It had been a long day of photo-ops and autograph signing outside of the hotel in Houston. Despite what Noah Jackson seems to think, people actually want to be seen with her, people actually DO like her. Despite what he also said (god he said a lot–too much, honestly), she didn’t WANT them to. She wasn’t a people person and the thought of being the attention grabbing, bougie diva she was for the first part of her career, it sickened her now.

She had used a LOT of foundation, more so than usual, as her body had been through the wringer in recent weeks. Her match with Jason Cashe on Anarchy was among the most brutal matches she’s been a part of since being here.
She was in no condition to be in front of cameras but she couldn’t leave her room without a snap and flash from someone. She had taken double her anxiety medication, but even that wasn’t working.

With a large exhale, she walked back towards the doors to re-enter the Courtyard. She was gonna take a power nap for the ages after this. Her body needed it. If she was going to embarrass Noah the way she planned to, she would need all the energy possible.

She walked (more like limped) to the automatic doors leading into the hotel. They opened for her. She stopped and looked at them for a moment, amazed. She stepped back and they closed. She stepped forward again and they opened.

Step back–close.

Step up–open.

She did this probably ten times before someone from the hotel staff came to the doors.

“Ma’am is there something we can help you with?”

“I think I’m Jesus” Jenny said.

“Come again?”

“Okay!” she stepped up to the door, making it open again. She saw the man clearly with a frown on his face before she stepped back and they closed in front of him, his face reflecting back at her in the glass.

She stared at the man with a child like smile, then stepped forward again. The doors opened.

“Ma’am, I am going to have to ask you to stop. You’re gonna break the door.”

She frowns, stepping back, and it closes.

He steps up to the door, and it opens.

“HEY! You did it!”

He isn’t amused. He stands in the doorway this time, preventing the doors from closing again. Jenny pouts, huffing and stomping a foot.

“I’m going to need to see your room key, ma’m.”

With a sigh and an eye roll she reaches into her bra, fishing around for a moment. The man stands there awkwardly. Finally, she pulls her hand out, and her pepper spray cannister falls out, rolling on the ground. She has her ID in her hand as well. The man looks down at the pepper spray can, watching it roll. He steps back to pick it up and the doors close. He picks it up, takes a step forward and they open.

“Yay!” *clapping*

He sighs and hands it to her, and she hands him her room key. He sighs, obviously not wanting it to be valid, but it is. He hands it back to her. “I suggest you get back to your room, Miss.”

“Thanks, dad!”

Just as she was about to walk past him, she heard voices behind her. Another group of fucking tourists.

“HEY! THAT’S JENNY MYST!”

“HI JENNY!”

“JENNY CAN WE GET A PICTURE?!”

DAAAMNIT!

She gives the man a glare, her eyes pitch black.

After another hour plus of peopling (damn door dude! Fucking Texas!), and slides her room key into the electronic slot. Green light. The door creaks open, and she shuffles in.

The bed looked like the best thing in the world at that moment, but she had to pee first. She detoured to the bathroom, and sat down on the porcelain. She was so tired, she just wanted to pee, then sleep. But she couldn’t help feeling like she was being watched. Bringing her gaze up from the tile floor, she turned her head to the side.

The doll was sitting on the sink, looking at her. The doll that was supposed to be a replica of her. She didn’t remember taking it out. She finished, never taking her eyes off of it as she left the bathroom. It seemed to have the same bruises and cuts on her that she did. Weird.

She had noticed men in white at the front desk after leaving the bullying convention the other day. Instant panic attack! They could have been anyone......Jehovah's Witnesses, beekeepers, guys coming from a wedding (but who would get married in Houston, ew), or even servers from the Cheesecake Factory nearby. But, her first thought was orderlies. Had they tracked her this far? Were the men in white here to get her? The woman at the desk had glanced up at her. They made eye contact. The woman behind the desk muttered something. Jenny tried to read her lips, but didn't want to read too far into it. She thought she said "RUN" but, then again, that would be her being paranoid, right?!

She chuckled nervously to herself as she walked back to the bed in the center of the room.

"If they want to take me, they'll have to kill me and drag me there."

That thought seemed to make her feel better as she plopped onto the less-than-desirably bouncy bed.

She was tired as all hell, but she couldn’t sleep yet. 

Propped up against the pillows on the bed, Jenny reaches for her phone. This travel thing does have its downsides. She’s like, never home. And when she’s anywhere close to the East Coast she usually stays in Clearwater. She hasn’t been to her Vegas home in weeks! She hoped her neighbor Phyllis actually stopped by to water her succulents! Phyllis was a nice lady (as are most people in Nevada, not like these pompous dimwits in Texas).

She finds Chris’s name and hits the button to Facetime him. He had told her he was going to a local Kava bar to meet someone just as great as he was. Someone who now shares retirement with him on the sandy shores of the Gulf Coast. Someone who was the best in the world at what they did and then steadily rolled down a cliff like a tire that just wouldn’t pop, someone who stayed around far too long only to watch everything he built come crashing down around him in memes and social media backlash and his peers saying—-

“Oh hayyy babe!”

The screen lit up and there he was, as a coffee bar with the other GOAT.

“Hey Jen.”


“Hey Jen.” Brady waves. Jenny squeaks in delight and waves back.


“How’s it going guys?!”

They sat at a table near the balcony, which overlooked the intercoastal.

“Not bad. Tom here is showing me this new drink called Feel Free. It’s a blend of Kava and Kratom. It’s supposed to give you natural, clean energy, it doesn’t give you the jitters or the crash, and helps with mental vitality and focus.”

Jen smiled a completely disinterested smile.

“Tastes like shit though. But then again when does any of this crappy vegan shit ever taste good? Gets the job done too.”

“Does it help with aches and pains?” She said it with some snark, but he was totally into the conversation.

“It sure does.”

“Oh good.”

She set the phone down for a minute, so instead of her eye roll he saw the textured ceiling tiles.

“He’ll learn to love it,” Brady said, “it's worked wonders for me.”

“Can it fix marriages too, you cheating piece of shit….” she said under her breath.

“What was that Jen, you gotta speak up, it's noisy in here.”

“Nothing, dear.”

The two chugged a 2oz bottle a piece and high fived.

“I’ve got Noah Jackson this week,” she said, trying to change the topic so she didn’t have to witness this bro-fest.

“I heard. I think you got him. He was around when I was still full time. Never really did much.”

“Still hasn’t.”

“I think sometimes in life the biggest challenges end up being the best things that happen in your life.”

“Thank you, Dr. Phil.”

The server brought over what looked like two coffee cups, along with two salads and a side of raw quinoa.

Jenny felt like she was going to puke.

“Okay, well…..you two have funnnnnnn.”

Before she hung up her FaceTime, her eyes went wide.

“Oh hey….babe……quick question. How’s Franklin? Is he there with you?”

Chris Chaos, the former Universal Champion and All-Time Top 50 in XWF history was eating a salad. A fucking salad. Dressing on the side. She shivered at the thought of it.

“Yeah, he’s here. I had to bring him with me. I didn’t wanna leave him home because I went down to the Publix Quick Stop earlier to grab a pack of water and he shredded the toilet paper and all the garbage in the bathroom.”

“Awww, naughty boy! Can I see him?”


“OH EM GEEEEEEEE! Hi Franklin!!!” Her voice was a squeak now.

“I MISS YOU BUDDDYYYY.”

The dog just sat there with its tongue out. They never were the smartest breed.

“You know……right before Snowjob, I told the wonderful woman at the desk–the people are SO nice in Wisconsin by the way–I told her I had a black king.”

Chris and Tom both dropped their forks.

“A black King Charles, you goof balls. She was a dog mom also and we got talking about kings and I told her I have a black one……..”

They both exhaled a little.

“.....and that he’s been a naughty boy lately. Just look at what he did today!”

“Separation anxiety.”

“Yeah! But these dodobirds wanna scream racism like I was comparing Isiah King to Franklin because he’s ‘black and naughty’. It’s crazy what people hear sometimes.”

“Who said that?”

“Noah did, in his first ‘promo’ for Warfare. Other people seem to think it too on the message boards and such. He’s got everyone riled.”

“Typical.”

“I am about to watch his second promo. Ooooooooo he’s so mad. I got like 347 text messages earlier telling me he lost his shit. Can’t wait to see!”

“Alright well we are going to finish this. Can I call you later?”

“Sure can.”

“Okay babe I lov—”

“BYE FRANKLIN! MUAH!”

She hung up the FaceTime.

She laughed to herself as she set the phone down. “......he really thought I was calling Isaiah King a dog. Was he THAT desperate for a plot? Did he need THAT much of a reach because he had literally nothing else? He didn’t talk about me getting my head shaved by Bobby Bourbon, I thought he would have JUMPED at that opportunity. He coulda lit me up for that. Instead, he went on one of those profanity laced diatribes he loves so much. I guess he picks and chooses what matters in this business and words seem to be more important than actions so fuck my accomplishments right?”

She unzips her travel back again, rooting around inside.

“He’s such a fucking hypocrite.”

She pulls out her headphones and the wire. She was gonna watch this newest “promo” on her phone and stream it to the TV so she could see it nice and big.

She pulls it up on her phone, and streams it to the TV.

“Here we go….” she said, drinking a reddish liquid out of a water bottle. “Lets see what all the hooplah is about.”

After Jenny sits there and listens to every single word of yet another scathing Noah Jackson promo, she takes off her headphones. Staring at the TV for almost a minute, she exhales deeply. An eerie smile crosses her face.

“I must have ruffled his feathers. He seemed a bit upset.” She got up off the bed. “I know I am a bit much sometimes but Noah couldn’t even put together a coherent shit talk……just loosely pulled together insults shouted into a microphone. I’ve seen worse but lord knows I’ve seen better. Hell, Tommy Wish tore into me with more relevancy. Why is R-Rated Steve Irwin so upset? Is it……is it because…….he knows I’m right?”

She looks into the mirror above that useless fucking desk again and smile.

“I told him so.”


“Wowza.

You mad bro? I would be, if I got exposed that badly. If the entire world got shown how much of a bogus clown I was, I would grasp at any straw possible trying to save face. Your first promo aside (which I’ll address shortly), I found it quite humorous that you had so little to say to me that you had to bitch about how long it was. Stark contrast to the first go, eh? It went from Jenny sucks, she’s overrated, she’s weird and got lucky to win the title to she had such a long promo and fuck her for having such a long promo. It’s not even laughable, really, it's sad. A small part of me wants to go “awww, No-ah!” and give you a big hug……but the majority of me wants to put you out of your floundering misery once and for all.

Which side do you think I’ll choose?

As if your argument wasn’t fractured to begin with, the second go-around was a total mishmash of thrown together thoughts with a slathering of panic and a small dash of fear. Don’t forget the smatter of hopelessness. So hopeless in fact that you refused to watch it at first because of “length”, but we all know it was because everyone told you just how cooked you were. Text messages, calls, emails, Telegram, WhatsApp you name it. They told you what to expect, and your fall back was that it was “too long.”

I love the smell of your insecurities.

Your first promo was a lot more composed. You seemed confident, arrogant, even. Not this one. You threw everything you had at me, and you still came up with nothing. Just insults, character assassination attempts, and a hastily prepared dissection of my last promo. Your first one was literally a recap of what I have done or said the last three weeks then this sad game of “yeah I am a fuck up but so are you!”. You’re like a horse with blinders on, you refuse to focus on anything other than what your main goal is……in this case, it’s to try to obliterate me with words and get yourself over by nitpicking and jumping to conclusions. Hell, if you’d have been here in the last two years I coulda done the same thing, but unlike you, I actually value ACCOMPLISHMENTS. You wonder how I am a champion here? Watch a fucking match or two. Pay attention to what happens every now and then, when it DOESN’T pertain to you. I am a champion here because I bust my ass, I learn and I improve, and like it or not at the end of the day I am just that much better inside the ring. You have a slick way of positioning yourself directly in front of the dick, then blaming the one who stuck it in.

You don’t know what a metaphor is, do you?
—--(That, and your WebMD level of understanding when it comes to mental illness. You seem to think I have some disorder, that I am like those medicated crazies that are lucky enough to be 50 years too young for the lobotomy line. I’m not. A breakdown, and a mental illness, they are different. I didn’t expect you to understand, but I thought maybe you’d be just a touch less ignorant.

That’s what I get for having positive expectations for an Australian!)

You went as far as to cry racism in 'promo one' due to your incoherent understanding of a metaphor, then turned around and SHOWED the world (yes, the words actually left your mouth) that you have NO basic comprehension skills at all. You gave my promo a skim-through and then tried to tell the world what I was talking about when you were too lazy (yes, lazy) and stupid (yes, extremely stupid) to even know what the fuck I was talking about. I think you just like to hear yourself talk. You get enjoyment out of wearing the dunce cap and sitting in the corner facing the wall, and that’s why you have never been and never will be successful here. Or anywhere. Or in life.

Kill yourself.

I know you hit that little 10 second forward button multiple times, otherwise you would have known that I am not calling you a bully Noah…..I am calling you a wannabe. You try too hard to run your opponent over with your words but unless they have the skin of a rotisserie chicken they aren’t going to be phased by a few simple words. I am the big bad bully of the XWF right now, and this Saturday it's going to stay that way. I didn’t expect you to fully grasp what I was trying to say, and that’s fine. As long as you grasp the magnitude of what is going to happen to you when that bell rings. As long as you understand the pain you are in for, then we’re square.

What I did get a chuckle out of is your paid actor bit. I mean, I get it, you don’t socialize much and interact with normal people on a daily basis (I don’t blame you, honestly, people SUCK–especially in Texas), but your delusional attempt to one up me was laughable. What you FAILED to do (like everything else in your miserable existence), is do a little research before you opened your dicktrap. So….let me be the one to break some more bad news to you……”

*coughs, clearing her throat*

“THEY DONT JUST LET RANDOM PEOPLE INTO MENTAL ASYLYUM’S YOU FUCKING BRICK.

They don’t, I’d know. Is an anti-bullying seminar asking a celebrity who has been bullied to talk to a room full of losers victims really THAT far fetched? I mean, Noah, come on dude, you’re reaching and it's clear. You have nothing on me, and it shows like neon colors in a blacklight. What would make more sense is that you paid a bunch of actors to set up a scene to try and trump mine, then tell me mine was fake to get yourself over. I would never actually accuse you of that, though, because I’m not a blowhard like you. Nothing surprises me anymore. As fake as it SEEMED, I have a lot more to say about you regarding things that actually matter. Like your lack of talent, your lazy approach to arguably the biggest match of your career, and your complete inability to make an impact inside the ring.

You want to compare me to someone on TV, telling the world I took my style verbatim. Isn’t everyone influenced by TV in the 2020’s? Don’t we pick up little sayings, outfit ideas, hairstyles, nuances and mannerisms from those we see on TV? I mean, everyone does it. Do they not have cable in the land down under?  I may have picked up a few things along the way from the things I binge watch (hey, I’m a girl in her 20’s with a lot of downtime between shows, what else do you expect me to do?), but you flat out ADMITTED to stealing from some dude because its funny and the people love it.


Not only did you do the SAME thing you accused me of doing (just not as well as I did because, come on, it's you), but you then went record sucking Sarah Lacklan’s twat about how she respects you and whatnot. Sarah talks, a lot, probably more than most people. You try to throw Sarah in my face like she mentioned your name and not mine (first off, I’ve never faced her and if I remember correctly it was Chris Chaos who gave her a concussion and a permanent facial print on her own title belt. No wonder Mark changed the design. She didn’t mention me because she hasn’t lost to me–yet). I don’t expect you to watch the promo cycle for Anarchy because it doesn’t involve you but in case you were wondering, SHE cameo’d in MY promo. And I cameo’d in hers last week. The only appearance Sarah made in your promo was a quote that nobody even remembers her saying. But didn’t you have some negative words to say about her in your first trip to the camera lens? Didn’t you say that she is irritating, possessing many flaws and a general dislike for her? Now, she’s part of your “friend group”? Your words. Not mine.


Wait…..hold on…….

You said, clear as day, “You ONLY went after Kido when she did first! You didn’t step up, you hid behind her and tried to be all buddy-buddy.”

Ummmmm…….Noah…..I feel like I am beating a rotting horse here but, DO YOUR HOMEWORK FOR GODSAKES. Did you not watch the ending of Relentless? Did you not see the entire build up to Bad Medicine?

Of course you didn’t, because you think you’re too good for that. No No-ah, no watch-a.

Chris Chaos and I made a statement at the end of Relentless by attacking Raion after he lost the title to Mark Flynn. Then, we spent an entire month fucking with him, making his life hell, getting into his head and pushing his morale further than its ever been pushed to date. I blamed (and still do blame) Raion for losing War Games for me, and we tortured him for an entire month.

So, who went after Raion first? If ANYTHING, Sarah was piggy backing off the work I’ve already done. For god sakes, for someone who calls themselves the hardest worker around here you sure are LAZY.

“People that hate her so much they’ll pick up the thinnest, weakest piece of straw they can and wave it around like they won.”

Sound familiar?

Oh, yeah. You wanna talk about how I am sucking up to Lacklan when you literally quoted her in your promo hoping that a big name saying your name would boost your shitty image just a smidge.

Isn’t that what I am doing, Noah?


Unlike you, I don’t care if I am liked. I never claimed to be, nor have I claimed I wanted to be. In fact, I like when people hate me. It’s what drives me to be the best. I don’t care if I am the star of the month, have the promo of the month, or even get picked to win in this tournament. You, on the other hand, HAVE to be liked. You have to make funny promo’s so you can keep up the status quo and make that paycheck a little less of a loss for the company. I do what I do for the love of what I do and the passion of being the champion."

 "I do it well, I make parodies and homages that people fuckin’ love.”

"Who wants to be liked, Noah? It's literally the reason you do this."


*She felt her blood pressure rising from calling this asshat out on his pure stupidity, so she would sit down for a moment to take a breather.*

“Oh, but before I forget…….

You’re right (shocking, I know), Sarah DID update her little prediction bracket for March Madness. But your arrogant ass just ASSUMES she is talking about you. You called me a cunt more times than I can count already, and you use the term about yourself.  To be fair, Sar did write “Some Cunt”, but she never specified which one.”


Jenny laid her head down on the moderately comfortable hotel pillow. This had been the most grueling few weeks of her entire career, and it wasn’t going to get any easier. She had a chance to shut up the loudest talker in the XWF, keep her X-treme title, move on in March Madness and prove to the world, once again, that she was someone to be taken seriously in the XWF. She began to fade out a bit, her probable concussion getting the best of her. Maybe she would take a quick nappy. She didn’t want to move around the hotel and get stuck at one of those dreadful conventions again, and the men in white may still be lingering around. Best to stay here, rest up, and get ready to bully Noah Jackson all the way back to Melbourne.

Her baby blues fluttered, and eventually, they closed.


SPITTTTTTOOOOOOOSPLAT

The class had filed in for the day, many of them anxiously awaiting the lesson in cutting a promo. The small room had about 10 desks (only about half of them full) in it, with a giant dry erase marker board front and center with a pull down projector screen above it. Mr. Pryce sighed as he looked around the classroom at the students he had been trying to teach. Little Jen, the resident goth girl who was an emotional wreck and always wore black, never took any advice seriously, and always asked the same question that had been answered countless times over again, as if she didn’t listen. She did, but she liked confirmation and just wanted him to know she cared.

She sat in the front of the class. Around her were Little Gravy to the right and Little Raion to the left. Little Raion was always his favorite student. A bland, boring, know-it-all who was set to be the valedictorian despite them only being in Elementary School. Little Ned USED to be, but he has reprised his role strictly to teachers pet. He sat dead center, second row. Little Gravy was often wore dresses or lingerie to school, changing his appearance constantly and saying weird, usually gross, things for shock value. Little Jen abhorred him.

Little Jason was the trailer park boy with the dirty clothes and musty, old-cigarette smell that the other kids tried to avoid. He kept yelling things like "DiOhGEE!" and lighting menthol cigarettes.

Little Charlie was an obnoxious little prick, who always did things behind the teachers back and pointed fingers at the innocent students whenever there was a chance of getting caught. He hung around with the bad kids, a group called the Baddies or something, even though they didn’t fully like him or accept him.

Then, there was little Noah Jackson……

SPPIITTTTTTOOOOOOOSPLAT!!!

Little Charlie laughed through his nose as yet another spitball hit the marker board. Mr. Pryce stopped writing for a moment, and just stood there with his back to the class.

“Mr. Jackson…..I know that was you.”

“Ehhhhh whatta bout it ya CUNT! Feckin do something ya turdcunt or get back to teachin!”

Little Charlie still giggled from the back corner of the room. Too afraid to actually partake, he liked watching others misbehave and throwing in snarky side comments when the situation warranted.

Mr. Pryce turned around, facing the class.

Little Jen was raising her hand, leaning forward in her seat.

“Ooo! Ooo! Mr. Pryce, Miiiissttter Prryce.”

Sigh. “Yes, Jen?”

“So, if your opponent already promo’d, in your first one, you can’t mention anything they said, even if you have a reeeeeeallllly good comeback for it?”

Another big sigh, as he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“We’ve been over this, Jen. And you can’t mention the fact that you can’t mention it, either. It’s how it works. You know this.”

“I put a potato in my butt once.” 

“Thank you, Gravy.”

“I very rarely iron clothes – I find it so tedious.”

Little Raion was always saying something boring that nobody cared about, but he was the smartest one in the class and Mr. Pryce adored him so he let these dull-as-dishwater comments slide more often than not.

SPPIITTTTTTOOOOOOOSPLAT!!!

A spitball wizzed by Mr. Pryce’s head, and smacked the board with a sloppy thud.

“Okay, you’re going to need to stay after school for detention.”

“Ehhhhhh ya old CUNT! I ain’t doin’ nothin of the sort! I’ll just pop on me wheelies and scoot on outta here and your cunty cunt ass can’t do anything about it. CUNT!”

“I can call your father.”

“He’s a CUNT too! Everyone is a cunt!”

“I find that viewpoint rather shallow and pedantic.”

“SHUT UP RAION!” they all yelled in unison.

”Could I maybe get through ONE lesson without some sort of disruption? Lord knows you all need to work on you promo skills.”

Nobody said anything except Little Noah, who just said “CUNT” under his breath. It’s all he had. Poor little guy.

”Okay then,  turning back to the board, ”a good promo consists of many elements. You need to have a good, relevant, well thought story. You should make sure there is a beginning and an end, fill in plot holes and such. Be creative, the viewer likes to be entertained.”

Little Noah had printed out a picture of a gorilla and taped it to his notebook. He tapped Little Ned on the shoulder and held up the picture. When Ned turned around he screamed, diving off the chair and putting his hands over his head. Noah thought this was sooooooo funny. “I think I pissed meself!” he said “feckin scared of a damned photograph! HAHAHHA. Cunt.”

Little Jen was feverishly writing down everything to take it home and study. She wanted to be the best, and had already learned a lot, but if she was going to actually become the best she needed to make sure she studied even harder!

Little Ned, sniffling, some tears in his eyes, gets back in his seat.

“Monkeys eat plant-based foods, and also meat in the form of bird eggs, small insects, and lizards.”

“I don’t like them…..”

“A Howler Monkey has an extremely long tail that is five times as long as its body.”

Little Charlie lifted his leg, making a fart noise.

”How’s that for a howler—-”

He laughed, nobody else did. Nobody ever does.

”Enough about monkey’s! Now, if you are all still paying attention—”

“I think I have my period.”

”You can’t get periods, Gravy.

“You can’t tell me that!”

The room smelled of cigarette smoke. Little Jason had lit up again.

Mr. Pryce turned back to the board with a sigh.

”Trash talk is an important element of promos as well. It gives you a chance to really sink your teeth in and hit them where it hurts. Of course, it requires homework and some research and not just talking for the sake of talking.”

“Are we….uh…..graded on this?”  Little Jason asked.

”Yes, of course. It’s just about 12 percent of your overall grade in the course—”

Little Charlie laughed out loud with a big belly laugh as Little Noah began to wheelie around the room, smacking each of the students in the head as he rolled by, saying “DUCK DUCK DUCK CUNT!” before wheeling away.

“Mr Pryyyyccccccceeee!”

(sigh) “Yes, Jen?”

“What's the definition of insanity again?”

“Unsoundness of mind or lack of the ability to understand that prevents one from having the mental capacity required by law to enter into a particular relationship, status, or transaction or that releases one from criminal or civil responsibility".

Little Ned nodded his approval at the other over-achieving pupil. They were Mr. Pryce's favorites together, afterall.

“Ummm…….I asked MR. PRYCE! But out, Raion!”

”Many claim that it is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.”

Jenny smiles, using her thumb to point back at Noah who was wheeling around the room and drawing dicks on all the walls.

“Is that why he sucks so bad at this? He does the same thing e.v.e.r.y.d.a.y Mr. Pryce, and he still hasn’t accomplished anything in this class.”

Just as she finished her sentence, Noah wheelied around and smacked her on the back of the head. "DUMB CUNT!"

Little Jenny exploded out of her seat, and got face to face with the wannabe bully.

"I've had just about enough of you!"

"So do somethin' about it, ya whiney cunt!"

Little Jen shoves him, and he falls back against the desks. He hauls off and shoves her back. She flies into the desks. She is seething now--and hauls off to deck him.

She makes contact bit suddenly the room begins to spin. The ceiling drops and the floor rises, shapes and colors overtake her.


TITCH—-CHIIII
TITCH-CHIII
TITCH-CHIII

Jenny was sweating a bit, wiping her forehead with her arm as she pushed the large shovel into the dirt over and over to dig the hole. Another Jenny dragged a blood stained burlap bag, stopping every 5 steps or so to catch her bearings before heaving again. Drag and drop, drop and drag.

Two more Jenny’s sat at a picnic table, tearing into flesh on a bone that looked almost…..human? Way too big to be aviary. Way to…….

They laughed and snorted, wiping the blood from the meat all over their faces. The sky was a dreary mix of gray and red, and thunder pounded in the distance.

Another Jenny stood in a watch tower with a rifle, while a pack of Jenny’s chased another, more frail looking one. When they caught her, they tore her apart–literally.


TITCH—-CHIIII
TITCH-CHIII
TITCH-CHIII

Drag and drop, drop and drag.

Hyena cackling

Screaming

A rifle cocking.

Thunder.

The ground under her feet was spongy, and every step was arduous. She made her way towards the Jenny digging to hole.

By this point, she was down in it, making it even deeper, only the top of her pink and blonde ponytail was visible from ground level.

There was a gravestone on a table nearby, and a Jenny worked tirelessly to chisel out the words.

HERE LIES:

All she had so far.

Some Jenny’s stood with their foreheads against the chain link fence, their tongues out and their eyes with a vacant expression. Some Jenny’s were dancing and twirling like a ballerina, able to glide gracefully in the spongy muck.

An entire Jenny marching band came through, adding to the noise. Eventually they all blended together. 


TITCH—-CHIIII
TITCH-CHIII
TITCH-CHIII
Drag and drop, drop and drag.
BITE, RIP, TEAR, CHEW
Hyena cackling
Screamin
A rifle cocking.
Thunder.







The noise was all one now. It was driving her insane. She looked into the hole and sees his bloody and beaten carcass, all the Jenny's standing over the hole, cackling.

There was another Jenny in that bag. She would have to bury her demons if she ever wanted to truly be free.


Jenny wakes up, panting heavily. A layer of sweat caked her body. She felt dehydrated.

Maybe these hardcore matches were getting to her? Her dreams had been a lot more unpredictable since.

Noah tried to call her out for her dream, like it didn’t really happen. It’s a dream, of course it didn’t, but like any good dream it sure felt like it did. Her dreams have all meant something as of late, she just needed to put it all together.

She needed a shower, STAT.

Some people called her sick for being how she is. Eating dog treats, raw meat, taking baths in rotting fruit. Some people called her sick for her delusional thoughts and her childlike demeanor. Some people called her sick for what she did to other humans inside that ring. Sick for her dreams. Sick for her preferences, her goals, her kinks and fetishes. Sick for being so dark, sick for killing all the racoons in her neighborhood to make a stew for the potluck. Sick for—-


So here it goes. The Queen of X-Treme versus The Great Barrier Queef. It’s now or never, it’s do or die. Win or go home. This will be my one shining moment, where she kicks Noah all the way back to the nowhere he belongs.

She laughs to herself, drawing the shower.

After she gets out, she lays on the bed. Propping herself up on the pillows, she spread her legs. Pulling a small piece of paper that was stashed SO conveniently in her bra, she dials the number excitedly.

She listened to the ring as her hand drifted to the land down below. She was facing The Sick Cunt this week, and she was a pretty sick cunt herself.

She accepted that.



“Hey Donnie……It’s Jen….from the —-arrrrh—-convention. You think you could tell me again juuuuuuuust what you did to those guys who broke into your backyard, with the sledgehammer. Every detail……mmmmmm”

She smiles and closes her eyes as her hand drifts down again.