You still aren't answering my letters. I'm sure she's keeping them from you. I just keep praying that the truth will be revealed someday. In the meantime, I continue to wait for you.
So I just signed on to this new MHW gig. I just found out that my first opponent will be some little whore. Reminds me of your wife. I've heard through the grapevine that she likes to lick her opponents. If she licks me, I lick back. Maybe that'll give you a reason to watch me on the tv. If you get this letter that is.
I want you to know that I've been saving myself for you. I know I just said I would lick my opponent back, but as implied... she is a woman. You and I both know that turns you on. You're the only man I have any desire to turn on.
I wish I could see you. I know you only got that restraining order because of her. I know you would do anything to see me. She's getting in the way of us.
All I know is that when I look at my opponent next week, I will picture her.
Cult Manhattan is her name. Though she spells it all weird. I guess she just wants some attention. I'll give her attention when I burn that bitch on the 16th.
Your girl is probably goin' home with me 'cuz you ugly.
As another line of cocaine disappears up my nostrils, I once again find myself in awe of the monumental effect that everyday chemistry can have on ya gurl's outlook. C17H21NO4 binds to the dopamine transporter. Dopamine stays trapped in the synapse, accumulating and firing en masse. This is what euphoria feels like: brain cells on fire.
I drum my fingers along the edge of the sink. My eyes are bloodshot; I'm pushing 62 hours without sleep (side effect: insomnia). It's whatever, though. Between the neon yellow crop top and the hip-hugging microskirt I have on, the last place anyone will be looking at is my eyes. The beautiful chaos swirling inside my skull is almost enough to make me forget where I am: the grimy, dim bathroom of one of the sketchiest night clubs in Las Vegas. The room reeks of vomit and cum, though right now it smells like roses compared to the stench of body odor on the dancefloor. The DJ's been playing the same Carpenter Brut song for the past half-hour. If it wasn't such a banger, I'd almost be annoyed.
I take a few more seconds to inspect myself in the mirror. Under the flickering fluorescent lights and in the dirty mirror, I can see every incoming pimple on my forehead (side effect: anxiety). Yikes. I grit my teeth and cock my head to the side, leaning into the mirror to get a better look. Deep breaths. It'll be fine.
Shaking my head, I reach into the waistband of my skirt and retrieve my phone before scrolling aimlessly through social media. I like some goth bitch's new header photo because I swear every time I think that aesthetic is dead, someone comes along and makes it sing (side effect: hypersexuality). It's a nice distraction from the fact that the Golden Knights lost toKnight (not a side effect: shitty puns).
Pushing away from the sink, I slide my phone back into place and stumble out of the bathroom like I'm walking with someone else's legs. I almost trip on my way out the door, body careening towards jagoff brushing by me on the way to the men's room. He turns his head my way and huffs, though he doesn't actually say anything. Typical white hipster burnout. You can tell from his getup and his limp-wristed phobia of confrontation. Newsflash, dickweed: you can only get away with rocking a Hawaiian shirt unironically in Miami and stepping out of the house with that undercut/goatee combo in Portland. Glitter Gulch wants nothing to do with your Silicon Valley-reject wannabe tech-bro ass, drag your hot mess appearance and the acoustic guitar you no doubt have in the backseat of your old Ford Bronco up to Reno or Carson City you fucking doofus.
My heart thumps hard in my chest and I can hear my molars scraping together over the music (side effects: tachycardia and teeth grinding) as I make my way past the dancefloor towards the VIP section where my entourage is waiting. That is, if you consider one frustrated and overworked talent agent an 'entourage'. My legs finally start to work the second I make it to our table. Zabel — my agent and one true platonic love — shakes her head as I slide into my seat, eyes wide as silver dollars. It's funny how quickly perspectives can change; sitting next to me, that cheap, low-cut cocktail dress she has on could probably pass for modest.
"Sorry, had to powder my nose," I say, chuckling, to break the tension.
"Yeah, I can see that." She snickers, gesturing toward the rim of my nostril, no doubt stained China-white. Her accent is more pronounced the usual — you hear her talk normally and it almost sounds like she's lived in Saffernshissco all her life but right now, it's like she just got off the boat. Her sharp, bug-like eyes are softer than normal, leading to only one conclusion: she's faded. I grin at the revelation, leaning back in my seat and crossing my legs.
"Looks like the party didn't wait for me."
"Working is the ruin of the drinking class."
"Ain't that the truth."
Her face tightens for a second, jaw agape, as if looking for the right words. She exhales with a neutral expression, suddenly sober. Damn her lucidity, and damn my naivete. Of course I wasn't going to get through the night without hearing the question she's going to ask next:
"Are you really sold on this wrestling thing?" Her eyes are scalpels, poking me until it hurts. My smile doesn't falter.
"Of course. Have I ever reneged on a commitment?"
"There was that project Goldblum was producing."
I roll my eyes. "Fuck Goldblum. Surprised that creep hasn't been #MeToo'd yet."
"I'm just saying, it's a weird career path, even for you. I don't know if people will buy it as genuine."
"People will believe anything you put in front of them so long as you make it sing. You told me that, right?"
She chuckles, leaning back for a second.
"So you have been listening."
She leans in closer, scrutinizing me with a smirk on her face. "And this whole thinly-veiled flirting with any chick that looks at you thing?"
I shrug, glaring at her. "Marketing 101: sex sells. Amendment 1A: girl-on-girl is hot. It's easy promotion, even if the whole 'dyke wrestler' market is saturated as is."
"And that leads to making kissy faces on Twitter with the girl who's looking to kick your head off your shoulders."
"You make it sound like I'm not trying to do the same thing. I know the score, Zabel. But maybe…"
"Maybe what?" She pounds the table with an open palm. If she was drunk before, she's miraculously sober now. Which means she's either an alien (she does have the eyes for it) or she was playing me. Figures, I couldn't smell the booze on her breath, by any rate.
"Maybe she doesn't know that I know the score. Think about it, I'm some Hollywood reject, right? I make music that's unironically enjoyed by the same twenty-something burnouts who strive for the very same things I'm mocking. I'm pretty sure my name has more symbols in it than actual letters. All of this screams 'I have no idea what I'm doing.' Ginger can see that. I know she can. She isn't stupid. I just hope she's arrogant. That she won't let herself see past the image on the surface.
"Not because I think she couldn't, but because I know she can. So I need to give her no reason to suspect anything whatsoever. Yeah, I'll make kissy faces at her on Twitter. Maybe I'll buy one of those posters of her they're already selling. Run up to her in the back like a stupid fucking mark and ask her to sign it before we go out there. Acknowledge that she is quite attractive, make her feel good. Maybe toe the line between acceptable flirty behavior and borderline sexual harassment to really sell the attraction.
"Then when we're in the ring, you better bet I'll play to the crowd. I'll lick that bitch all over. And while I may wind up enjoying that part — you know me, I'll try anything once — you know who will enjoy it? They will. The people who spend money to watch us. They're perverts, I tell ya. All of them. How could they not be? They're watching modern day gladiatorial combat. Sure, it's a bit watered down from the days of the Romans, but it's socially acceptable carnage. There's a certain kind of person who's into that, and those types will make a fucking star out of some vapid slut who engages in light sexual assault in the ring. Mark my words.
"But, don't think for a second that I'll let reputation building distract me from the task at hand. When the time comes, you can call me Caesar. Thumb up, thumb down, shit's over. When I'm sure the fix is in, I'll spring the trap and drop the cunt on her pretty little head or yank her arm out of its socket. Whichever is more convenient given the situation. If all goes according to plan, she won't realize what's happening until it's over."
Zabel — who'd been listening intently with a slowly growing smile — begins to slowly clap, though her sneer is mocking.
"Did you just wing that sales pitch or had you been sitting on it for a while?"
"Fuck you, you're just mad you didn't put it in my head."
"And you're confident in this plan? That this Ginger Knox will be dumb enough to fall for it?"
"That's the thing," I interject, pressing a finger to Zabel's lips. "She isn't dumb enough to fall for it. If that were the case we wouldn't be having this discussion. You know better than anyone that it isn't a victory if you deceive anyone who already trusts you. It's expected. She has no reason to trust me. Nothing's stopping her from seeing through the ruse.
"I just have to convince her not to."
Zabel rolls her eyes. "Alright, let me rephrase: you think you're persuasive enough to make her fall for it?"
"Aren't I? After all, I got you to sign off on this little venture in the first place."
I hope you get this. I really really miss you. Are you gonna watch me beat that bitch's ass on Wednesday?
I swear to God they better be drug testing when we arrive at the arena. Not only is this bitch a whore, but she's a coke whore. I swear babe, Im going to slap her so hard that white powder is going to go everywhere.
She's right about one thing though. Sex sells. But she won't be having sex with me. I'm saving myself for you, James. This all belongs to you, baby.
I really hope you show up to see me. I know I'm going to win my first match. And I promise I'm going to win the championship for you, baby. This is all for you.
Did you really think I'd let you kill this chorus?
"This is a coping mechanism. I want that established first and foremost. It's become a habit for me to decompress by venting to a tape recorder. Learned it in college; cheaper than a therapist and a tape recorder doesn't judge.
"Forgive the formalities. I just figured, if this is to be the first of these audio recordings I leak to the press, that some context would be appreciated. Now my agent, bless her heart, has voiced her objections to this idea multiple times. Normally I'd listen to her, but tonight I'm a little inebriated — Aviation American, all above board — and I have a few things I'd like to get off my chest. So, uh, Ginger? Welcome to your tape."
"Don't worry, this isn't that kind of message. Admittedly, I'm going to be using that line a lot in these because I don't know any other snappy pop-culture references that could fit in this context. How are you doing this fine evening? I hope you're doing well, I'd hate to hear that anything might be disturbing you. Don't worry, I do have a tendency to ramble but I'll try my hardest to keep this brief. I'm sure a busy woman, don't want to eat up any more time than I absolutely have to.
"I just wanted to say how stoked I am that you're going to be my first opponent. We're going to blow the roof off the place. How could we not? You know just as well as I do the types of people professional wrestling attracts. The crowd will be eating out of the palms of our hands before the bell even rings, and there's no reason we'll give them any reason to stop once the action begins. Matter of fact, I'll call my shot now: no other match on the card will top ours.
"All this hype, you must know there's a 'but' coming, right?
"It's not going to be your hand raised at the end of it. Nothing personal, hun, but you can call me Justin Timberlake because you already know it's gonna be me. But, of course I'm going to say that, right? Who in the wrestling business would ever walk into a match not expecting to win? I may be inexperienced but I'm not a fucking idiot. I know the score. Do you? I have to ask, because you strike me as a clever girl, and I really don't want to be wrong in my assessment. See, there's a very easy narrative surrounding me and I wouldn't blame you if you bought into it.
"I'm a failed actress. Sure, critics praised my performances as a kid and that praise didn't waver when my film career flopped. Maybe I just didn't have those intangible leading lady qualities. Should've stuck to television in all honesty. Maybe I'll give it a couple years before slinking in through the backdoor there if this wrestling thing doesn't work out.
"I'm a shitty vaporwave musician. Are you familiar with the genre? It's musical cannibalism and it's so niche it's kind of hilarious. I slather myself in layers of post-ironic aesthetic and everyone mistakes it for self-awareness. This isn't even touching on the whirlwind that I call my personal life. A couple short-term relationships blow up spectacularly, a tabloid picture of me wasted at my 21st birthday swapping spit with my then almost-50 year old TV dad, and a string of rumored suitors later and your girl has a bit of a reputation.
"I guess what I'm trying to say is, everything I do is a bust. So why should this ill-advised sojourn into the realm of pro-wrestling be any different? That's the narrative at least. The looming albatross above my head. Seems like a safe prediction so again, I don't blame you if you wind up buying in.
"But I want you to know one simple thing: it's wrong. And I'm patient. Much more patient than I get credit for. And most importantly: I'm going to prove it wrong. I don't care how long it takes. I don't care if anyone believes me when I say it now. I can't wait to see these spicy op-eds wind up on the Freezing Cold Takes Twitter account.
"And that starts with you. Pretty little Ginger. If I have to make you a little less pretty in the process, I will. But I'm walking out of the Magness Arena Wednesday night with my head held high. Because at this point, I really cannot afford not to. I'm not getting washed out of any other career paths, you can bet on that. I'm not going to smile and nod while some fucking executive in a starched suits tells me how much of a marketing disaster I am. Fuck that.
"No Gods. No masters.
"And anyone who stands in my way is going to live to regret it.
"Of course, there is something else I wanted to talk about. Can I tell you a little secret, Ginger? You got to promise not to tell anyone else, okay? And, no, the secret isn't that I think you're a total babe. I don't think that's even a secret at this point.
"The secret is, I don't know if you know me as well as you think. Now, I'm not making any claims as to how much you think you know me, but if you listened to this little diatribe of mine (no really, thank you for even getting this far, I know I'm a mess right now) and you absorbed every single word I said as gospel, then maybe you're a little more gullible than I thought.
"Sure, there are certain unalienable facts there. My film career was a flop. My ring name is just the name I release vaporwave music (well, more future-funk if you wanna get technical) under. But maybe some of the other details aren't quite right. Maybe there isn't a specter of failure following me. Maybe I'm lying.
"After all, don't I just strike you as the kind of girl who'd spin some fiction about who I am and why I'm doing this only to openly admit that I'm lying immediately after?
"Perhaps more pointedly, do I strike you as someone who would spill their motives so easily? Maybe I did, and now this whole 'I'm lying' angle is just trying to distract you from it. But maybe this is the truth and the story was just that.
"But you have to think, hun, if I really am lying, and you're no closer to understanding what drives me now than you were before you pressed play, then you have no idea what I'm willing to do in order to win. And that should scare you because I can take one look at you and see your limits. You're an open book that way. I'm House of Leaves baby, and maybe you got the deathwish, Johnny Truant.
"You need to understand one thing, hun. You will never understand me. And that's why I'm so certain than you won't beat me.
"So I'll leave you with one question, and one answer:
"Will this be as good for you as it will be for me?
"Probably not, but I'll try my hardest to make sure we both feel something."
Admin: Note that the deadlines have changed. I made the change for the convenience of the other judges.
May 17, 2021 15:21:30 GMT -6
Admin: Hope everyone is enjoying their 4th of July weekend/week/day! 💪💯💯
Jul 4, 2021 14:22:58 GMT -6
Admin: Where do yall hist photos? I'm thinking about switching sites, because I'm paying a monthly subscription for Photobucket and they got watermarks back on my images. I'm guessing it's a glitch or something, but it's already been two days.
Aug 7, 2021 6:56:18 GMT -6
The Purge: I use Imgur - and I've never paid a cent for their services, and no water marks
Aug 7, 2021 8:48:13 GMT -6
Deleted: o.o Lord, Rob! Get away from Photobucket ASAP! I’m with Haircin — use Imgur. It’s way better and costs nothing.
Aug 8, 2021 16:28:35 GMT -6
Admin: I appreciate yall! ✊💯💯 Ima look into it this week. Apologies to everyone if some of the images for the show tonight have that Photobucket watermark. I didn't have the time today obviously to make any switches. But I will make time this week. 💯💯
Aug 8, 2021 17:43:04 GMT -6
Admin: Katrina will probably be happy too as she was just telling me I was crazy for paying monthly for a photo host. Lol.
Aug 8, 2021 17:44:00 GMT -6
Admin: ***NOTE*** I moved the deadline up 12 hours to give the judges an extra day to read over the rps.
Aug 10, 2021 15:29:37 GMT -6
Admin: Started messing with Imgur today and confirmed to myself that Imgur was the original photo host I was using for Season One and the beginning of Season Two of MHW. Something made me mad and thats when I switched to Photobucket. I don't remember what though.
Aug 12, 2021 16:08:47 GMT -6
Admin: Ima still switch back to it though, because the Photobucker watermarks are still showing up on some images.
Aug 12, 2021 16:09:19 GMT -6
Admin: ***Just A Reminder*** The new deadline is less than 24 hours away. 💪💯💯
Aug 20, 2021 9:45:58 GMT -6
cmosh: Marisol Vilaró is Spanish, she is from Spain
Sept 14, 2021 22:50:17 GMT -6
Admin: Noted 💪💯💯 So I can get Rrina to teach me how to pronounce her name.
Sept 15, 2021 15:35:32 GMT -6
cmosh: Don't worry I don't know how to pronounce it either. She is actually played by someone else, so it is sometimes hard to do RP's with them due to our work schelduce but I am alound to use the character over here
Sept 15, 2021 19:28:12 GMT -6
Admin: Trying something different with the match writing, based off of research and just to try something new. It's a hit or miss concept, so feedback would be appreciated. ThrowDown will also debut the new layout concept. AMMO will start with that new layout...
Sept 18, 2021 8:35:55 GMT -6
Admin: ...on the following AMMO. This AMMO will just have the new match writing idea.
Sept 18, 2021 8:36:32 GMT -6
cmosh: I want to apologize to everyone for not doing a rp this week. Just been a tough week at work and other things got in the way as well, again I'm really sorry for not rping this week
Sept 18, 2021 21:07:43 GMT -6
Admin: It happens, brudda!
Sept 19, 2021 19:49:09 GMT -6