Cierra was always a pretty girl, but she didn't feel it inside. Bright, loaded with charisma, a good sense of humor, and a heart to help anyone in need, even when she couldn't help herself.

She was always the black sheep in her family. Her sisters all went to college, had good jobs, were family-oriented. She was among the top in her class in high school, but her pink and blue-dyed hair was always a concern with the school board when it came to giving her valedictorian nominations. She wasn't what TV told the world that a girl is supposed to be. Her laugh, however, could make anyone feel better and her smile could light up a room.

But Cierra didn't feel the same as everyone perceived her as. All of her friends were in college, furthering their prospective careers, and here she was with an almost three year old daughter and a 2006 Chevy Malibu that had an oil leak.

Cierra felt trapped, she felt like she had no place to go. She began stripping shortly after high school because she was drawn in by the money. She had tried out for an amateur night, just to see, and had walked away (as a non employee of the club) with more money than she had ever seen at one time. It was from that moment she was hooked. It was from that moment she knew that this life was the only life she was going to live.


Cierra wasn't the religious type, even though her family was. She still would, every once and a while, break down and pray even though she knew there would be no answer. Cierra had started at a dive club, full nude, where she wasn't protected and often objectified. It wasn't until she met a girl named Jennifer Sambuca in line at a Starbucks, who convinced her to come to her club, that she knew what being a stripper could really be like. Jennifer's club, although she was new there, was a big club off the Vegas strip which had clients that were high dollar. Limo's were nothing new at this establishment, and one hundred dollar bills were thrown around like singles. Cierra was relishing in this new found fortune, and looked at Jenny as a savior angel who helped her and her daughter when she didn't have to.

Cierra became an instant star, and was among the most sought after by the regulars, much like Jenny and Sarina were. She noticed the girls here were a little more cut throat, however. She just wanted to be everyone's friend, but they didn't seem to know what that word was. Nobody but Jenny, who was always nice to her, seemed to even care she existed.

It was a slow night during the off season and the girls were sitting around the bar. A man came in the door wearing a nice polo and jeans that were clearly designer, with a watch that shined almost too brightly in the strobe lights. He paid the cover and sat at the bar, his smile was dreamy. He had red hair, and she didn't normally like Gingers, but this man had something about him. His red goatee was trimmed perfectly, and he had, what she could tell, a deep blue set of eyes. Cierra got up and walked over, sitting down next to the man, who had ordered a Miller Light bottle.

A beer drinker. Humble. Not flashy.

She greeted the man and when he turned to her with a smile, he wasn't just another customer, she was in love.

"George" he proclaimed his name was........and she knew he was the one.


Sometimes, they say, when something is too good to be true, it usually is. Cierra never thought about why the others girls didn't race over to grab his attention first......why they let him go, why they let this perfect man fall into her lap............

It was during a highway ride in his white BMW that she found out why. They were on their way to Los Angeles for a few days, and they had a lot of time to talk and really get to know each other. She had gotten a text message from Jenny, warning her, that George wasn't all he seemed. She brushed it off, thinking Jenny was just jealous she hadn't had the idea to go over and talk to him. Cierra's hand drifted over onto his as he gripped shifter, and that is when he looked at her...........

George was married.....he was in the process of a messy divorce, and his wife was after everything. She was being spiteful, and there was such emotion in his voice. How could she do this to such a nice and caring man? Cierra instantly hated her. Their relationship had to be kept secret, one because of this divorce, and two because the club had a strict no boyfriend or husband policy. She felt wrong sneaking around with a man old enough to be her father (George was in his early 40's, Cierra a mere 21), and in a weird way it made her hot. She shifted in the seat as she listened to this older man talk about leaving his wife, being with her, and living the good life. She was sure there was a damp spot on the leather.


Cierra rolled over with a huge smile on her face. Life had been good for her, at least good by her warped standards, ever since she met George. He was financially stable, more so than her. He had a business, she was just a stripper. Sure, she made money, but he had a reputable business with an actual W-2. He was the perfect fit for her and her daughter. His place was nice, much bigger than hers. He was so sweet to her, always telling her how beautiful she was and how much she intrigued him.

She checked her phone as George got up to walk naked to the bathroom. It was from her "friends". One of them was Jenny.

Myst: I hope you are doing alright baby girl, just be careful, I don't get good vibes from him.

Cierra rolled her eyes. Jenny was such a hater sometimes.

Sarina had texted her too.

Sarina: Please call me back, I want to make sure your vacation is going well. We miss you at the club!

Cierra looked at the stucco ceiling of the fancy hotel they stayed in, and watched the ceiling fan pedals spin. Her heart was spinning much the same way.

Meanwhile, she hadn't noticed that George took his phone to the bathroom with him. Pretending to take a shit to buy himself some time he hit the send button on his text.

George: I miss you baby. Let me just finish this job quick, and I'll be over. Boss is really riding me, if you know what I mean but I hope to be back soon. Kiss the kids for me.

He walked out of the bathroom and told Cierra he had to go to work.

A Few Days Later

Cierra returned to the club. Jenny and Sarina were happy to see her, and gave her a big hug as soon as she walked in. They watched as George's white BMW pulled away, windows tinted and bass blaring.

The days went on, and Cierra became increasingly more erratic. She seemed spacey. She couldn't focus, her sense of humor was gone. Sometimes she would come in during the day shift, when the owner wasn't there, to meet with George. The two would argue quietly in the corner and it would often lead to him storming out and her going to the dressing room crying. But they always came back.

Cierra came in on a Friday Night one time, and Jenny noticed that she had her forearm wrapped in what looked like an ace bandage. When she inquired about what happened, Cierra told her she had burned herself baking. She did make cookies quite frequently for her and her young daughter, but Jenny knew the real deal. Being a cutter herself, she knew that Cierra was covering up the scars, most likely fresh, from her most recent episode. She even noticed her scratch an itch in the area and wince.

Jenny vowed to have a word with George next time he came in.

A few Days Later than that already later day


George came in, all smug, with his collar popped and his watch on. Cierra was upstairs, Jenny knew this was her chance. She scooted over to the seat next to George, who had just bought a bottle. Grabbing the bottle and pouring a drink for herself, she smiled at George.

George came in, all smug, with his collar popped and his watch on. Cierra was upstairs, Jenny knew this was her chance. She scooted over to the seat next to George, who had just bought a bottle. Grabbing the bottle and pouring a drink for herself, she smiled at George.

"We need to have a talk, mister. Cierra is upstairs, she'll be down soon. While she is getting changed.....let me just tell you.........."

By the time Cierra came down, George was gone. She had a smile on her face, but Jen could tell it was fake.


She asked if George had come in, that he wasn't answering his texts but he had told her he would be there.

Jenny looked at her empty eyes and smiled.

"No baby, I haven't seen him. But fuck him, fuck men, lets make this bread tonight. Here, I got a bottle. Lets celebrate!"

She inquired what they were celebrating about.

"Life.........because it is too short not to." She poured Cierra a drink out of the expensive bottle of blue liquor that Cierra didn't know George left behind.

It was a few days later when she found Cierra hanging from her living room ceiling fan, her lips the same color as the blue liquor that touched them just 48 hours prior.

Jenny opened her mouth to scream, but no words came out. Just silence........dead, silence.

I like digging holes and hiding things inside them
When I'll grow old, I hope I won't forget to find them
'Cause I've got memories and travel like gypsies in the night

Jenny could feel her makeup smeared on her face, some of the eye-liner running down her cheeks, aided by her tears. Her breathing was heavy, ragged, labored even. Quick, rapid breaths came out as sharp wheezes.

Her nails had dirt under them, and many of them were chipped as she dug with both hands into the sand and clay at a frantic pace. She didn't know how far she had dug down, but through her tear-and-mascara-blurred vision she assumed she was at least deep enough into the dirt to hide a body or two. She reached back for her bag, her hands shaking, and her clammy, sweat covered palm grabbed the handle. Dragging it towards her--giving one quick look over her shoulder to make sure she was still in the clear--she pulled out a silver piece of metal that shined and glimmered in the moonlight of the Nevada sky.

Her hands shook as she looked at it one more time. A nearly 5 pound piece of plastic and metal, an object that may be her only path to freedom but also her path to more captivity, stared back at her with an ominous glow. She quickly threw it along with a folded piece of paper into the hole she had created and began to cover it up. She could hear tires screeching somewhere in the distance, and she knew the cars in tow had begun to make the trek down the dirt path she was on.

Her time was limited.

She covered up the hole as well as she could and bolted for the car, revving the engine and peeling off. When she got a safe enough distance away, she pulled the car over, opened her driver side door and threw up. This had become a trend lately.

Oh god...was she pregnant? She didn't have time to think about it now. She slammed the door shut and hit the gas again.

About an hour later she found herself in cruise control, on the Arroyo Seco Parkway.......traveling, in the dead of night, to a destination......to a life........that she wasn't even sure she was ready for.

What she did know was that anywhere was better than here.

And a thousand times I've seen this road
A thousand times

I like standing still, but that's just a wishful plan
Ask me where I come from, I'll say a different land
But I've got memories and travel like gypsies in the night

For the next few weeks, Jenny bounced around. She would always look over her shoulder, because she knew what she had done. These people weren't going to stop, not until she was found, not until she was dead. Crappy motel after crappy motel, she bounced around--always giving a fake name and where she was from (in case she was being tracked), and never stayed longer than a solid nap and maybe a quick shower.

During this period of time, Jenny was dying and changing her hair (part of where the pink and occasionally blue highlights she uses to this day came from), not wearing makeup, and wearing hats with baggy clothes, which provided a brutal atmosphere in the summer heat of Southern California motels, most of which had shotty AC units. She would make up stories every day as to where she had come from, who she was, and why she was there. Every transaction was made with cash, and most of her day was spent inside unless it was absolutely necessary to go out. Traveling by the cover of night, she was sitting on the bed at the edge of a shitty motel east of L.A. when an image flashed across the screen of the fuzzy TV that burned into her mind.

HER FACE.

She was being listed as a missing person out of Henderson, Nevada, and any information about he whereabouts came with a reward.

Another news story listed her as a fugitive out of Vegas, and to be on the lookout in Los Angeles as that may have been a prime destination for her.

So which was she? A missing person, or a fugitive?

She didn't even feel human anymore.

She didn't have time to ponder it. She grabbed her bag, put on her sunglasses even though it was nighttime, an over-sized Colorado Rockies baseball cap (as far as the motel manager was concerned, she was visiting from Colorado--this was tonight's story), and walked out the door. Shutting it behind her, she fumbles for the keys to the cheap car she had bought off Craigslist. As the engine started, the television was still running coverage on her..............

"Ms. Sambuca is being regarded as hostile, dangerous and highly spontaneous. Do not make contact with her but if you do see her, contact local authorities immediately....."

She pulled out of the motel, leaving another life behind and heading off into the night to begin a new one all over again.

I count gates and numbers, then play the guessing game
It's just the place that changes, the rest is still the same
But I've got memories and travel like gypsies in the night

Young Jenny looked over the menu, but she knew what she wanted. Pancakes, pancakes and more pancakes. She was going to stuff herself full of pancakes, then she had an excuse to sleep on the car ride home and not talk to this man any more than she had to.

"I already know what I want."

"Oh yeah? Great, when the waitress comes back we will order. I know what I want too."

His voice was stone straight, no emotion at all. All of his emotion was in his eyes.

As they waited for the server to come over he finally broke the silence. "Jen....hunny, we need to talk."

Oh boy. He is saying this with a hand on her leg? Not too much scared her at this age, but she full on dreaded what he was about to say.......

Before he could speak up, the servers voice cut in.

The waitress then was a heavy woman too, wearing a what-used-to-be-white apron with obvious stains on it. She had a look on her face as if she was wondering why the two were sitting next to each other instead of across from one another. She decided to plead the fifth on that though. Nevadans were simple folk.

"Ya'll know what you're having?"

They both agreed on pancakes.

"So.....I did a very bad thing......."

Young Jenny looked at him with the same nonchalant eyes of a teenager who was appeasing an adult by listening to them but not actually hearing them.

"Yes?"

Young Jenny was fiddling with the sugar packets, she liked the sound they made. Like mini tambourines.

"I...uh....I.....I got in with some bad people, hun. I owe them a lot of money, but I can't pay it back".

Jenny continued to play with the sugar packets, but commented "so, how are you going to pay them?"

Her "father" played with the collar on his shirt, flinching his neck a bit.

"I.....uh.......I told them......oh god hunny don't hate me..............I told them they could have you."

That's when Jenny dropped the sugar packet and looked up at him with wide eyes.

"You WHAT?!"

Her voice was elevated enough for everyone in the restaurant to turn and look at her. The servers, the cooks, the other hicks who inhabited the diner on the regular.

"Shh....shh....hun I have it handled....."

She smacked the table.

"YOU HAVE IT HANDLED! YOU PROMISED TO GIVE ME TO THE MOB BECAUSE YOU HAVE A GAMBLING PROBLEM?!"

He tried to shush her, urge her desperately to bring her tone down.

By this point people had their hands over their mouths, and many people were looking at them skeptically.

"Jen, please.....I took care of it. Nothing is going to happen to you.....I just wanted to be honest and up front with you."

She pulled her leg away and tried to get up from the booth, but she was blocked by her "father", as she was on the inside of the booth. The heavy set server walked over, wiping her brow.

"Is something wrong over here?"

"No, he was born this way" Jenny shot, giving a glaring look at her "father".

"I'll get ya'lls check" she said, understanding there was something not so pleasant going on.

Young Jenny took her "fathers" coffee and poured it over his head. He put his hands over his face and jumped out of the booth. She kicked him in the shin and ran out of the diner.

"Damnit.....Jen! Come back!"

He ran out after her.

The desert sun blinded his eyes....he looked around. He heard a car engine start. He ran towards his car, where Jenny was in the front seat. Luckily, for him, she hadn't learned to drive yet and especially not stick shift. She kept stalling it out.

He pounded on the window. Jen was in hysterics.

"LEAVE ME ALONE!" she yelled. Her eye makeup was smudging a bit.

He pounded harder on the window. Finally, he broke it. Blood covered his forearm as he unlocked it and pulled her out. She fought and struggled and screamed. People were beginning to stare.

"Jen.....JEN! Whoa....baby......its April 1st! It's April 1st! I was kidding! I'm sorry!"

"LEAVE ME ALONE!"

"I was joking!"

She bit his hand.

He pinned her against the car, squeezing tighter.

"Its April Fools day....I was kidding! Relax, please baby!"

Her eyes lit up.......she suddenly remembered. She punched him in the arm as hard as she could. She stopped fighting. He hugged her tight.

"I'm sorry.....baby, I am sorry!"

She cried on his shoulder, dampening his dress shirt.

"I'm sorry" he said again staring into the desert......knowing he had made a mistake both by telling them, but more so by telling her. "I'm sorry....."


September 10th, 2020: 2 days before Saturday Night Savage, where she first won the Shooting Star Title:

God this state sucked.

Jenny's pink GTR roared over the country roads, surrounded by nothing but corn fields for miles in every direction. Normally, she would demand transportation, especially going through some hell-hole like Nebraska. She was headed to Iowa though, like that was any better. This time she was in one of those moods where she decided she needed to take a drive to clear her mind, and she would pass through this shitty state on her way to her capture the title that she knew in her heart was rightfully hers. She always took time to drive when she could, it was liberating. She needed to come out and perform. This was a new start for her. This was the first time she would be on her own without her now ex-boyfriend, Chris Chaos. So far, she'd been successful. This was a solo endeavor by her, and quite frankly, wouldn't have it any other way. Her entire life she has had to survive on her own, she never had anything handed to her. Everything she accomplished, she accomplished against all odds. The chips were always down for this natural platinum blonde from Vegas, but she always found a way to cash in at least even. It shouldn't be hard for her to succeed---she had the natural looks of a model, a witty personality and a strong brain. She was everything TV told us a girl is supposed to be.

----but maybe that's why it had been tough.

Jenny had never had a place to call home. From a young age, she was in foster care. Bouncing from home to home until she settled in with her "parents". Darren and Katherine. Nice enough people, nothing really between the ears, however. They had no idea how to raise a child, but bless their hearts for trying. Darren was in deep with bad people. At the time Jenny was born, Vegas was (and still is to a lesser extent) controlled by the mob. James was a gambler who owed a lot of people money. A lot of money. And a lot of bad people.

Jenny remembered as she drove the black cars, usually Lincoln Town Cars, sitting outside her house in North Vegas. Nobody ever entered or exited the cars, but they would often sit there for hours at a time before being replaced by another. At the time she didn't know what this meant, but since nothing had ever come of it she didn't really let it bother her. As she grew older, however, she noticed the demeanor of her "father" change. He began to "notice" her more, if that makes sense.

He began to stare at her more. When he would come home from work, and loosen his tie--he always loosened his tie--he would always call her down the stairs and want to "talk to her about her day". This would mostly consist of him sizing her up. He would be short with his replies, a lot of "uh huh" "yep" "oh, cool". When she began to develop breasts it got even worse.

-----As Jenny gripped the wheel tighter, so tight in fact that she felt her fingers going white, she remembered what he used to say to her whenever she would enter the house after being out. "Welcome Home". Too many people used that term. Welcome Home. What was home? She never really knew "home", just a temporary disaster replacing another. As she drove she saw the sign "Entering Nebraska. Welcome Home". She felt the bile rise in her throat. She could hear his words "Welcome Home, Jen." She shivered a bit as she fiddled with the radio---

Her stomach began to rumble. She decided she would pull off the road for a quick bite. What did this god-forsaken state even offer besides corn? As she drove more (goddamnit the exits are spaced out SO much in this part of the country), she began to feel the need to pee as well.

One day, when Jenny was about 14, she was awoken by loud noises downstairs. Throwing her covers off and tip toeing as quietly as possible to the edge of the stairs, she peeked out over the bannister. What she saw horrified her. Her "mother" was on the couch, hands tied and tape over her mouth. Her "father" was on his knees, his dress shirt opened, specks of blood covering the top of the collar. Two men stood there, dressed in all black with dark sunglasses, and one had a gun to his head.

"You knew the deal, Darren" the man said in a cold tone, monotone and uncaring.

"Yes! Yes!" he shot back, "and I will, I still plan to....she's just...she's not ready yet! She won't be of any use to you yet!"

She?

Jen put a hand over her mouth, who could this her be? She ran back to her room and locked the door.

It wasn't until several months later that she was awoken by a jiggle at her door handle. Someone entered her room and made their way towards her bed. They said something softly, but she couldn't make it out. Two words. Something about home? It was all she could make out before she felt them grab her by the hair.

She looked out the window at the dull landscape that she understood most of this cancer-stricken state was covered in. Flat, tan, boring. Corn and dead grass for miles. Nothing else but asphalt. How could anyone live here? She was sure Iowa wasn't much better. As Jenny finally pulled into a little dive looking diner in the middle of nowhere, she slammed the car into gear. Pulling the e-brake, she pulled her sunglasses up. Fixing her makeup quick, she got out of the car and walked in. The door was old and rickety with a series of chimes above it that signaled when someone walked in.

Jenny set her bag down at a booth at the corner of the diner. She didn't really want to sit, the fabric--which she knew they were trying to pass off as leather--looked like it was sticky. It was a dull red, and the table had a checker pattern table cloth. It looked like something out of the 1960's, and it made her shudder.

"Welcome Home, dear!" a middle aged, heavy set woman in an apron said as soon as she stepped in the door. It made her skin crawl.

"I, uh...I need the bathroom, and some pancakes would be nice."

She could still feel the warm hand on her leg, even though it made her body cold. Her "father" took her to a place like this once. He promised her pancakes and said he had to talk to her. Of course, being a typical teenager, she cared more about the prospect of getting delicious food for free than having any sort of deep conversation with a "parent". Adopted or not, she really had no interest in talking to this man, even though she called him "dad". But as she sat there, she saw the look in his eye. He looked sad--but his hand on her thigh made her feel like there was an ulterior motive.

More like an ulterior nightmare, one from which she was still picking up the pieces of her shattered life.

"Can I help you?"

"Excuse me, miss, can I help ya?" the woman's voice cut through her, and she jumped a little. Composing herself, she looked up and into the face of overweight but clearly compassionate woman. This woman has obviously seen a lot in her day, and her eyes were soft, almost broken. Jenny cleared her throat.

"Uh, erm....yeah. I need a menu, and maybe start with a coffee? Yeah. Coffee would be clutch."

The woman didn't miss a beat.

"Regular or decaf, dear?"

"Did I say decaf?"

"No you did not."

"Then I think you know the answer."

The woman shuffled away as Jenny tried to compose herself. That woman's voice, she was sure she had heard it before. But that was impossible, she had never been to this state before. Why would she have been?

No words were exchanged by anyone else in the diner as the woman shuffled back over and set a menu down in front of her.

"Do you know what you're having, miss?" Jesus, this woman came out of nowhere. She moved quick for a chick her size.

"Pancakes!" Jenny almost yelled out, her inner child and flashback self ripping through her previously calm demeanor."Heh...sorry.....I'm a little on edge today. Yes, pancakes would nice. Thank you."

The lady set the coffee down, pointing towards the cream and sugar that sat on the far side of the table by the window.

The woman wrote it down on her pad and smiled, walking away. As Jenny turned her head she swore she saw her "father" sitting there.

As she looked down at the menu her hands began to shake.

"PENNY'S DINER....NORTH PLATTE, NEBRASKA, Est. 1950"

There was a smiling face of an animated character that she only assumed was "Penny". But it was Penny's smile that tore a hole right through the very fabric of her soul. Penny had a text bubble escaping from her mouth like she was blowing a giant gum bubble. Inside it were two words that gave her the chills despite the hot coffee.

"WELCOME HOME".


"I am not sure if all that black hair dye has leaked through your scalp and into your pea sized brain Ger, but, who said anything about fear? There is not one shred of evidence that I fear you and that Bram Stoker fanboy boss of yours. Sure, I escaped, I left the ring, but it was to save my own ass. What am I supposed to do, stand there and get destroyed? Do I look like Atara Themis? God, I hope not. I am the Queen, the Shooting Star Champion, and the top female competitor on this roster, bar none. I am not going to let some band of side show freaks burn me with a goddamn blow torch. So, take my running away as you will, but I promise you baby girl, it is far from fear.

We're shaking at the fear of the Left Hand taking over? May I ask what exactly you're taking over? What exactly have you done? Beat up on jobbers and an exhausted Atara? Make a couple of low quality videos with bad editing and eerie music and interrupt people? Oooohhh, we're shaking in our boots. You're so pathetic.

Pathetic and dense. I am a paperweight? I am not a true champion? I have risen to the occasion, I have slaughtered every sheep that has been put in front of me since September. I am the reason there is a women's division at all. I give all you little nobodies somebody to idolize, to chase after, to aspire to be. Just because you're jealous doesn't mean I am a bad champion. Just because you won your title and lost it in the same night, doesn't make me a bad champion. It makes you not on my level, simply put. Cut and dry. Pun intended.

Okay, so I've gotta ask.....it's been burning a hole the past week or so, and I just have to know.......Geri, who hurt you? Why is your self esteem so low? When you came back, you were a story. Not a very good one, but a story nonetheless. The street tough former gymnast who got a bad rap, got injured, took some time off, and then came back and told us all how we should respect and adore her because she popped a kid out and got sober. I mean, Ger bear, it's a story. It was YOUR story. I could at least have a shred of respect for that.

Just a shred, lets not split hairs here.

You store memories of failure like a camel stores water.

As if you weren't delusional enough, you have the unmitigated gall to say I stole YOUR victory? If anything, your little dust bunny of a stable mate stole it from Betsy, and I just took advantage of a situation. Your beef is with her, not me. The worst mistake you made was not cheating, not putting your feet on the ropes when you rolled me up, because I've shown time and time again that I am smarter than you. How do those eyes feel, by the way? Pepper Spray is a bitch isn't it? If you've forgotten just ask Ash Quinn.

You came back and you picked up right where you left off. You lost. You lose again and again and again and what do you do? Do you pick yourself up and try again? Do you try to earn some of the clout you told us all we were obligated to give you? No, you ran and hid, played the numbers game, and let some quack with a stern voice and big vocabulary awe you into thinking you're something you're not. Good enough to beat me. Baphomet's beef isn't because he sees me as a victim, oh no, its because he sees me as a threat. His problem is, nobody sees him as a threat, either. Why do you think half the XWF roster spent the entire week ripping you guys a new asshole? Because it's fun, funny, entertaining and frankly, so goddamn easy. You remember your first couple of promo's against me? You weren't sure if you even wanted the title, you just wanted the attention that came with it. You just wanted to be noticed. Well, hate to break it to ya, but this isn't the way you do it. You go from the spunky underdog who has an entire nation rooting you on to the brooding goth girl with an entire nation rooting for your opponent. You could literally be wrestling an inanimate object, and they'd want it to kick your ass and shut you up. The whole purpose of this game we play is to get better, to progress forward and improve. To win. You're regressing, Geri. Going backwards. You suck, and you lose. You're damn right I agreed to this match thinking you're the same old Geri Vayden. I've been in the ring with you, I know what you can do.....and what you can't. A little hair dye and enough black eyeliner to re-pave I95 isn't gonna change that. Jesus fucking Christ. I thought most people grew out of the 7th grade emo phase. Literally, I honestly don't know what's most cringy about you... your fashion sense, your skillset or your insufferable monotone promos. At least when you were on your own you had some heart and some passion, now you just get on a microphone or in front of a camera and robot talk because some grown man in a robe tells you to. Literally, he wears a robe. Its sad, really. But hey, if this wrestling doesn't work out I am sure Goat Boy has a backup plan for ya, an insurance policy. After I put you down like the dying dog you are, you could explore this newfound "beast" within, really go buckwild! Ahhhhh, Gerrrr.....I see future part time Assistant Manager at Hot Topic in your future! But, for reals, how's going to Warped Tour 5 years after middle school? You look like Rachel Dolezal developed anorexia after being outed as a white woman. You need to have a chemical romance with a cyanide pill. How far are we gonna take this Amy Winehouse thing? Hopefully all the way.

You are so consumed with this horror movie fantasy you're living in, you fail to even realize exactly the type of match you are losing Wednesday Night. You talk about all of this destruction. All of this pain. Leaving the Queen in a bloody heap, destroying my legacy. All fine and dandy, but conjecture, really. This is a submission match, you dense tramp. The ONLY way to win is to make your opponent tap out. To quit, to submit to your will. You wanna go and get yourself disqualified, fine by me. I walk out still the champion. Go ahead, leave me bloody broken and bruised, but just know that when you take out all that rage exploding through your tiny body, and you physically disect the Queen, that you are doing nothing but expending even more effort to achieve the entirely same result. You are making yourself sweat to end up watching my title match with a true contender at Snow Job from your candle lit locker room in Green Bay. So go ahead, beat me into oblivion, and ultimately do what you've done since day one here Geri.....

......fail.

You are nothing more than a failure that they handed a title to.

I mean, I know we are fresh off of Savage, but have you mistaken me for Atara Themis? Do you not watch any matches that daddy Baph doesn't allow you to? Have you not been paying attention to anything outside of ripping the heads of Barbie dolls and pretending its me? Geri, I have earned this title just like Thaddeus Duke earned his and Ned Kaye earned his. I have earned it by being the best, and--now pay attention because I know basic comprehension isn't your strong suit--I have earned it, and defended it, by going through YOU on numerous occasions. You couldn't beat me then and you can't beat me now. I keep the title by circumstance? Well I guess that circumstance is beating you every chance I get. I guess you are the circumstance, you are the collateral. I don't think you're dumb, I just think your head is so clouded by the promises of a man who has proven nothing other than being creepy, that you haven't truly seen just how bad you really are in that ring. You don't have it anymore, and he sees it. He's a crutch, and you are the wounded knee that he is supporting.

You talk a big game but what is going to happen when you step between the ropes with me?

Pretty sure it will be the same thing that always happens. You can put on a black rain coat, but that doesn't mean the rain will stop.

I am going to make an example out of you. An example that the XWF can learn from. An example to show that Geri Vayden is fed up and done being a laughing stock in this company.

........So, you're admitting you are the laughing stock? You went from "rawr nobody can stop me I am the devil rawr" to "I am NOT a joke! Stop laughing guys! I'll show you!" with only a few sentences in between! So, which one is it? I'll tell you. Geri, truth is, we've been laughing for months. Years, even. And lets make no mistake, I am not looking past this match. I know you and your sugar daddy have something up your sleeves, I know I can't sleep on you like everyone else has slept on you since you've returned. You have allies now, and they have been fighting your battles for you. They have been the driving force in this new attitude....the only reason you're confident is because of the numbers. One on one, Geri, it's like a Special Olympics wrestlers sparring with an Olympic gold medalist. But get 4 or 5 Special Olympics helmet wearers....and, well, that's simply too much Velcro for one person to overcome.

Don't think for one second I don't have my guard up. Sure, many members of the XWF roster probably want me to shut up, but there are several people who would come to my aid in the blink of an eye just so that they could get a piece of your Left Hand ass. And not the way you think....gross.

R.L Edgar, Corey, Alias....oh, and, B.O.B. All of them want to cut off the left hand and use the right hand to shove it up you and your boss's ass. I don't ask for their help, but just know that I am not alone, either.

You see, those alliances, sure they are there because your goat dad has ruffled some feathers and they wanna see you fail, but they are also there because the top talent on this roster has seen me grow over the years. They have seen me go from nothing but arm candy to one of the top champions in one of the hottest divisions on this roster. They have seen me overcome all odds, and even when I was at my lowest, they saw me keep fighting. They have something for me they will NEVER have for you. Respect. They may not like me, hell I am pretty sure a lot of them flat out dislike me, but not a single one of them say can say they don't respect me.

I fear equality? Holy jumping fucking shitballs this just keeps getting worse. I have been fighting my entire career to BE equal to the big names on this roster you donut. I have fought, scratched, and clawed to be relevant. The posters and TV spots and shoe lines, those have come because I have made it to the point where people care enough to notice me. I turn heads everywhere I go. You stand on a soapbox and tell them they should notice you, but they are too busy paying attention to me.

We are not the same.

And that little display you did with the Zippo and the stump? Clever. I haven't seen that before in every emo teen angst driven edgy music video. Maybe you're right, maybe it is an omen, a sign. Keep playing with fire, baby girl, and you will get burned. You aren't what you tell us you are Ger. You're what he tells you to tell us you are. You aren't some emo, you're a premo. Pretend emo. You're an emo that lacks the courage to cut. You probably have to ask him for permission to use the bathroom. Hell, he gave you permission to do this promo, to dye your hair black, to spend nearly a half an hour saying the exact same thing in 20 different ways like some fucked up Rubix Cube.....he gave you permission to tell us you matter.

"Yes daddy"

"No daddy"

"No, don't stick it there, daddy."

He's collected the garbage of this roster and gave them hope to be something more than dumpster fodder. He's scraped the dog shit off our shoes for us, I guess we should thank him. I mean, look at all your new friends. You've got Dusty, Lysol, Barf, you....You're like a fucked up Addams Family where Uncle Fester has inherited the family fortune and is ruling with an iron fuzz covered wrist.

I will slap you so hard that your mom will feel it. I will turn Jenny into a MYST!

Oh my god. Hold on....hold on......

*Jenny steps away from the camera and grabs Sarina, who was painting her nails and eating Flaming Hot Cheetos in the corner.*

"Sar....you hear this....let me run it back...."

I will slap you so hard that your mom will feel it. I will turn Jenny into a MYST!

Sarina face palms.

"Really, your mamma jokes? What is this, second grade playground bully time?"

"RIGHT?! Sarina, you better not make too much fun, she might slap your mother."

"I can't even"

"No...I...Can't EVEN"

"Jen, go easy on her, we don't want to be responsible for the next national tragedy."

Sarina shakes her head and walks off camera.

Where was I?

Oh yes.....

Geri, you're out of your league. Face it. It's reality. Your longest, and I'll admit it, best, promo to date and all you have done is talk in circles, say the same thing over and over, insult me like my bitchy 6 year old cousin does, and tell the world how your pubes are black now instead of dirty blonde. Still dirty, just not blonde. For you, this match is everything. This is your crowning achievement, this is your Super Bowl. For me, its another obstacle on my path to being a legend. The lengths which I am willing to stoop are beyond your comprehension, which you've also proven doesn't run very deep. You don't think I am capable of getting my perfectly manicured hands dirty? I've seen more in my 26 years than you've seen on TV. Do a little research for once in your life--don't forget to ask permission--and understand that I am the dirtiest player in this game. Shout out to Ric Flair. I will do what I have to do to get it done, and if that means making you squeal like the Deliverance movie on national television with your nerdy husband and ugly potato child watching.........well then I may just have to. I may have to not just make you tap, submit, quit...I may have to make sure that you cannot walk out of Milan, Italy. I seriously can't tell if you're a 15 year old nerd or 40 year old lesbian, but either way Geri I am going to make you wish you never poked this bear. Bank on it.

Now, before I go--I have more important shit to do than to continue to make you look like a fool, you've done a pretty damn good job of that yourself--I wanna remind you of a childhood story. It's a story we all know and love. It's called, the 'The Boy Who Cried Wolf'. Have you heard of it? Has Vincent van Goat allowed you to see or read any works of art besides his crappy videos on loop all day?

If not, let me give you the cliffnotes. This one may be familiar to you and your blue haired buddy.

There was this boy, which in your case isn't too far from the truth, who kept crying out every day.... a petulant little shepherd boy who repeatedly tricks nearby villagers into thinking a wolf is attacking his town's flock. Every single time the villagers would come, and the boy would laugh at their expense. When a wolf actually does appear and the boy again calls for help, the villagers believe that it is another false alarm and the sheep are eaten by the wolf. In the XWF version of Aesop's famous fable, Billy the Kid (known to us as Baphomet) is the little stable boy. He claims that there is a wolf, and that an attack is eminent. You all are his sheep. Every time we fall for his lie until nobody takes it seriously anymore, and when the wolf finally does come, it decimates the flock one by one until there are none left. In the XWF version of this story, that wolf.......

IT'S ME.

I am the wolf who is going to be there when the prank is over, and we wake up from this dream. I am the one who is going to be there, eating each one of you one by one while nobody does anything to stop it because your cries now fall on deaf ears. I am going to be the one who come out of the shit smelling like roses while you and Dusty and Lysol and Barf go back to doing what you do best.......carrying my bags.

I am the wolf, you are the sheep, and this wolf has an ever growing appetite for goat meat.

I've said it before and I'll say it again:

Don't Hunt What You Can't Kill.

I will make you tap out, and I will show the world once and for all how liars are rewarded: even if they tell the truth, no one believes them.

Your Queen has spoken.

Bow to her.