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Dolly Waters · (10-26-2016)

Saturday, October 22nd, 2016
Rupp Arena
Lexington, KY, USA
…Following the conclusion of Saturday Savage…

The scene opens under the bright florescent bulbs in an unidentified hallway backstage in Rupp Arena. Heyman is smugly strutting down the hallway with Dolly’s Television Title over his shoulder, and a stack of Nike shoe boxes in his arms… our hero is all but using the wall to keep herself standing upright as she had just finished a grueling match with Makaveli, immediately followed with an hour long autograph session with her home state fans:

“You were fucking gold out there tonight champ! Listen, I know that Jefferson Jackson is an idiot, but my god! These endorsements from Nike are pouring in, they want to make you part of their team, you’re going to be bigger than Steph Curry, bigger than Lebron James.....”

In an obtuse manner, Heyman continues strutting down the hallway and droning on about something, but Dolly can hardly focus. She stops limping as her head begins to spin wildly, she can't understand a fucking word Heyman is saying…

“I believe now is the time to move into phase two of our operation. You’re going to be the biggest star this industry has ever seen… and we’re going to cash in!”

To Dolly, it sounds as if she’s trying to listen to Heyman while her head is bobbing above and under water; unbeknownst to her, she has now fallen to one knee, her left arm propped against the white concrete wall. She can hear Heyman screaming something now as a colorful storm of Nike shoes come crashing down around her,

“Dolly!”

“What’s wrong Champ?!?”

“Dolly! Come on! Get up!”

Everything is fuzzy; the walls feel like they’re vibrating with the crashing sounds of the shoes and Heyman’s voice as it fades in and out of her senses. She looks up to see Heyman hauling ass down the hallway trying to find someone,

“DOCTOR! I NEED A GODDAMN DOCTOR PRONTO!”

“Blhaaakaragagglerallllk”

Dolly begins violently vomiting a disgusting pool of what little food and [Image: eAWGglQ.jpg]

ATORADE [per corporate sponsors’ request] was on her stomach. Soon the vomiting turns to dry heaves, then into gobs of blood from her internal bleeding as Dolly is now slumped down face first into the tile flooring, blood splattering upward as she continues to hack and gag.

Our heroine is completely numb, her senses paralyzed as Paul runs back with a pair of EMTs, his eyes bulging from his head as he covers his mouth with both hands. The medical personnel lift her onto a stretcher, leaving her on her side as blood continues to pour from her mouth.

“Mr. Heyman, your client is suffering from severe exhaustion and dehydration, and appears to of been self-medicating several cracked ribs, maybe for weeks, which is where the internal bleeding is coming from. She should have been examined two, maybe three weeks ago…”

“I understand, but she’s been denying all medical treatment. She’s tough.”

“There’s a difference between being tough, and being stupid, Mr. Heyman. Had she carried on this way competing, she most likely would have died… you’re both very lucky. We’ve treated her ribs, and ceased the bleeding, but it is imperative that she takes it easy for several weeks…”

Sunday, October 23rd, 2016
University of Kentucky Medical Center
Lexington, KY, USA
…Early AM…

Can’t say I remember much about being carted into this place, in fact as of now I’m not even sure which hospital I’m inside of, sure is fancy though. I just remember them rolling me out of Rupp, I was fairly certain I was going to die, it felt like I had reached inside of my own mouth and started pulling my guts out from inside of myself; in a lot of ways, I really wanted to die… What in the fuck left did I have to prove to anyone anyhow? I’m the goddamn best this business has to offer, and it’s not even close.

You know, the United States outspends the second largest military in the world, China’s, by damn near five-hundred billion dollars; in fact we even outspend militaries two through thirteen combined. That’s kind of the situation I’m in with the XWF… I’m on a cloud all alone, and not a single fucking person is even near me in terms of ability alone, not to mention all of the other factors that make up a great wrestler.

Hillary Clinton believes she shattered the glass ceiling? Gimmie’ a friggin’ break already; here I am beating the shit out of grown men with my bare hands on a nightly basis, but do I go around wanting everyone to rub me on my pussy for it and say: “Ooohh look at her! She’s paving the way for women, good for her!” no fuck that! In fact, just being in this hospital bed leaves me feeling like I’m unintentionally fishing for some patronizing frothy emotional appeal.

As I started ripping away the ivs from my arm, I looked up and saw Paul asleep in a chair, MY Television Title on his shoulder still, for whatever reason I got a wee bit irritated at that, but thought ‘fuck it’ nonetheless. The machines that were hooked up to me started letting off some awful wail as I unplugged them from my veins, which rose Paul from his slumber.

“Hey, hey! What are you doing champ!?!”

“Ready to go, Paul. Ready to fucking go…”

“Kiddo… you can’t just up and fucking leave! The doctor said you need some rest… a lot of rest in fact.”

“First off, fuck the doctors, and second, please don’t call me kiddo. I can handle myself quite well actually.”

And as I said that I stumbled out of the bed, my legs were asleep still and I fell onto the floor. Looking up I smiled at Paul, who was telling a not so pleasant story with his face. He stood, growing very statue-like just after adjusting his suit jacket and wiping away some imaginary dust from his shoulders; I get that he’s trying to be stoic and a hard ass toward me right now, but the way in which he walked over to me looked like he had a chunk of Jew-gold shoved up his ass. It was kinda' funny looking.

“I’m putting my foot down, Dolly”

Well that was a cheesy thing to say, because as he said it, he had just stomped his foot down right in front of my face. I giggled a bit, and he didn’t like it…

“There’s a time to put up…”

He said lifting me back up into my bed,

“…and a time to shut up…”

He’s out of breath, I giggled again,

“This is one of those latter times. I’m calling Lane and telling him we’re invoking a ‘Champ’s Day Off’ clause.”

“Ummm… no? Paul, have you seen next week’s card? I have a chance to take McBride’s Hart Title…”

That pink plated prize sure would look good around my waist,

“Dolly, there’s a real good chance that McBride won’t even be the Hart Champion by next Savage, he could be a fucking shrunken head on Z’s necklace! Then where does that leave you? Defending the TV Title in a triple threat match… and for what?!? What in the hell has Jakob Davis done to deserve any fucking thing around here? I don’t think so…”

“I’m a fighting champion…”

Heyman cuts me off,

“AND YOU’VE PROVED THAT!”

Rolling my eyes now,

“But I need to protect my interests…”

I glare up at him, tilting my head in a confusing manner. I swear to God, if this scumbag is trying to screw me, I’ll rip his goddamned heart from his chest and feed it to him,

“…I mean protect our interests.”

He starts stammering his words,

“I-I-I just w-want to keep you safe, Dolly. There’s no sense in you having to defend our, I mean your title in such a condition.”

“……”

“Don’t look at me like that!”

“Paul, weather I’m wrestling in a non-title, or title match, I’m still putting myself in harm’s way, right? So what difference does it make? Do you expect me to just lie down?”

“W-well n-no, but…”

“But nothing man. I came here to be the best, period. So if you think the prospect of me facing off against Jacob with a K and McDipshit really intimidates me?”

Paul begins rubbing his forehead as he turns away,

“Don’t you fucking walk away from me! Listen, do you think I’m as coy and naive as not to realize that this is a business partnership? Your livelihood is indicative of what I’m able to produce, and what I’m able to gain comes from where you’re able to put me; but at a point you need to realize that I am the fucking star, not you! THAT’S MY TELEVISION TITLE… I EARNED IT, NOT YOU! You may have led me to the door, but I’m the one who kicked it open.

Fuck both of these guys! I’m not the least bit shaken by the prospect of dismantling their careers, fuck they’ve been so adept at doing it to themselves for so long that it’s really a moot point.

You know what happened, Paul, the last time that Jakob Gayvis and McTater were in a triple threat match together? Ghost Tank retained the Hart Title. GHOST TANK! They both managed to somehow be worse than Bitch-Tit-Having, Ghost Tank, granted McBride may have gotten a win back a few weeks ago, but that’s inexcusable. They lost to skull fucking necrophiliac, bravo boys!

Remember how Z and McBride went on a week’s long love fest all over the “Who gives a fuck” section of the XWF website about how they were going to fight one another for the Hart Title? It was going to be epic, unparalleled, match of the year candidate! Well guess what? It’s Sunday now and neither of those two ass nuggets have even said a word against one another since the card was release, and I’ll bet you my life that Tuesday morning will roll around, a day before their match, and they’ll still have yet to speak.

What an absolute disgrace…

So much for me ever being booked into a match with someone who actually has an inkling of the appropriate aptitude needed to win against a high caliber competitor such as myself; and for you to act like I should be worried about this match, Paul? Well you can blow it out of your ass, because not only am I going to retain my Television Title, I’m going to take McBride’s Hart Title in the process…

That’ll make me a champion of four different belts in one month… MY FIRST MONTH EVER! You want to protect your interests, then you shut your mouth and let me do what I do best, sir. Kneeing worthless fucks’ head’s from their shoulders."

“I get all of that, I do…”

“Okay then you need to shut up and listen for a second."

Paul looks flabbergasted, but admittedly so, I haven’t ever gone in on him like this before; but it was time he had a coming to Jesus, or Moses moment.

"If you really wanted to do me a service, maybe you’d be lobbying Lane as to why an undeserving shit stain like Jakob, who hasn’t even cut a promo in five months, got booked in this match, rather than doing everything under the sun to get me out of defending my title. This is the same song and dance as last week! Only this time instead of being booked against one Makaveli, I get booked against two. A couple of lazy fucks who are booked, or selected into relevance, rather than creating their own path.

Paul, this Saturday, I will solidify once and for all, that true relevance, true dominance comes from your own hard work. Not some arbitrary Match Booker, some partner-less tag-champ, or some money hungry manager.

I am what's pertinent..."

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