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Jenny Myst · (03-19-2022)

Every year, the warden at the asylum would bring in investors for a twisted "talent show" of sorts. Weeks prior, he would require his inmates to think of ideas that could be sold to said investors. Everyday items that were marketable and useful. It was an arts and crafts activity for them, but a profitable one for him. If there was ever an idea that the investors liked, and wanted to invest in, he would steal the idea, patent it, and take the profits from it when it sold on the open market. The inmate, nor their family, never saw a dime of it.

He already had an eye on Jenny because of the creative writing stories that resided in her diary. He had been profiting off of her for months by selling her stories as his own, taking the credit for the words she wrote as self-expression, and even had a magazine article published about him for his "creative exploits in the field of creative fiction". He was a celebrity because of her.

Wouldn't be the first time it happened.

He had told Jenny that she had better have the best ideas in the entire show, and that he would punish her if she did not. Punishment threat or not, she was excited about the idea. She got so bored sitting in her room for so long.

Jenny had worked on her ideas for weeks, constantly staying up all night to come up with what she thought were the best ideas possible. For her, it was a ticket out, or so she believed. She put her all into it and when she told the warden she was ready, he was excited.

Standing on a large auditorium stage in front of a group of a asylum staff, inmates, random outsiders would heard about the event in the town's weekly paper, and the security staff hired to protect the high dollar investors, Jenny stood on the stage looking out at the crowd. Clearly, crowds were no issue for her given her experience, but her PTSD and supercharged anxiety didn't exactly make it easy.

The investors all wore suits, fancy watches, and looked as dapper as you would expect them to. They all had Starbucks cups in front of them, provided by the warden as a courtesy. They even had customized cups!

It must be nice to be a rich prick.

The one in the middle, who Jenny assumed was the lead investor, spoke up.

"Ms. Sambuca. We have heard a lot of great idea's today already, and we are excited to hear yours. The warden tells us you worked hard on these, as did everyone who presented today. The assignment was to come up with three ideas that our company's can back, and we can help to push it onto the consumer market. Think of it like Shark Tank of sorts. Except we aren't pompous jerks.

The investors all laughed.

"If you would..."

Jenny smiled......her eyes lit up as she spoke.

"I present to you.....the PPS!"

There an an excitement in her voice. The investors leaned forward, seemingly intrigued.

"Tell us what it is, Ms. Sambuca."

"Pressurized Pudding System!"

Their faces dropped, a couple of them even sat back in their chairs. The main investor asked a further question.

"So, how does that work?"

"So you ever go to the dentist and they have that suction tube? It's a reverse that. But it's tubing that runs through your house's ceilings and then you can pull it down and it squirts various liquid or foods into your mouth without having to get up...."

His face twisted a bit.

"....Also ice cream, sauces or drinks or soups. Each person has their own nozzle that can hook up to the tubes. To help it stay sanitary, that's important!"

The man took off his glasses, looking at her inquisitively. He seemed almost amused.

"The nozzles will come in all shapes and designs. The main unit will be in the closet that you hook bags into."

He finally spoke up.

"So.....tell me more. Can this product be used all year round by the average American consumer?"

"There is a cold unit and warm unit, sir. So in the winter if you run soup or hot chocolate. It will warm up the ceilings and floors. And summer will keep them cool. It saves on air and heat. Scrap food or left overs you don't want? Flush it down the back up tube that leads to a community tube so homeless can eat leftovers for free in public......"

The man stared at her. The others investors shook their heads in amazement.

"Like a phone booth but only with a tube."

The last one got a chuckle from the crowd. Most of it was confused laughter, however. The investors huddled, but decided to let her continue.

Another investor spoke. "So, this is really detailed. It is clear you thought this out. How did you come up with this idea, I may ask?"

"Well....it is easy to have a lot of great ideas when you have 23 hours a day in your room to think them over."

The investors looked at each other. The warden cleared his throat, fixing his collar nervously.

The investors looked at each other, then turned back to the stage.

"So, you came here with three ideas as per the requirements. I dare ask, what was your second?"

Jenny didn't miss a beat.

"I don't have a name yet, I am sorry! So one is magnetic bumpers on cars. And you can flip a switch and change the charge on the magnet. So if they are opposite charges, they can't wreck. The bumpers will keep them apart....OR! Or if you want to attach to the back of a semis bumper and hitch a ride you can. Saves on gas and planet Earth and that shit. Yay save mother nature!"

The orderlies tried to rush her off the stage, worried that she was wasting the investors time. But the lead investor shouted.

"Wait! Each inmate was expected to provide three. She seems like a young lady who has a lot of ideas, I want to know her third." The movement was seconded.

The orderly lets go of her arm, and she gives him a hateful look before adjusting her jumper and clearing her throat.

"We buy a food truck and sell nothing but Pop-Tarts. We call it the Poptartary! Or Re-Tarted."

The warden shouts into the headset. "Okay get her off!"

They nodded, dragging her off as the investors looked at the now vacant stage dumfounded.

"This is a tournament I am familiar with. I have done this dance before. Trust me when I say this, nobody loves dancing more than me! When I get my groove on--wahoooo I can't be stopped! Six in a row! They should give me a medal!

Should they?

Do they do that?

I don't know.

What I DO know is that all week people have been reaching out to me to offer their "condolences" like I'm fucking terminally sick. Like I am walking into the Tokyo Center to die. Why? Because I drew Robbie, Bobby, William whatever the fuck in the elite eignt? Like that is a death sentence? Sure, he is a formidable foe and quite a bit larger than me. He is someone I have been in the ring with before in a tag with before and have never beat one on one. I bet he thinks he "knows" me, too. Has me pegged. Boom. A death sentence? Writing me off before the bell even rings?

Take your condolences and shove them up your ass.

If I am walking into an early exit, so be it---but I am going to fight my little ass off. I am going to give Bobert the ride of his life. He may be a bastard, but I am a bitch, and this is a woman's world.

Remember that time I pinned you in the middle of the ring? Your partner Mandii Rider gave you the shaft and Chris Chaos and I took you to the woodshed? In fact, now that I think back on it, you've never actually pinned me, have ya Roberto? Sure, you have "won", and you spent a good portion of your career kicking the shit out of my ex boyfriend, but I have always been the elusive W that you haven't been able to get your greasy, sweaty palms around. I have been the subject out of your mouth many times, and you've said some really nasty things about me, but you know what they say Bobay.

Stick and stones."

*giggles, biting her lip*

"As far as you and me are concerned, we're 0-0. But everybody seems to think that I have no chance. Inbox after inbox, text message after text message, hell even a few emails, all of them basically offering me a shoulder to cry on after you beat me. Jesus, it's kinda pathetic. Am I that bad? I think I've done okay, gotten by. I think I've held my own here. Hell, I just got my 50th win on Anarchy, and that may not seem like much to you, but it's a big accomplishment for me. I am having fun for the first time, and I am not going to let a bunch of negative nancie's screw up my fun!"

*she huumphs just as her phone goes off, the tone being Kendrick Lamar's "Bitch Don't Kill my vibe.*

"Talk about timing huh? Sheeh. I'm gonna let it go to voicemail.

Boberto Bourbino, you buy Ricky from Trailer Park Boys off Wish.com, this is what you get. What happened to your mask? Didn't you used to have a mask? Oh well. You don't like me and that is well known but I am pretty sure NOBODY likes you. I am not even sure your own family likes you. All that negativity, hatred, just vile venom that you spew out of your mouth. You don't care who you hurt and what you have to say to get your point across. It's toxic masculinity and small dick energy Bobino. In fact, your dick gotta be so small that when you put it in a girl, her immune system attempts to fight it off. And this new, bearded suit look? You look like Zach Galifianakis fucked Zach Galifianakis and gave birth to a fatter, gayer Zach Galifianakis. Is that what you were going for? Oh look, another reality star who's only on TV because of their tits! Your fat suit and Vader mask is what made you famous, not any sort of accomplishment or merit. You probably jerk off and cry at the same time as you watch re-runs of your shitty TV appearances. Tears are great for lubrication! I hate having to restart the five second clip over and over though.

You're a troll, and its sometimes funny, and that about covers it."

*she rolls her eyes*

"Speaking of accomplishments, there is someone in this little shindig who HAS been on a roll. Kiddo. Rain. Interesting names. We had a puddles once. He didn't work out. The names you have are much more interesting than your in ring ability. Stick with those, spare us the rest. I don't know much about you as I haven't been back that long, only what I read in the headlines, on Twitter, and on that loosely thrown together "website" that Vinnie is so proud of. What could I possibly be congratulating you for?! Little old me, who has had an up and down XWF career is congratulating the man who literally has XWF eating out of the palm of his hand, on the edge of their bean bag chairs for every word you utter, nominations for best this and best that......hell, if this tournament didn't have to be earned and the "King" could just be crowned, it would without a doubt be you right now. You are on a roll of epic proportions. Biblical shit. Stuff of storybook lore. I have come back and beaten up on some filler talent and have been playing games with Centurion for my own shallow entertainment. What could I POSSIBLY have to congratulate for that you haven't been already?

Congrats on hitting that XWF wave. That little band of success that every new and newish "superstar" here hits before life in this place dick-slaps them and leaves a mushroom stamp the size of the Sahara Desert on their cheek. Congrats on being the new fad, the new thing for the XWF to buzz about in the wake of the Universal Title shake up and the backstage drama. Soon, reality will hit you and you will lose this streak. Soon, you will be just another name on a roster that was--I stress the word was--one of the best in the world at one time. Competition has caught up to us and it is catching up to you. I am here because I love it, because it is an addiction of mine, because its the only place I can truly call home. I am not here because its the hip place to be, I am here because I need it for my own sanity. You're here because we pat you on the pack and tell you how good you are, until we're bored with you then we bury you in the mess and plant a "claimed" flag.

I've seen it. Ben it. Done that.

Check, please.

You want to be the king of this shit heap? Go out there and earn it. Beat TK, beat me or Bobbypin BadWhiskey, and go out there and make all this sickening praise you've been getting actually mean something. Go win a Uni title or something--or......yeah.......

*giggles ending in a serious stare and eye roll*

"And that leaves me with my old buddy Thunder Knuckles. You were a guest on the Queens Court once, if I recall. Chomping at the bit to get your face in front of that camera. You were also my "brother" in the biggest waste of time in XWF, B.O.B. A collection of gimmicks more concerned with being comedians than wrestlers, the JACKASS of XWF. The invite didn't fit me, but I didn't wanna be rude. Now? Hell, I fit B.O.B better now than perhaps any of you did back then....but father time hasn't been kind, has it?

It clearly hasn't been kind to you either. Looking a little rough there, Knucks. Kiddo, takes notes. Thunder Knuckles is a prime example of what the grind of being a full time XWF competitor looks like. He used to look so good, now, his sideburns look like pubic hair. Gross. You were always one of the toughest bastards I've known in my time here though. See what I did there?

Me either.

For real though. You aren't a slouch, I know this. I am sure kiddo will find this out soon also. I honestly hope you two beat the piss out of each other. I hope one or both of you has to be carried from the ring by EMT's. Sure makes my path that much easier, if it is me who is lucky enough to be the contestant across from you. I hope I can put on my best vulture costume and pick whatever scraps are left. I know that most likely won't be the case, but hey, a girl can dream, right?!

And when I finally put an end to the disaster that is the memory of B.O.B by winning this little game, and going through your butt buddy to do it, you can always pursue other career options.

You're life is not over, budday.

WE MAKE HOLES IN TEETH!!!!

Fuck, you could be one of the cavity creeps! The C for sure.

Speaking of no longer being here, aren't you the same puto who lost to Hanari Carnes TWICE?! What ever happened to that guy? I'll tell you what. He is sitting on a foreign island somewhere sipping mojito's out of a coconut and getting a blowjob from an escort with a fat cigar in his hand, all on Vinnie's dime with a US Unemployment stamp on it. Ahh, capitalism. He couldn't hack it here, and he beat you twice. He was a TV champ and even made it to the finals of this event, along with making countless others tap out and delivering some of the most creative promo's we've seen this decade.... but he was never quite able to get over the hump an beat the big names, the true talent.......and yet, ....he beat you twice. He wasn't shit here, but he beat you twice. He is living the lavish life as a failure. And what are you doing? You're busting your ass night in and night out and competing in little tournaments like this month after month, year after year, and never going anywhere besides the middle of the card because you were never deemed a worthy enough threat to be in the Universal Title mix. You and me both bub. Welcome to the losers table.

You can't sit here.

Knucks, out of everyone in the tournament I hate you the least. You reminded me of Elvis. My dad used to listen to Elvis, my real dad. It makes me smile. The difference between you and late-career, fat, drug-addled Elvis is that no one is going to care when you are found dead on the toilet."

*she puts a hand to her mouth with a gasp*

"So I guess this whole 'expect the unexpected' mantra, it isn't just a cute saying, it is a lifestyle. We never know what is going to happen at this Pay Per View, and it is why we love march. Who knows, maybe I'll win this whole thing and you can all finally kiss the space between my ass cheeks......."

*shrugs*

"I'm hungry."

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