Dolly Waters
Always.
XWF FanBase: The IWC (gets varying reactions in the arenas, but will be worshiped like a god and defended until the end by internet fans; literally has thousands of online dorks logging on to complain anytime they lose a match or don't get pushed right)
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Joined: Tue Sep 13 2016
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10-10-2016, 11:10 AM
Saturday, October 8th, 2016
Jose Miguel Agrelot Coliseum
San Juan, Puerto Rico, USA (Kind of)
...Backstage immediately following Saturday Savage…
The scene opens and we find Dolly Waters sitting alone in her locker room, her head leaned over with an icepack in-between her left shoulder and her neck. All but for a cumbersome clock clicking away on the wall the room is silent, irritatingly silent, the type of silent that screams an anxiety filled shriek into the ears of the agitated. Dolly lifts up her Television Title as it shakes in her trembling arm due to the potential nerve damage she suffered; she glares at the gold plate, pulling her stiff neck from her shoulder as it cracks several times, after a long look her head slumps down… and then there is nothing. Heavy breathing, and the steady tick of the clock. The clock ticks and it ticks. Her title apathetically clutched by her blood stained fingers. The breathing grows heavier, and heavier, and heavier…the clock ticks and it ticks...
“RAAAHHHGGGHHH!!!!!” (rag)
Dolly slams the title to the floor and is up to her feet in a full blown, rather terrifying tantrum. She begins kicking the shit out of the steadily denting locker, spit and slobber fly from her mouth as she begins to hyperventilate, now sending her fists and elbows into the top part of the locker, she turns from the locker, lifting her chair she runs toward the door, wielding the chair by the back two legs like a sledgehammer she begins slamming it over and over and over again into the locker room door. Nuts and bolts begins to fly from the chair, followed by legs and then the seat until the chair has been all but eviscerated and the door has been caved in; Dolly staggers down to her knees, now with her elbows on the floor she lays there screaming into the ceramic tile; obviously just retaining the title wasn’t satisfactory enough, and the fact that Hunter Payne was still breathing annoyed her even more.
The door pops open, it's Paul Heyman.
"Hey, hey! Dolly! What in the fuck is going on in here?!?"
Heyman helps Dolly to her feet as she slumps her head over onto his shoulder, warm anger induced saline gushing from her eyes while he pulls the hair back from her face and tries calming her by patting on her head.
“Shhh, shh… It’ll be alright kid.”
Paul pulls Dolly away from him, holding her by her shoulders so he can look her in the eyes,
“You did damn good out there tonight; you proved to the world that you are everything we said you were…"
The quiver in Dolly’s lip steadies a bit as she wipes away the tears from her face. Her voice is still rattling as she says,
“Yeah but I didn’t fucking pin him… I didn’t fucking submit him… my arm wasn’t fucking raised!”
“Yeah BUT you outlasted him, and he couldn’t beat you! HE NEVER FUCKING COULD, DOLLY! That’s the name of the game with this Title, which I agree is ridiculous; it’s all about surviving and advancing.”
“Fuck this title!”
Dolly picks up the championship and throws it against the wall. Paul looks as if he’s smelled a raunchy queef,
“Gator, Steve Davids… Theo fucking Pryce. What do those three people all have in common? They were all great Universal Champions…”
“Yeah big deal, so what?”
Paul looks beside himself as he grabs the title from the floor and thrusts it back into Dolly’s stomach, forcing her to hold it,
“…Well before they were Universal Champions, they were all three great Television Champions.”
Dolly looks down at her belt, the name plate engraved by her name glistening under the florescent bulbs; she looks back up at her manager.
“Dolly… do you believe it is some form of mistake, or coincidence that the Television Title was brought back upon your arrival? Because I don’t; and sure, blathering cocksuckers like Robbie Bourbon who can’t even sniff a singles title will say whatever in the fuck he wants about the strap, but the fact of the matter is this, they’ll have to retire this belt again before you ever let yourself be beaten on Savage.
You defend this belt for one month, and I guarantee you this, you will be in line for whatever fucking title shot you want, while dumb dicks like Robbie Bourbon will be gearing up for sure fire failure Senate Campaigns.”
Dolly looking a bit more reinvigorated fastens the title back around her slim waist, fumbling it around a bit, Paul goes behind and helps her, tightening the strap for her,
“But what about that other bullshit that took place out there? You get Luca Arzegotti, Equinox and Zane Kingsly involved?!? What? If I were gunna’ lose the match were they gunna’ come down and rescue me too?!?”
Paul holds his breathe for a minute, trying to gesture his hands as if he’s wanting to explain something,
“Listen, this happening with Luca and Equinox is one of the greatest things that could ever happen to us…”
“Do you think I can’t handle my fucking own?!? I aint need no goddamn help, Paul! I may hate Hunter Payne, but that should have been me sending his ass to the hospital tonight, not this fucking Shield rendition! I’m really having a hard time understand…”
Paul holds out his hand,
“Let me stop you right there, Dolly, and let me be as crystal clear and as perfectly fucking honest as I can be… Do you have great potential? Yes you do. Are you the most capable, most impressive superstar I’ve ever managed? Yes you are. Are you the daughter of one of the most drunkenly dangerous men to ever lace up a pair of boots in the XWF? Yes you are. Were you single handedly trained by a two time Universal Champion, Morbid Angel? Yes you were… but facts are facts, Dolly, and the fact of the matter is this, YOU ARE A TWELVE YEAROLD LITTLE GIRL! AND I WAS BANNED FROM RINGSIDE! Do you really think I’m going to let you go at it alone out there? I’m you’re manager, and I’m going to take you where you want to go, but you need to listen to me every now and then goddamnit!
Right now you have a body sized target painted on you. The entire locker room looks at you and they think, because they’re too stupid to realize otherwise, that you’d be a prime target to help jump start whatever failing miserable careers they collectively poses. Everyone, know it or not, is gunning for you, and at the end of the day, without me, without Zane’s boys… you’d be all alone, a baby shark, albeit dangerous baby shark, amongst killer whales. Luca Arzegotti is a former XWF King… there’s almost nobody he hasn’t defeated… you two, along with Equinox and mine and Zane’s impeccable managerial skills, can be the most dominate faction of wrestlers this industry has ever seen. “
“WHO’S READY TO POP SOME BUBBLY BITCHES!?!”
The door swings open following a loud crack of a champagne bottle and in walks Zanes Kingsly III, along with Equinox who begins throwing everyone Quizno’s subs from a giant bag and an unimpressed looking Luca Arzegotti.
“Zane! My man!”
Zane pours himself and Paul a glass of bubbly as the two begin a toast,
“To new beginnings, with what will certainly be a true hashtag dream team. I need to tweet that shit, AHAHA! Aye yo Luca, I NEED TO TWEET DAT SHIT!”
Luca leaning up against the wall smiles a bit and looks over at Dolly who has yet to take her eyes away from the former King of XWF.
“Call us the Quizno’s club! A footlong in every mouth, and a boot in ever ass!”
Equinox says with a mouth full of Italian Classic,
“No we’re not doing that…”
Zane replies while smashing away on his cellphone,
“You think you ready for this spotlight, kid? I know these fuccbois around the XWF not ready…”
Luca jabs his finger at Dolly’s sore shoulder as she winces a bit,
“…but are YOU ready?”
Dolly’s eyes squint, glaring a bit at Luca who still looks unimpressed. She holds out her hand, and after a minute or so of contemplation, Luca takes her hand and shakes it,
“Why get ready for the spotlight, when you’re already under it?”
Luca smiled, he liked this cocky bitch’s attitude.
“Now hold the phone fella’s, let me grab this mic and this cameraman… My client has a match against four worthless fucks on Wednesday, and it’s high time I let them know a few things!”
“Get em’!”
Paul gets in position with the cameraman…
“Ladies and gentlemen, my name is…”
“FUCK THAT!”
Dolly snatches the mic away from Heyman and stands directly in front of the camera,
“Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Dolly fuckin’ Waters, but you already knew that. What you didn’t know, what your momma’s and papa’s failed to tell you when you was little young bucks playing with wrestling toys, the light they failed to shed on the fable that is the idea of your chances for success is this: Dolly Waters cannot be stopped.
I am from now, and for as long as I so fucking desire to be, the best that this business has to offer, and the rest of these clowns, namely my opponents this Wednesday, you are nowhere near the category of competitor where the red carpet leading to my throne on top of the mountain begins.
Gilmoure? A loser
Kennedy? A loser
Bourbon?
LETS GO!*CLAP* *CLAP* *CLAP* *CLAP*LET'S GO!
Dolly's face turns smug as she twists the right side of her lip, looking rather sarcastic and apathetic...
What a dumb fuck… and also a big fucking loser.
In fact Robbie, mister “I’m too fucking dumb to realize I’m too fucking young to run for President” Bourbon, boasts himself as being the KING of losers, or job-bers, or whatever moronic handle of false relevance he tries to label himself with. Robbie is also the fat stunt double for Eminem in Eight Mile, trying to the pull the who “I know everything she’s bout to say against me” card, Robbie all that does is make you look even more pathetic than you already are…
He is white, he is a fucking slob Said:call him fat, make fun of the fact he's a shitty drunk, act surprised when he calls you out for being a fucktard in some way or another
he does live in the trailer with his mom Said:she's going to do it while referencing a shit ton of TV shows to compare me to.
Aw, my bad Robbie, I only referenced a movie, but I’m sure I could think of a few TV shows as well, how about ‘Flip this House’? Maybe ‘Bar Rescue’? And there I hit on two of the points you claimed I would hit, you’re a fatso and a dumb drunk.
YAY I WIN!
Great bitch tits by the way…
So your entire game plan was to point out the ways in which you suck at life, and point them out first, thus rendering it useless for anyone else to point out that you suck at life? That sounds solid home slice! This is all so great really, Java the Hut’s brother, who is an expert on foreign policy, has a fifty state social policy solution and a master of economics is somehow too fucking dumb to realize how old you have to be to run for president. Maybe I could have been your running mate Robbie!
BOURBON/WATERS 2016
Yeah man! Sounds like your ordering habits at the local dive bar.
See all of you suck asses, most notably Kitt Kennedy, sit around and whine and complain, bitching about how Paul Heyman cuts promo’s on my behalf, then somehow correlating that with the casual ‘I’m a little girl who can’t wrestle and such’, but listen boys, you should take solace, you should feel relived every time it’s Heyman and not me in front of this camera.
Sure, Paul is great and all, but just ask Kitt how bad it gets when I decide it’s necessary it pick up this mic. He’s learned on several occasions now, and it’s just by some certain twist of bad fucking luck for him that not only does he have to face me again for the third time this Wednesday, but then he’ll have to turn around and get destroyed, again, Saturday night as well.
You see, Robbie Bourbon, great name by the way… weren’t you just making fun of terrible names?
Wow, but Bourbon, I get it, because you’re from Kentucky right?
Or at least you used to claim to be, but you’re just another carpetbagger politician like McConnell and Ron Paul’s son; but see Robbie thinks he has this thing bagged up.
He’s had nothing to do since losing the tag titles he shit all over, and while I’ve been busting my hump, day in and day out, all he’s gotten done is being made a mockery of in front of the entire goddamn nation. Good for you Robbie!
LETS GO!*CLAP* *CLAP* *CLAP* *CLAP*LET'S GO!
The Lawnmower Man Said:Dolly Waters, and her daddy, the both of them tucked tail and ran a year ago when they saw big nasty Robbie Bourbon, full of promise, on the horizon.
Ooops there's movie reference number two! My apologies your majesty.
BUT WE SURE DID ROBBIE!
My Daddy, whilst knee deep in more pussy than you’ve seen since you could last lift your FUPA, sent me a text and said:
“I HAAAAAVVEEEEE A DREAM! That all dicksuckers, regardless their weight should have a place at God’s table, where they will get fatter and fatter, and lose more and more matches and shit on more and more titles, and we should leave here Dolly before some bloated nitwit who claims to be the King of Dumbfucks runs us out of the business!"
Again, Robbie, the career politician believes he’s already won, but in the end I’m going to be the Harry Truman holding up the newspaper with the headline reading: DEWEY WINS! Laughing my ass off while Robbie goes back to doing what he’s always done best… losing to the best of the best.
Speaking of the news, anyone checked up on the current events? Peter Gilmoure lost, again, and he’s already lost this match as well. Boys you lost this match the day I signed my name to dance underneath this shit dripping chandelier.
Losers, all of you: shit title scavenging, liposuction having, bitch-tit wearing, losers.
I know you all thought you were going to get a pass this week, but you're all too easy. You're all too goddamn delicious for me to pass up flying to Norway just to shatter your pathetic little dreams...
I'm each of your worst nightmares!
I am your Achilles heel!
I am...
I AM!
I am running out of cliches, and I'm growing tired of burying your wack asses.
Ta-Ta bitches!
Dolly takes a giant bite of her Quizno's sub as the scene fades...
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