"PLEASE ENJOY THIS VERZION RINGBACK TUNE WHILE WE CONNECT YOUR CALL!"

Oh fuck. I hate these goddamn things-

♪♫♬I'M'YA BIGGEST FAN♪♫♬

♪♫♬I'LL FOLLOW YA UNTIL YA LOVE ME!♪♫♬

♪♫♬PAPA-PAPA-RAZZI♪♫♬

I jerk my massive Windows phone away from my ear as the Lady Gaga song comes screeching through like nails on a chalkboard. As I hold the phone out in front of me I can unfortunately still hear the vomiting of her lyrics pounding through the mini-speaker.

♪♫♬Baby there's no other superstar♪♫♬

♪♫♬You know that I'll be♪♫♬

♪♫♬Your papa-paparazzi♪♫♬

"Oh fer' fuck's sake... I hope she isn't one of those people who intentionally let the phone ring so you can listen to their shitty music."

I say to myself while tapping my foot in anticipation as the song, sounding more like a mob of mentally ill people smashing glass dishware against the floor, continues to play until...

"Hello?"

...mercifully she answers the phone,

"Hello?"

Not sure why, but I always do that awkward parakeet-ing the initial 'hello' of any phone conversation. I guess it's my way of making sure whoever on the other line can hear me,

"HAY-LOOOOOW???"

Some people get irritated with it,

"Is this Roxy?"

I ask,

"Who is this?"

Probablly making sure I'm not bill collector before identifying herself,

"Roxy, it's Dolly."

"WHO?!"

She shouts out before I'm even finished saying my name,

"DOLL-LEE. Dolly Waters? From the XWF?"

There's a pause...

"The little hick girl? How did you get my number?"

...followed by a predictable respone,

"Vinnie gave it to me..."

"HE DID WHAT?!"

Oh. Right. The double entendre.

"Ugh! HE GAVE ME YER' NUMBER!"

"Well why? What do you want, Deliverance?"

"Look, you know that other wrestling company you work for? The UGCW?"

You can almost hear Roxy rolling her eyes through the phone,

"Nope. Don't know the company where I'm the number one contender for top championship. What about it?"

"I'm trying to retrieve an item that was featured on Synergy a few weeks back for Kenzi Grey-Lacklan."

"What item?"

Oh.

Right.

The plot.

Some time ago, which actually wasn't ALL that long ago, I found myself with nothing to do, which actually wasn't ALL that rare.

I was sitting alone in the small office space I had acquired for my think-tank which I had recently dubbed the Center for Underaged Nihilist Telecommunications or CUNT for short. All of my staff had taken the week off for some series of strange Hindu holidays or something, and so I was left to my own devices. In this instance, the device being my annoyingly clunky Windows phone provided to me by The Legion.

For those of you not familiar, not sure how you couldn't be by now, but The Legion is Sarah and Kenzi Grey-Lacklan's media and entertainment empire that covers a wide range of everything known to man. In a gasping attempt to not get hung up in the monotonies of every day mid-card champion hell, I took up an internship working for these fine folks. A role that has since shifted more towards me being Kenzi's personal assistant. And it's still, it's a better use of my time then training for matches I know I'll lose with shit wrestlers who already lost against the person I'm training to beat.

How fucking would that be?

But anyway, so I'm sitting around, all bored and such, and then the Windows phone vibrates with the force something similar to goddamned earthquake. After scaring me half to death I grab the flopping piece of plastic from my desk and start mashing on it, just trying to make it stop. It was a notification from Mrs. Kenzi on my Twitter.



Really?

A chair?

This was by far the strangest request I had received in my short stint as an intern, but who was I to balk at anything? I had just spent time smuggling drugs into Mexico with Luca and being captured by ICE. How's that for strange? And my only upcoming matches were against Kid Kool, an unintentionally admitted , and Vita Valenteen, a failed Dolly Waters carbon-copy who I already bested in spite of her claiming in a VERY Dolly-esque tone "I'M BETTER THAN DOLLY!". Maybe Game Girl can help her gain a better understanding of how NOT to blow at using codes. The Mushroom gobbling bitch SURE did take me to work over it after all.

Here's a sudden pause of thought for the ironic sarcasm to sink in. Please rewind if needed.

BUT!

It was again time new to embark on a new adventure, one that would certainly be more interesting than:

'Random XWF Wrestler Trains In Ring And Then Cuts a Shit Promo Episode Four-Thousand and Forty-Fuck-ing-CHRIST! What an unimaginative suck-ass you-are-Vita'

But really? Should I really waste time embarking out into another wrestling federation's territory to claim a relic of sorts for the boss lady's boss? Possibly breaking any and all unwritten cardinal sins about doing of that there nature? I could just train in a ring with Duke or Lacklan and prove that I have not a single ounce of depth to my personality asides from adding a few more swear words to my promo when I'm supposedly a good-girl.

Goddamn right I should.

Why not? I mean I know these people, they know me, and the growing phenomenon of wrestlers having Twitter accounts has really started merging worlds. I mean shit-the-effing-bed, even Drew's biggest fan on Twitter is the reigning champion of UGCW. Lane's wife works for that company too, so there's ties ya' know?

WHICH REMINDS ME!

Back to the phone call.

"It's some chair she used to beat up a couple of guys."

There's a silence that's deafening,

"Roxy?"

But wait. Is that? Is she?

"ROXY! ARE YOU FUCKING SNORING?!"

"bu-Huh? What? What is this?"

She totally fell the fuck asleep while on the phone,

"Oh. Sorry. You were taking like a REALLY long time to tell me what item Kenzi wanted you to get..."

My digressions be damned!

"A chair, Roxy. It's a FUCKING folding chair. The most commonplace weaponry in all of wrestling."

She gasps, but I don't really know if it is sarcastic or not,

"You mean... THEE chair?"

apparently it's a thing,

"I fucking suppose."

"Well I do know the guy who could probably point you in the right direction. Hold on let me at-him on Twitter real qui-"

Suddenly I hear a thunderous crash followed by a slew of profanities coming from down the hallway. I drop the phone and take a peak down the hallway behind my desk that leads to the entrance of the office front.

"I'm cool. I'm cool."



"Madison?!"

"I Don't know who that is, but he probably got plastic surgery to look like me."

Talk about cardinal sins

"Well who in the blue-worded-fuck are you?"

"The name is Donovan. If you're looking for a piece of UGCW folk-lore, you've got to go through me."

"Oh, GASP!"

-to for-sure be continued-

-----------------------
Another figuratively literally SAVAGE promo on Vita:

"OH MY!

Guess what folks?!

We've got ourselves yet ANOTHER psychologist lurking the halls of the XWF!

Yer' in luck Gilmour!

Another person to explain to you the reason that you call people faggits and dick suckers is because, in reality, you crave da' cock!

Only this time it's in the form of a shit-fer'-brains little bimbo who can't string together a single paragraph's worth of rational thinking named Vita Valenteen!

HOOOO-kay. I'ms dones yellings nows.

VEEEEEEEETA.

"Vita" 'I say: "BUH-BYE" over and over to try and relate to my fellow special-ed peers and pretend like it's something that actual humans say because it sounds SO totally pink-tainted teeny-vernacular.'

This by the way is example one-thousand of why Vita's schtick blows dog balls.

So Vita cut a promo recently saying she knows EVERYTHING about Dolly Waters.

Wow.

Well that is a total waste of fucking time if I do say so myself.

So you've been studying me?

You know every move in my repertoire now? Because you sure as fuck didn't a few weeks ago- even after you claimed that I was the biggest inspiration in yer' life. You droned on, claiming that I, little ol' ME who you have no problem describing as a good-fer'-nothing mean-girl who actually sucks and doesn't deserve anything was the entire reason you wanted to be a wrestler in the first place.

Jeez. You've sooooooo got me figured out, huh?

You know so much about Dolly Waters that I flattened yer' drooling little mouth with my running knee, and now, you can't even avoid a replica of my attack from Game Girl in a boring training session vignette? A dense little pretend friend of yer's who I beat with the same move at March Madness?

Well bravo Sigmund FRAUD.

You SUUUUURE know how to dissect someone with FACTS and LOGIC like a shitty click-bait YouTube video description, huh?

Vita knows so much about me, that she doesn't know how to NOT try and act so desperately like me, therefor making her look like nothing more than a cheap dollar-store rip off of a level of talent in which she only dreams to aspire towards.

Vita, I really have to wonder, why is it exactly that my words from a promo back in March still have you on the defensive?

Fucking-seriously, chick?

You've all but built a statue fer'yer'self about having won a twenty-four-seven case in the most lackluster gauntlet of circumstance and dumb-luck I've ever seen. You should be riding on cloud nine and counting the stars for what you've accomplished, but yet you've let my words inspire you to try going from oober-face who only slides in subliminal insults to soft-swearing bleh's that only further prove you suck at talking shit to people?

Well-done.

Yer' most recent production, in it's entirety, only further proved my previous points about you, Vita. You haven't an original bone in yer' body. That's why yer' who you are. Rambling on about my father like it wasn't the millionth time someone brought him up?

HELL!

Oops, I yelled again.

But hell, you even went to using quote boxes like that feeble little sixteen-bit friend of yer's, who fer' all of her suckery, can't even stick around the wrestling long enough after I beat her ass to be yer' partner.

That must suck once having it read back to you, huh?

And you rag on me fer' involving myself with other like-minded talented folks who share a common goal? Sure, you and Game Girl and Jess-a, uhhhh, who is she again? You three all might ultimately suck at wrestling and doing cool, original stuff, but believe-you-me, if Lacklan, as my friend, were ever were to cost me my championship in a triple threat after totally shitting-the-bed I sure as fuck wouldn't be kicking it with her afterwards. Let alone taking pointers from such a .

But that's the difference between us, Vita.

I don't need to explain away my past like you did while putting everyone to sleep when talking about YER' daddy Michael Graves. I don't NEED to beat Dolly Waters to find myself whole, Vita.

Fer' as much as you like claiming I'm on some fabled "pedestal", it's people like you who put me there. FFS! You already said yer' room is littered with my posters, dumbass. God you suck at this. I'm not the one screaming about it, it's you. it's the company you keep who can't stand the fact that on any given day I can beat anyone, anywhere, anytime...

And so sorry fer' you, it's going to have to be you... AGAIN.

Now, how about you go study my actual tape, learning that yes, between twenty-fifteen and twenty-nineteen I actually only wrestled for a totally of seven months... wait? Why is that so hard fer' you to understand?

OH RIGHT!

Yelled again.

It's because yer' a fucking idiot.

Bye.