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Jenny Myst · (10-27-2017)

The hotel room was a bit colder than she would have liked. Maybe she'd call and bitch to the front desk. The Bombshell Champion deserved to be comfortable, after all.

She didn't even bother to look at the letter again. She hadn't even finished reading it. She didn't want to see, didn't care. It sat in the bathroom garbage with her tampon wrappers and used gum....right where it belonged.

She had an idea who the letter was from. All the pain and rage and anger was welling up now. Damnit, she was having a good day before that. Opening the sliding glass door out to the balcony, exhaling with a sigh.

She looked out at Los Angeles in front of her. Universal Studios was on the other side, she faced out towards the city. The hills were beautiful as she looked out over Hollywood....the big white sign in the distance.

Hollywood. Mini-Vegas. Hollywood was where dreams were made. The most realistic and awe-inspiring action scenes are made in someone's dingy basement, and a nerdy looing prick with a ponytail and a fanny pack is financially set for life.

It's unfortunate, actually.

It is unfortunate that people believe these lies. People try to live like the movie stars they see, and try to shape their lives around the false premise of a situation that isn't even humanly possible. Jenny never let these people inspire her. She never wanted to be like the people she saw on TV. Sure, it is easy to become inpressionable at any age, but she always wanted to be the one that was looked up to, not the one doing the looking up.

The phone in her hotel room began to ring, she could hear it through the glass. Fuck it, this chair was too comfortable. There was a nice breeze up here, despite it being almost 100 degrees outside in LA.

She chuckled to herself. "City of Angels......" There was more sin in LA than any major city, outside of Vegas, of course, and nothing angelic about it at all. Anything nefarious you wanted you could find here. The phone was ringing again. Taking a deep breath, she told herself she wasn't going to answer it. There were a few clouds in otherwise ice blue sky, and she had an incling of who could be on the phone. Her real parents, the ones who left her for dead when she was old enough to realize what abandonment was, had left a scar inside her that will never heal. They began this whole chip-on-the-shoulder thing. She was set up to fail before she even knew what success was.

It had been the same way ever since. She never had motivation to improve herself because she never knew it was possible. Sometimes you are set in a role in life, like an actor in a movie. The script is set, and you just need to follow it. In her case, she had been reading from this shit-script for as long as she could remember. A B movie, for sure. She looked out at the Hollywood Hills and thought to herself "what if". What if she hadn't decided to dance. To model. To valet. What if she had just kept on keeping on, meandering through life on the pages of the devils script that was laid out for her? Would she even still be alive? Hell, she would probably be dead or in jail. That is why this title meant so much to her. She is probably the most self-made champion this company had ever seen. Forget riding the coat-tails of Chaos's success. Sure, he had some influence, but she was never at these levels when he was still in her life.

Sometimes actors are classified by a particular role. Once you see them in something that truly stands out, you always think of that character no matter what else they do. Jenny was stuck in her role. Nobody saw her as anything different. Nobody still did, really. But slowly, she was getting out of that role. She was acting out a much better script this time. She was going to change the view of her in the public eye and she would no longer be associated solely as her role of a failure. She would be looked at, no matter where she went, as a champion.

But like most actors and actresses suffering with the aformentioned struggle, she had a past that would not be going away any time soon. She could not keep running, because she would only be running from opportunity.

The phone was ringing again---god they were persistant.

She wanted to be looked at as a champion, and that is all she wanted to be looked at. She was going to carve out a role, a place, a niche. She was going to be the star that many of these people looked up to---whether they liked it or not. They wouldn't be able to help it.

Finally, she got annoyed with the phone and ripped open the glass slider. She picked up the phone aggressively, causing the little red light to shut off, and answered in a bitchy tone.

"What?!"

The voice on the other line sent chills down her spine. She could feel the goosebumps springing up. The fine blonde hairs on her arms went rigid.

"Now, now. Is that any way to answer a phone, Jennifer?"

That voice, she had heard it before. It was calm, deep, and unwavering.

"I will answer the phone however the hell I want. You called MY room. Several times."

She played it off like she didn't know who it was....and she wasn't 100 percent sure. Why did he know her name? Maybe it was the front desk?

"You have made quite the name for yourself, young lady. I have seen you on the TV. Looking as good as ever. I see you won a belt. Good job. You always were a fighter."

"Yeah. Look, I have a match tomorrow night, actually. I have to prepare and don't have time for this small talk bullshit. How can I help you?"

"By answering the phone, you already have. I have missed that voice."

"Missed this voice? You don't even know who I am."

"That is where you are wrong, babydoll"

That name. My god, its him.

She hung up quickly, slamming the phone down. She could feel herself hyper-ventilating. She could barely breath with the lump in her throat. She wanted to cry, scream, yell, break something. She leaped off the bed and practically flew into the bathroom. Grabbing the letter out of the garbage, she read where she left off.

Her hands began to shake and a cold sweat smeared her makeup.

It was him.

"So, Calypso had the balls to open his mouth. I am impressed that someone who has nothing to show for his career except frequenting the lowest title we have actually had the gaul to take verbal shots at the Queen. Maybe I would have been more impressed if he didn't prove that his mind is completely shot and his mouth didn't explode with total bullshit. I can't even wrap my head around this, honestly. We all knew Calypso had a lot of skeletons in the closet, but I guess putting a camera in his face makes him reveal his deepest and darkest......

Ready for this?

THIS MATCH ISN'T FOR THE BOMBSHELL TITLE YOU DUMB MOTHERFUCKER!

I mean, Jesus Christ, we always knew you wanted to be a woman but I didn't expect you to come out this quickly. But we all know you've wanted to be a woman forever, haven't you? That would explain the flamboyant personality and the voluntary ADD. Calypso is nothing more than a cross dressing valley boy-girl on K2. The fact that you would be so excited about the prospect of winning a WOMEN'S title shows that your aspirations aren't very high. You feign self confidence but ooze bitch made. You know you'd never be considered for any of the titles in the mens division, so you decide "hey, maybe I'll get lucky and win the women's belt!" You rolled snake-eyes, buddy. You crapped out. You went on live TV, on a morning talk show, in front of all those being-cheated-on soccer moms and recent divorcees who think all men are equivlent to satan, and you made a total fool of yourself.

Why am I not surprised?

You yammered on about walking nine miles a week, a meanial task by anyone who has ever walked--like ever--and your gluten free diet. Those female cucks watching the program might ohhh and ahh and get goo-goo eyed over a well dressed man whose prettier than them, but it doesn't translate to a wrestling ring. You are probably so damn skinny because that lack of viable protein makes it impossible for you to gain muscle. Hell, one of my thighs is bigger than your waist, and I weigh less than most big dog breeds. You even referred to yourself as a "bombshell." Calypso, you aren't a bomb, you aren't even the carbon atoms. You matter to nobody here. You just exist because we need to fill roster numbers for tax breaks. You can't hack it on the main stage, and you sure as hell can't hack it against one of the most dominant superstars on this roster. You can pride yourself all you want about beating up the lower tier and winning a belt made by a

for

5 times, but in the end I will go on to be remembered here and you will fade off into the abyss as YET ANOTHER XWF flash in the pan. The only thing you were correct about was that I WAS in fact staring at myself naked in the mirror. I mean, if you looked even remotely like me, wouldn't you? This body is FLAWLESS. PERFECTION. Women want to be me and men want to fuck me.

Nobody wants you.

Literally nobody.

I have transcended the industry, took this company by storm, and put women's wrestling on the map by carving a path never before seen. A path of Sex. Metal. Barbie. CHAOS. You....you could fit all of your accomplishments between that obnoxious gap in your teeth. You are nothing but another strung out white kid who talks kinda funny so you think you're cool. Your only a slightly less pathetic version of Shaun Crowe.

You took down Ghost Tank......ooooooohhh booyyyy. I am shitting my pants over here. Ghost Tank?! You must be the greatest wrestler ever to live! Like, in history! For realz!

Psssht. Boy, bye.

While you were busy trying to figure out what was inside Kelly Ripa's over-used box---like for real, hasn't she been pregnant like what, 7, 8 times?---I was over here getting myself ready to show the world that no man or woman can end this reign of perfection. Gym, a good meal, some wine.....I've got it all. I'll take a cupcake too. Those did look scrumptious. Perhaps once you realize that this wrestling thing isn't for you, you could get in touch with Rachael Ray and find out whats under that fupa of hers. You'd be moving up in the world. At least Ray's got something other than A cups! You may be better off on daytime TV because this whole Primetime thing just isn't up your alley. I am the best of the best, Calypso. You are just the best of the worst. There is a difference. You don't suck just enough to participate in matches that actually air, but suck enough to fight in matches that are nothing but filler for the 2 hour air time. Fluff. You aren't even the peanut butter.

Have you realized how much you suck yet? Has it sunk in?

I'll be damned if anyone is going to take this belt off me and it sure as shit won't be you. I'm going to win this NON TITLE triple threat, then take Samantha from Bewitched to school on Warfare, and you will have to sit back and watch....you really don't have a choice. I'm always open for a little confrontation, though. You've already talked in circles and made literally zero sense. You've already went out of your way to prove yourself wrong, so why not give proving me wrong the old college try?

Oh....that's right, I'm not a power bottom.

Scratch that.

PERFECTION

14-7-1

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