Salt 'n' Pepa - I Am Body Beautiful
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Hope: "I wasn't always this way. You might say I fell into this role, quite by accident."
A closeup of a mirror, and the sensuous reflection of a pair of lips.
A tube of lip gloss is held up and slowly the application emerges from the golden tube.
The lips upon closeup once again and being adorned with the moist coloring of ruby red lipstick as the applicator glides over the lips gently. The lips pucker, ensuring an even, complete coating.
Hope: "So many of these macho men in the sport fail to understand two very important things."
"One, professional wrestlers are really no different than drag queens. They get dressed up in the gaudiest of outfits for little more reason than to draw attention to oneself. Drag queens have to be noticed, you see. It's what they do for a living. If you can't get the eyes of the audience on you from the start of your performance to the very end, you've wasted your time and their's. The same could be said for professional wrestlers."
Inside of the ring, Hope grabs an opponent by the arm and twists the limb into an overhead arm wringer. Hope cries out about a hair pull but when the referee goes around to check, it is Hope that grabs the opponent by the hair and she uses that handle to yank the opponent off of their feet and down to the mat.
A closeup shot in the mirror of Hope's eye, being traced around with eyeliner in a deep, dark hue of purple.
Hope: "Professional wrestlers have to do the same. It used to be the basic outfit of a wrestler was simple trunks in simple colors. Nowadays though, oh how times have changed. Now as the sport has gotten even bigger, these men (and I suppose the women) have to go to extreme measures to get noticed and make certain that they stay noticed. Colorful outfits and outlandish mannerisms are the norm for the vast majority of the men and women in our field of expertise."
"Why do you think I embrace this side of my own life inside of the ring? That's right. To be noticed. The very same reason why I did so when I first got into the lifestyle of drag. To make damn certain that when I stepped out onto the stage, that all eyes were on me, and me alone."
Hope meets an opponent in the middle of the ring, readying for the initial lock up. Yet before they can do so, Hope turns his back to the opponent and caresses his own backside. the opponent aptly freaks out and jumps back away from Heelcum and takes refuge in the far corner.
A closeup of a hand held out with fingers spread wide while a fresh coat of bright pink nail polish is applied.
Hope: "You could be the single greatest athlete in the sport today, but if you're not colorful enough or attractive enough to keep the eyes of the crowd on you, you won't last. Or at the very least, you won't make it very far in the long run. You won't even make it to the big leagues, so dream on mister sister."
Hope is feeling the brunt of the match's intensity, taking lower ground on the outside of the ring. The opponent walks over to the ropes to get him back inside when Hope grabs his foot and pulls him down and to the outside along with him. Hope rakes the opponent's eyes and strikes him with an open hand chop to the throat. Hope then picks the opponent up and body slams him on the floor.
Hope: "Fortunately, I don't have to worry about such silly trifles. I have both advantages going for me. Plus the added advantage of not being afraid to confront my opponents -- physically. Most of these men that stare at me from across the ring become scared little boys. They first walk into the building, so confident and so secure in their own masculinity. Then they see me, and all of that confidence just goes flying out the window."
A foot slips into a shimmering boot, designed to reflect the lights of the stage.
Hope: Not surprising. Men often become boys when faced down with something they can't handle or control. Now, I admit I do enjoy being handled, but no man controls me. In the ring, it's Hope Heelcum who does all of the controlling. It is Hope, who turns macho men into quivering masses of boy flesh."
Hope is chasing an opponent around the interior of the ring, hands reaching out towards his backside, much to the crowd's amusement.
A closeup as an earring is fixed to the earlobe.
Hope: "Though I have to admit an uncertainty as to how this match, my very first in SCW, fits into that equation. How does one turn a man into a boy when the man you're going up against has barely reached puberty? I was hoping to be signed up against one of the more prime cuts of Sin City beefcake, but alas it seems not to be. At least, not yet anyway. For my opening act, I'm going against a little boy who fancies himself a man."
Hope has an opponent in a front facelock with one arm and uses his free hand to give the man the wedgie from Hell.
Hope: "James Huntington-Hawkes III? Hm, well isn't he quite the mouthful? I tried scouting him, and there really wasn't much to go on. You haven't exactly had the stellar career you thought you could buy into, have you? How great can you be when you have to launch a Twitter campaign just to get noticed enough to be placed on the SCW's weekly broadcast? Poor James. Nobody took you serious before. And nobody will now. Tsk, tsk."
Hope steps out onto the stage in a full Vegas girl style outfit, complete with head dress. He spreads his arms outward and the glittering tassels reflect the stage lights in a shining brilliance. With a bright smile, Hope turns around in circles to present himself to all that are in attendance.
Hope: "Don't let it get you down, James. Life was bound to knock you down a few pegs when you finally found something that money could not buy you the success that you seem to feel is your birth right. After I put you down for the count, you just go running back to cry on your nanny's shoulder, and maybe he'll be nice enough to fix you some warm milk before bed time."
The crowd boos as the referee raises Hope's arm in victory.
Hope: "Oh, what was the second thing the macho men of professional wrestling fail to acknowledge or understand? Well, let me break it down for you. What do professional wrestlers do, really. They work out so that they have attractive, athletic bodies, that they stuff into little more than erotic spandex bathing suits that are so tight you can see their pulse through. In these outfits, half naked, they roll around on the mat with other macho men, putting one another in the oddest holds and positions. Look where their hands go for a simple body slam. Face facts sweet meat. Professional wrestling itself is homoerotic."
"Thank God!"
