Competition? Part 2 - Printable Version +- X-treme Wrestling Federation (https://xwf99.com) +-- Forum: Warfare Boards (https://xwf99.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=6) +--- Forum: Warfare RP Board (https://xwf99.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=12) +--- Thread: Competition? Part 2 (/showthread.php?tid=31373)

Competition? Part 2 - Jenny Myst - 04-18-2018 DIARY ENTRY Every girl has another girl she wants to be. It is in every female DNA to hide envy behind jealousy, and turn jealousy into hatred. Girls want to be someone else so bad that they grow spiteful. Think about it, you were that girl once. You would spend an hour getting ready in the morning, putting on foundation, concealer, makeup, doing your hair just right. You'd pick out a cute outfit. Looking in the mirror you'd feel good about yourself for once, and as you sipped your iced coffee on the way to school you'd have a smile on your face as you jammed out to your tunes. When you got there, however, it all deflated like an untied balloon. There was always a girl who was prettier, more popular, and just looked good no matter what she wore. The boys always flirted with her. Even your crush. How does she do it?! Some people make it look so easy. But why do girls wear makeup? Why do they stress themselves out so much to find an outfit that they like? Well, it is simple. Girls don't like themselves. Girls need affirmation. Girls need to be TOLD they look good, they are incapable of feeling it on their own. So as you go through your day, you get some compliments, others gush over her. It enrages you. Why her? Why is she better than me?! I have always been the one that people hated because of how I looked. I was always better looking, better at what I did, and I wasn't afraid to go get what I wanted. I never took no for an answer. I got what I wanted, no matter the lengths I had to go to get it. Sure, I had my ups and downs--you know, the whole mob sex slave stuff--but outside of that, I think I did pretty good for myself. Lets take cheerleading for example. I was prettier than anyone on the team and I could lower myself to the valley girl, pretencious, "yaaassss slay girl" mentality just as good as these other helium filled bimbos. I did what they do better than them. But as was the case my entire life, I had someone in my way, someone who didn't like me, someone who wanted to keep me down. In this particular instance, it was my cheer coach Tracy Byrd. She hated me, and it was probably because I was prettier than her pug-faced daughter who only got to be on the team because she came out of Tracy's vagina. She hated me because I was better than he daughter was at every aspect of life, but there were only so many spots available on the cheer team. BE AGRESSIVE B-E AGRESSIVE! One of our plain-as-white-paint cheers that even a could join in on, and they did. BLUE AND WHITE, LETS FIGHT I mean, if this wasn't subjugation of females, I don't know what was. It was dumbing us down, making us the objects that nature designed us to be. Even the "competitive" cheering was the same nonsense, coming up with catchy slogans for a school where we were just a number and would be forgotten about the moment we graduated. Not like the football and basketball players we cheered for, they had legacies that were put up on the gym walls. When have you ever seen a cheerleader with a legacy anywhere but "Most Popular" in the yearbook? She only got that because she put out since she grew pubes. So Tracy pulled me into the office one day. I still remembered it. I was sweaty and gross, my makeup running a little, my hair matted. I had just cheered my ass off while her hybrid pitbull of a daughter just stood there goofing off the entire time. She was entitled. She had gotten her spot because of her last name. She didn't earn it. I was sore all over, but I kicked ass. I knew I did a good job, but when Tracy called me into her office my heart sank. You see, the look on her face I will never forget. It was the same look that Roxy gave me when I told her I wanted to be an active member of the roster after being a manager for so long. It was a look of sheer hatred, but one that I couldn't understand where it came from. Jealousy, as I mentioned before. Jealous and envy equal hatred. So I sat down in the less than comfortable chair that many girls had learned their fate in before, wiggling to get comfortable as I had a case of sweat-itch down there, and she got up from her desk and shut the door. I knew right then what was coming. "There is just so much competition, Jen......." There is that word, competition, but was there really? What does competition mean? It is so vague, so open for interpretation. ".....and there is only so many spots I can use. But, I like your dedication, so we would like to make you a reserve...maybe a manager, perhaps flag girl?" I felt my hair stand up, I felt the blood running through my arms like a locomotive. I knew I was the best one they had, but someone who had more power than me was keeping me down. Taking something I really wanted away from me. I knew the assistant coach, Morgan Langford, loved me and advocated for me but what a shock, she was nowhere to been in this meeting. Of course she wasn't. Long story short, I didn't make the team because of someone's personal vendetta against me. So what did I do you may ask? Sometimes, I ask myself why I chose the route I chose. I went home, in typical girl fashion, and I cried. I ate ice cream until my belly poked out, I watched shitty Lifetime shows while curled up with a blanket and a box of Kleenex. But then, I got even. You see, girls are vindictive creatures. They don't take rejection well. I think females are psychotic by nature, it just depends on the limits they are willing to push and the level to which they are willing to stoop. Me, I have no moral compass, so getting even for me has never been an issue. I cut her brake lines. I knew she lived on a hill, and I knew that the landscape at the bottom of said hill was treacherous. You needed to turn off the main road before you got to that part, but, if you can't stop.......whelp, you get the hint. Tracy was no longer the coach because she could no longer walk. Morgan took over, and I became cheer captain. I earned it, I deserved it, and I got it. I get what I want........and what I want is to be the best at everything I do, no matter the cost. "So this battle royal promotional circuit has certainly had a little twist, hasn't it? I came out and stated my claims, said some really mean but really true things, and the only thing I heard back was the leather faced lesbian Amber Dawn, who now apparently wants to scissor with me. Effin weird. This went from a wrestling promotion to some sort of a lesbian soap opera. Soul mates? Bitch you're luck to share a dressing room. I have the experience and it is an insult for me to even be in this match. You're obviously not as blind as you are ugly, but if you've done any homework on me at all you'll know I like dick wayyyyy too much to ever be "with" you. Hell it is the only insult people have against me. Jenny Myst is a slut. Jenny Myst is a whore. Jenny Myst this and that....all of it sexual. Nobody has anything creative to say but they all say the same thing....Jenny Myst and dicks are good friends. Amber Dawn isn't fake news, she's fanfiction. This is bizzaro world. Amber seems to think that me and here are alike. We're nothing alike. Childhood aside, I am far above Amber in every way. I am the only one in this match who knows what life if like here in XWF. Sure, some of them have wrestled before, but this company is a bit different. Being successful here isn't like being successful anywhere else. You see Amber, we have had a very similar background, but I have done what I needed to do to get to where I am. You are still the broken down girl in a group home who relies on people feeling bad for her to get by. I have made myself into something better. I have risen to the occasion and have looked my demons in the face. You are still the orphaned piece of trailer trash you've always been. The lonely girl that nobody loves. I am the girl now that girls like us used to look up to. That girls like us want to be. I made that for myself. You are still that 12 year old lying on your bed, twirling your hair and touching yourself to a poster of your favorite celebrity. Only this time, that favorite celebrity is me. Amber you may want to kiss me, but I want to make your jaw unable to perform the necessary movement to enable kissing ever again. I don't have to just win this match, I have to dominate this match. Anything less would be a bad look for my image. This is a test for me. Fuck a showcase. This is the Jenny Myst show. I am a Shove It winner, a briefcase holder, a former champion and, apparently, the best piece of ass the former President of the United States has ever seen. Or saw. He's dead. Fuck'em. Amber I appreciate your admiration of me, and I think you may be the smartest of all these crayon-suckers, but that isn't going to give you sympathy from me. All it is going to get you is an ass kicking. Pure and simple. Plus, being obsessed with me, it isn't healthy. I am not a good person. I'd be VERY careful walking down stairs because you are karmically setting yourself up for a life as a paralyzed quadriplegic. How hot would that be? Having someone empty your catheter bag as you lie in your own excrement all day, constantly chocking on your breathing tube, living a miserable excuse for a "life" but being absolutely TERRIFIED at the alternative so you suffer indefinitely with no hope or happiness. Have fun getting yourself off, because it won't be by me. *Jenny takes a deep breath, looking into the camera* "Whose next? Well, I mean, none of these other bitches want to open their piss flaps and say anything else, so why don't I just talk about myself? That is more entertaining anyway than listening to Vanessa drone on about her daddy issues, Storm talking tougher than a 2 dollar steak but only having a plastic knife to cut it with, not to mention a face that could melt plastic. I am the attraction in this match, the one these people are paying to see. I am the one that is expected to win, and the one who is going to win. Look at everything I have accomplished here, when, truth be told, I wasn't supposed to. I am the underdog story of the century, the valet turned wrestler turned champion. I have had a target on my back the size of my home state since I've been here---because I have always been the prettiest, the most charismatic, had the most spunk, and I have always been the toughest female on this roster. Knock me down 7 times, I get up 8. Mandii has been cruising to victory in every match she has been here.....but I pushed her to the edge. I pushed Mandii harder and longer than a Lexington Steele imitation dildo, and she knows it. She respects it. Mandii is a tough broad, I'll give her credit, but I know I can beat her. I can't bear to think of the embarrassment it will be if any of these window lickers get to face her. It wouldn't be a good look for the women's division because it would be over before you could say the word Rider. These girls don't even look good in their outfits. Did you see the way Claire Lloyd camel-toes the fuck out of those wrestling tights? Vanessa Navarro looks like a piece of burnt toast. I mean, come-the-fuck-on Roxy. I look the part, and I think I have proven I can fight. At this point, I am the grizzled veteran here, but yet I am still being shit on. Stay Free Maxi Pads have more personality than this bunch, and I am the one who sells tickets. I make men drool, and women--according to Amber--cream themselves. I am the main attraction here, Roxy, I am your money maker. I understand that one of these newbies winning this thing would be an "oh my god" moment for the night, but ME winning---which is going to happen---will give people something to remember for some time to come. Another notch on the belt, another mark chiseled into the bedpost. I don't know who thought it was a good idea to put me in this match, but the advancement of the women's division here is about to take a major hit. 5 feet of fury, natural platinum blonde, B cups. There isn't a thing about me that isn't total perfection. No wonder Amber likes me so much, I mean, who wouldn't? So when I win this little shindig, I want Mandii Rider. I want Mandii in my match, Belle of the Brawl. I will have earned it. These twat-waffles will fade in oblivion and I will continue my Hall-of-Fame run as I re-capture Mandii Riders title and force her out of this company completely. I won't sleep, I won't quit, shit I won't even breathe if that is what it takes. Mandii has ruined my life, she has driven me over the edge, and she put me in that asylum. I was in a bad place, and I almost lost it all. Everything. I have been spoiled by success but I have also been conditioned by failure. I have had a long, hard, painful discussion with myself and now I now that sometimes in order to be perfect.....you have to be brutal. Roxy.....I am here, and I am not going anywhere. I am going to beat these bitches into the dirt and when it is all said and done I am coming for Mandii, then coming for you. I am going to widdle this division down to a single point and jam it through the heart of each and every one of them until the blood drains. I will slit their throats then water board them with bleach, killing them off until I am the last one standing because I am the only competition. MY only competition is ME. The way it should be. There are so many emotions running through me right now. I remember back in the days of cheer, back when I was just a girl with the world in front of me. I never felt like I had competition with the other hoes, but I always fought against myself. I had voices in my head that told me to do bad things. I lived in Sin City, but I never wanted to sin. I wanted to be normal, that is all I asked. Pleaded. Craved. But I came to a realization that to be normal is to be evil. There are no good people, just the facades of them. You just need to push their buttons like new cars to start them up. I had feelings, I won't lie. I saw these girls that were pretty like me, popular like me, funny like me.........and the same voices that told me to fight them told me to.........kiss them. I would sit in class and see these upper echelon girls and would feel myself get moist. I wondered what they felt like, smelled like, tasted like. All of this talk that Amber was bringing forward..... I wonder what her lips taste like........... After this Warfare I'll know what they taste like........... Blood.