[Celeste]

 This is the manifesto of a mad woman.  No, I’m not crazy.  I’m fucking pissed off.  I’d like to say that I’m beyond pissed off.  I’d like to tell you all that I simply don’t care anymore.  I wish that I could tell each and every one of you reading this… yeah, all four of you, should I be so lucky… that I’ve moved on to a place where I’ve accepted my role as the new Twisted Sister, or the new one woman Azz n’ Class.  But that’s simply not the case.
 
Take, for instance, my record this year.  I’ve defeated every piece of opposition that’s come my way.  My one, singular loss comes from me playing mind games and handing Mercedes Vargas a win on a silver platter.  I’ve beaten everyone else.  No, as a matter of fact, let’s go back to mid October of last year when I defeated Veronica Taylor, a decorated Bombshell with more accolades than most of this bolstered show ponies SCW brings in for a few weeks, or a few months, who collect one title reign, and act like they’re God’s gift to wrestling.  In that same match, I defeated Amy Marshall, a “Hall of Famer” whose name was only entered because she did the impossible by taking away Delia Darling’s undefeated streak and seemingly endless World Bombshell title reign.  She’s been here for like a decade, so sure, she’s won every title in the place, losing 90% of them on her first defense.  Slow clap, Aimes.  Ya done good kid.  But I did one better by beating you.  Sammi Wich.  Ms. Marlowe.  Grand Slam Champion.  Yeah, I beat her too.  And let’s not forget Polly Playtime.  Oh, sweetie, you actually made me clap when you took down Mellie.  I had high hopes that maybe, just maybe, you would prove that you aren’t as fucking useless as everyone said you were.  I wanted you to prove them wrong.  And now I look like a jackass.  The moral of the story is that I beat you, too.  I won my first championship of my entire career.  Then, with not two, not four, not six, but eight helping hands and a shifty referee later, that was taken away from me.  I was literally robbed of that title.  But it’s okay.  I accepted that I was above the Bombshell Roulette title.  I was ready to move on to bigger and better things.
 
And here I am, five… five… FIVE FUCKING MONTHS later, still waiting.  Oh, I can hear all the voices going right now.
 
Alexis Edwards:  Maybe it’s because you’re not fucking good enough.
 
Kris Halich:  You haven’t done anything to deserve more than what you’ve gotten.
 
Crystal Millar:  Just stop.
 
Well, the first two are just rooting to see me fail.  Yet, I come out, week after week, showing them just how wrong they are.  Without outside help, I put down every fucking bitch that Mark and Christian put in front of me.  I’ve showed up to work.  I was told that I should stay off TV, so I stay backstage, waiting for news that my hard work has paid off.  Despite having beaten Crystal Millar herself, in front of her home town of Detroit in a rather embarrassing display might I add, I’m not worthy of a title shot.  I get it.  I should have to earn my spot by beating someone worth a damn.  Maybe like the champ herself?  Wait, I already fucking did.
 
So, what is this really about?  Is this me having to prove once again that I’m not full of hot air?  Is this about me having to shed my black hooded jacket with the Nobodies logo on it once again, in order to prove that I’m worthy of being a champion?
 
Or is this about handing Crystal Millar her revenge against me?  Is this about making the champion look like she’s worth a damn?  Am I being fed to the champion to prove that she’s not one of the worst wrestlers SCW has on its roster right now?  Am I part of the Polly Playtime cover up conspiracy?
 
I can’t honestly say which, but one thing is for certain.  No matter how hard I work.  No matter who I beat around here.  No matter what I invest into SCW, I will forever get nothing in return.  So this brings me to my last point.  What do I have to gain from my match against Crystal Millar this Sunday in the Gold Coast Casino?
 
Nothing.
 
Plainly put.  Simply stated.  Nothing.  There is not a damn thing that I have left to prove at this point.  If I win, I’m still going to the back of the line for a World Bombshell Championship shot.  I’ll be told I don’t deserve it, and with all logic defied, they’ll try to justify it.  It is like I am Dib from Invader Zim, and my wrestling abilities are the alien.  I’m just staring and pointing at it like “ZOMG WTF it’s a fucking blinding wrestling resume” and everyone is like “meh”.  So, quite literally, I give up.  I’ll write a check to buy out the rest of my contract and this bitch be gone.  I’m tired of having to fight stupid at every turn.  I’m tired of having to prove myself over and over again while people whine and cry and pass me by to getting what I FUCKING DESERVE.  I’m done. You can call me a crybaby.  You can call me a quitter.  You can call me Alexis Edwards… wait that’s too redundant… You can call me the star who burned out too quickly.  Just do me a favor, and don’t fucking call me… like, ever.  After Sunday, I’m finished.  I’m pulling a Sean Jackson. Deuces.