things to drain dry of every drop of pleasure that they can milk from them and then toss them away."

"People like Teiji, people like Riddick, they're all about themselves. About what feels good for them. About what they want. If you have something they desire, they wish to be able to reach out, murder you, and take that things for themselves."

"They are animals, ladies, gentlemen, and everyone in between. They see the world that has taken men thousands of years to build, go "I am not as happy as I believe I ought to be," and then attempt to kick down the sandcastle."

"There's a place on earth you can go to where you can experience the complete and utter freedom the philosophy of small-minded, self-worshiping men like the Ultraviolence Union espouse. It's called "Somalia," and it is a place of no laws, of no regulations, and also quite regularly of no food."

"Starvation in Africa is not a matter of supply. We have more than enough to feed everyone in the world twice over if we wanted to. Ours is a world of plenty, where no one should want for anything."

"It's a matter of logistics. Of distribution. The reason your televisions are flooded with images of dark-skinned children with their bones showing through tightly stretched skin, their bellies distended and bloated from hunger is not because we lack the capacity to feed them."

"It's because men like Teiji and Riddick want to be free. They want to be free to take what they desire, and if that means hijacking trucks of food that would make sure that a hundred starving orphans will get a hot meal in their bellies then so be it. They would gleefully grow fat and bloated on what was intended for those that cannot defend themselves."

"And this is the great truth of that terrifying word to Americans. "Socialism." You would slap food out of the mouths of one hundred men, women, and children because one of them is undeserving, that they don't need it, that they're "cheating the system." That they're "being lazy" and "refusing to work."

"The truth is that in time there will be no more work. All the mindless, boring drudgery will be given to machines, to robots, to automatons. We are rapidly approaching an era where there may not be ENOUGH work for everyone to do."

"Already the typical worker of this day and age accomplishes nearly double of what the same person in her position accomplished forty years ago. But in those forty years they were not rewarded with higher wages or fewer hours. Wages have increased but a pittance, and in the past two decades have mostly stagnated or gone down. Already our culture has decided that hard work, dedication, and improving productivity should not be rewarded."

"Just cutting out one meaningless middle-management position that accomplishes nothing but wrapping every decision in a cocoon of red tape would allow ten individuals to survive on a subsistence wage, enough to provide them with food and shelter. If they do not desire to do any work, then let them. Shrink the labor pool."

"And then instead of 15 applicants all scrambling for a crappy little job at WalMart where the corporate paymasters will keep them locked in at part time to avoid having to pay benefits just to keep food on the table and a roof over there heads, there are only five people. Five people that if they don't get this job can just go somewhere else and find another."

"Make the companies fight tooth and nail to attract employees. Make workers treasured, instead of buttfucking them to death attempting to wring every last nickel out of them before their eyes lose their luster and they turn dead inside from being treated as filth by customers and management alike."

""You work at WalMart, you must be a poor, desperate hack. A mere peasant upon whom I can trod. You are not even a human being." says the entitled customer."

""You work at WalMart, you must be a poor, desperate hack. We will do nothing to try and aid your rise. We will pay you only what the law dictates we ought to, meaning if we could get away with paying you less, we would. Instead of giving you a decent wage, we will maximize our profits by assuring that you make so little that you qualify for food aid, assuring that you will be fed, but we won't have to pay for it. You are nothing more than a cog in our machine, easily discarded when worn away and replaced with another. You are not even a human being." says the selfish, entitled corporate fatcat prick who deep down inside longs to be a feudal king lording over serfs."

"Because that's what men like these want. They want to be kings, to rule with the power of Divine Right, where no decision shall be questions, where no word they speak is ever challenged. Where they can scream "NIGGER-FAGGOT!" at the top of their lungs all the live long day and there will be no spectre of political correctness to haunt them."

"But the slightest word, the slightest peep, the merest utterance of dissent "Man, than Riddick guy's head kind of looks like a penis." Outcome the hot irons, the whips, and the chains. For dissent can never be tolerated. Freedom for me, not freedom for thee. You're as free as you like, so long as you can fight off anyone who seeks to take what is yours with your own two hands. Which is rather difficult when your overseers have armor, shields, whips, and swords."

"And pitiful men like Riddick and Teiji always think that they're the ones who will be the kings, never the serfs bound and chained, made forever to toil working the fields to make a harvest they will never consume a morsel of, nor see a single red cent of profit from."

"And I don't mean pitiful as in pathetic, worthless, and without value. I mean pitiful in that men like Teiji and Riddick should be pitied. Because for one reason or another they feel that their freedom is only truly expressed when they have their boot on the throat of someone else. That they feel their freedom has to come at someone else's expense."

"Because that is perhaps the saddest thing I've seen here in this world. The idea that happiness, contentment, wealth, health, and freedom are a zero sum game. That in order to have something for yourself that you need to assure that as few people as possible also have the thing that you wish to have for yourself. The whole "fuck you, I've got mine," mindset."

"Because we've seen your philosophy in action in the world of professional wrestling, haven't we, gentlemen? Aren't we all here in this little misfit promotion because someone with more power, be it of a corporate or a political nature, decided that they wanted something at our expense?"

"Goro Yamashi has thrown money at us and told us to be free. To do whatever we like. To not worry about having to appeal to corporate overlords, to deal with political factions, to have to scrape and bow and not be offensive so as not to offend the sponsors, to not have to tone down your style and let bitchy Maxim models get in five free minutes of offense so that they look better and make you look worse."

"This is the gift that DTW has given to the world. This is what it represents, and I will fight tooth and nail to make sure that you will never soil the World Championship with their filth you trail after you in your lives like so many disgusting, incontinent, masturbating snails."

"You lack self-control. You lack discipline. You lack a sense of moderation. You want to shuck off the rules of society, of fair play, of normalcy. You want to return to the rule of personal might. You want to be filthy, ignorant beast rutting in their own wastes. You want ultimate freedom."

"No. No you don't. Because you see, in that situation you lose. By bringing out that flamethrower, Riddick assuredly crippled Masatake Kawamata. He'd be on the shelf for months, recovering, having skin grafts, even if Dick Deveraux hadn't run him over in a truck with huge suspension and tires that I'm totally sure he takes driving offroad out in the wilds of Washington fucking DC."

"We already have such a thin roster, it'd be stupid to take out an active wrestler like Masatake. So it's a good thing DTW has me around. Thanks to me that poor gentleman will not only be fully recovered from being set on fire and run over, he will have returned from the grave in time to compete on the next DTW show."

"I'm not only a dragoness, gentlemen. I'm also a FUCKING NECROMANCER. I don't care how much shit you spit out of your mouth, how far your cumshot goes when you jerk off in centerfield, or how big of a fucking flamethrower you can bring to the ring."

"There's no disqualifications. They only thing preventing me from marching a goddamned army of darkness down the the ring, having your drawn and quartered, and taking a shower in the blood and filth that falls from your wretched entrails as I have you strung up and cut open as examples to all who oppose the rather playful and benevolent rule of Kalinda Kriegsdottir as DTW World Champion is because if I murder the SHIT out of you, the game is over. The fun ends."

"You see, people like you, they mistake kindness and politeness for weakness. That just because I'm funny, that I'm silly, and that I'm amusing that I'm not as dangerous as other people. That because I don't leave a trail of blood, gore, carnage, broken bodies, ruined lives, agonized victims, and unspeakable bodily fluids behind me that I'm somehow inferior."

"I'm here for only one reason: entertainment. I fight to entertain myself, and to entertain the fans that pay good money to watch this product. I can't do that with a roster that's half in the hospital and half in the grave."

"I have no desire to become the queen of a kingdom of corpses. Because if I wanted THAT I could animate every corpse in every graveyard in Mississippi, establish myself as Dread Overlord of Jackson, and rule the state with an iron fist, things would no doubt improve in short order."

"In order to be your reigning and defending DTW World Champion, I need people to defend it against. So as disgusting, loathsome, and unpleasant as the two of you are, I unfortunately cannot give you the thrashings you deserve."

"So instead I'm just going to humiliate the two of you. I've got something special planned for Teiji. But Riddick? All I need to do to humiliate him is to win this match, meaning he loses to me. Again."

"And then I beat the fuck out of Teiji in two weeks, and go on to beat the fuck out of Riddick at Bikini Atoll."

"Because as the losses keep piling up around ol Stone Cold Steve Autism it's going to eat away at him, bit by bit. Eventually he's going to start being known, not for being a bitter fucking edgelord whose own body thinks he's such a dipshit that it's denied him the privilege of hair, but for being Kalinda's bitch."

"And that's something wanking himself to sleep every night on a pile of main event pennants every night will never be able to fix."

As her righteous anger fills her, the Matriarch's influence over Kalinda seems to fade. The crown-like marking upon her forehead and the white upon her lips fades as she looks over to me.

"Claudia, would you like to say something?"

"Uhhh..." I stammer, "No boss, I think anything that I say will totally ruin the seriousness of the situation."

"Excellent. Best not to interrupt your overlord when she's monologuing. MINION, I ORDER YOU TO PREPARE THE RAINBOW SHERBET!"

And then my mistress erupts into a rather nice round of evil laughter. She's been practicing! Good for her!