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**01-28-2016, 10:45 PM**

Let's flip a coin.

Wait...

We've done that routine before.

The game's rigged, I tell ya.

Did you figure that one out Natasja? There was never a chance that you wouldn't win the coin toss because it was vital for you to win. It was a free peek into your psyche. What makes you tick. See, I know it isn't fair but I had a preconceived notion of you from the get-go. Something about you and your mouthpiece's attitude struck me as... familiar. So, I did what any right-minded person would do and I tested my theory before voicing it.

I put the ball in your court.

I let you choose.

And... you know what? Your decision, proved my theory exactly, one hundred percent right.

See, I had this notion that you were just another wannabe throwback to the beloved 90s who suffered from a severe lack of rational thinking. You were obsessed with the ultraviolence or is that too modern of a term for you? Apologies, I fancy myself a modern man and I need a second to reacquaint myself with the long gone days of a couple decades ago. What is the word I'm looking for. Oh, it's on the tip of my tongue but I just can't think of it.

Right.

Hardcore.

It's the classic trap that so many fall into. They think that if they put themselves through unnecessary harm that somehow respect will rain down on them like God's own cum when in reality, it gets you absolutely nowhere unless you're victorious. This isn't some new school participation ribbon type thing, Natasja. You don't get a medal for trying. You don't get a pat on the head for pulling a chair out from underneath the ring. You don't get affirmation for wildly swinging the weapon.

All you get is a harsh whack.

To the knees.

The stomach.

The face.

Anywhere, really.

From someone quicker. More alert. Dare I say, better.

That's where I come in.

I'm a wrestler. These wild brawls aren't what I'm trained for but I'm quite well-acquainted with the art, if you could call mindless brutality such as this an art, after all. I've tasted blood all across the world. Shed blood on every continent, Antarctica excluded of course.

None of this is new for me, is the point I'm getting at here.

I see you, Natasja.

I see you for what you are. I called it a while back, didn't I? Your insecurities are eating you alive, or maybe they aren't. Maybe that's all because of how poorly your mouthpiece communicates your thoughts. Though, if that's the case I have to ask why you'd keep her around. Surely, if you're confident in your abilities, you wouldn't be letting the person speaking for you throw in such self-defeating comments like, what was it again?

Something to the effect of, "you'll not only lose to a girl, but to one who can't fucking speak"?

Now, I know that I might not be the proper authority to speak of this, but if I were in your shoes when she said that Natasja, I'd slap her in the face. I'd be outraged.

Someone you consider a friend makes me sound like a joke for you gender and muteness, and you're fine with it? It's nothing to you? How broken down are you that you'd let the woman talking for you walk all over you without standing up for yourself in any way?

Seriously?

I have a much higher opinion on women than you and your mouthpiece do, Natasja. Kind of sad, don't you think? The mean man calling you on your bullshit should be the misogynistic monster. The callous bastard who hates women and wants to destroy them for daring to think they can wrestle in the same ring as us menfolk, but I'm not that guy.

You're that girl.

You know what they used to call the African-Americans who were on the side of their slavers?

Uncle Toms.

House negroes.

You and your abuser are the female equivalents.

Maybe I'm a little more annoyed about this than I should be because unlike you, I have a lot of respect for women. I've worked for a woman for the past six years and while she's almost certifiably insane, she's commanded my respect more than any other boss I've had in my life and trust me, I've had a lot.

So, don't take this as an attack on your gender. Don't think I'm underestimating you because you're a woman.

You and your mouthpiece are doing that to yourselves.

When I dish out what I plan on doing to you over the course of this match, don't mistake it for some abusive power fantasy where I push around a woman much weaker than because let's face it, your muscles don't mean a thing when your mind is so weak that you allow yourself to be insulted by your own mouthpiece.

Your mouthpiece is the abuser here.

This is just standard operating procedure.

All you need to know about what'll come when the bell rings is that it won't be pretty.

Though I'm sure you think you wouldn't want it any other way.

When it comes to fruition however, I don't think you'll like the end result.

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