XWF FanBase: The IWC (gets varying reactions in the arenas, but will be worshiped like a god and defended until the end by internet fans; literally has thousands of online dorks logging on to complain anytime they lose a match or don't get pushed right)
Friday, February 31st, 2017
...Pyongyang, North Korea...
We see Dolly Waters standing beneath the Lethal Lottery 4 XTron, unflappable as she stares out into the vastness of the vacant Rungrado 1st of May Stadium- the sun beaming through the open roof in the ceiling like an omnipotent guide, illuminating the ring in the center of stadium where Dolly will do battle with two of the top athletes in the world in just over twenty four hours.
Dolly closes her eyes, imaging herself as her battle ode rocks through the speakers as she makes her entrance to the entrancing tune of nearly two hundred thousand fans screaming at the top of their lungs. She feels the butterflies in her guts, the tense tremble in her fingertips. She tastes the sweat dripping from her forehead, the desultory salt of her watering mouth. She smells the sweet stench of the sticky humidity, and the arm pits of a quarter million sweaty Asians.
Every fleeting moment of her brief life has brought her to this exact point, a culmination of sorts. All of the pain and suffering, all of the questioning of the will of existence, all of the blood, the sweat, the tears, the exhilarating highs, the woeful lows, the friendships, the distrusts; it's all teetering nearly fifty feet away in the center of that ring as she sees herself walking down the runway, a barrage of camera flashes irradiating her frame like the lightning bugs on a warms summer's night in her old Kentucky home.
A gentle breeze sweeps through the open ceiling of the stadium, brushing Dolly's hair back. She remembers back to a time blissfully leaning her head out of the window of her father's rusted '87 Nova. Her eyes closed while the warmth of the sun massaged her face. They were on their way to Muddy's first ever professional wrestling match on Monday Madness, leaving forever behind their old lamentable lives back in Kentucky. Muddy couldn't stop smiling at the joy of his daughter even if his life depended on it- he knew what a screw up he had been, and he wanted nothing more than anything to prove to his daughter that he could be a father worth admiring.
Little did either of them know that at that very moment Dolly's, not her father's, quest for ultimate glory was beginning. From watching her father sign a contract with her eventual manager Paul Heyman, to being left in the care of her future mentor Morbid Angel, to being abandoned after Bad Medicine 2015 in Dallas, to her loss of sensitivity towards human life after killing Sawyier McGahee... every single second from that time of her glowing happiness in the passenger seat of that '87 Nova was leading to this exact moment.
And now here she stood, in the shadows of false idols, megalomaniac manipulators who kill innocents in the name of justifying falsehoods, here she stood ready to spread the truth of REAL power, of REAL grit, of REAL leadership to the world like a wildfire burning down the barren woods of paranoia and fear.
Here she stood...
Here she saw...
Here she heard...
Here she tasted...
Here she felt...
Destiny.
Dolly's eyes dart open and pierce our souls through the camera lens as she's still standing under the XTron.
"Twenty four hours..."
She says softly,
"In twenty four hours it all comes to ahead right here before a sea of stunned faces as Dolly Waters walks out of North Korea the winner of Lethal Lottery Four...
Well... twenty four hours or so.
You've gotta' be exact with this stuff for fear of your words plunging some sensitive minded blow hard into a nap-worthy tard tangent of obscure verbal slurring- and anyone who's been paying attention to Caedus and Trax's child-like correspondence the last two weeks knows exactly what I'm talking about.
Allow me to reiterate the sad happenings, if you will, exactly how Dolly Waters has exposed her opponents one pink tinted promo after the next:
I began this verbal slaying by admitting to you all that I already had this entire thing figured out, and I do, and it really wasn't difficult. I explained to you all that Trax was a man blinded by his former, lackluster glory, and that he was too stuck living in the past to adapt to this new era of the XWF- thus explaining his current string of experiencing one disappointment after the other. Whether it be the Shove-It Rumble in Hell, The Elimination Chamber at Wildcard, his number one contender match with Reno or what's getting ready to happen to him tomorrow night- Trax has been unwilling to maneuver away from the old ideals and leaky lurals that land him on the losing side of each and everyone of his conquests.
Trax typically bores us all to death when he speaks, talking about this and that, about how he did such-and-such on this-or-that date that prepared him for something-or-another that makes him more experienced and less shit than his opponents. For instance, Dolly Waters getting eliminated from the same Shove It Rumble in Hell that he too lost somehow made him better than Dolly Waters. There it was: Dolly prodding Trax into admitting his shortcomings from the past because he's too thickheaded to try plucking relevance for his promos from anywhere but his past that he can't shut up about- a past marred by disappointment. So if Trax's promo work is any indication of how he's planning to work in the ring tomorrow night, he's going to be in for a long evening because Trax isn't going to be able to rely on his old way of doing business to put him over the top against a caliber of opponent such as myself.
I've driven him into contradicting himself over and over again, like how he first began to make excuses as to why he lost to Gabe Reno- I brought up the FACT that either you're good enough in the XWF to win, or you're not. Just because someone cheated to beat you doesn't mean that they didn't ACTUALLY beat you... and then Trax finally admitted it:
"what you said about one having to be talented enough to overcome cheating or interference...you're right, I SHOULD of been able to overcome Gabes cheating, he couldn't beat me fairly but he still beat me that's all that matters."
I know I was right, Trax. I've been right all along. So that right there destroyed you're entire argument that my career was"dismal"and that I was"Worthless" for getting eliminated from a forgettable match by the same person who defeated you- thus costing your opportunity to be where you REALLY wanted to be tomorrow- in the Universal Title match.
Shouldn't the all-knowing, all-remembering, all-past invoking, oober-focused Trax been able to win a match that mattered that much? You admitted it yourself after I brought it up that being in the Universal Title match was your primary goal... so, by default, if you're as focused on this new goal of winning the 24/7 case as hard as you were focused on that last failure against Reno then your effort, your focus, your strategy, your technique is again:"Worthless" and won't have any barring on this match.
Remember you mocking me for actually having a strategy coming in here that I spelled out for you in 'First Take'? You had no strategy. Just the same ol' Trax who got blindsided into calling Scully "shit" just before jumping the gun to admit that Scully was able to do something that Trax couldn't do- defeat Vinnie Lane for the Universal Title. So I guess that makes you more shit than Scully?
Dolly laughs hysterically.
Trax again is unable to adapt when having his ass handed to him and this was the VERY point I had been bringing up since the start. You cut your own dick off to spite your balls. Then once you had finally given up, realizing that Dolly was right, you go on this little bleeding-heart boo-hoo bitch fest about how you've never had anything your whole life- had to earn everything yourself. Trax, that's the story of about 99% percent of the entire American population, and a much smaller percentage of those people ever do become successful.
I'm one of those people, Jim Caedus is one of those people, you're one of those people. YOU BOTH SHOULD BE THANKFUL TO MAKE IT WHERE YOU ARE! But for the life of you, and it isn't just you, Caedus did it too- but y'all can't quit crying about how "easy" this thirteen year old girl has had it, and how difficult life has been. Are you both jealous of me? Jealous of a little girl who grew up in a trailer park?
Trax I didn't need to hear your entire life's story to know that you're a hard worker, you wouldn't be here if you weren't. I don't need you to rummage through the archives of the XWF website to prove to me how you've beaten people, I've seen it first hand. But what I need to see was that you had a willingness to TRY and be something different than the same guy who keeps coming up short since his return from obscurity. You haven't shown it, and I haven't seen any indication of the sort- that's why Trax tomorrow night, no matter how hard you strike, no matter how fast you move- no matter how hard you kick me in the mouth, the result will be the exact same type of result you've been experiencing.
Another L added to the win-loss column of your career.
As for Jim Caedus, I began this entire process of picking apart his brain the exact same way- it too was too easy. I pointed out that Jim was paranoid, delusional... and more insecure than a 'like' fishing selfie smut on Facebook gasping for and craving attention so hard that he overcompensates his already glaring with all that he's capable of- more . He proved his weaknesses to be true even more profoundly than Trax did.
They say that confidence is silent and insecurities are loud- and let's face it folks, Caedus has been the loudest pole-blowing pomp punk pretending-to-be-pertinent because he puffs out his puny little chest while posing as some grand intellectual with some shutter inducing attacks of alliteration as if anyone other than the few lone douchey Dickens fans find it amusing.
Awe, Caedus, you going to cry again and say I'm copying your style? Last time I checked I'm not a thirty-seven year old homeless fuck-up calling a teenager who wrestles unrealistic even though I've claimed to be a pro wrestler since I was a... DUN-DUN-DUN!!!! A Teenager.
Caedus struggles with the concepts of reality- and he proved that right off of the bat by attempting to counter my claims of his delusion, with nothing more than more delusion. It doesn't matter how hard he tries to french-up that horseshit he considers trash talk to try and save face that he's totally ill-equipped to deal with someone like Dolly plucking away at the strings of his mind, because all he's done is lied about most everything that's been blathered from his cock-sucker.
Shall I list off the number of rubbish claims he's made that I've asked him to prove, yet he doesn't?
1. Dolly forced him to kill a cat.
2. Trax, Caedus and Cadryn were "backstage" talking about how unimpressed they were with me revealing as Buronan.
3. Dolly is copying his style.
4. Dolly committed perjury before the U.S. Senate.
5. Dolly was playing politics with Vincent Lane to make this a Triple Threat match.
I'm just going to stop there, because I believe everyone gets the point already. Jim is demented and in need of serious help. But don't worry, help is on the way once I beat his head into the mat so hard that he wakes up hopefully realizing that he needs to portray a less shit of a gimmick than the Contradiction King. I've never really been one to poke jabs at those with serious mental disorders- but Jim- when you're a total who tries being the lovable drifter genius, or Good Will Hunting. or whatever the fuck, then when you come across someone who actually calls you on your bullshit, just take it like a man and quit making excuses.
Quit trying to multiply two by two and climbing over that wall when you speak about people taking cheap shots. It just makes you look like an asshole.
Quit crying about famous people appearing in peoples vignettes while having Commie cunts appear in yours. It just makes you look like a bitch.
Quit claiming to be superb and great while trying to tell everyone that you're the ultimate underdog. It just makes you look like an idiot.
Quit claiming to "own" fire your whole life when fire is exactly what burned your fucking world to the ground. Or do you not really care about your wife and child as much as you claim?
Quit fucking saying that I stole your "drink order" (god that was gay) by saying 'this isn't a game' after you said I'm: "a dame in a dick's game"
It just makes you a fucking lying punk.
A lying asshole bitch-tit idiot who doesn't really care about the shit he claims. That on top of being a paranoid, insecure conspiracy theorist makes up everything we need to know about Jim Caedus.
Jet Fuel doesn't melt steel beams, aye Jimbo?
Dolly Waters has Paul Heyman in her back pocket, aye Jimbo?
You dumb piece of shit- Paul tried everything he could to keep me out of this match, and you know why? It wasn't for my safety- Paul already proved over and over again that he never gave a fuck about me- it was becasue he already knew what the result would be. Heyman knew that I would pick you and Trax apart single handily and walk out of Lethal Lottery with the keys to the Universal Championship... and that's exactly what I'm going to do.
You, like Trax, you both may be stronger than Dolly Waters, you both may hit harder than Dolly Waters, you both may be able to pick Dolly Waters up over your head and toss Dolly Waters out of the ring. But neither of you can out Dolly me, and that's the problem. My skills for critical thinking, my speed, my sheer ability to attack you as a cerebral cunt and a physical phenom is what sets me apart- the fact that especially you, Jim haven't been able to duck my verbal attacks is all the proof I need to know I'm going to go out there and work your sorry ass tomorrow night.
I mean you've been caught up the entire two weeks trying to prove these things:
That Dolly Waters made you kill a cat.
That Dolly Waters is twelve.
That Dolly Waters tried to copy your promo style.
And that's it! No game plan, no nothing. See, and not a single fucking bit of that bullshit has anything to do with this match dude. FUCK! Two of those things would mean that you allowed a twelve year old to trick you into doing something you didn't want to do- BAHAHAHA! And even worse that she's the subject of your pederast golden showers fantasies you you non-talented R. Kelly .
Jim when are you going to wake up smell the roses and realize that I've been occupying room in your mind since the moment you laid eyes on me like your brain were a Holiday Inn Express. I've ordered room service, wiped my ass with sheets and didn't leave a tip for your cleaning lady either. And it didn't cost me a damn dime dude, however it will in the end cost you. Cost you the match at Lethal Lottery.
You wasted all that time trying to figure out how old I was, getting the answer wrong while still asking the wrong questions, bothering too much with the how of 'this little girl slaughtering me' instead of checking the tapes for the why. Why has this little girl hurled grown men from the top of Hell in a Cell? Why has this little girl won four different singles titles in one month? Why has this little girl only been pinned one time in her career?
It's because I'm not an average little girl, and that goes without saying. I'm Dolly Waters, bitch. You think you want a scoop of what the fuck I've got? Please, Jim! You've already proven to not be able to handle even one of my thirty one flavors you sick fuck. How about you save your weak vanilla shit for someone who cares, talking about fucking folk singers or something? DYLAN? Or what is that some new acronym you concocted during your last mescaline high?
Dolly You're Like Always Neutralizing-me
No shit you fucking beach-bum burn out. How many fucking times are you going to scale that goddamn wall before you realize getting knocked off from it is bad for your health, cunt? Funny because you brought up the definition of insanity before- like the habitual j-walker getting ran down by Dolly's car that she can't even drive yet over and over- expecting something different each time you aimlessly blunder out in traffic with that bullshit.
Fuck you, Jim. Fuck your gay beard, fuck your dead family, fuck your stupid attempts at adding edges between big words like a hardcore Hawking, fuck your desperate little underhanded jabs in the dark, fuck your 'me, myself and Irene' nice then tough guy act, done-to-death bullshit.
Being a crazy fuck isn't going to pay off for you this time buddy. I'm going to hurt you... mark my words. The only April Fools joke tomorrow will be on you clowns and everyone still doubting what I'm about to do.
Because in the end none of this was ever about Trax's Hard Times, Cadryn dreaming about Cream Rising to the top, or Caedus getting Punked by a pipebomb. No, this was always about the little starry eyed gal from the southern slums who never quite fit in with her kind. The little brash babe who always knowed she was destined for so much more than a life of simpleton servitude, following that guiding night star not with her hand held- but on the steady legs of her own determination and will.
From small potatoes to main eventing the most watched sporting spectacle in the entire world. From malnourished dreams to peeling you sorry spuds and chucking what's left of ya' in my oven for the roast.
It's about Dolly Waters... and taking everything they told me I could never have.
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