Post by Melinda Rhodes on Jun 25, 2017 3:17:55 GMT -6
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I had just gotten off the phone and decided that this deserved a special little video response. So here I am in my private little studio, the walls padded in textured blue foam to absorb sound. The camera rolled upon me, settled in a comfy desk chair with my legs crossed and hands folded in my lap. I had just received my complimentary black and red EWC Monday Night Brawl T-shirt, so I decided to rock that along with some stone washed jeans and a simple pair of brown sandals. With tattooed arms and ringed fingers on display, I got to the issue with absolutely minimal waiting time and shot straight from the hip.“I'm new to the Extreme Wrestling Corporation's Monday Night Brawl roster, eagerly awaiting that first televised dance in the wrestling ring. However, a phone call I just received made me want to clear the air right off the bat.”
With a sharp inhale through my nostrils, I prepared my thoughts to be delivered in oral fashion.
“I am not a manager, valet, or a bitch in heels serving as eye candy. I am my own mouth piece and I damn sure don't want to spend my breath talking up someone else. I've worked in wrestling off and on for most of my adult life and the moment I play manager is the moment I turn in my boots and cease competing in the ring.”
I cupped one hand over the other, tilting my head ever so slightly as I stare hard into the camera.
“Now there's this ass bag by the name of Johnny Blade that I've never met in my life. Out of the blue, this motherfucker calls me up and asks me to be his assistant manager. Bitch do I look like I make coffee and live to blow smoke up your ass? Hell to the fuck to the NO.”
Just the thought of someone thinking that little of me just pissed me right the fuck off and the tightness of my jaw and tension of my brow more than gave it away on the camera.
“I've done way too much and come way too far to go back to being someone's eye candy on their arm. No, I refuse to play anything less than my one hundred percent BEST in that ring.”
I leaned forward in my seat, my brown eyes boring holes through that camera and, I hope, through the heart of Johnny Blade himself, as intensely as I could possibly muster.
“So John Boy Blade, listen up. I have a proposition for you. Since the upcoming Monday Night Brawl is booked up tight like a drum, how's about you and me at Brawl four-eighty six? If you can beat my tattooed ass, then I'll be your assistant for a month. If I beat your overgrown ass, the same applies, you'll be MY assistant manager.”
My red lips curled into a smirk as I tilted back in my seat.
“That's my terms, Jimbo Slice. If you've got a big enough ball sack between your legs, I've got the time. You want my 'services'? You'll have to earn that shit and let me tell you something, all that muscle and size you've got don't mean jack shit when my knuckles start dancing all over that face.”
I pressed my knuckles into my palm, cracking them oh-so-softly as I continued to voice my thoughts.
“Sure, I may not have the respect of my EWC peers, but I won't take disrespect lying down and when you call up a fellow competitor before she's even had her first official match in the company and ask her to be your manager, that's beyond disrespectful. You're writing me off before I even get started and for that, I have to show you and everyone else in EWC just who the fuck they are dealing with.”
I leaned forward and reached out with my hand, patting the side of the camera as if it were Johnny's own face.
“I hope you accept, Bladey McJuggernuts, because I really look forward to chipping that chiseled, glass cutting jaw until you have a chin that's on par with Harland Williams.”
And with that I cut the feed. Me? A fucking Manager.... what kind of bullshit is that?
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