Post by Alysson Gardner on Jun 16, 2012 19:51:18 GMT -6
So someone who isn't even involved in my match spent a long chunk of her air time trying to piss me off with petty remarks, to see if I'll start a fight with her so she can rub off on the spotlight.
I smell butt hurt.
Mercedes, here's something you need to keep in mind: I don't like being on the losing side of a match. It doesn't matter if I'm the one who loses or if it is my partner. I don't tolerate failures. That's why I'm my fiercest critic. And unlike you, I'm trying to evolve, so to deserve my main-event panties. Call me up when you start TRYING. You want a piece of me? Then get in line. You're not the first and hopefully won't be the last I'm going to bury into the mat for your lack of talent. But if it serves as a consolation prize for you to make do, you'll always be the one I've had the most fun crushing down. Last show, last year, all the time.
I'm the controversial one. That's my schtick. I piss people off and crush them for a living. And you... You'll always be the little play toy that makes me calmer whenever I need to piss someone off or when I feel like smashing someone's face into the mat.
So by all means, get in line. And make sure you're up in the ranks. I'm gonna LOVE embarrassing you in the ring again, chica.
Keyword... Again.
The last of my packages had just arrived from New York into the new house in Boston, and as the moving truck storms away, Michael and I are in front of a generous pile of cardboard boxes, all of them neatly sealed and with my names on them. Mike looks at me with a funny expression - something like "do you really have THIS MUCH stuff?"... I just sigh and smirk back at my God of Xtreme.
Alysson: Well, that's it. I have officially left New York.
Spike: And we're officially living together.
We look into one another's eyes longly, as a smile forms in his face.
Spike: that was mindblowing fast, wasn't it?
Alysson: You tell me. It's been, what, a year, a little more?
Michael just nods as he embraces me from behind, the both of us still facing the pile of boxes.
Spike: They're gonna take a while to unpack, I believe.
Alysson: Not so much. These can stay inside these boxes for a while, and we can start the unpacking whenever we have the time.
I gently break out of his embrace as I start browsing the boxes, walking around them as I search for a specific one.
Alysson: I only need one of 'em... Now where is it...
Spike: Um, what are you looking for, love?
Alysson: Just something I need to-- AH! Here it is.
With a hop of joy, I get the box from the ground, pulling her up and taking it to Spike. Putting it back on the ground and sitting on the floor, I start opening that one box as Spike crouches in front of me, looking at the box and then at me with a childish curiosity.
Spike: What have you got in there now, huh, missy?
Without saying anything, I just finish my job with the unpacking, with a big grin on my face. After getting rid of all the tape and foam, I finally pull off my training apparel - black and orange padded gloves, and a sports bra and loose shorts of the same color, all of them with my brother Chris' academy's emblem on them.
Spike: Oooo, I see you haven't missed a single beat.
Alysson: Of course. I need to train. What kind of champion would I be if I got careless?
Spike: That is true. Hmmmmm...
Now it's Spike the one who gets up with a big grin.
Spike: I believe I do have a dungeon downstairs for us to spar.
Alysson: ...heh. You always think of everything, don't you?
Spike smirks at me.
Spike: Of course! What would be life with you if we didn't have a king-size bed and a training dungeon?
I just nod and smile.
Alysson: Not bad, Michael. Not bad at all.
Spike: So, what are we waiting for? An invitation?
And with that, we go to the underground training facility of the house, to where you don't really need to follow us.
Those were some nifty battle words, Amy. Too bad you don't have the instinct to back your nonsense up; you just don't know how a competitive mind works, so I'll let you into something: you mess with a predator, you get EATEN. Pick a fight with a bully, and you get beaten up. You have always had it in you to be the predator; but your simpleton single-aimed mind won't allow you to ever be something bigger than the skinny prick that inadvertently picks a fight with the bully. And gets beaten the living f*** out of them.
But your logic, ah, this one never ceases to amaze me. If I'm such a hypocrite, Amy, then riddle me this: what have you been doing all this time ever since you lost the Women's Championship to Trish Newborn?
I know what you've been doing, so I'll answer that. You've been sitting and watching patiently, seeing as all the other women were pushing and pushing forward, waiting for the day you would once again have a chance to be at the top. You didn't push forward like the others did; you didn't pick a fight and prove your valor; you didn't even go bitch to management about it. You SAT and WAITED. Waited for that day where management would pity you enough to give you a shot, as they would look at that girl watching mushrooms grow on the moist corner of their rooms and decide you would have a new crack at the one thing you say you want the most. And always thinking, "Hey, if I wait long and hard enough, maybe I'll get lucky!"
And you eventually got lucky. You hit the jackpot last month, when you finally got a win over someone who actually mattered; when the head of the Females division was changed, and decided to "heat things up" by giving you a crack at what you THINK is rightfully yours, when in fact we all saw all the "hard work" you did to have another chance.
But here's the skinny: Things don't f***ing work this way, Amy! WAKE. THE F***. UP! It isn't possible for a single woman to be THIS senselessly dumb! Have you ever heard yourself speak?! Until last month, YOU were the one that was all like "boo-hoo, why can't I get a championship match?" like it was THEIR duty to give you an opportunity to something you have to FIGHT for!
This brings me to something else... How shallow can a human being be? You threw away a friendship because of a personal g**damn accomplishment. Which was the EXACT reason I didn't shake your hand when you beat me last month in that lucky performance of yours and left the ring in a hurry – because I didn't want my competitive and professional nature get in the way of my friendships, and I didn't want to smash your face into the canvas that night, because I actually thought you wouldn't be so much of a demanding diva and, who knows, get that win as an opportunity to improve yourself further and become something relevant. But instead, what did you do?
You pushed your luck.
Instead of being a respectable opponent, you started trying to build up the animosity by pushing something that was so NATURAL that was you getting a shot at me, getting careless just because you were in my team… And getting cocky because you were going against me.
It was OBVIOUS that you would've been given a championship match, Amy… No matter if it had been Steve Awesome, Nikki Michaels, Kelly Fox, or Barack f***ing Obama to give it to you, you would be getting one. Because you had a clean win over me. See, it's not hard for me to admit it. Maybe, just maybe, it's because I'm not as much of a shallow, attitude-less bitch as you are, hmm?
But here's some food for thought. Let's just say you manage to win the Championship off me. What are you gonna do next? Are you going to gloat like a hyena about your super massive accomplishment? Silly me, of course you will, that's all you do, along with copying other people and moaning on the sidelines. And then? Are you going to defend the belt by hitting other people on the c***? You gonna run away from your challenges? You gonna keep sucking up to the people higher in the food chain to get by? There's no shame in doing it; that's all the cool kids are doing. But, you see, I'm trying to give the NCW Women's Championship some credibility. I'm getting this nearly dead belt and giving it some importance.
Whoops, sorry, long word. You don't seem to know what "importance" means. It's when you make people want more of a certain thing, and then it becomes important… Something you're clearly unfamiliar with. But of course, you're so diligently willing to step on me to reach that glimmer of relevance, that moment of greatness, only to make the work I've been doing ever since day one go down the toilet.
So before you ruin this division further, going rampant with your cheap self-promoting, here's some information you seem to have missed: I'm not doing this for Spike, or to impress anyone from management. The fact that I AM the top woman of this division means that I'm willing to fight for it, to make it grow, something you haven't moved an inch from your seat to accomplish. Means I'm not going to sit and wait for an opponent to come at me; I'll be on my guard about every single woman in this roster that decides to become something, and will gladly take them on. And most importantly… It means you have your right to have a championship match assured, even though you didn't make any move for it.
You just sat and waited.
Like the champion was never important. Just the championship. Like you could stretch your arm out and grab the belt like one grabs a pack of cookies from the top shelf of their pantry. Things just do NOT work this way. You have to take on me first. And you're going to need far more than luck this time. You're gonna have to be like me: an animal moved by instinct and hate, that smells blood and fear in the air.
Come at me, bitch. And I'll make you famous.
I smell butt hurt.
Mercedes, here's something you need to keep in mind: I don't like being on the losing side of a match. It doesn't matter if I'm the one who loses or if it is my partner. I don't tolerate failures. That's why I'm my fiercest critic. And unlike you, I'm trying to evolve, so to deserve my main-event panties. Call me up when you start TRYING. You want a piece of me? Then get in line. You're not the first and hopefully won't be the last I'm going to bury into the mat for your lack of talent. But if it serves as a consolation prize for you to make do, you'll always be the one I've had the most fun crushing down. Last show, last year, all the time.
I'm the controversial one. That's my schtick. I piss people off and crush them for a living. And you... You'll always be the little play toy that makes me calmer whenever I need to piss someone off or when I feel like smashing someone's face into the mat.
So by all means, get in line. And make sure you're up in the ranks. I'm gonna LOVE embarrassing you in the ring again, chica.
Keyword... Again.
The last of my packages had just arrived from New York into the new house in Boston, and as the moving truck storms away, Michael and I are in front of a generous pile of cardboard boxes, all of them neatly sealed and with my names on them. Mike looks at me with a funny expression - something like "do you really have THIS MUCH stuff?"... I just sigh and smirk back at my God of Xtreme.
Alysson: Well, that's it. I have officially left New York.
Spike: And we're officially living together.
We look into one another's eyes longly, as a smile forms in his face.
Spike: that was mindblowing fast, wasn't it?
Alysson: You tell me. It's been, what, a year, a little more?
Michael just nods as he embraces me from behind, the both of us still facing the pile of boxes.
Spike: They're gonna take a while to unpack, I believe.
Alysson: Not so much. These can stay inside these boxes for a while, and we can start the unpacking whenever we have the time.
I gently break out of his embrace as I start browsing the boxes, walking around them as I search for a specific one.
Alysson: I only need one of 'em... Now where is it...
Spike: Um, what are you looking for, love?
Alysson: Just something I need to-- AH! Here it is.
With a hop of joy, I get the box from the ground, pulling her up and taking it to Spike. Putting it back on the ground and sitting on the floor, I start opening that one box as Spike crouches in front of me, looking at the box and then at me with a childish curiosity.
Spike: What have you got in there now, huh, missy?
Without saying anything, I just finish my job with the unpacking, with a big grin on my face. After getting rid of all the tape and foam, I finally pull off my training apparel - black and orange padded gloves, and a sports bra and loose shorts of the same color, all of them with my brother Chris' academy's emblem on them.
Spike: Oooo, I see you haven't missed a single beat.
Alysson: Of course. I need to train. What kind of champion would I be if I got careless?
Spike: That is true. Hmmmmm...
Now it's Spike the one who gets up with a big grin.
Spike: I believe I do have a dungeon downstairs for us to spar.
Alysson: ...heh. You always think of everything, don't you?
Spike smirks at me.
Spike: Of course! What would be life with you if we didn't have a king-size bed and a training dungeon?
I just nod and smile.
Alysson: Not bad, Michael. Not bad at all.
Spike: So, what are we waiting for? An invitation?
And with that, we go to the underground training facility of the house, to where you don't really need to follow us.
Those were some nifty battle words, Amy. Too bad you don't have the instinct to back your nonsense up; you just don't know how a competitive mind works, so I'll let you into something: you mess with a predator, you get EATEN. Pick a fight with a bully, and you get beaten up. You have always had it in you to be the predator; but your simpleton single-aimed mind won't allow you to ever be something bigger than the skinny prick that inadvertently picks a fight with the bully. And gets beaten the living f*** out of them.
But your logic, ah, this one never ceases to amaze me. If I'm such a hypocrite, Amy, then riddle me this: what have you been doing all this time ever since you lost the Women's Championship to Trish Newborn?
I know what you've been doing, so I'll answer that. You've been sitting and watching patiently, seeing as all the other women were pushing and pushing forward, waiting for the day you would once again have a chance to be at the top. You didn't push forward like the others did; you didn't pick a fight and prove your valor; you didn't even go bitch to management about it. You SAT and WAITED. Waited for that day where management would pity you enough to give you a shot, as they would look at that girl watching mushrooms grow on the moist corner of their rooms and decide you would have a new crack at the one thing you say you want the most. And always thinking, "Hey, if I wait long and hard enough, maybe I'll get lucky!"
And you eventually got lucky. You hit the jackpot last month, when you finally got a win over someone who actually mattered; when the head of the Females division was changed, and decided to "heat things up" by giving you a crack at what you THINK is rightfully yours, when in fact we all saw all the "hard work" you did to have another chance.
But here's the skinny: Things don't f***ing work this way, Amy! WAKE. THE F***. UP! It isn't possible for a single woman to be THIS senselessly dumb! Have you ever heard yourself speak?! Until last month, YOU were the one that was all like "boo-hoo, why can't I get a championship match?" like it was THEIR duty to give you an opportunity to something you have to FIGHT for!
This brings me to something else... How shallow can a human being be? You threw away a friendship because of a personal g**damn accomplishment. Which was the EXACT reason I didn't shake your hand when you beat me last month in that lucky performance of yours and left the ring in a hurry – because I didn't want my competitive and professional nature get in the way of my friendships, and I didn't want to smash your face into the canvas that night, because I actually thought you wouldn't be so much of a demanding diva and, who knows, get that win as an opportunity to improve yourself further and become something relevant. But instead, what did you do?
You pushed your luck.
Instead of being a respectable opponent, you started trying to build up the animosity by pushing something that was so NATURAL that was you getting a shot at me, getting careless just because you were in my team… And getting cocky because you were going against me.
It was OBVIOUS that you would've been given a championship match, Amy… No matter if it had been Steve Awesome, Nikki Michaels, Kelly Fox, or Barack f***ing Obama to give it to you, you would be getting one. Because you had a clean win over me. See, it's not hard for me to admit it. Maybe, just maybe, it's because I'm not as much of a shallow, attitude-less bitch as you are, hmm?
But here's some food for thought. Let's just say you manage to win the Championship off me. What are you gonna do next? Are you going to gloat like a hyena about your super massive accomplishment? Silly me, of course you will, that's all you do, along with copying other people and moaning on the sidelines. And then? Are you going to defend the belt by hitting other people on the c***? You gonna run away from your challenges? You gonna keep sucking up to the people higher in the food chain to get by? There's no shame in doing it; that's all the cool kids are doing. But, you see, I'm trying to give the NCW Women's Championship some credibility. I'm getting this nearly dead belt and giving it some importance.
Whoops, sorry, long word. You don't seem to know what "importance" means. It's when you make people want more of a certain thing, and then it becomes important… Something you're clearly unfamiliar with. But of course, you're so diligently willing to step on me to reach that glimmer of relevance, that moment of greatness, only to make the work I've been doing ever since day one go down the toilet.
So before you ruin this division further, going rampant with your cheap self-promoting, here's some information you seem to have missed: I'm not doing this for Spike, or to impress anyone from management. The fact that I AM the top woman of this division means that I'm willing to fight for it, to make it grow, something you haven't moved an inch from your seat to accomplish. Means I'm not going to sit and wait for an opponent to come at me; I'll be on my guard about every single woman in this roster that decides to become something, and will gladly take them on. And most importantly… It means you have your right to have a championship match assured, even though you didn't make any move for it.
You just sat and waited.
Like the champion was never important. Just the championship. Like you could stretch your arm out and grab the belt like one grabs a pack of cookies from the top shelf of their pantry. Things just do NOT work this way. You have to take on me first. And you're going to need far more than luck this time. You're gonna have to be like me: an animal moved by instinct and hate, that smells blood and fear in the air.
Come at me, bitch. And I'll make you famous.
