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Kendall Savannah Sawyer · **12-07-2014, 09:10 PM**

I love this week.

I'm in love with everything about it.

Absolutely, everything.

You see, this week is exactly like all the weeks that have passed since Relentless as far as my tag team titles are concerned. There's no fear of losing them. No chance. Not a single, solitary, chance. How could there be? Look who's set to be standing across from me and my monster. My tool. My mouthpiece, if you want to willingly dig a hole for your head like Jack and Mr. WG WF. Though, there's the fridge logic of how could he be my mouthpiece if I'm more than capable of speaking for myself? And to answer that, I have no idea. That's the problem I always run into whenever I listen to Jack speak because Jack's always so wrong. A trait that, when juxtaposed with what his raison d'etre, is fucking hysterical. Someone so dedicated to destroying oppressive orders and yet he's too blind to see what's oppressive and what isn't. Or even basic facts like the timeline of Albert Einstein's life compared to the Holocaust. Or, the difference between the words psychological and philosophical.

And yet he talks down to me like he has any high ground to stand on. Especially when it comes to this little world of trash talk. This, psychological (or, as Jack would put it, philosophical) warfare. The man with so many ways to say absolutely nothing expects me to take him seriously, on what? Everything? Anything? Oh, he better not because that level of complete and utter delusion is dangerous. Not to anyone beside himself of course, but I'd like to be the one to knock his tongue down his throat. It'd be a little anticlimactic if he just swallowed it on his own. Or, if he were to slip into a diabetic coma after choking in the sickeningly sweet things that pour out of his mouth like the candy down a child's throat. All flash, no substance. Vomiting buzzwords into everyone's ears to make up for the fact that he couldn't make a point if his life fucking depended on it and he sure as hell can't put his money where his mouth is.

So, how in the fuck can you diagnose what's good for me when you can't even think well enough for yourself to just, for once, shut your mouth to avoid the inevitable embarrassment that ensues every time you film a promo? Huh? You get your fucking ass handed to you just last Warfare by Iris Oppenheimer who doesn't have a mean bone in her body. And yet she could go rounds with you and knock you out before the end of the first. You're fucking pathetic, and you're the one giving self help tips? What's next? You gonna buy into Pest's bullshit about being someone worth a shit when he can't even surmount the stiff competition of Peter Gilmour?

Oh, right. He is kinda your partner so I guess you did buy that. Hook line and sinker. Hey! I have a bridge in Brooklyn I think may interest you. Just wire all of your money to my bank account, and it's yours. I swear!

But, what's a Jack promo without some good old fashioned factual existence failures? There should just be a running tally at this point, honestly. It's like he doesn't even try to fact check anything he says. Again, doesn't bode well for his organization when the leader can't even be bothered to make sure he's getting things right.

I have ??? speak for me. Well, I'm speaking for myself right now so I guess you just didn't think that one through enough. Which could really be the motto for your wrestling career as a whole eh?

One.

I let my sister and some street trash take control of my life? Wait, you mean Kara who I asked for a reference for someone who'd be more capable of defending this title than the XWF roster at large and ??? ? Kara, my roommate? Right she's totally my sister now that makes perfect sense!

That's two.

Straight up just admitting I'm going to dominate him again? Okay that's not a factual error but for Christ's sake man make me work a little bit for it. Yeah, a little bit because that's the most you and Pest can put up in terms of a fight and you aren't even doing that! You're literally letting everyone know that after Wednesday, I'm going to reclaim this dominant attitude that I'm apparently missing currently for what reason? As a sick burn? To yourself? I had hoped Pest's piledriver would've smartened you up but he's not even strong enough to give you that much brain damage. Bravo, Jack. Bravo.

Honestly that's worth four hundred ninety-eight so we're at five hundred.

Though I'll admit. You bamboozled me. Caught me off guard. I thought you were going to end on that awful, awful, awful note but instead you continued. And you brought your good little friend Pest along for the ride. Which should give me the perfect excuse to get ??? here so he can start talking too! But, since I can carry a point long enough for it to leave my mouth, I don't need to. Unlike you. Seriously, whose mouthpiece is whose? Because it's looking more like Pest's your mouthpiece.

You guys know Pest, right? The guy who claims to not be a liar but then lies about being someone worth a shit or being an actual threat? The guy who failed on multiple occasions to beat Peter Gilmour? The guy who went after Gilmour just like everybody else and then has the gall to say Azrael and I stole from Scorpio's idea to cash in our briefcase? Hypocrisy isn't a shade that suits you, Pest. Too bad it's all you have because you can't pull it off in the slightest. Or, we could talk about how Pest claims ??? runs from arguments that require skill when he couldn't even find the words to combat Luca Arzegotti's claims that he [Pest] wanted Michael McBride's dick. Because that's who Pest is. He puffs out his chest wide and in his most threatening voice bellows:

"I know you are but what am I?"

When the answer is always so obvious: the exact same fucking thing.

But wait, he'll come back with the debate not being worth it. Because you know, he's the only one who could possibly claim that to be true. Right. That's believable. Oh wait, fuck off Pest here comes Jack with the big hypocritical joke! Claiming I lack charisma when he stutters and stumbles over words, unable to get out a sentence without vomiting clunky unnecessary words all over the place. You might wanna clean up after your boy.

But, you're right about one thing. One. In that whole promo, both parts. You got one thing right. Well, okay that's one more than I expected so congrats, you exceeded my dazzlingly low expectations. Write a letter home to mom. You're right; I don't care about these trinkets. These titles. My titles. Honestly, I've considered just leaving it on the ground at one of the arenas and saying whoever picks it up first is the new champion because it's nothing to me. Nothing at all. Though the fun in keeping these out of your grasp?

That's worth it.

Yeah, it isn't even you two specifically. Just playing keep away. Matter of fact, I think I'll get my tool to hand me back the other tag title and then I'll just hand them off to two other people after we win.

That'll be fun.

Give this up, Jack. You can't win in arguments and you can't win in the ring. And Pest is just at your level. You're the perfect team in terms of matching each other in strengths and weaknesses.

Jack & Pest.

Strengths: What?

Weaknesses: Everything.

You're perfect for each other in every way and I'll love it if you stay together after this loss. So you can do it all over again. Losing to absolutely everyone under the sun.

Now if you'll excuse, I'll go back to drinking myself silly.

What? I have to get intoxicated.

I want this match to last longer than five seconds.

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