I heard it’s your birthday today.
Not only did I get an alert from one of my shitty side Discords that you were running your mouth about how it’s your “special day,” but Ellie Kallisten sent me a text with about a million eye roll emojis after one of the marketing department interns received an email demanding a custom banner be made for HOWrestling.com announcing this momentous occasion, along with having your theme song play in the background on every page on the site.
Because, lest you let us forget, it’s all about you, right?
Well fear not, my little Tidewater Toddler, I’ve come bearing three gifts, not just for you, but for Jatt and Hughie – or is it O’Dell? – too. Why should the Baby Jesus be the only one given precious offerings this season, when we have the Almighty Miracle Man in our presence? I know the wise men in HOW are few and far between, so I guess you’ll have to settle for me, the wise “old hag,” the perennial thorn in Lee Best’s side, the mother bear of High Octane, the one that’s impossibly hard to kill.
And before you get all excited; no, these aren’t tangible tokens that you can hold in your hand, or wear on your body. They aren’t anything you can put in a box or wrap with a bow. One of them won’t even be the LSD title, which you’ve claimed as your own more times than Scott Stevens has been benched or fired from HOW.
I have endured a mountain of shit this year, and I mustered the strength, rose past it and put it all in the rearview, no matter how many times you or Jatt or any other member of the Broken Record Band want to keep singing that sad, sorry tune. The road to gold in HOW is not easy for anyone, and I’m not a free ticket to the top of any title mountain. So if you or the other Stooges think you’re gonna bowl me over, or that I’m gonna give this belt up so quickly after winning it, then this earth-shattering perspective is gonna hit right on time, and hurt more than you realize.
One loss is a blip, two losses is a streak.
Congrats to John Sektor for finally popping your loss cherry, Steve; I wish it would have been Hughie back on Refueled 38, but beggars can’t be choosers. The great man, riding high, finally got knocked down a peg or two once your hand hit the mat half a dozen times. Truly, a sight to behold.
And now, your losing streak begins at ICONIC.
I guess I’d know all about that, right? Because that’s allllll everyone’s been chirping about for months on-end. OLD EL TEE LOST A BUNCH THIS YEAR. FIRST ELIMINATED FROM WAR GAMES. Go ahead and spin me a yarn about how Perfection and MJ Flair did after their seventh and sixth place finishes, or everyone else I’ve taken an L to this year. Because I can tell you what Jimmy Jam and the young Anita O’Day are doing now: fighting a miraculously recovered Scoot Stoovins on DEFIANCE pay-per-view and singin’ the blues in seedy New York jazz clubs after she talked some shit then lost her smile. Andy Murray? Still in traction, probably. The Hollywood Bruvs? Took their balls and ran away with Perfection. Max Kael – slash – the Minister? Dead. The only one still around is Dan Ryan, who may have taken over for Cecilworth Farthington when it comes to Ring Murder, but he couldn’t get the job done against me. And he’ll never admit it, because he couldn’t sell if Dale Carnegie gave him a masterclass, but I know it eats away at some repressed part of his psyche every day because the reckoning he predicted never came.
Because I’m still here.
Because I have staying power.
Because none of you assholes can finish the fucking jobs you start.
In my first loss since bathing a parking lot in Eric Dane’s blood, it took the Minister a Best Arena’s worth of chair shots to beat me at Refueled 39. Dan Ryan needed a baker’s dozen’s worth of glass-sharded gauntlet and elbow shots to get the three at No Remorse. It’s not even about shitting on me anymore for you lot, or reiterating every single thing I’ve said about myself for months because you all make grasping for straws an Olympic sport. It’s because there’s an underlying sense of dread about what’s going to happen once my losing streak’s over for good.
And it *is* over, isn’t it?
Because just like I did in the Lee Best Invitational after losing to Mike Best last year at ICONIC, I came out, guns blazing, after Lee Best, Steve Solex, and some man mountain wrecked my and Hughie’s first match, and I came away with something that’s eluded me for over a year, despite the hell of a fight Freeman put up.
MY LSD Title.
Not yours, Harrison. Or Jatt’s. Or O’Dell’s. Or even Hughie’s, anymore.
So what are you going to do, Steve, when you lose again this Saturday? Throw another pissbaby tantrum in the parking lot? Switch it up and have it in the locker room? Maybe William Morris will read you some greatest hits from my bio to soothe your soul, since punching and reading seems to be all he’s good for. He failed to tell you that name-dropping a Tim Shipley Production won’t get you any cookies in HOW, but that’s something you’ll JUST have to take up with him.
Not every title shot is a reward.
Jatt, I know you were too busy limp-dicking your way through Minecraft in your Day of the Dead bunker, or whatever the fuck it was you were doing before you showed up in HOW again, but if you think my title shots have been some sort of “reward” on the part of Lee Best then you really *are* the dumbest motherfucker in the Best Alliance.
Cecilworth Farthington: Former ICON Champion, World Champion and Arm Murderer. Max Kael: Former LSD Champion, Human-Grade Weapon and Murderer. Dan Ryan: Dead-Inside Sociopath, Current ICON Champion and Spine Murderer. Hughie Freeman: Former LSD Champion, Knockout King, and I hope he’s not fucking dead.
That line-up screams punishment, not compensation.
Lee Best has been trying to break me and have me come to heel for over a year, and I refuse to do it. But hey, he’s all about “equal rights,” right? So he gives the “old,” stubborn bitch a title shot, and since every title holder in HOW that I’ve faced is a literal destroyer of worlds, no matter if I won or lost I’d be guaranteed to take a shitkicking.
And I have, every time.
And yes, I lost, every time, which I know brought a smile to GOD’s face, but only for a fleeting moment when I didn’t show up in his office after the fact to tell him I was bolting. I knew, eventually, I’d get one over on him.
The LSD Title is my reward for perseverance. The hardest part of winning a belt is defending it, but I intend to hold onto this for a good, long while, not only because I know it sets GOD’s teeth on edge, because it’s *my time* now for a monster reign, just like Cecilworth and Max had with the ICON, World, and LSD titles. This belt and the division that once bore Lee Best’s name is in my hands and I have no intentions of coughing it up not even a month into my reign.
But you know Lee won’t let me have nice things. It’s why he’s thrown you, Jatt, and Harrison and Hughie at me, all at once, because one of the great joys of his life is seeing me fail. What better way than a fatal fourway where anything goes and where I don’t have to be pinned or submitted to lose what I just won?
For a fighter as proud as Hughie Freeman says he is, I don’t believe the Pikey Fuck would eat a bullet for breakfast before he and I danced a third time, or before he got a chance to knock Harrison out once and for all. But if O’Dell’s now the man in play, then so be it. Far be it for me not to give him the fight of his life, and make him regret stepping forward for his effort.
I’m not barren, I’m abundant.
Did any of you assholes stop to think that the reason you’re out here policing bodies is because the only play you get is when you stop and frisk yourselves?
It truly is exhausting being a woman and existing on this planet, where mediocre men mouth off unchecked, as if their comments on your personal life, your family, your relationships, should hold any weight whatsoever.
Jatt, it’s wild to me that your teenaged daughter shows up one day for a few months, takes back off again with her mother, and you have the audacity to be upset at the life I have with my grown-ass children. If you were any kind of father who cared about their child wouldn’t you be trying to find Gilda and make sure she’s OK instead of just writing her off as a dangling plot point in your life while other random members of the Best Alliance flit in and out to help crutch you along?
But no, I’m the bad parent, because I hold down my shit and still provide for my family.
I don’t really give half a fuck what Mike Best did to your ex-wife nearly a decade ago when you’re fixing your mouth to talk about my kids and how I should quit my job to focus on being a mom. It’s 2020, Lee Best is parading a Tara Michaels Davidson look-alike around on a leash, and you want me to set women’s rights back 70 years by throwing up a peace sign and dipping out of HOW? Miss me with that bullshit. Jealousy is a disease, Jatt, and I hope you get well soon, but it ain’t gonna happen because I skipped town.
What’s gonna happen is I’m gonna drop you on your neck and watch those fat rolls jiggle, and maybe if we’re lucky you won’t need Mister Whacky anymore….you’ll be back in that wheelchair permanently, eating liquified Funyons out of a feeding tube and controlling your XBOX via rapid eye movements.
My life is filled with abundance. And as far as you’re concerned, Harrison, your little back-handed jabs about whether or not I can bear children does nothing to take that away. I have two great kids, a successful business, *and* a title belt before you. I have love and I have respect, two things you’ll never feel and you’ll never have. So please, keep sitting in your little sham Miracle Enterprise headquarters, while running a boring ass con-man story and coming up with new ponzi schemes, and die mad about it.
I said a month ago that I’m not going to let Lee Best and High Octane bring out the worst in me. Being the LSD champion may set me up for carnage and gore, but I have been wading through those waters for months now, and I will still make it through to the other side. I may accumulate more scars, I may risk it all to keep hold of the belt, but I will not let it change me.
So sound the alarm. Ring the bells. Jonny, tell Hughie that Eric Dane’s slumming it up in the hinterlands, and if he didn’t believe it before, I’ll leave no doubt in his mind if he shows up on Saturday, because I’m about to become his favorite outsider.
You’re about to see what the Queen of the Ring as a champion is all about.