Monday, January 30th, 2017
Kerobokan Prison
...Kabupaten Badung, Indonesia...

Twenty-six days.

That’s not a very long time by any stretch of the feeblest of imaginations; it’s only approximately zero point fifty-five percent of my entire life thus far. So I'm luckier than most who find their way here and never find their way out, I should be grateful, and I am. But I’m finding it difficult to avoid saying something overly cliché about just how taxing those dreadful six hundred and twenty four hours were.

It wasn’t Hell. Hell is just some made up fairy tale to influence dumbasses from doing what they should already have the common brilliance to know better than doing. But whoever made up Hell very well may have spent at least twenty-six days or more in Kerobokan and thought if there was one place they wanted to save people from having it experiencing, this was that place.

It seems that a lot of times we’ll read authors, or listen to folks on the T.V. who like to aggrandize and romanticize their trials in prison; I’m not going to do that. We’re all aware of the stereotypes, right? Well, just take anything you’ve heard or that you think you know, and try dumping those stories onto the shoulders of a thirteen year old white girl in a foreign land, and then just ask yourself how in the fuck I'm still even breathing. But don't pity me; I wasn't the only child in there, in fact there was an entire section just for us children inside of Kerobokan that was well over max capacity. I watched at least one a day get drug out to the incendiary after having perished from disease or malnutrition, and with the snap of a finger, two more would be brought in to replace that one.

There was a boy named Hasan, maybe two or three years my younger, who was in prison for petty theft. Not only was he going to spend probably the rest of his life inside of there because whatever family he may actually have could never pay his outrageous bond while waiting for years to see a judge, he also was missing a left hand that was hacked off by the grocer he attempted to steal bread from.

I guess it's things like this that irks me about Americans, because no matter how good we have it, no matter how much actual due process a safety net programs we provide for our disadvantaged, someone always finds a reason to bitch about something not working out for them. Someone with so little always wants more and someone else who has plenty always wants to take away from someone who has so little. Most of these people will never spend their lives actually having to have something REAL taken from them. A number on your tax bracket is just your goddamn vanity coming through in the monetary form. How about your fucking Big Mac with extra heart attack sauce being taken and replaced with milworm ridden dry rice? Or your Mountain Dew Code Red replaced with dirty well-water? How about your XBox video game replaced with spending the day trying not to die amidst the dehydration hallucinations?

How about just walking on grass? Just feeling my bare feet buried deep in some moist, unkempt lawn, playfully pulling a few dandelions up from the ground between my toes while a warm rush of southern spring stench rips into my senses with wind. That's liberty. Not some stupid fucking bumper sticker on the back of an obnoxious Cevy with duel ozone-poisoners, and an absolutely clean and empty bed that you bought to make up for your insecurities. fuck me... REAL freedom are the things you take for granted, because once those things are gone, those are the things that hit you the hardest.

Twenty six days. Zero point fifty-five percent of thirteen years. I'll never take a single day, hour,minuet or second for granted again.

An Indonesian prison guard roughly escorts Dolly out to the front gates of the prison, and she’s just dragging along, trying to keep pace while having not walked this far in weeks. Dolly’s legs were shaking underneath of the once skin-tight yoga pants that she was now having keep pulled up over her waist with her hands. Her once fetching and full face was sunken and bony, her eyes red and deranged, her hair filthy and matted with flies swarming her scent of near death. All and all she had last about fifteen pounds, which for an eightyish weighing little girl was troubling to say the least.

The guard is rugged and forceful, grabbing our bewildered heroine by the shoulders and shoving her out in front of him, leading her body now by pointing the brass of his heavy pistol into the center of her spine and screaming some native words near her ear. Through all of this Dolly looks vacant. We wonder if she’s even aware that she’s been bonded out of prison. Perhaps she believes that she’s being led to her execution, which in her mind would be an easy out in comparison to what she’s gone through over the last four weeks.

Finally to the gates the guard keeps hold of Dolly’s left shoulder while still keeping the gun firm pressed into her back and tugs her backwards to a switch sticking out of the fifteen foot white concrete walls topped with barbedwire that surround the facility. The man shouts something in Indonesian up to another guard in a watchtower right above them before striking the switch with his elbow that triggers the mechanics of the gates to fire up, and within a few moments, the giant doors slowly slide all the way open showing a lone black SUV with tinted windows sitting out near the sidewalk.

Dolly stands there for a moment, staring out from captivity beyond the thin line of barbed wire shade on the concrete out into freedom. Directly on the other side, a few mangy looking children were drawing a hopscotch board on the sidewalk…

“GO!”

The guard screams at her, causing Dolly to tuck her head into her shoulders while tightly shutting her eyes. But as she lifts her head and takes that one needed trot over the thin shadow and into the free world she sighs deeply, taking in the sweet oxygen which was the exact oxygen she was breathing while a prisoner. She opens her eyes and bites her lip while trying to hold back a smile as she watched the young kids hopscotching up the sidewalk. She joined them, nearly tripping at first but soon hitting every square perfectly and even turning around and doing it back again.

“Miss Waters? It’s time to go.”

How is it that freedom is free when there's always somewhere to fucking go?

Dolly totally ignores the large driver holding the back SUV door open for her, and instead she kneels down and hugs the filthy young children who were giggling with great excitement while playing with her. She takes from a little girl a piece of chalk before lightly kissing her on the forehead and drawing a picture of a heart on the sidewalk.

For a second or so, Dolly thinks of foregoing her old life and instead of entering that vehicle just wondering off through the Indonesian hills. Maybe should find Dimas or Omar from her dreams. All that was waiting for her back in her old life was the unadulterated calls for vengeance and harm to those who had done her wrong. Maybe she could just stay here with people who actually appreciate good things when they happen and trudge along instead of being nauseatingly bogged down by some less than fortunate circumstances. But…

“Miss Waters?”

The driver asks again,

“Reality doesn’t relent.”

Dolly stands up and shakes her way over to the vehicle and steps inside of the large backseat. It is there she is met with a familiar, very persistent and punchable face:

"Hello again, Dolly. We have a great deal to discuss."

The scene fades...

---

---

Monday, March 20th, 2017
...A Playground...

We see Dolly Waters dangling from the edge of a set of monkey bars, her knees wrapped around the top of the bar as she thrusts her torso upwards while counting:

Seven forty four...
Seven forty five...
Seven forty six...

The sun is settling down behind behind a tree covered hill in the distance, leaving in it's wake a spirit-warming amalgam of plush purples, pinks and oranges reaching up into the darkening night sky that casts it's boundless reach over top of the vacant playground.

Dolly is wearing but a mere white wife-beater over top of her sports bra with a pair of black and white stripped track pants, her long hair pulled up into a ponytail. Her small but lean frame is glistening with some cooling sweat beads that trickle down from her waist line and around the well-sculpted curves in her abdomen.

Seven ninety seven...
Seven ninety eight...
Seven ninety nine...

Dolly does on more situp before reaching up and undoing her legs from the monkey bars, back flipping from the top and landing as perfectly as we would expect her to on her feet. She turns around and winks into the camera that pans in ever intimately to her face as she takes back a big gulp from a bottle of water.

Hey y'all!

Dolly glowingly waves into the camera before grabbing a towel from the ground and cleaning the sweat from her face and taking a long breath while walking past the camera and talking.

Sorry y'all caught me in such a jumble, but you never can be too diligent when preparing for the type of war that Dolly Waters is about to enter in just under two weeks time.

The camera follows Dolly over to a bench where her gym bag is sitting as she quickly unzips it and places the soggy towel inside, zipping it back up and turning back to the camera while waving her face down with both hands, her lips pressed together and outwards while she exhales through her mouth before talking to us again.

Just a couple of days ago I gave the opening remarks, if you will, in regards to the Lethal Lottery Four Finals match. During these opening remarks I talked at great length, a pink plethora if you will, about the other three people who will be stepping into that ring with me just before the bell sounds, signaling the beginning of the end for three other ill-fated foes who will watch up from the borrows of their destruction to see my arm raised as the XWF's inevitable shining light in the darkness.

I gifted to each of them a line of attack, a means to verbally combat the claims I made against them. A way for them to overcome their own daunting deficiencies by attempting to make me look like the one who posses a lesser aptitude than their own, and thus far only one of them has responded first, just as I figured he would, the one, the only, Mr. F'N' Cornroll, Trax.

Now after sitting through Trax's entire promo long enough for me to enter puberty, have two children, and turn into a less fat version of Amy Schumer, I would have thought that maybe, JUST MAYBE, Trax would see beyond his per-the-norm fucktarded drivel, and actually attempt at adapting into an interesting caricature for once. Maybe he would realize that his way of thinking is exactly while he continues to flounder amidst the seas of success that as rising all around him while he self-drowns because he's unwilling to cut away those nagging cinder-blocks of unoriginal garbage tied to his feet.

But nah...

Trax did EXACTLY what I expected him to do, tripping himself up in his own trap wire that he's so stupidly wove during his wobbly career that he's attempted to lionize as if we're all as stupid as he is or something. But as they say, give a black a chrome plated cock and watch him suck... well I don't know if THEY say that, I said it though, so there, I said it. And I'll say it again:

Trax, you suck.

You can't for the life of you escape your own pathetic follies, and it's laughable, because for some reason far beyond any standard levels of intellect you correlate whatever in the fuck that it is that you do with success and talent, frankly, nothing can be further from the truth.

You asked me why, or how I thought that your promo work was copied from a gay style made famous by Frodo, oh while of course trying to point out the uneeded and obvious fact that promo work doesn't win you anything around here, but you seemed to still take offense by my remark anyway- but at the same time were too stupid to hear what I ACTUALLY said which was:

"Trax is too dumbfounded to realize that he on day one in the XWF copied a shit promo style that had been regurgitated on by one after the other"

And the exact essence of said promo style is to overcompensate for how terrible you are by frantically plucking at the fruits of the past and shoving them down everyone's throat. As if anyone even gives a flying fuck about things they've already seen and heard. Jumping around from any minuscule detail about the past to try and somehow bring it full circle as if it mattered. Problem is, a bunch of worthless fucks, just like yourself, decided to jump on this lazy and trite bandwagon, because in all honesty, it took less skill to just go thumbing back through the XWF archives to try and make someone look foolish then to just put your money where your mouth is and be in fact "better" than someone else.

God... could you imagine how fucking it would sound for Stone Cold Steve Austin, or The Rock to cut some crap shit like you cut?

"Rock you lied you sumbitch, cause I did beat Triple H, and I beat him before you was ever even wrestling here. Hell I beat Mick Foley, who beat Triple H in a steel cage match, and I beat him when I was in the Dubya C Dubya as Stunning Steve, and you lost to flyin' Brian Pillman who I used to carry all the damn time and that's the bottom line."

The goddamn redundancy of it all, no one gives a fuck, Trax. It is just TOTALLY beyond me how no one has called you on this bullshit before, or maybe they did, which I'm sure you'll point out with the exact who, what, when, where and why. God you're a dumbass. Here... here ya' go, here's the godfather of this bullshit right here:

Dolly pulls out her phone and presses play on a video,

Trax's daddy Frodo Said:"Sup, Gator? How's it going? Nursing your ego after your loses? It must suck for you. To be on such a losing streak. Oh, sorry, you won one match to interrupt it. One out of how many? 4 matches. You've won 1 match in the last two months. Oh yeah, as I already stated. Gator lost. And in between? Gator lost to Pest. Peter beat Pest. Lane beat Pest. But Gator? Gator didn't beat Pest. And why didn't you win? Is it the same reason that Todd lost to Maverick? Because you just aren't good enough? Is it because the time of Gator has long since passed? Hey, I noticed you took your record down from the XWF site. Is that because it was getting filled with too many loses? You didn't want people to notice your massive losses compiling? Or was it perhaps because you knew that one day, assuming you actually updated it, that you'd have to mark more losses than wins."

She shutters at the hideous sight and squeaky cocksucking voice.

Funny, isn't how it almost sounds exactly like:

Typical Trax shit promo Said:"Redundant bullshit in angry black guy voice.Redundant bullshit in angry black guy voice.Redundant bullshit in angry black guy voice.Redundant bullshit in angry black guy voice.Redundant bullshit in angry black guy voice.Redundant bullshit in angry black guy voice.Redundant bullshit in angry black guy voice.Redundant bullshit in angry black guy voice.Redundant bullshit in angry black guy voice.Redundant bullshit in angry black guy voice.Redundant bullshit in angry black guy voice.Redundant bullshit in angry black guy voice.Redundant bullshit in angry black guy voice.Redundant bullshit in angry black guy voice.Redundant bullshit in angry black guy voice.Redundant bullshit in angry black guy voice.Redundant bullshit in angry black guy voice.Redundant bullshit in angry black guy voice.Redundant bullshit in angry black guy voice.Redundant bullshit in angry black guy voice.Redundant bullshit in angry black guy voice.Redundant bullshit in angry black guy 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And even in your latest promo you did nothing different, dude. You went right back to the same ol' hogwash as if it's any better in a different flavor, so when I said that you were a man blinded by the mediocrity of your past you did nothing to prove me wrong on that, in fact, you fell so perfectly right into the blatant trap I had set for you, and you did it without fail:

Trax the Tard Said:Me and you have shared a ring before, during Doc's Shove It rumble, I vividly remember watching Gabe Reno throw your worthless ass out the ring eliminating you from the match.

See what you thought you were doing was somehow jabbing holes into my strategy, but you only solidified it, . Because you can't for the life of you help but jumping back to remind us of all the times you sucked. Only you Trax would go back and point toward a match that YOU LOST to try and impugn someone else's credibility. So me getting eliminated by the eventual winner of that match somehow makes me more worthless than you? I don't know about you, but it would seem more reasonable to get beaten out by the winner, rather than getting eliminated by just another fucking loser the way you did. What shame is there in getting eliminated from a pointless Shove-It match by the eventual winner of said match, and current number one contender for the Universal Title?

I knew you were going to point that out, and that's exactly why I said what I said, genius. But still, in reality, you haven't gotten anywhere near as close to me as I have you, and that much is obvious now isn't it? I've got you figured out move by fucking move and you can't see through ass beating I'm setting you up for to save your miserable fucking life. No matter how much you wanna' go play irrelevant Super Trax in your childish little vignettes, the fact of the matter is you're feeling the brunt of a scorned thirteen yearold's fury and you don't know how to adapt. I wonder if Superman or Batman would fuck this thing up as beautifully as you have?

All you did was babble on and on fer'fucking-ever about this match, and that match and how yer' better than me and how you were let down that Buronan was actually Dolly Waters because: "I'm not THAT important." So fucking unimportant in fact that decided to spend over ten fucking minuets talking about Dolly Waters, and Dolly Waters alone, much longer than you spewed about anyone else. Wow, that's a lot of energy and focus on someone who you stated had a: "Dismal Career"... haha fuck outta' here with that garbage, bitch.

Maybe dismal like someone cashing in a briefcase to win a Universal Title, then losing back to the person they cashed in on during their first defense? Pretty fucking dismal, eh? Now see how I did that? Didn't have to go back and pluck exacts to try and shit relevance all over a terrible promo. For people like Dolly Waters, shredding little impostor main eventers like you Trax just comes naturally. Oh but I'm not on Trax's "level" up there with the all time greats like Louie and Crisipedia.

See those types of trite ass murmurings are irrelevant, because you haven't a fucking single shred of evidence to back that up with. NOW HOLD ON TRAX! Don't got thumbing through XWF.COM to prove your point just yet! Just save that type lame of verbal, he-said-she-bled, combat for Cadryn and Caedus, because I'd sure hate to rip you apart for doing it again.

Really, if you want something real to talk about, Caedus, in my opinion, is a much larger threat at stopping me than you are, he's actually someone who's been winning matches lately, and he doesn't need to puss-out for a bunch of fucking excuses either, he just get's shit done. Must come from holding a TRUE workers title, I know what that's all about too. Atta' boy Jimmy. You're so fucking delusional Trax, the fact that you would consider that orange muskrat Donald Trump and his goons as a worthy partner for D'Ville proves that. AND EVEN FER' A SOUPER HEROW WIKE YOU! UP UP AND I'M GAY TRAX FLYING THROUGH THE SKY AFRAID OF DONNIE DUMBDICK! Pfft!!!

Dolly walks over to the swing set and begins kicking the dirt as she rocks back and forth, gaining speed and altitude as she giggles uncontrollably.

MY NAME IS DOLLY AND I KNOW WHAT I GOT!

What do you got?!?

A FAUX EX CHAMPION WHO THINK'S HE'S ON TOP!

That's such a crock!

HE'S ALSO A HERO LIKE BATMAN AND SUPERMAN!

Oh man, oh man!

C'AINT NO ONE SUCK ASS LIKE TRAXY CAN!

Gee what a !

Dolly dives out of the swing, clicking her heels together in midair before landing on her feet, trying not to laugh as she continues talking to the camera.

Listen, pal, I would seriously advise readjusting your train of thought before I send it careening off of the Trax. OHHHH!!! I can do puns too, Mr. stinky cunt McStinkerson! This is all childs play fer' me, and see our partners haven't even joined in the fun yet and I've already got you reeling, now haven't I?

Did you really fucking think you were just going to walk into North Korea, Trax, and leave with the suitcase so you could go steal another Universal Title without me having anything to say about it first? Fat fucking chance bucko. You were a disaster of a champion before, and no one want's to live through that again. So, I'm going to end this now because honestly, it's getting kind of unfair, I know.

Hopefully between now and the time before I speak again our partners will chime in, because why should I be having all of the fun? And at least that way I'll actually have some DECENT promo material to watch and laugh at instead of your heaping piles of bold white bullshit.

See ya' later, Trax, next time try being fucking original, okay? I almost thought I was going against Frodo Smackins and was fearing the possible rape implications.

The scene fades as our favorite little cold hearted cunt walks off camera...

3x XTreme Champion
2x Tag Team Champion (w/ Vita Valenteen, w/ Charlie Nickles)
2x Hart Champion
2x Television Champion

3x Star Of The Month
August ‘21, May ‘17, October ‘16

3x RP Of The Month
What light through sonder... my perception breaks.
Tranquility: For Old Times Sake
Manifest Victory

my loves:
[spoiler]