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Dolly Waters · (11-23-2016)

Wednesday, November 16th, 2016
In Zane Kingsley's Elcamino
Frankfort, KY, USA

It’s funny sometimes how we tend to react while starring certain defeat in the eyeball; glowing with the grit of our individual acumen, battered and bruised with our blood stained hands, and even after we’ve been trampled we find ourselves continually bucking even after the war is lost. I don’t like losing; I’m not used to losing, but somewhere deep down I’ve long lost this war from within my spirit, and that’s part of the point. We lose more often while we’re winning than we realize.

Confused yet? Join the crowd.

It’s like those two asshole alt-right pricks that Zane just gunned down in the streets. Ol’ Dixie had just won a major battle in the war for our cultural fortitude, but rather than build upon their success they were too concerned with exemplifying the trashy behaviors that will eventually be their ultimate undoing. As individuals, we get too often, too caught up in a world that we have absolutely no control over.

But was I any different? My continual thirst for relevance and dominance has led me into the confines of very possible defeat, and while trying to will the world to my liking, I’ve lost sight of the fact that I’ve never been in control. Here I am, very much at the height of my game, and then the bastard world came calling for my manager, Paul Heyman, and now I’m without his guidance. Do you think I’m really arrogant enough not to realize the amount in which I’m indebted to Heyman for my success? We opened doors for one another, and while he’s moving on to “Make The Championship Picture Great Again”, here I am still in the trenches, glowing with the grit of my individual acumen. Battered and bruised with my blood stained hands, bucking against a world and a life that will always be the ultimate victor.

“We’re going to have to put in some serious work if you two are going to pull this thing off.”

See and here’s Zane Kingsly, pretty much in the exact same boat, trying to will his defeatist client back from the crippling jaws morass; and while I hope it’s not the case, I fear that Zane doesn’t realize that it’s only himself that he can control, and that Luca Arzegotti is going to act only in accordance with what the world has planned for Luca Arzegotti.

“Ehhh… I’m not too concerned. As far as I can tell, D’Ville and Soldier are operating as a team about as fluently as we are. Plus, I don’t really think they wanted these problems. It appeared to me that those clowns were a bit shaken once they realized they weren’t in control of who’d they’d be facing.”

With a look of exasperation, Zane responds:

“Good. It makes me feel a little better to know you’re confident.”

I wasn’t…

It’s not that I was afraid of these guys, I was afraid of the uncontrollable world…. But I did find serenity in knowing that for however uncertain things were for me and my partner, there was an even keel of chaos surrounding the tag champions, just as it surrounds all life forms.

I peered out of the car window for a moment, the imagery of the world zipping by as I struggle with my cumbersome conscience.

At a moment’s notice, Zane could look down at his Samsung Galaxy to read some trending hashtag on a Chimpino Tweet and smash into the back of the dump truck in front of us, killing us all and there would be absolutely nothing I could do to change that, yet here I am still pondering pointless inevitabilities. For all of our keen perception, there’s not a single one of us who can break from the obsessions of absolute self-lionization. Like a habitual j-walkers, we well know that our fate is sealed, but yet we can’t get enough of blundering out into oncoming traffic as if the results of our actions this time will somehow be different.

Aren’t humans so stupid?

“So what’s Luca’s deal anyway?”

Zane glanced my way for a moment and sighed before looking back at the road, gripping his wheel a little tighter,

“Luca’s drug use has gotten out of hand.”

Great…

Paul and Zane convened to partner me with Philip Seymour Hoffman, but I did feel bad for the guy, Zane that is; I know the exact feeling of caring deeply for someone who has the world in their hands, only to squander it ever so pathetically.

“I just don’t get that, just like my father, I don’t understand why people get so embroiled with self that they find drugs as the only way out.”

“Don’t act so important, Dolly. This is all about way more than just you or your goals.”

Fair enough.

“Well why is he so depressed?”

“There was a terrible… um, errr, accident, sometime ago involving his fiancé.”

Well don’t I feel like a twat,

“Oh jeez… what happened?”

“Well, umm… Luca and his bride-to-be, Victoria, they were umm…”

This guy is really struggling for some reason, sweat dripping from his forehead, he turns his radio up louder and begins speaking louder over the music,

“WELL UMM, THEY WERE CHRISTIAN MISSIONARIES…”

Gimmie’ a break,

“AND UMM, THEY WERE ATTACKED ONE NIGHT IN LIBYA BY ISIL… AND UMM, EVEN THOUGH THEY NOTIFIED THE SECRETARY OF STATE, THE U.S. NEVER SENT REINFORCEMENTS…”

“Attacked by ISIL?”

“YEAH AND SO LUCA TOOK MATTERS INTO HIS OWN HANDS, AND STARTED SHOOTING IT OUT WITH THE JIHADISTS IN BENGHAZI…”

Total bullshit…

“Okay. What happened?”

“WELL IT WAS FRIENDLY FIRE! ONE OF LUCA’S STRAY BULLETS CAUGHT VICTORIA RIGHT IN THE FUCKING DOME, BLEW HER GODDAMN BRAINS OUT…”

Zane turns the radio back down,

“He hasn’t been able to cope ever since.”

“Fuck…”

Ever heard someone enable a liar's story with frothy emotional appeal? That's what I just did.

I knew he was lying, I didn’t know the truth, but I really didn’t care at this point, what difference did it make?

My tag partner was either going to succumb to his selfishness and his inability to master the unalterable world and die a lonely, miserable death in a pool of his own vomit and urine; or he was going nut up, dust his shoulders off and give this opportunity at a renewed sense of purpose everything he had… If he did that, there is no doubt that he and I will leave Paris, France as the new Tag Team Champions.

But in the meantime, I’m going to hold my end of the bargain here as well, because I’ll be damned if I’m going out on my back. Our opponents are no different than any of this narrative that I’ve alluded to, in fact they’re maybe the quintessential example of this fallacy that you can somehow stop the world from doing what it does and has done for millennia.

I reached over and snatched Zane’s phone from his hand has he was texting and driving, obviously not paying a bit of fucking attention to the road.

“Hey, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Going live on XWF dot com.”

Looking into the camera, I press whatever button it was that made me go live on XWF dot com…

Oh where, oh where do we begin?

Doctor SANTA! Brahs

Dolly rolls her eyes,

A simple gander by the untrained eyeballs would leave one looking at our current hacks of a Tag Team Championship duo, thinking that they’ve just spotted some faggish, overly edgy and emo rendition of Dr. Quinn and Medicine Woman, but no need to worry boys, because anyone who’s been paying attention knows yer’ both far less than that.

Now I’m young, so you’ll have to excuse my naivety, but I remember when I used to watch you two on television and was absolutely mystified, I remember thinking I was watching the best of the best, but perception is an interesting thing isn’t it? Because what time would soon tell after many moons had passed is that the good Proctologist and the Devil’s favorite anal bead were nothing more than:

1. A washed up Champion who tucks tail at the first sign of failure, but once the shame dissipates, returns after having Lane’s semen cleaned from his rectum after five months of daily colonics… and he returns to do… well he’s done quite little actually.

And…

2. A sexually confused little Norwegian boy who holds on to a sure-fire automatic ticket at Universal gold for damn near two years, and rather than actually doing something himself to claim his prize, he spends almost three days crying like a little girl to his boo-boo Vinnie Lane cuz:

“DIS CHAMPEENCHIP PICTURE NAWT FHARE!”

Dolly says while balling up her fists in front of her eyes and twisting them back and forth

GROW UP!

Isn’t it pathetic that a thirteen year old has to tell the supposed spawn of Satan to show some sack, instead of sucking it for once? Yer’ some big bad demon? More like Rosemary’s Crybaby.

I guess I had always mistakenly viewed Unknown Soldier as some untouchable, enigmatic force who was above the typical Ghost Tankish belly aching behavior, but upon closer review of this knuckle dragging loud mouthed pansy who’s afraid to pull the trigger of greatness, I’ve found that between the thousands of ‘666’ references and edgy displays of male genitalia obsession, all we have is a delusional prick who’s been arbitrarily thrust into stardom because he paints a pretty Dali knockoff and cries every time he doesn’t get his way.

Let’s take for instance that sad little display of fear that our boy uploaded on the dot com recently. After Luca and I made our intentions known during the Warfare booking signups that we were preparing to challenge for the Tag Titles, Soldier, realizing that no other team had opted into that show, decided to issue a challenge for the championships saying:

pussyboi Said:First thing I'm going to say and do is dismantle and ass rape the fuck out of all 235 executive orders that Vinnie Lane has already signed or planned for the tag team titles next Warfare

Gee!

I wonder why in the world one of the XWF’s “All Time Greats” would want to dismantle the obvious decision that Lane was going to make of having Doctor Satin-Puss defend their gold against Luca and myself?

Maybe Soldier would answer with some cliché excuse of being pathetic like:

“You two aren’t worthy even if you multiplied your talents 666 times!!!!!!”

Yeeeeeah, a former XWF King with an owed tag title shot isn’t worthy of selecting a team to challenge the tag champs?

Let’s try again:

“YOU TWO ARE NO TRUE COMPETITION! 666 X 666. METH. SATAN. PENIS. BALLS!!!!”

Hum, okay, the current Hart Champion who’s done nothing but main event in her young career for championship gold SURELY poses no competition… AND FUCK ME! Luca Arzegotti, a guy who’s beaten damn near everybody Samuels and Pryce to Erebus and Feder, NO FUCKING WAY HE’S COMPETITON!

Oh shit…

Luca even beat you didn’t he Soldier? In Tag Team competition, the #MemeQueen defeated you and Ann Thraxx.

So let’s reevaluate, Puscifer.

The real reason you wanted Lane to backtrack, and to not select Generation Y’s best, DollGotti, as your challengers is because you knew that there’s a real good chance that you’ll be embarrassed in front of the entire world by two people written off as a little girl and a drug addict.

I was wrong about you, and it’s fairly upsetting, because I thought you were a badass… Maybe you were at one time, but my, oh my how the mighty fall; winning Lethal Lottery only to shove the suitcase up your ass for two years, losing the Xtreme title to the likes of a pathetic wigger fuck like Bruce Blingsteen and an unregistered sex offender like The Watcher.

Pathetic, what happened to the Unknown Soldier that all of the roster feared, the sure fire future Universal Champion who was destined to rule this industry for so long as he desired? Is he hiding? Or did he ever even exist at all?

OH WHERE OH WHERE COULD SATAN’S DOG BE, OH WHERE OH WHERE COULD HE BEEEEEEE?!?

We all know whur e at…

Comfortably cuddled up on Doctor Diffeldick’s lap, having his little pussy patted by giddy goober-minded motherfuckers like Vinnie Lane who pretend like you and D’Ville are cream of some upper echelon crop that deserve special attention, when neither one of you bitches are putting in any real work.

Let’s take Louie D'Ville for instance…

It’s really irritating, if I dare be so frank, that the sheeple bandwagon together to so adamantly claim that Louis is some sorta’ GOAT to the industry, and especially now with his best days being in his rearview mirror. Can anyone even name me one friggin’ thing of substance that Lou has done since the second edition of “D’ville’s Lack Luster Return”?

His back to back attempts of pinning his current tag partner for the Xtreme Title, which was awfully cute, huh?

Let’s see… hummm what else? Oh he fought my former mentor, an actual great Universal Champion, Morbid Angel to a draw. Not a win, a draw.

OH! Can’t forget to note that he paired up with Soldier amidst a non-existent tag team division and essentially was handed an opportunity to win the belts from a team that wouldn’t have a chance of beating me in a handicap match on my worst day.

And he lost to Chris Chaos... The same guy I beat for the Television Title in my very first match.

AND THAT'S IT!

Bravo good Doctor! You’re certainly as dominate as ever now aren’t you? It must be an absolute slap in the face that a pathetically primadonna pair like Arzegotti and Waters would even dare sniff the ordained ground you walk upon huh? We should really be standing in the long line of XWF ingrates to kiss yer’ wrinkled ass huh?

Let me explain something to you, this fishnet veil that’s been draped over your existence and portrayed as some mystical, impenetrable marvel of mysterious malevolence is all a big fucking facade. The only people who fall for that crap are the people who don’t have the spine to challenge the status quo, see for me, the idea that you’re the best this business has to offer is a status quo that I have no problem shredding up right in front of your tired face.

Yer’ entire shtick is played out, and you don’t own this place the way you used to believe you did, that’s obviously clear since you’ve been busy jobbing to people who couldn’t hang with Dolly Waters, and hell I don’t even think you have the desire to make a true impact. Maybe you could use some Cialis? Why else would you be fucking off with the Tag Titles when the “Big Bad Wolf” is supposed to be at the top of the food chain around here? See you’ve got me figured wrong, Doc; I could care less about those belts that you and Soldier own, seriously… What's another championship around my waist really prove?

My desires are of a different nature. But what's so unfortunate is I'm starting to realize that I've made some miscalculations in my quest, because nor you, or Soldier are the level of warriors I once thought you were. You've both devolved, and it's really pathetic.

I mean what can you really offer me, or anyone for that matter outside of the same ol’, same ol’: “Doc the Intellectual is smarter and therefor better than you”?

Dr. Philip D'Dicksucker Said:Your 'daddy issues' are becoming clearer and clearer by the day.

Awe... the daddy issues thing? Good for you, Freud! I'm glad to know that your insults covered up as "concerns" are as trite as ever.

But you know what has become clearer and clearer by the day? Your obsession with my:

Dhamer Said:Innocence

Oh?

Pederast Said:such an innocent little girl like yourself

Awweee!

I love little girls Said:The only thing you held over our heads before, Miss Dolly, was your innocence.

Come again?

Popsicle in my cellar Said:You're not innocent anymore though are you, my dear?

Ummmm?

Dr. Date Rape Said:That twinkle in your eyes

.......

This is getting old Said:Your innocence fascinated me.

Of course it did, because what's clear now is not my "daddy issues", it's your "daughter issues".

Maybe you couldn't produce a high enough sperm count to make a child of yer' own? Or maybe you could never find a woman disgusting enough to consider sleeping with your saggy skinned ass? Maybe, you always felt like that deep, deep down inside, you yer'self felt you were a little girl, but you never wanted to go the transgender route because you were always too butt-ugly to pull it off?

Listen up Popeye, because I know it's hard for a cyclopes to read between the lines and all, but try and focus for a just a smidge... better yet, to hell with the euphemisms, let me just lay it out here:

Yer' not better than me.

Nothing you say, do, feel or think will EVER be able to push my back against any proverbial wall, do you understand?

Remember, if you will, a time right before your departure. A little eleven year old me, just fucking around, decided I’d snag the Federweight Championship, and so I did it with ease. Do you remember who the first ass clown to come knock on Dolly Waters’ door was?

WHY IT WAS YOU WEREN’T IT GOOD DOCTOR?!?

And fought as you did, I sent you away empty handed, just like I’m going to do at Warfare. Because even then you tried working yer' silly little mind games, trying to appeal to some deeply rooted coy bone in my body that doesn't exist, I pointed it out then, just like I'm pointing it out now.

Yer' a fraud.

Unknown Soldier is a fraud.

The fact that I'll even be able to hang around in this match, let alone win, will be enough evidence of that. Because if you two were who you claim to be, then this should be a wash, am I right? I mean a demon-boy with ties to the devil, and a psychotically astute doctor with ties to a guy with ties to the devil should have NO problem dispatching a little girl and a washed up, nose bleeding coke addict.

But as you and Soldier scramble around to find yer' footings in this ever changing world, yer' finding that things are more troublesome then you ever imagined. When is the last time you won a singles match Louie?

You see, you and Soldier have tried willing this federation in yer' favor by teaming as what is arbitrarily considered the two best in the business, but you can't will the inevitable. You can't impose your hopes on the back of a beast.

Wednesday Warfare, Paris, France...

C'est Fini Monsieur.

Yer' going to be a hard reminder, on display for the entire world, the need to live and let die.

"Damn girly! You didn't have to do em' like that!"

"Yeah, I really did..."

We pulled up in front of the ratty looking motel where Luca was staying and walked up to his room. We could hear him having a full fledged conversation through the thin walls:

"Maybe we'll go with that chick from The Wizard's band. Then the title promo after a different of their songs just because 'y knot kek'. Fuckin' hell, I'm the best thing about wrestling, and I ain't even a rassler man."

I look over to Zane quizzically, he shares my facial sentiments and shakes his head,

"Delirium tremens? Or is that the drugs?"

"I think he's somewhere between both."

"Alright, well I keep a shot of adrenaline in my backpack for emergencies."

"Good..."

Zane pounds on the door,

"Awww fuck. That must be the plot. Good talk, me."

"We're gunna' need it..."

The door swings open as the scene fades...

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