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**Roxy Cotton** · **08-02-2016, 08:45 PM** Goodnight, sweetheart. You're lucky I'm sleepy... -->

Kandi Washington, I want to take a moment and talk to you directly. Forget the rest of these losers and wannabes in our tag team match. Forget Peter Gilmour and Michael McBride, they’re nobodies. Two men who never got anything done in the ring or in the bedroom.

Forget Bubble Gunt and her lipstick lezbo leather mommy, Mandii Dickrider. Neither of them are of any importance, they’re just NPCs. Background players. Extras in a movie called “Roxy and Kandi.”

We can forget about all of them, forget about the match, forget about the tag team titles, too… we can even forget about our partners for right now. I love Ginger and I know you love your little cuck boy… whatever his name is… but none of that matters right now as I’m speaking this.

What matters, Kandi, is simple. What matters is you finally being forced to look into the mirror and see the lines growing. See the cracks forming in your layers of foundation. What matters is when you finally get to pull your eyes away from the horror of your magic mirror and look across the ring at the fairest of them all, the peroxide princess, the foxy fashionista herself… me.

Kandi, you walk in the door of the XWF and declare yourself the queen but you did it without even looking around you. The XWF didn’t need a queen, it already had a princess. And sure, maybe not every part of me is over the age of eighteen, but I’m more mature than your forty-something self could ever hope to be. You’ll need more than botox to get the look of shock off your face when I slap that imaginary crown off your dome, sweetheart.

Listen honey… don’t think you can come into my house and run your mouth. You’re entitled to your opinions, but I’m entitled to shut your damn mouth for you, and that’s what we’re 24 hours away from happening. The new overtaking the old. The cracks are in more than your foundation, darling. They’re spreading through every bit of you. Making your knobby knees tremble and pumping more and more blood through those varicose veins.

Accept the future, Kandi. You may as well… I’m more plastic than princess, but plastic makes perfect. And it lasts forever. My tits will be in a museum for decades after your family decides on a closed casket for your funeral. You know, to not scare the children.

You’re just a sad, tired, old hag, hoping someone remembers reading Playboy back before internet porn was a thing. Me? I’m a bombshell with a designer vagina.

Honestly, I feel bad for you, hon. I know you used to be special. You used to make all the heads turn when you walked in the room, and now you just make them all turn away. It must be hard to watch everyone forget who you are as your looks fade… isn’t it? I mean, I’ll never know. I’ll always be iconic. Like Marilyn Monroe or Madonna… someday teenage girls will try to be cool by mimicking me.

You?

Kandi Washington?

Gone with the wind, baby. And frankly my darling… I don’t give a damn.

Threaded Mode \| Linear Mode Goodnight, sweetheart. You're lucky I'm sleepy...
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