Post by Alysson Gardner on Sept 24, 2011 23:36:10 GMT -6
Ok, here it goes: Shelly, you're a low-life annoying frigid little pest of an utter waste of rotten human flesh.
Do I sound childish enough? Because that's how you look like with all this bravado of yours. You bore me with your unoriginality, and all there really is to your speeches is hearing you talk the same thing over and over again, like a broken record, great part of it being you clearly talking out of your ass. I mean, bashing me for having a life, that's pretty stupid if you ask me. But then again, it's really something that people should expect from you, a sorry obsessive and frustrated wrestler. I could go on and on ranting about how people around must not have been treating you well, how you're missing out on sex, or how interesting can it be to enjoy the small - or big - pleasures of life like going to the movies or sharing an ice cream cone with your husband, but that's not really something that you would understand. I know for a fact that you'll shrug all of this that I've said off and counter with "boo-hoo, we could care less about your personal life"; I'm sorry if I have one, and you don't.
I'm sorry if you also fail to understand how wrestling actually works. Everybody has their good and bad days. I didn't become a champion because I'm lucky, neither because the match type favored me, nor have I blown anyone in the back, even ‘cause I didn't really buy my tongue in a $1,99 pawn shop so I could use it with every cheap stick there is in the backstage. I was in the right place, at the right time, in my right mood. And knowing you, I know for a fact that you'd be pissed off if it was you the winner of that match and not me, and people kept calling you just "lucky". You'd defend yourself saying how you managed to survive until the final four, then the final two, and threw your final opponent out of the ring with the most of your bare strength, and all of a sudden it wouldn't really be a poorly booked good-for-nothing clusterf*** match. Calling me names at this point of things is not only childish, Shelly, but also hypocritical.
Sure, I can be a whiny little bitch at times. But you're also a f***ing crybaby. I'm a coward? You're a loser. I'm unworthy? You're undeserving. It's funny how we can ping-pong insults at one another and believe we're right, but in the end, everybody loses. You wanna make this thing personal, then fine, I can work with it. Just don't go to management crying your heart out after the bells ring and I'm STILL your nCw Women's Champion.
The sound of it itself is stupid... Imagine that - "Shelly Jones' Starlets Championship Petition"... Pro tip, don't do that, because I really don't know who would sign it. I mean, nobody wants you to be a champion.
Management doesn't want it because it would be a retrocession in all of the investments made in the Women's Division. The rest of the girls doesn't want it because not only we'd never hear the end of it, you'd become exactly that what you say I am - a chicken, trying to hold on to your championship through every way possible and claiming your awesomeness in the most retarded things. Crystal Hilton doesn't want it because she'd hate the competition to see who is the most vain of them all. Not even your husband would wants it, so he won't look weaker compared to the woman of the family if she got to a World Championship before he did.
But let's say you manage to beat me. And all of your dreams of glory and glitz would become real. Congrats, you're the world champion... At what cost? I don't think there's anything cool with your only fan base being the diabetic smarks that hid themselves behind a computer screen flaming on discussion boards and the dorks that sit on the front row that only cheer for you because of your round ass. There ain't anything cool about getting to the top and having no one to congratulate you. There ain't anything good to being a champion if nobody is going to buy into your words. And that's exactly what's going to happen if you beat me.
But by all means, go ahead and beat me up. Make me wanna give up. Shove your boot up mine, break my bones, make me cry, get the belt. I'll clap for you and admit you had me beat. You're going to have been the best between us in that night. And after everything cools down, you'll see that there will really be no one there to give you kudos or invite you for a party except your own boy, which seems to be the only one that cares about it. And when you come back to the ring to show off your title, there will be no respectful competition. Everybody'll be there for the sole reason of doing to you exactly the same thing that you'll have done to me: make you want to give up. As for me, I'll be battered and bruised, but I'll still have the entire roster behind me, lamenting that the woman that could give them a ride for their money is no longer the one with the gold.
You hate me, fine, I can live with that... But just so you know...
Everybody hates you.
There won't be a single contender you'll be facing that is going to respect you as a champion, because you don't make yourself be respected. You're just a pain in the ass, and it's pretty safe to say you'd be the worst champion this company has ever had. Yes, worse than me. All of the girls and then some more people are going to want to beat you up not only because you have the gold, but because they hate your face, they hate your voice, they hate your personality, and if you can't grow a new one on your own, they can as well make you.
Shelly, you're a disgrace to this division. You may even be better than me, hell, you may even be the most prepared woman in the roster, but it's my mission not to let you be the top woman of this division. I can't let you. I'm gonna carry my every single defect, my wins and losses, my fears and farces to the ring along with me, and whatever you may bring to the plate, I'll be ready for it, with my conscience as pure and clean as water that I'll be doing more than just my best to put you down. I won't be putting any effort to put you out, shelf you, humiliate you, no; I just need to win and keep the belt with me, so I can keep holding it until someone most deserving comes and claims it the way you never knew how: with respect to the competition. Go ahead and say I don't have it, but know that I've grown something that you haven't: senses.
And everybody is sick and tired of your senseless ramblings about how you're the best when you were in fact getting your ass kicked by Mercedes Lewis just a few days ago.
I'm no savior, Shellz, but I do represent the women of this company that feel the need of better competition, a strong and cohesive division, so everyone with a dream will have a chance. And your obsession is not included. And it is for these woman, for the fans and critics out there, and most of all, for you not to ruin this business for all of us, that I'm going to
ROCK
YOUR
F***ING
WORLD!!!
And by the way...
There's still one Women's Champion you haven't beaten yet.
Do I sound childish enough? Because that's how you look like with all this bravado of yours. You bore me with your unoriginality, and all there really is to your speeches is hearing you talk the same thing over and over again, like a broken record, great part of it being you clearly talking out of your ass. I mean, bashing me for having a life, that's pretty stupid if you ask me. But then again, it's really something that people should expect from you, a sorry obsessive and frustrated wrestler. I could go on and on ranting about how people around must not have been treating you well, how you're missing out on sex, or how interesting can it be to enjoy the small - or big - pleasures of life like going to the movies or sharing an ice cream cone with your husband, but that's not really something that you would understand. I know for a fact that you'll shrug all of this that I've said off and counter with "boo-hoo, we could care less about your personal life"; I'm sorry if I have one, and you don't.
I'm sorry if you also fail to understand how wrestling actually works. Everybody has their good and bad days. I didn't become a champion because I'm lucky, neither because the match type favored me, nor have I blown anyone in the back, even ‘cause I didn't really buy my tongue in a $1,99 pawn shop so I could use it with every cheap stick there is in the backstage. I was in the right place, at the right time, in my right mood. And knowing you, I know for a fact that you'd be pissed off if it was you the winner of that match and not me, and people kept calling you just "lucky". You'd defend yourself saying how you managed to survive until the final four, then the final two, and threw your final opponent out of the ring with the most of your bare strength, and all of a sudden it wouldn't really be a poorly booked good-for-nothing clusterf*** match. Calling me names at this point of things is not only childish, Shelly, but also hypocritical.
Sure, I can be a whiny little bitch at times. But you're also a f***ing crybaby. I'm a coward? You're a loser. I'm unworthy? You're undeserving. It's funny how we can ping-pong insults at one another and believe we're right, but in the end, everybody loses. You wanna make this thing personal, then fine, I can work with it. Just don't go to management crying your heart out after the bells ring and I'm STILL your nCw Women's Champion.
The sound of it itself is stupid... Imagine that - "Shelly Jones' Starlets Championship Petition"... Pro tip, don't do that, because I really don't know who would sign it. I mean, nobody wants you to be a champion.
Management doesn't want it because it would be a retrocession in all of the investments made in the Women's Division. The rest of the girls doesn't want it because not only we'd never hear the end of it, you'd become exactly that what you say I am - a chicken, trying to hold on to your championship through every way possible and claiming your awesomeness in the most retarded things. Crystal Hilton doesn't want it because she'd hate the competition to see who is the most vain of them all. Not even your husband would wants it, so he won't look weaker compared to the woman of the family if she got to a World Championship before he did.
But let's say you manage to beat me. And all of your dreams of glory and glitz would become real. Congrats, you're the world champion... At what cost? I don't think there's anything cool with your only fan base being the diabetic smarks that hid themselves behind a computer screen flaming on discussion boards and the dorks that sit on the front row that only cheer for you because of your round ass. There ain't anything cool about getting to the top and having no one to congratulate you. There ain't anything good to being a champion if nobody is going to buy into your words. And that's exactly what's going to happen if you beat me.
But by all means, go ahead and beat me up. Make me wanna give up. Shove your boot up mine, break my bones, make me cry, get the belt. I'll clap for you and admit you had me beat. You're going to have been the best between us in that night. And after everything cools down, you'll see that there will really be no one there to give you kudos or invite you for a party except your own boy, which seems to be the only one that cares about it. And when you come back to the ring to show off your title, there will be no respectful competition. Everybody'll be there for the sole reason of doing to you exactly the same thing that you'll have done to me: make you want to give up. As for me, I'll be battered and bruised, but I'll still have the entire roster behind me, lamenting that the woman that could give them a ride for their money is no longer the one with the gold.
You hate me, fine, I can live with that... But just so you know...
Everybody hates you.
There won't be a single contender you'll be facing that is going to respect you as a champion, because you don't make yourself be respected. You're just a pain in the ass, and it's pretty safe to say you'd be the worst champion this company has ever had. Yes, worse than me. All of the girls and then some more people are going to want to beat you up not only because you have the gold, but because they hate your face, they hate your voice, they hate your personality, and if you can't grow a new one on your own, they can as well make you.
Shelly, you're a disgrace to this division. You may even be better than me, hell, you may even be the most prepared woman in the roster, but it's my mission not to let you be the top woman of this division. I can't let you. I'm gonna carry my every single defect, my wins and losses, my fears and farces to the ring along with me, and whatever you may bring to the plate, I'll be ready for it, with my conscience as pure and clean as water that I'll be doing more than just my best to put you down. I won't be putting any effort to put you out, shelf you, humiliate you, no; I just need to win and keep the belt with me, so I can keep holding it until someone most deserving comes and claims it the way you never knew how: with respect to the competition. Go ahead and say I don't have it, but know that I've grown something that you haven't: senses.
And everybody is sick and tired of your senseless ramblings about how you're the best when you were in fact getting your ass kicked by Mercedes Lewis just a few days ago.
I'm no savior, Shellz, but I do represent the women of this company that feel the need of better competition, a strong and cohesive division, so everyone with a dream will have a chance. And your obsession is not included. And it is for these woman, for the fans and critics out there, and most of all, for you not to ruin this business for all of us, that I'm going to
ROCK
YOUR
F***ING
WORLD!!!
And by the way...
There's still one Women's Champion you haven't beaten yet.