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+--- Thread: The Awkward Love Child of Callaway and Steele. (RP 4) (/showthread.php?tid=6036)
The Awkward Love Child of Callaway and Steele. (RP 4) - Jessie-ica Diaz - 08-27-2013
Fuck it. I'l write these words on a fucking piece of paper, just to prove how little Callaway and Steele think of me reflects onto them. Because, why the Hell not? You see, not only were their insults, or lack thereof about me so basic, elementary, and pathetic; they were so identical to the point where I could've sworn I heard the same promo twice, only one with a voice so strung out on performance enhancers that I couldn't even understand the drivel the first time, and the other was spoken by Shawn Steele.
Chronological order is how I'll split up the contrast part of this analysis, so let's begin with the 'ballad,' so to speak, the story of Alexandra Callaway, for those of you who don't know what English is (I'm looking at you, Steelemour.) A reflection about her life told from her own perspective, speaking about how she turned out the way she did, she spilled her guts to the resounding sound of apathy from Eli, Mystica, myself, and all of her teammates. Oh, but I'm sure that she'll play it off like she doesn't care about that fact. However, she focuses that entire rant, with vaudeville esque portrayals of what she does, and how she got there in an attempt to get under the skin of the man who gets called Jim Jones more times than Peter Gilmour gets called fat.
However, I would be lying if I said that was the theme I was going to focus on in my response to her. I'm not a Kool Aid drinking piece of ass for the Congregation's war beasts, I'll leave that role to the much more experienced in the world of being a sex slave, Sincere Lee Wild. No, Alex; I'm not one of Eli's hordes, and as such I can see right through you. The way you dismiss the rest of his team, save for Mystica, who you claim is the biggest threat to you. Now, call me a crazy fucking bitch (I mean, everyone else does) but I do believe you're missing someone.
Y'know, the woman chosen to even the sides? Yeah, Eli thinks so lowly of you, that he thought you needed a girl in this match to make you not look awful. Worse yet, he thought that I was bad enough to be on your level. Oh, but I'm talking down to the girl who earned three title shots in a short span of time. Well, since we're on the topic of failed opportunities (See, all three of those shots) I earned a European Championship match in just my second match as not just a member of the XWF, but as a wrestler in general. You, with all of your experience, still needed what; a couple of months, to get your first shot? Wow, that's an impressive statistic considering that both of our actual winning percentages when it comes to title matches is zero.
Or, who could forget the time when you smuggled brass knuckles into the ring, giving yourself quite the advantage, and still managed to fucking blow it? That right there, was the extent of Callaway's planning, and it still worked out to nothing. Reminds me of Napoleon's attempt to take Russia. In his own hint of inflated ego and rationale, he worked out the perfect plan, and yet left himself so open for something that deviated from his plan that it was his downfall. You forgot that once you introduced the brass knuckles, you were the target.
You couldn't handle being the target with those three, and your advantage turned out to be a curse, so to speak.
The only curse I saw out there, was the mark of stupidity, a proverbial scarlet letter branded on your forehead. However, let's move onto failure two, shall we?
The Tag title match where you so wisely dumped the dead weight that is Christine Nash. No jokes there, Alex. You were definitely carrying her to victory all those times you two won anything. Now, the real issue here; who wouldn't have to carry her talentless carcass to victory?
Don't think that was a 'you're special' remark, because the common worker ant would have to carry her.
Now, you let her get pinned after a grueling match because you couldn't come to grips with the fact that you were going to lose and prove Griffin's words true, that you just can't beat them. Just like you couldn't beat Angelus. Not being involved with the decision (although leaving Nash for dead could be considered an involvement, to a degree) you intentionally try to make yourself into something you're just not.
A threat.
Through your attempts at being called a monster, you forget the main trait all monsters share. A need, a demand for a hero to stomp the life out of them. You can't be much of a monster when any shmuck can accomplish the same task.
For example, let's see just who you (and not Nash) beat to get that shot:
Death Merchant, Eli's answer to that neanderthal, Shawn Steele. His partner was none other than Matt 'More Whipped than the Cream Nova Spreads on your *REDACTED*' Ward.
An impressive tag team that no one saw a threat in.
See? You can beat the no talents, the no ones, and the fuckwits without a sweat. So can I.
Do you see?
I'm YOUR better version, although since I came first, you're just the downgraded, knock off grocery store generic brand. That's why I don't get all these opportunities handed to me left and right, because I don't need them. You crave the attention that you get from everyone when you talk big and then fuck up every single opportunity.
Just to repeat the cycle again.
Y'know, on Madness when Satty beats you and whatnot.
Now, from the one who, no matter how undeserved her opportunities are, and how worthless her opponents are in those opportunity givers, she did win.
Unlike Shawn Steele, who I swear is too stupid to understand the difference between right and left, let alone the complex measures of who is the one at the advantage in this match.
Now, conventional logic would dictate that Steele is indeed the one who has the advantage, and that's his downfall. He relies on conventional logic in what he calls war. Sun Tzu's "The Art of War" had tactics that proved how valuable the concept of unconventional logic is in the practice of warfare.
The man who suffers from roid rage every time a camera's on him, saying that I'm not understandable? Maybe it's because I use big words and that confuses him. Me, better. You, worse. No no, better is still too big.
Size does matter?
Then how do you explain me beating people who are much bigger than me?
Like that Hunter Payne fellow, or for the really obscure; Reaper. He weighed more than you and couldn't stop me. Why's that?
Because I'll pick my spots.
Only a fool charges head in to a mangy, flea infested, rabid war beast.
I am no fool.
Jessica Marie Diaz.
The printer comes to life, spitting out the papers of the two copies I made of this particular, analysis. The two copies of course to be sent directly to the two spoken of, Callaway and Steele. Something feels, off about this however. I read over the first page of the first copy that had just landed in the tray. No, no, this won't do.
It'll have to do.
As the other pages finish printing, I grab two envelopes off the table next to me, and lay them out beside the papers. Folding them in half, and stuffing them into the envelopes, I really feel as though this is out line.
Not to Steele, fuck him.
To Callaway. She was never outwardly hostile to me. No, dad told me not to take shit from anyone.
Still, it feels weird. Probably a looks thing, but...
Fuck it.