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Jenny Myst · (02-04-2021)

"Annnnnnd cut! That's a wrap everyone! Jenn, great job, as usual!"

Jenny couldn't help by smile. She finished the pizza slice provided--another perk when shooting for Domino's--and grabbed her bag that was just off the set.

Tommy Romeo was standing just behind the cameras, and he had a satisfied look on his face.

They had just finished their 15th day on set. This was their 15th take today. There were 15 camera's and 15 or so producers, camera men and directors on the set as well as 15 representatives from Domino's higher ups. Each take took nearly 15 minutes and Jenny was given 15 lines to memorize, though most of them were left on the cutting room floor. She didn't need to talk, it was her physical look that the company was looking for.

"Great job, Jen!" Tommy said, pulling some stapled papers out of a briefcase. "You killed it!"

"I didn't even have any lines!" Jenny said.

"That's okay! You're still the star!" he flipped through the stapled pages, looking for something.

Jenny slings the bag over her shoulder. "Just make sure they have my check ready. I don't do anything for free."

Tommy stops at a certain page, and his eyes scroll the typed words on it.

"I have some more opportunities for you coming up. You're going to be a big star....."

"I am already a big star."

"I mean outside the wrestling ring. You're gonna be a household name, on every television set in America!"

Jenny and Tommy walk out of the studio and to the awaiting limo.

"I have movie roles, I have more commercials. There are many high end stores that are interested in your shoe line."

The door opened, and the two climb in. The driver shuts the door.

"There is so much more going on for you than wrestling, Jen. This is bigger than four turnbuckles and some canvas. You have an opportunity to be something that very few get to accomplish. Do you really think we can put someone like Nickles in front of a TV screen? Good god, he'd scare young children and send pregnant mothers into labor with one look at that mug!"

Jenny sets her bag neck to her, and crosses her legs.

"And Betsy......"

"Hey now, Betsy is RMI too. Like it or hate it, she's family now and she's champion."

"I KNOW WHAT SHE IS" Jenny snaps.

"I know its tough, it is, but this is the best case scenario. You build a division up, got it recognition, and now the title you made popular is back home, in our camp. Look at it as a blessing. She has been tasked with defending that title and taking beatings on a daily basis. Now, you get to be the star while she remains the grunt. You paid your dues, and now its her turn to blossom into the star. You paved the way for that!"

Jenny snorts a little, looking out the window.

"I know it sucks, Jen, but you really need to see the light here. Betsy wasn't lying when she said there is a bigger picture here, and you've had tunnel vision for quite a while. Now, you go out there and you kick the shit out of Charlie Nickles, you bring that title with you on your TV appearances. For god sakes, I got you on Good Morning America! Maybe it is time for you to leave the Shooting Star Title behi---"

She pulls the title out of her bag.

"Oh....you've got it with you."

"Betsy gave it up. I took it back. If she wants it, she can come get it on Savage. As far as I am concerned, I am the Main Event and nothing is going to change that. No matter where I sit on the card, I am the focal point. It's all eyes on me, Tommy."

She looks out the window, again, putting the title back in the bag.

"I have been waiting for a while to get my hands on Charlie Nickles. I have been waiting a while to put him in his place. Tommy, we're in the middle of a war here, and now fucking B.O.B and the Left Hand are chummed up......RMI and Hells Bells is all I have left. I am bringing out the big guns because for the first time in a long time I am backed into a corner. I have to prove myself to the world once again, or all of these perks you've gotten for me, they are all for naught."

"I wouldn't say that....."

"Damnit Tommy, I would. Stop being so diplomatic. This is a big match for me because if I am going to continue my reign as Queen I need to show everyone that they should take me seriously."

"Jen, trust me, they do. You're a primetime player here. You're one of the engines that keeps this fed going. Why the hell do you think I made you my first major signing?"

The limo slows down, pulling into the parking garage of the luxury hotel he booked them at.

"I gotta scoot, Erin has been up my ass all day. I arranged for the driver to escort you to your room."

He steps out of the limo as the door opens.

"Be well, champ."

She smiled a bit as she watched him grab his bag from the driver, pulling up the handle and wheeling it behind him while answering his cell phone. "Hey babe..."

She looked at her phone. The ride took exactly 15 minutes.

15 minutes to fame. 15 minutes was all it would take for Jenny to topple her demons and to bring the title the clout that it so desperately deserves.

Charlie's 15 minutes of fame would crumble under her fingers, and a new regime would rise from the ashes.

The time on her phone read 6:15

"Some people may look at my last month as a curse, but honestly, I see it as a blessing. I see it as a building block, a stepping stone, a film session to study up on and learn from. It has been the worst month of my career, but even though I lost my title, lost my rematch, I am still main-eventing Savage, headlining the show that I made watchable over the past year. I built a division from the ground up, I made it relevant, and now I have a chance to add another piece of gold to my trophy case. I get to add another accomplishment to my resume. I get to make another title relevant, I get to bring prestige to a belt that is currently being smothered by a fat smelly slob that would no sell free samples and has lost to everyone he's faced from the upper card. A guy who is obsessed with shiny objects, like he never had toys as a kid, who has been giving a once sought after title a low-tier reputation. All week I have been told that this is going to be one hell of a battle, and all week I have been studying film of Charlie Nickles matches. I understand that we have a diverse roster, and a lot of different types of competitors here, but Charlie you are NOT what we need representing the TV division. You don't have the look of a champion. You don't have that championship pedigree. You look like you competitively eat turkey legs on Patreon, not defend a title on a weekly basis. Anybody who is anybody here has beaten you, Charlie, and yet you walk around here like your shit doesn't smell like the rest of ours. Like you've earned your stripes here. You took the belt off of Thunderknuckles, a good accomplishment I wont lie, but since? You've been.....eh.....lackluster, for lack of a better term. You think beating the likes of Johnny Legend and Barney Green helps to raise that championship pedigree? I am not even sure who Johnny Legend is and....Barn, I am sorry buddy but......Charlie, EVERYBODY beats Barney Green. It's kinda what we do. It's a right of passage around here. Beating Barney Green at the Pay Per View was fine and dandy, and expected, but you got your ass handed to you after didn't ya? How'd it feel to be BobbyBombed? But hey, at least you beat a champion! Barney was World Champion in like 2010....ask him about it, I am sure he would looooove to tell you.

Not to mention it took you until the last minute to take down Barney Green, who already had a match that night, already won a title that night, and was on the brink of another massive coronary.....Go on, tell us it was 3 on 1 and you came out on top. Tell us you kicked Thunder Knuckles's ass because at the Pay-per-view he made you look like a fool, laying in a pool of blood and backsweat. Then tossed the TV title like he used to when he owned it. It must suck to know you're the second tier Thunder Knuckles. Diet Knuckles. Not as good as the original and leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

Speaking of mouth, you ran it quite a bit when you called the woman who signs your paychecks a bitch about a month ago. Karen Hunt is a sweet lady!

You beat Azrael, another good-when-he-wants-to-be-but-has-a-tendency-to-mail-it-in competitor. You jumped around post match like you just won the lottery, DEMANDING to be Main Event because you beat AZRAEL. You need to get your priorities in order, big boy. Sarah Lacklan made you look foolish, Doc tore you to shreds, and now you get another chance at that upper crust and another opportunity to fall flat on your face. You can continue to meander around the Heavymetalweight division and rack up titles that even the part timers don't want while calling yourself a credible champion, but we all see through it. See through you. You know what we do, Charlie? We laugh at you. We belly laugh, red faces and spit-out beverages. This entire thing is all a big joke to you but you're too damn stupid to understand that you're the punchline.

That title has been around your chubby waist for as long as it has because nobody has wanted to lower themselves to your level to try to attain it. Promo's filled with gratuitous violence and sexual assault while claiming shit that clearly didn't happen happened and expecting us to believe it. Charlie, I could tell you the sky is blue and you'd yell and scream about it being red. You'd insist you were right, even though there is proof that you're wrong, and everyone here feels too sorry for you to correct you. How did continuously harassing Robert Main go for ya? You take credit for shit you didn't do, and brag about how violent and vicious you are when a barley 100 pound girl damn near ripped your dick off and put your fat ass through a flaming table. I bet you'll tell us you took credit for her taking a sabbatical, huh? I bet you'll say she's never been the same since she faced you, even though she continued to push new heights and shatter new boundaries while you sat in the afterglow and jerked off to the memory. Her scent of musty-sourness and warm-mountain-dew.... I bet you'll rant and rave about how you took down the former champ even though the world watched Chris Chaos stomp her face into the mat like he was smushing grapes to make wine. We literally watched it. Hey, whatever gets you over right?

You beat two members of the ring crew at Relentless for a meaningless title, then went on a spree of beating up everyone in your path to try to look tough, and then laid an egg on the biggest stage of them all.

You're the epitome of a loser. When Bobby gets raped in Deliverance, you're the physical embodiment of his pig squeals. Not to mention you look like you have a PhD in tentacle porn. You're the kind of guy who drops out of the 9th grade, and then goes on to blame a Puerto Rican heart surgeon for "stealing his job". Just the most insufferable piece of human trash walking this planet. I’d say more but I don’t want you to spit in my food next time I’m at Waffle House.

I will give you some credit, though. It was kinda cute when you sneezed on Atreyu in "The Neverending Story."

So here we are. Savage Main Event. Jenny Myst, the Personification of Perfection versus Charlie Nickles, the Television Champion whose gut is melting down the front of his pants like an Hawaiian lava flow. A man who gets to pick the stipulation in his first "promo", and we know it's going to be over the top and ridiculous like everything else he does and says. Charlie Nickles, the fat kid from The Goonies but 35 and living with his grandmother gets to decide what ways he is going to torture me other than his body odor. A match where he can literally pick anything, as violent and brutal as he wants to get. Hark! A Neckbeard in his natural habitat!

Crikey!

A creature that hasn't fully evolved from a caveman into a modern-day human yet.

Your gene pool could have used a life guard. Or more chlorine. How many generations has your family walked upright for?

What match is Charlie gonna pick? Does it matter? Whatever he throws at me, I am ready for it. He doesn't intimidate me, I am not worried about pain. All Charlie has to offer is pain and pain has never scared me. You don't look like you can hurt me the way I've been hurt before. You look like a registered sex offender that enjoys long walks on the beach, not someone who can make me scream and beg you to stop. I've been in that boat before, and its hardened me. It has made me who I am today, made me a stronger person. You don't look like someone whose face should be on our TV sets every week. You look like part of a super secret experiment to resurrect cro-magnon and introduce them to New Jersey. Your facial hair looks like the aerial view of partially deforested woods. Your head looks like an egg, with your beard as shitty pixelated shading. Every time you look at me I get this weird feeling like a down syndrome kid is giving me puppy eyes. You're Terrorist meets McDonald's, not Television meets Champion. On Savage, MY SHOW, that all changes. You're the 0.01% that the hand sanitizer can't kill, but the champion that Jenny Myst can. That title is coming home with mamma, and there is nothing you can do about it. Your 15 minutes has long since expired, and my time is just beginning.

Your Queen has spoken.

Bow to Her.

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