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Dolly Waters · (04-09-2019)

"UH-MA-FUGGIN-GAWWWD!"

"I'm really sorry it hurts Miss Waters, but you're going to have to start taking it a little easier out there if you want these post-show checkups to go better."

The medical staffer bandaging ice around my misshapen and bruised knee says. I look down at him, puzzled for a moment while itching at the sticky gauze pad that's nursing the slash on my forehead. I then realized we weren't on the same page.

"Oh you think I mean- no, no..."

The guy looks up towards me and I flip around my phone showing him the screen, and while pointing at it I say:

"I'm talking about this on here. Have you seen this? March Madness ain't even finished broadcasting yet and Kid Kool is bouncing all over the fucking Network."

Totally disinterested, the physician rolls his eyes at me and begins cutting off the Converses from my swollen feet.

"I mean look at this fucking guy.

Asking to join tag-teams, yodeling on about his erection for Celebrity Death Match characters and going through twittering fits worse than Alyssa Milano after the state of the union.

The guy has already fucking purposed seventeen different match stipulations fer' our Warfare encounter as if it would even matter. I'm certain we'll go over a week before our "match" and this chimp-minded dullard won't have even cut a promo on me. YET! I bet he'll have started another four different imaginary feuds with whatever emo-hentai, Pink-loving transsexual incarnations of his personality to match all of his Incel support sub-Reddit accounts.

Ugggghhh.

It's not a wonder that management DMed me to all-but directly tell me I didn't HAVE to defend my title against this clown. I suppose I should have seen the writing on the wall, but what else was I supposed to do? Pretend like I was afraid to defend my championship against this piece of garbage?

I'm really starting to get iffy about this whole 'big tent' type of policy the XWF seems to be incorporating as of late. It's like a nursing home opening up with a Ripley's exhibit attached. Kick in some mumble rappers, Duran-Duran enthusiasts, unlimited energy drinks and a few bundles of semen packed dynamite sticks and BLAM! You've got the current state of the XWF. Chock-full of freaks just like Kiddy Pool. A goddamned whos-who of Autism Digest cover boys chasing one another around with shit-filled condoms and great ideas."

"Miss Waters could you please stop-"

"Dolly!"

"Oh thank God... She has someone else to talk to now."

The medic says as the door to the locker room swings open and Sarah Lacklan makes her ever so elegant entrance. She's accompanied by a radiant white light surrounding her body that's accented with golden sparkles and the sounds of angel bunnies crying out in a symphony 'lookie-here-bitches'. Or perhaps that's just a hallucination induced by the dehydration and excruciating pain.

"I've been looking all over for you!"

"Oh. Really?"

I say rolling my eyes,

"Wow. How-ever did you find me?"

Sarah's lip curls in the corner of her mouth, her eyes blinking slowly as she picks up on my sarcasm, and even deeper, my frustration with having just had my baby doll's bottom wiped all over the ring in the March Madness finals match against...

"Well dearie, I could hear you hicking it up clear down the hallway."

...Sister Golden Hair Suprise here herself.

I must say, after having gone through three grueling matches tonight and seeing what shit show the bookers have waiting for me next, I'm not in any type of mood for any pleasantries. My back is fucking killing me and looking down to see Lacklan's newly won twenty-four-seven briefcase that she rag-dolled me for in her hand is only making matters worse.

"..."

Lacklan sits the briefcase down on the floor and starts walking towards me. I fold my arms and turn my butt in my seat, trying to face away from her but a sudden stabbing sensation in my lower back goes shooting up my spine, leaving me shouting out as a grimace etches over my entire being.

"Shh! Here now, Doll."

She says offering a hand to my shoulder, before turning her attention towards and scolding the medic.

"Fine work here, House. How's about we actually get this girl something for her pain? Or were you too busy practicing colonics to notice that she wrecked a van off from a ten-foot drop?"

The medic scoffs and goes for a syringe. He pierces it through a small bottle of liquid and then slides the needle into the curve of my elbow. My teeth grind against one another a bit as I feel the morphine push into my veins. I look up to Sarah and grant her an endearing little tilt of the head and a smile.

"Dolly, there's no sense it being all bent out of shape about what happened tonight. You put away GeeGee, and you beat Graves within an inch of his life. You losing to me is nothing to be ashamed of, in fact, as I stated before, it's only going to make you even more fierce of a competitor. Allow me to say without being TOTES cliche, you need to learn to lose properly before you can learn to win properly."

My heartbeat slows and my head starts spinning. The vision of Sarah standing in front of me begins to tunnel and I find myself giggling as she continues parenting me about one thing or the other.

"Now come here, you."

She warmly speaks while opening her arms up,

"I told you there was a big ole bear hug in order after our match."

Grinning, I climb up onto my one functional leg and leap into Sarah as she wraps her arms around me and proceeds to start brushing my hair with her hand. She then gags a bit.

"Dolly..."

She says as patiently as she can,

"Yeah?"

"You smell horrible."

Oh yeah...

"Oh yeah... I almost fer'got. I literally just got back from the Mexican border before the show started tonight."

"Oh!"

She exclaims pulling me away from her body to look me in the eye,

"Your excursion with that methed-out looking frog fellow?"

"You mean Luca."

"Yes! Luca! How did all of that turn out? As disastrously haphazard as it appeared?"

"Well..."

...Cue up some dreamy transition to the past special effects stuff...

"GET DOWN ON THE FUCKING GROUND, SPICS! NOW!"

The sloppy-looking ICE Agent screams as his gut nearly bursts from his bulletproof vest, aiming an assault rifle back and forth at Luca and myself as we both slowly knell to the dirt our arms raised in the air.

While interlocking my fingers and placing my hands behind my head, I try reasoning with the guy,

"Sir, I know how this looks but we're American citizens. We're just-"

But I'm cut off,

"SAVE THAT BEANER SPEAK FOR SOMEONE WHO GIVES FUCK, CHICA!"

Now, it's a fairly plausible given that this dope is uneducated, the American flag tied around is flabby bicep is awfully telling. A bloated ex-military douchebag who never got to discharge his firearm in combat and now suffers from a heavy hankering of the need to murder innocent civilians to feel better about his lacking penis girth and brain power, but with that granted, Luca and I certainly weren't doing ourselves any favors in confusing this simple ass 'good-old-Gomer-Pile'.

Not that long ago, my old friend Luca Arzegotti stumbled into my new think-tank startup and unveiled a plan to increase political controversy in what had recently grown into a rather plodding political climate in the States. This controversy would result in added web traffic to some predominately small-thinking pseudo-philosophers Youtube Channel's in a community dubbed the "Intelectual Dark Web". Luca had figured a way to exploit these Youtube accounts with web ads and figured a joint-venture with my think-tank could really see a boost in profits.

The plan was simple. Smuggle some illegal narcotics over the Mexican border from the U.S. and to dump the drugs off on a Guatemalan Caravan headed towards El Paso. This would surely rile up the alt-right MAGA base once the ICE agents stumbled upon the drugs amid increasing calls for their wasteful agency to be disbanded.

So, Luca and I had executed the initial phase of the plan without a hitch. Crossing right over the Mexican border with the drugs, locating the caravan a few miles away and trading the drugs for some photographs of the despondent travelers that would later be turned into some dank ass memes. But what happened next didn't quite factor into the plans.

The caravan we had presumed consisted of just regular, decent, Central American folks seeking a better life turned out to be a bit more nefarious, and even though we'd traded them the drugs for the low-low, these people wanted more forcing our swank European threads from our bodies and leaving us dressed like...

Well...

Like caravan frequenters.

Luca was left wearing this enormous and dingy Yankees t-shirt from the ninety-nine World Series, meanwhile, my Gucci Sylvie Web Stretch Dress had been traded out for a shirt with the Virgin Guadalupe's face stretched across it. So as we tried to cross back into the United States, ICE had mistaken us for...

"MS-13 scum."

The agent spats out before literally spitting on Luca, turning and cracking me in the mouth with the butt of his rifle.

"OWWWW GODDMANIT!"

I scream out as my body crumbles onto the ground, blood leaking out from my gums,

"Base-center this is Trail-of-Tears."

The asshole says into the radio on his shoulder,

"I've nagged two jumpers, one male, mid-thirties, one teenaged-female, possibly gang affiliated. The female appears to be the daughter and shows signs of physical abuse. We're gunna' need a spot in the baby cage for her and an interpreter. These two don't speak a lick of English. Over."

The agent begins gathering us up to load into the back of his Bronco, and as I pull my head up from the ground I can spot a dozen or so Guatemalan immigrants sneaking across the border, carrying the drugs we intended for them to get caught smuggling all while ICE was detaining two clearly American Citizens.

"Fuck. There goes our pay day."

I said looking over at Luca,

"Fuck it. I've been ripping off advertisers for the Young Turks too."

"Esketit then."

-to possibly be continued-

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