Post by Amelia Abernathy on Dec 16, 2020 2:54:50 GMT -6
”Righteous? In Pro Wrestling? GCWA, your definition of Righteous is different than mine.”
Amelia’s asymmetrically perfect face, so fresh and clean, sneers at the camera. Even her immaculate jib flares at the nostrils upon thinking of some correlation between this neanderthalic sport and the term righteousness.
”I mean, look at this ---”
She adjusts herself in the plush leather chair behind her lavish desk that was crafted and imported from a part of the world that the GCWA roster can’t pronounce. Her glittered fingertips graze over some names of the participants in the Righteous Rumbler her cruel daddy has assigned her to.
”There’s creepy old men. There’s dime a dozen psychopaths. There’s your sadists. There’s no less than three confused about their genitalia and sexual orientations. And.. what’s this… Deathbringer? There’s LITERALLY a bringer of death in this thing. Righteous? Are you FOR REAL? What did you do, GCWA management? Did you throw a bunch of themes in a big hat and pulled one at random, and that one happened to say Righteous? How ironic is it that the only one in this goat rodeo who is righteous is ME? The most hated among you! How ironic!”
Her cherry red lips morph from snarl to frown, and then the notorious Abernathy pout presents itself.
”My crusade against professional wrestling was justified and RIGHTEOUS. 0.2% of all child deaths per year are attributed to kids horseplaying with their favorite wrestlers movesets. 13% of professional wrestlers admit to getting hooked on drugs after becoming professional wrestlers. Oh and deaths connected to Pro Wrestling? Do I even --- wait..”
She pours over the sheet of names again.
”Ah, yes. Raging Dead. I specifically saw you die in Action Wrestling. I don’t know who you really are, but making fun of someone’s death by pretending to be them is horrible. Shame on you, sir! How dare you! What you’re doing isn’t righteous at all!”
She throws her hands up in exasperation.
”See? Even in death, a person can’t catch a break. Everything I’ve said about this misbegotten bum tumble of a sport is factually accurate. It’s verifiable by data mining. Yet here I am, presented before you as the big bad villain. My closing down all those wrestling promotions saved lives. I single handedly changed lives for the better. I prevented folks from becoming addicted to drugs. All of those wrestlers who I put out of competition were able to get acceptable jobs that make them productive members of society now, such as your local grocery bagger and restaurant worker. Don’t you see? I’m not the villain. I’m the hero of this story! I’m the righteous!”
Her enthralling oceanic eyes flitter pitifully to gain sympathy from anyone in the viewing audience she can.
”But now? Just 5 days before Christmas, I’m going to be thrown into the lion's den at this frightening ‘Righteous’ Rumble! My cruel ole daddy and management didn’t waste time punishing me did they? Instead of putting me in a one versus one, they made sure to maximize my punishment by pitting me against every type of unrighteous person in wrestling.”
Her own words strike at her, causing her to shut up for a moment. She visibly quakes from the very real danger that awaits her. After a few moments to collect herself, she takes a breath and continues, her poise regained.
”God, I miss the days when my biggest tribulation was deciding which outfit to wear or the long lines at Starbucks during Pumpkin Spice Latte season. But, anyway, yes ok.. Let me make each and every participant a deal they can’t refuse. See, I need to win this stupid thing to reduce the time on my ‘prison’ sentence in professional wrestling. I can’t just eliminate myself from it like I want to. Understand? Okay, so, here’s the deal. I will give each one of you one million dollars CASH if you simply let me win the whole thing.”
She holds up a hand, a single digit paused.
”Now, now. Before you auto-deny this deal, just think about what that money could do for you. Think about it: you’re getting paid one million dollars for literally doing nothing. You either come to the ring and eliminate yourself, or you just don’t show up. Either way, you don’t mindlessly plod away and shave years off your life over some chump change and a piece of fake gold glued onto fake leather. You get to spoil your friends and family with Christmas gifts out the wazoo. And.. hey.. Hey guys and gals….I’m looking at this list and there’s so much you can do.”
She starts picking out names at random to give them the massive perks of her once in a lifetime deal.
”Shawn Warstein? You could pay to have your shitty named legally changed, if that is your real name anyway? If it’s not, then let me guess… you wanted to create an identity that made you seem both badass and super smart? What do you get when you shove War and Albert Einstein together? WARSTEIN! You’re mercilessly mocked about it so this deal solves that.”
”Thunder Knuckles? You could buy some lightning reflexes to complement, um, whatever it is you’re trying to do in the ring. I would tell you to go back to Generi-Cuts and get your $2 back because of that shitty haircut you’re rocking, but this money I’m offering will have your hair set up in the most exquisite manner at the finest salon.”
”PerZag? Holy Mary Mother of God in Heaven and on Earth at the same exact time! *pinches bridge of nose and just shakes her head* For a man who calls himself the sexiest man alive or the worthiest of them all, you sure have a body and face and *chokes back a giggle* name befitting a man with a ten dollar body and a ten cent face. You’re uggo. Ugh. The least you could have done was given yourself a moniker that doesn’t sound like a street drug. But hey? It’s okay. I’ve got you, ‘fam’. This cool mill I’m offering you will get you all the personal trainers and facial surgeons you can ask for. Oh and you can buddy up with Warstein in the name change line. How neat is that?”
”Valis Deathbriner? So, okay, your whole purpose is that you’re in our realm searching for someone. Hmm. Ok.”
She snaps her fingers and a random dude in a suit enters the frame.
”This is Harry. He’s someone. There, Valis. Completed your story in three seconds.”
Harry walks out of the scene and Amelia mulls..
”Valis, I think instead of giving you one million in cash, I’ll give you a reality check instead. Here it is…. You’re not an alien. You’re not a wizard. Star Trek is better than Star Wars. Dungeons and Dragons isn’t real. It’s a game for creative people who like to live in fantasyland because the real world is too tough for them. Honestly? I wouldn’t offer you this deal anyway, because you’re the type of idiot who would somehow wind up buying a million dollars worth of uranium off the black market and accidentally blow us all up.”
”Enforcer? If this money I’m offering you could buy you a clue, then I’m sure you’d be up for it. Alas it doesn’t. I suppose maybe I could purchase your enforcing services to enforce me into the winner’s circle? Just sayin’. I might even toss Valis’s share in it.”
”Outcast? If you’re smart, this money will cast you out of the running in this thing, and preferably out of wrestling too.”
A scoffing snort emits from her perfect lips.
”Big Bifford? Obviously this money I’m throwing at you will do wonders in your life. Let’s face it, your assertion that you’re on your way back up to the main event is false. The only thing on the way up regarding you, is the numbers on the scales you step on you big ugly tub of goop. So, easy fix. Use my million dollars to get on some Slim Fast. Or in your case, some Slim NOW! Hire a personal trainer. I hear Atara Themis isn’t around anymore despite being booked for this idiot rumble, so you could purchase her services for a bit. She’s gullible enough to try to help a glutton like you.”
”Alice Knight? You stated the reason you wrestle is for the money, for a butt load of money. Well, honey, the money train is rolling right up to you and I’m the conductor. I’m offering you so much cash, you could buy yourself a new ass. No offense, but you’re looking pancakey back there. This will fix that. I’m offering you more cash than this promotion is giving you for winning this thing.”
”Marcus Ka’Nobodycares, Chad Vargas, Mike Zybala, Dylan Thomas, Kylie Moore, Terry Marshall, Robert Main, Xavier Lux, Noah Jackson, Ed Houston, Jackson Hart, Sara Cross, Cartier, Dave Branson, Betsy Granger --- You lot are generic as regular flavored oatmeal. It’s clear all of you went to the pro wrestling Dollar Store and bought your gimmicks from the clearance rack. You went nowhere in life, which is why you’re in professional wrestling. And now that you’re in professional wrestling, you’re not going anywhere… otherwise you wouldn’t need a cockamamime cluster-muck of a battle royal to find any validation. Everyone makes at least one good decision in their lifetime, allow your decision to accept my million dollar offer to be that one good decision you make. And please, do something righteous with it. Put it toward a GED diploma or college or trade school or toward a business loan and open up shop somewhere.”
The ridiculously pretty aristocrat stands up from her chair and adjusts her form fitting business attire skirt suit. She huffs as she traverses the marbled floor of her luxurious office suite atop New York City’s famed Abernathy Plaza. After retrieving a shot glass and a bottle of the finest stress reliever, she walks to the front of the desk and scoots her highly sought after booty onto the surface and pours a shot, downing it quickly because the next person she must pitch the deal to disgusts her.
”Graves, you’re not magically sex changed. You’re not changed in any way, that way. You’re playing pretend. You pretended to get raped after pretending to be a girl. You’re even pretending to use wrestling as the ‘only’ profession you can be yourself and hurt people without going to prison. Puh-lease! There’s bare knuckle boxing. There’s MMA. There’s being a Bouncer at a club. There’s other professions that accommodate you. Please take my offer and get some help to clear up your confusions, because right now you’re a blight upon the earth.”
Another shot. Derisive scoff.
”And you, Jack Puffer, aren’t a detective. You’re not a wrestler. You’re not even a man - just some scrubling whose unworthy fingers tagged me on Twitter. That single act is the best thing that’ll ever happen to you. At least I know you’ll accept my million dollar offer, since you’re such a fan of mine for some inexplicable reason. So, thank you, and Mr. Puffer… you’re welcome for my existence.”
With that, she gestures and the scene ends.