Post by vastrix on Jan 25, 2018 7:24:36 GMT -5
Copied here from efedzone.com/fed/1/roleplays/1747
++That was one thing I always hated about folks from Salem. Those ones with the supernatural and esoterica obsessions. So deep in the rabbit hole that they couldn't appreciate what was. Always looking for that deeper meaning. They lost the plot. Best decision I ever made was to close up the house and sell it. The only good thing that came out of Massachusetts was my husband and even he bailed. Sitting there, looking at the info on Jax, I couldn't help but shake my head. On the fence, too weak to pull the trigger and be the hero or the villain. Disgusting. I always hated tweeners. Being a tweener is like being bi-sexual, too weak to just pick a flavor, wants the best of both worlds. That wasn't what caught my eye though. No. It was how heavily he shilled his study into the supernatural. Almost silently selling himself as some keeper of the balance boogey man. The fascination with the supernatural wasn't lost on me. I lived in Salem at one time in my life. It was all around me. Hell, I was a pagan at one point. I just didn't package it up and try and turn it into a really bad B movie gimmick. I closed the window on the computer and sighed, heavily, almost seemingly disappointed. As my eyes raised to the lens of the lap top web cam, it was evident how unimpressed I was. Another one in the casket I guess++
Apathy: Cute, for a comedy hour, curtain jerking, hack. Hi. I'm the living, walking, shit talking reality check. Nice to meet you. Tell me Jax, did you come up with those brooding, edgy, gothic persona yourself or did someone draw it out of a hat for you? Either way it should be obvious I'm not impressed. Don't take it personally. I'm an old, grizzled veteran it takes a lot to impress me these days. I've seen jokers like you come and go. You're little more than card filler. Character actors that are a dime a dozen. It isn't really your fault. It takes a certain something to really stick in this business, talent, charisma, intelligence. I mean you have entertainment down, maybe, but entertainment is fickle. What was last season's Game of Thrones is this seasons new edgy Western. I think your gimmick kind of fizzled out around 2005. Better late than never?
As for your penchance of the supernatural. You shouldn't need to consult the cosmos to know that I'm not taking you seriously. I can't. You see I look at you and I see every bad gimmick and half assed dreamer over my ten years. I see every wash out that ended up on drugs or as an alcoholic. I see every head stone of every never was whose funeral I had to attend "out of respect" even though I tried to warn them that the dream was never going to last. And believe me son, it won't. Not in the real professional ring. Indys? Smarks? Bingo Halls? You will always have a career. It is where all bad gimmicks go to die and fester and bloat. Why am I so sure about all of this? I've been around since before you thought Hot Topic was the best thing ever. I mean you look good on paper. Even esthetically you look good. Dark, handsome, mysterious. You don't need this damn emo, magician act. Just based on your build alone you could just be a cocky, smug dickhead but no. No honey you went with this....of all things.
Then again, what makes me any better than you? Is there anything? Sure. I know what it is like to have to be weighed down by some damn gimmick that ends up haunting you with every bottle of booze you drink and every line of coke you snort. I've had gimmicks a plenty forced on me and it made me fucking miserable and every time I see some curtain jerking bastard like you, waltzing around like you just came up with something fantastic and go getting, I want to slit your throat. I don't need the supernatural to disguise the fact that I am a bitch. A cold hearted, loud mouthed, bitch. THAT is my gimmick. That is my reality, who I am. Right down to my very core I am cold, callous and unapologetic. You? I have walked on better wrestlers than you in my ten plus years. I have ruined the careers of better gimmick whores than you. I've ended legends, and burned down fucking empires. What can you even begin to claim that can compare to a one-woman army like me?
You think I do these gigs for the money? No son. They can donate that paycheck to a charity. I don't need it. I show up to shindigs like this just to get in the ring with the so-called future of the business, guys like you, to either make em or break em. Sure, in some piss hole somewhere you might be a big fucking deal, but not to me. To me you aren't fit to be my step ladder into the fucking ring. You aren't fit to spit on. You're a clown. A sham. A piss and nacho break when your match rolls up. You get the drift? Nothing. You are a nothing. I could be the woman that thrusts you into the spotlight or the wretched bitch that buries you do bad your family will have to oversee the internment. That is all up to you. Do I piss you off? Do I insult you? Have I hurt your little nuts? Do something about it. Leave the mystical, magical and tin foil hat in the back, come out there and prove you are more than just some twelve-year old's creation on a video game. I'm not here to make friends. I came to fight. That is what I get paid to do. I get paid to go out there, make people give a fuck about this business again, and go home. I'm here to continue to save this business from jokes like you! I didn't bust my ass, endure everything I have to get where I am, so I could play nice or give advice to some damn goth club reject.
I can show up, do my thing and still look myself in the mirror at the end of the night. Can you? I can get fucked by my husband in the back of a limo without having to shill out a dime. When is the last time you DIDN'T have to pay to get a good piece of ass? I'm not talking about those vampire chicks that think you're so Twilight-esq and they want to spend the night with you so they can add your ass hair to their shrine, to each their own. I am talking about respect. Adoration. Do you feel you have anyone's respect? Do men and wen adore you and chant your name? I doubt it. I doubt very highly that anyone recognizes you if you don't look like some brooding bad ass that thinks vampires are real and beats off to Suicide Girls. Hell, you've probably beaten out a few shots to me. I'm international. You know who I am. You may not have known my name, but you've seen my picture and got a stiff one a few seconds later. No reason to be ashamed, I'm flattered. Just do me a favor and keep your jizz to yourself once you get in the ring.
Nothing pisses me off more than when some flash in the pan rookie, who gets in the ring, blows his load in his trunks, because my tits pressed against them and it was a dream come true. You want to pump your fist to me, fine, just do it on your own time. Better yet get that out of your system before the bell rings. Find a nice dark boiler room, jerk it a few times, and then come meet me. I will not be opposed to grabbing you by your dick and twisting it until you both cum and scream for mercy at the same time. By the time I'm done you will be afraid to get hard again. Just like you will maybe have a new-found respect for this business. I can only hope. My only directive at this point is to either knock some sense into you, or torture you by use of your dick until you realize there is more to this, what we do, than fairy dust and witches brew. See I've seen this so many times. I once lived in Salem. It was historical, beautiful, and even spooky so it just seemed like a good place to live. I appreciated it for what it was. Not eternally seeking for more. I saw the witches, the new agers, the whole gambit, but all I saw were people trying to exploit the beauty of Salem and its rich history. I saw new age, weirdos like you fall into that sappy trap and now look at you. Here you are. I may have left Salem for my own personal reasons, but I can say I don't miss the exploitation or the ceaseless "pilgrimages" and mystical deep connections everyone was looking for.
That's what it all comes down to, isn't it Jax? You just don't know where you belong. You don't know where you fit in. You just run with what you know. You work with what you grew up with but when is the last time you sat that attractive face of yours down, looked in a mirror and actually asked yourself, "who am I?", "what am I?", "what do I believe?", "is this what I want to be for the rest of my life?". All very hard questions to ask, but all very necessary. I had to ask them myself. That is why I am still here and why I will be here when you are long gone, selling caskets and life insurance. why I will be here when you are long gone, selling caskets and life insurance. I'm the queen on the throne and you're just the jester I'm getting more and more tired of and I haven't even seen you in action yet. Where you live or die rests on your shoulders. I earned my throne, and this crown, it's your neck heading for the noose.
Make me change my mind, fraud. Are ye witch, or man?
++That was one thing I always hated about folks from Salem. Those ones with the supernatural and esoterica obsessions. So deep in the rabbit hole that they couldn't appreciate what was. Always looking for that deeper meaning. They lost the plot. Best decision I ever made was to close up the house and sell it. The only good thing that came out of Massachusetts was my husband and even he bailed. Sitting there, looking at the info on Jax, I couldn't help but shake my head. On the fence, too weak to pull the trigger and be the hero or the villain. Disgusting. I always hated tweeners. Being a tweener is like being bi-sexual, too weak to just pick a flavor, wants the best of both worlds. That wasn't what caught my eye though. No. It was how heavily he shilled his study into the supernatural. Almost silently selling himself as some keeper of the balance boogey man. The fascination with the supernatural wasn't lost on me. I lived in Salem at one time in my life. It was all around me. Hell, I was a pagan at one point. I just didn't package it up and try and turn it into a really bad B movie gimmick. I closed the window on the computer and sighed, heavily, almost seemingly disappointed. As my eyes raised to the lens of the lap top web cam, it was evident how unimpressed I was. Another one in the casket I guess++
Apathy: Cute, for a comedy hour, curtain jerking, hack. Hi. I'm the living, walking, shit talking reality check. Nice to meet you. Tell me Jax, did you come up with those brooding, edgy, gothic persona yourself or did someone draw it out of a hat for you? Either way it should be obvious I'm not impressed. Don't take it personally. I'm an old, grizzled veteran it takes a lot to impress me these days. I've seen jokers like you come and go. You're little more than card filler. Character actors that are a dime a dozen. It isn't really your fault. It takes a certain something to really stick in this business, talent, charisma, intelligence. I mean you have entertainment down, maybe, but entertainment is fickle. What was last season's Game of Thrones is this seasons new edgy Western. I think your gimmick kind of fizzled out around 2005. Better late than never?
As for your penchance of the supernatural. You shouldn't need to consult the cosmos to know that I'm not taking you seriously. I can't. You see I look at you and I see every bad gimmick and half assed dreamer over my ten years. I see every wash out that ended up on drugs or as an alcoholic. I see every head stone of every never was whose funeral I had to attend "out of respect" even though I tried to warn them that the dream was never going to last. And believe me son, it won't. Not in the real professional ring. Indys? Smarks? Bingo Halls? You will always have a career. It is where all bad gimmicks go to die and fester and bloat. Why am I so sure about all of this? I've been around since before you thought Hot Topic was the best thing ever. I mean you look good on paper. Even esthetically you look good. Dark, handsome, mysterious. You don't need this damn emo, magician act. Just based on your build alone you could just be a cocky, smug dickhead but no. No honey you went with this....of all things.
Then again, what makes me any better than you? Is there anything? Sure. I know what it is like to have to be weighed down by some damn gimmick that ends up haunting you with every bottle of booze you drink and every line of coke you snort. I've had gimmicks a plenty forced on me and it made me fucking miserable and every time I see some curtain jerking bastard like you, waltzing around like you just came up with something fantastic and go getting, I want to slit your throat. I don't need the supernatural to disguise the fact that I am a bitch. A cold hearted, loud mouthed, bitch. THAT is my gimmick. That is my reality, who I am. Right down to my very core I am cold, callous and unapologetic. You? I have walked on better wrestlers than you in my ten plus years. I have ruined the careers of better gimmick whores than you. I've ended legends, and burned down fucking empires. What can you even begin to claim that can compare to a one-woman army like me?
You think I do these gigs for the money? No son. They can donate that paycheck to a charity. I don't need it. I show up to shindigs like this just to get in the ring with the so-called future of the business, guys like you, to either make em or break em. Sure, in some piss hole somewhere you might be a big fucking deal, but not to me. To me you aren't fit to be my step ladder into the fucking ring. You aren't fit to spit on. You're a clown. A sham. A piss and nacho break when your match rolls up. You get the drift? Nothing. You are a nothing. I could be the woman that thrusts you into the spotlight or the wretched bitch that buries you do bad your family will have to oversee the internment. That is all up to you. Do I piss you off? Do I insult you? Have I hurt your little nuts? Do something about it. Leave the mystical, magical and tin foil hat in the back, come out there and prove you are more than just some twelve-year old's creation on a video game. I'm not here to make friends. I came to fight. That is what I get paid to do. I get paid to go out there, make people give a fuck about this business again, and go home. I'm here to continue to save this business from jokes like you! I didn't bust my ass, endure everything I have to get where I am, so I could play nice or give advice to some damn goth club reject.
I can show up, do my thing and still look myself in the mirror at the end of the night. Can you? I can get fucked by my husband in the back of a limo without having to shill out a dime. When is the last time you DIDN'T have to pay to get a good piece of ass? I'm not talking about those vampire chicks that think you're so Twilight-esq and they want to spend the night with you so they can add your ass hair to their shrine, to each their own. I am talking about respect. Adoration. Do you feel you have anyone's respect? Do men and wen adore you and chant your name? I doubt it. I doubt very highly that anyone recognizes you if you don't look like some brooding bad ass that thinks vampires are real and beats off to Suicide Girls. Hell, you've probably beaten out a few shots to me. I'm international. You know who I am. You may not have known my name, but you've seen my picture and got a stiff one a few seconds later. No reason to be ashamed, I'm flattered. Just do me a favor and keep your jizz to yourself once you get in the ring.
Nothing pisses me off more than when some flash in the pan rookie, who gets in the ring, blows his load in his trunks, because my tits pressed against them and it was a dream come true. You want to pump your fist to me, fine, just do it on your own time. Better yet get that out of your system before the bell rings. Find a nice dark boiler room, jerk it a few times, and then come meet me. I will not be opposed to grabbing you by your dick and twisting it until you both cum and scream for mercy at the same time. By the time I'm done you will be afraid to get hard again. Just like you will maybe have a new-found respect for this business. I can only hope. My only directive at this point is to either knock some sense into you, or torture you by use of your dick until you realize there is more to this, what we do, than fairy dust and witches brew. See I've seen this so many times. I once lived in Salem. It was historical, beautiful, and even spooky so it just seemed like a good place to live. I appreciated it for what it was. Not eternally seeking for more. I saw the witches, the new agers, the whole gambit, but all I saw were people trying to exploit the beauty of Salem and its rich history. I saw new age, weirdos like you fall into that sappy trap and now look at you. Here you are. I may have left Salem for my own personal reasons, but I can say I don't miss the exploitation or the ceaseless "pilgrimages" and mystical deep connections everyone was looking for.
That's what it all comes down to, isn't it Jax? You just don't know where you belong. You don't know where you fit in. You just run with what you know. You work with what you grew up with but when is the last time you sat that attractive face of yours down, looked in a mirror and actually asked yourself, "who am I?", "what am I?", "what do I believe?", "is this what I want to be for the rest of my life?". All very hard questions to ask, but all very necessary. I had to ask them myself. That is why I am still here and why I will be here when you are long gone, selling caskets and life insurance. why I will be here when you are long gone, selling caskets and life insurance. I'm the queen on the throne and you're just the jester I'm getting more and more tired of and I haven't even seen you in action yet. Where you live or die rests on your shoulders. I earned my throne, and this crown, it's your neck heading for the noose.
Make me change my mind, fraud. Are ye witch, or man?
