Fairly often my friends will give me some stupid look when I start talking about wrestling; and they’ll usually come at me with the same redundant ass questions:

“What in the fuck are you doing, Dolly? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

Not particularly. Though I do understand the risks, and I do positively interpret the sentiment of their concerns… but I just don’t care.

I have a feeling, if there is a God, he or she made me the way I am for a reason. I mean it’s not every day you meet a scrawny twelve year old girl who can go out and step inside the squared circle with some of the world’s greatest athletes and hold her own.

What can I say? I’m special, and I can’t figure out whether to be more thankful, or to be more arrogant.

It all started for me when I was five, sitting next to my dad and watching CM Punk drive Jeff Hardy into the turnbuckle while he was wearing a chair for a necklace. I was mesmerized with the spectacle that is professional wrestling from that very moment.

I can remember feeling this unexplainable coil like reaction within my tiny little frame. I jumped off of ma’daddy’s lap, started hootin’ and hollerin’:

“YEAH!!! KILL HIM!!! BREAK HIS NECK!!!”

So flash forward a few weeks to my first day of Kindergarten when I first met my good friend Big Rhonda:

The scene opens up inside of an emptying classroom as the bell rings, little Dolly Waters gets knocked over from behind, causing her to fall down on this adorable popsicle stick picture she had made for her dad and tarring it to shreds,

“Get out of my way you idiot!”

Rhonda looked like the mix between a baby grizzly bear and some screwed up offspring of Java the Hut and Leah. She looked down on the little defenseless Dolly who was visibly upset and said,


“Awe! What’s the matter little baby? Gunna’ cry fer’ Daddy? Don’t worry, yer’ picture is ugly anyways.”

Dolly’s tear filled eyes widen, her fists tighten, and she grinds her teeth with rage, her lip begins to snarl up as she stands. She’s making this awful breathing noise.



Now let’s pause right here!



It’s somewhere between this moment and what we’re about to show you next that I completely black out. I believe that sound I’m making, which kinda’ sounds like the Waterboy yell on helium, was a symptom of a serious hyperventilation, possibly anxiety induced.

But don’t get it twisted. I’m not the protagonist of one of the cliché stories where the hero blacks out all of the time and does miraculous shit that they can’t remember, nope, not me at all.

Sometimes I just get really, really pissed...

The scene cuts back to Dolly holding Rhonda’s head inside of her desk while she continually smashes the top of the desk down onto her face. With each smash she teaches Rhonda a lesson:

“DON'T YOU NEVER!”

...SMASH...

“EVER!”

...SMASH...

“TOUCH!”

...SMASH...

"ME AGAIN!"

...SMASH-SMASH...

Dolly wipes away some tears and a bit of blood splatter from her cheeks, looking so cute as she sniffles her nose and tries fixing her hair. Rhonda is slumped over in the desk looking like an over fed pig who’s drowned in its trough.


Just look at me walking away there like a little champ before the teacher even realizes what happened, hey and wouldn’t you know it? Rhonda ended up apologizing and now she’s one of my best friends:

We cut to a scene the next week in school during lunchtime. Rhonda sporting a neck brace and a pair of black eyes approaches Dolly with her lunch tray,

“Say, D-D-Dolly…”

Rhonda is more nervous than a jack rabbit shitting razor blades,


“You think I could sit with you?”


Dolly quirkily tilts her head to the side, showing off a silly but sweet smile,

“Why sure, Rhonda!”

And thus started a long, blossoming friendship built on trust, respect, and admiration and most importantly, fear.

“Ummm duh Rhonda, big red truck? You’re supposed to polish my belt three times a day, dumbass! Once in the morning before school, once after lunch and a third time whenever in the hell I tell you…”

Rhonda nervously stumbles into the scene, fumbling Dolly’s Federweight title and accidently dropping it on the floor. Her eyes widen as she covers her mouth with her hand, looking over to Dolly now with pleading eyes,

“D-D-Dolly I’m so, so sorry, here, here lemme’ make it up to ya’”

Rhonda grabs the belt back from the ground and breathes on its base, now lifting her shirt up, exposing her FUPA; she uses the dingy Tweety and Taz shirt to wipe the belt down. Dolly, obviously irritated snatches the belt away from Rhonda,

“You’ve done enough, Rhonda. You know, sometimes I have a hard time understanding why I pay you to be my assistant by letting you be seen with me… this lack of appreciation from you? It’s hurtful.”

Paul Heyman enters from stage right,

“Ya’ know Dolly, it’s really not helping out on your image keeping Rosie O’Donnell here around… maybe we could get you a new, more attractive assitan…”

“NO!”

Dolly cuts Paul off,

“She might be morbidly obese, have juvenile diabetes, and be just as dumb as she is round… but Rhonda is not just my best bitch, she’s also my best friend…”

Rhonda smiles, exposing her snaggletoothed grill,



Like I said, I can’t figure out whether to be more thankful, or more arrogant because of my gifts. I grew up watching thankful, fan inspiring, “eat yer’ Wheaties” wrestlers all of the time, but I just never really connected with them.

Now CM Punk calling out Jeff Hardy for being a worthless drug addict and breaking his neck with that steel chair-to-ringpost shot? That I can identify with, watching it made me feel just how I felt that day when I smashed Rhonda’s head like a pit popping out of an olive.

Maybe I was just born to feel disdain for the weak, or maybe it grew on me from years of watching my Dad try and be as good a man as he could be, only for my Mom to fucking around on him with the local Pastor… being good can only get you so far.

It got my Dad drinking and snorting himself to oblivion.

Now being great… being the best? For me, that’s the only place I can accept being, no matter how I have to get there.

…Click…

The sound of someone pushing play on a cassette tape player is overheard as a lowly looking video feed comes to us from inside a ratty looking gym.
Joe Esposito’s “You’re the best around” begins playing. What a great song.

Entering the image now is Paul Heyman, the best wrestling manager of all tyyyymmmmee, oh yeah… but given the seriously lacking promo production, we’re led to believe that Mr. Heyman has possibly fallen on hard times, maybe that’s why he’s decided to manage a twelve year old who’s not very good and has very little acco…

“Hello, XWF Galaxy, my name is…”

Shhh, we have to be quiet now, he’s talking. Paul stops, looking very irritated as he glares over in my, the narrator’s, direction.

“What in the fuck is this? Can someone tell me who this guy is? You, jewfro…”

I point at myself.

“Yeah you numb nuts, get the fuck over here…”

I nervously walk over.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”


It becomes apparent to Paul, who I am,



“Wait a second… are you Richard Simmons?”

I wildly nod in agreement as slobber flings from my mouth.


“Stop with the narrator shit, and talk to me… why are you here? AND WHO IN THE FUCK HIRED YOU?!?”


“This shithole dump is your gym?”

“Well yeah, and your production crew was lacking the funds to hire a more traditional narrator, you know like the Daniel Stern, Morgan Freeman mold, so I agreed to do it at a discount!”

“Okay well listen, I’m going to need you to just stand over there, far in the distance, maybe near your smoothie machine, and try not being so…”


Paul looks me up and down with disgust,

“…trying not being so you, Richard.”

Paul turns away from me and looks into the camera.

“I am here tonight to address the travesty that is the Savage Championship match. I frankly don’t know any other way to bat it around, rather than tell you that it is a crime that my client, the reigning destroyer of jaws, Dolly Waters, must be forced to participate in a crowded field with five other superstars who are unworthy of even lacing her boots for the Savage Championship.”

Dolly makes her appearance behind Paul Heyman and begins bouncing up and down rhythmically to the beat of this wonderful song.


“Remember I told you about the great star power my client possesses? Believe me now? Now that my client, in her first televised match gets immediately thrown into a championship match? See but Vinnie Lane wants her to fail, so he stacks the fucking card against my client. It’s obvious, as I look at her opponents, a proverbial ‘who’s, who’ of wasted roster space, that Dolly Waters will be the biggest draw, not just in that match, but on that entire card and that scares Lane shitless.

Do you really believe anyone gives a fuck about a goddamned Disney Land match? Fuck that sideshow, the main attraction is Dolly Waters.”

Dolly is in the background howling as she smashes her fists into a heavy punching bag.

“Somewhere, right now, the only two competitors who half way deserve to hand Dolly the title, Ravenwolf and Chaos, are fucking one another in a realm of emo-ically entranced emptiness in the six-hundred and sixty-sixth dimension, listening to Linkin Park and cutting one another.

And this room they’re in is lit by some goddamned gothic candle that’s illuminating the stupid Slipknot and Pon & Zi posters on the wall so fucking cliché it makes me want to rip my skeleton out of my body, through my mouth and give it to you two for more decor in your stupid little world where your mommy doesn’t love you enough."

Dolly drops and begins doing one armed pushups. Man she’s in great shape! The camera pans and goes into slow motion, essentiating sweat dripping from her under developed body. YOU GO GIRL!

Kitt Kennedy is an interesting choice to have somehow earned a spot against my client. I guess in the world of participation ribbons, beating a half-assisng dumb ass like Luna Hightower suddenly makes you a title contender; I guess Luna was too busy thinking about furthering her ride on the fraud, Ghost Tank’s cock.

Kitt you had better be prepared to actually wrestle, an actual wrestler, rather than a cartoon character, or you’ll end up with your jaw wired shut, but after listening to your REVITING promo work, that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

You know what? I’m done with this; the other two are so bad they’re not even worth me wasting my breath.

Simple fact of the matter is this; Dolly Waters will walk into the Amway Center, receive the largest pop from the crowd you ever heard, and she will leave not only as your reigning, defending undisputed XWF Federweight Champion of the world, but as your brand new XWF Savage Champion of the world, and there’s nothing any of you can do to stop her.

Dolly is all sweaty as she stands beside Paul smiling, lookin' hotter than a fire cracker!

This super scene fades!

3x XTreme Champion
2x Tag Team Champion (w/ Vita Valenteen, w/ Charlie Nickles)
2x Hart Champion
2x Television Champion

3x Star Of The Month
August ‘21, May ‘17, October ‘16

3x RP Of The Month
What light through sonder... my perception breaks.
Tranquility: For Old Times Sake
Manifest Victory

my loves:
[spoiler]