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Blonde Ambitions - The “F†Word
#NP “Swish Swish†by Katy Perry
Hi, hello, how you doin’? It’s ya girl… No, baby, it ain’t Beyonce. Holly! Holly Wood! Yeahhhhh, you know it’s that girl with a little somethin’ extra. If you follow my in-ring exploits, then you know that I did what I said I was gonna do last week when I defeated Ryan Keys, in what was a very close match. Ryan played it like a true sport, and I loved every minute of it.
Last week brought up a lot for me. It saw me return to the ring, doing something that’s always made me happy. Trust when I say that I loved being a referee. I especially loved the frisking, I mean “checking for foreign objectsâ€. James Tuscini was always smuggling something but front, but I was never able to pinpoint it. Anyway, I liked my job, and I felt like I made a difference. But, not enough of a difference. I have a very serious point to make, an important cause to fight for. Eradicating intolerance. And that brings me to my first, and main, order of business…
The “F†Word… No, I ain’t talkin’ about “fuckâ€. That was taboo like twenty years ago, and the only person who has a problem with it is the FCC and people born before 1960. I’m talking about a word that shouldn’t even exist in culture today. A word that is so filthy, and so vile, that it brings us back to times where bigotry reigned supreme. Days where people of color were treated like lesser human beings, just because of something as silly as pigments in the skin. Humans have gone to the moon. They invented smart phones. They discovered DNA. They beat polio… but they haven’t beaten the one thing that kills more people than anything else known to man… Intolerance. Honey, I ain’t talkin’ about lactose either. I’m talking about unjustified hatred. The kind that is motivated by greed, or narcissism. Maybe people were raised to be that way and haven’t grown up enough to learn to think for themselves? Either way, it is an epidemic.
I learned a lot last week. I was wearing these rose colored glasses, you know? Oh, I was also naive. See what I did there? Yeah, this girl can be witty sometimes too. But seriously, I thought I left all that racism and bigotry back in Franklin County, Missouri when I hitched a few rides to get to Hollywood. I haven’t heard anyone so fucking ignorant in my life, until I tuned in to watch a newcomer’s first promo video for his match against Killian Sweete. Aside from choppy editing and resolution, where you couldn’t understand half of what was going on, it was mighty offensive. I was honestly shocked when Dante Aquarius wasn’t disqualified automatically for blatantly breaking Sin City Wrestling policy. I thought I was gonna go into Violent Conduct to give him his second loss in SCW, but then the match happened, and he won. I guess I should say “Kudos, Dante.†You surprised me. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it doesn’t surprise me at all. Of course, I take nothing away from Killian Sweete. In all honesty, he is the number one fresh face on my radar in SCW, even if he’s been around for a minute. He’s finally getting the exposure that he should get, and he’s facing a hunk and a horse hung champion.
Where my surprise fades away is that, people who resort to cheap pops for dropping the words “nigga/er†or the “f†word (Hint: I am talking about the word “Faggotâ€) tend to find a way of escaping rules. Hey, if it worked for Chris Shipman, then it could work for you too. Except, Chris Shipman was reprimanded for what he said. But, there’s a difference here, right? He was white, so he can’t say it. Fool! What kinda logic is that? You don’t see ya girl Holly Wood walking up into the Cocktail Lounge on the Las Vegas Strip, saying “Yo, what up my faggot?†or “How’s it hanging, you fruity little cocksucker, you? It’s been forever!†Freedom of speech extends to the morons, I guess.
I have had this conversation before. I’ve heard that it is a way of taking a phrase back and removing the insulting connotation from it by owning it. I understand that to a degree, but henny, it’s not 1990 anymore. Aside from a few backwood swamp cousin fuckers, people don’t think like that any longer. I, myself, grew up in “the hood†until my racist parents moved us out into the woods where it was “whiterâ€. And, believe it or not, by looking at me… At one point, I had a little black in me, but just the tip.
I digress. I’m being a bitch. I’m sorry, but give me a minute, because this idiot has just got me on a roll. The truth is, when I moved out to West Hollywood, I shed any notions of racism that might have lingered in my mind, because I am an adult, and I am a free thinker. How many boys do you know that put on a dress six nights a week to put on a show, and to raise awareness for a community? Judging by your promo, I’d say you don’t know anyone who has the balls to admit that they like balls… in or around their mouth. Or just exposed in their general vicinity. You strike me as a man who hangs out with “curious thugs†who are afraid to admit that they think a dude is sexy, so they gay bash, and then bend over and take it like a curious ass virgin behind a dumpster out back of a Burger King. And, hey… for all I know, you might just fit that bill.
So, if that is the case, and I strongly suspect that it is, please take a tip from me. Also, here’s a piece of advice. (I did it again. I crack me up…) Come out of that closet. Put down ya momma’s coat, and ya daddy’s shoes. Pretend you didn’t find no Christmas presents with how deep you are hiding. Just open that door, step outside of it, and shut it. It’s so much easier to breathe out here. You got a community that will love you, and support you, even while you go through the angry asshole phase. That don’t go away right off the bat. You’re gonna be an asshole. You’re gonna call yourself a butch masc king, all while you search “Big dick daddies†on Google Images, and imagine them going balls deep. Go ahead. There’s plenty of us bottom boys out there who will help you out on your journey. Grindr helps, because more people on there are riding at your speed. Either way, we will still hug you when you step onto “that†end of the Las Vegas Strip. We’ll buy you a drink, and nod our heads when you tell us how masculine you are as you suck your teeth to hold back the lie. And when you are ready to admit just how down you really are, we’ll point out the guys who are packing, and which ones will be gentle with that virgin hole.
Now… if I’m wrong, then let me break this down for you. Do NOT ever use the “f†word. It’s a sign of pure ignorance. Xander Bishop was one ignorant ass fool, but even he had the sense not to drop “nâ€s and “fâ€s. It really says something when you are even more of a dumbass than Xander Bishop. You are like a copy of Xander Bishop. One that you can buy for $10 with the knock off Gucci, Fendi, and Prada bags from a sketchy salesman in a baja hoodie. You are that weak of an imitation, and if you were hoping to make an impact, I gotta point out that it didn’t work out for him, and he could run laps around you. If you’re looking for ways to get under our skin, why don’t you try something that at least makes us think, instead of immediately dismissing you. I’m going to just break this down and be purely honest with you here. If you have any kind of point of cause that you’re fighting for, even if that cause is yourself… find a new tactic. People are only hearing two words, and not giving a shit about anything else you have to say. We don’t even know a thing about you. Where are you from? What do you stand for? What matters to you? What are your goals? Do you even like yourself? Clearly you don’t respect anyone else. But, that’s your problem, and not ours.
With that said, I’m sure you’re sitting there, thinking “Holly. Why the fuck do I care what some bitch ass crossdressing faggot has to say?†Here’s the breakdown, and I’m going to try to put it in the simplest of terms, just so that you can understand. If I hear you making fun of my community, I’m going to kick your ass. Oh, baby, that ain’t some kinda idol threat. You will find that out on Sunday. You see, at Violent Conduct, you’re gonna get your ass kicked. There’s no two ways about it. I’m coming for you, and I’m gonna put you down for the 1, 2, 3. Then, I’m gonna stand above you, and I’m going to ask you the burning question. Not only do I want to know how it feels to get your ass kicked by a girl, but how it’s going to feel to have your ass kicked by a “faggot� As you are likely to put it. The truth is, you are going to get beat by both. In two weeks, I have a very special surprise for you. You should feel honored. After earning my full ire, I’m still nice enough to give you a gift. You can thank me later.
In the meantime, here’s a little warm up gift. This is the gift of knowledge. The definition of “Faggotâ€.
A bundle of sticks bound together as fuel.
2) A bundle of iron rods bound together for reheating, welding, and hammering into bars.
Example sentences
‘The faggots of blistered steel are made by binding in a bundle, around a bar of double that length, four pieces of eighteen inches long, which are secured in their positions by a small band of wrought iron, which is subsequently removed.’
‘These faggots are placed in the forge hearth until they have attained a strong welding heat.’
3) (usually faggots) British A ball or roll of seasoned chopped liver, baked or fried.
Example sentences
‘Their innate modesty is expressed in their alternative names - rissoles, patties, faggots - and a complete absence of trend-setting ingredients such as mizuna, enoki, frog's legs and mascarpone.’
‘It usually disappears - in England, as in France - with the rest of the pluck (heart, liver, lungs) into faggots, sausages and pâtés.’
‘His faggots were legendary. ‘We opened in 1994; eight months later, we had a Michelin star, one of the fastest ever to be won.’’
‘Made from quality pork liver and pork, Mr Brain's faggots are prepared in a delicious West Country sauce and are available in major supermarkets nationwide in packs of two, four and six.’
‘A year later, steamed faggots arrived, ushering in the golden age of faggots, chips and peas in a tray.’
‘We know people love to see local products, and in Bristol we sell faggots and in Lancashire we sell local cheese.’
‘Spare a thought, by the way, for the home cooks of America, making their way through British cookbooks filled with bangers, faggots and bashed neeps.’
‘The move came after complaints were aired about a Somerfield advert which mentioned faggots, a meat dish normally served with peas.’
‘Cornish pasties and Lancashire faggots are among the culinary terms defined between the covers of the top dictionary.’
‘With the fat left on, it can be used as a filling for andouilles, or it can be scraped to make a convenient flat sheet of casing which can be made into parcels around a faggot or other items.’
4) British dated, informal An unpleasant or contemptible woman.
There it is. Holly Wood, educating ignorant assholes, one at a time. I expect a full report on my desk by Violent Conduct. Either way though, the real lesson will be taught on September 3rd.
Can I get an “amen�
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All That Glitters 2
#NP “Oh Lord†by In This Moment
â€It’s been a rough six years for me. I can’t say that I don’t deserve it. I’ve been a pretty shitty person…â€
We come in to see Damien X sitting behind bars of the state prison, perched on the edge of his bed as he watches the guards shuffle by. He has the Bible tucked between his heavily tattooed hands, trying to find forgiveness for his sins. They haunt him to this very day as he reflects back to his time in Club X.
He remembers the passionate times with Ambrosia as their hot and sweaty bodies roll around in the sheets. A small zipper bag is handed to her by a teasing Damien, pulling it away as it is clear that her passion is for the drugs, and not for him. Her legs are open in the air as she takes the bag, and Damien thrusts into her. His lips pang passionately against hers as she caresses the bag in her hands tightly, putting on the act of pure lust for Damien. Caramel sneaks out from under the two, wanton all over her face as she kneels over Ambrosia, letting her lips dance across Damien’s as she lowers herself over Ambrosia, quieting her.
He remembers coercing Whisper to help him hide the body of that officer, a crime he has never been forced to pay for officially by law. He remembers making her get her hands dirty, and this could possibly be his biggest regret, watching her help Rufus dispose of the body. He doesn’t want to remember it any longer as he tucks his face in his hands, weeping for what he did to Whisper. He doesn’t even know the half of it, either.
He remembers the deeds he first did when he arrived in prison. The way he shanked an inmate in the cafeteria just to let it be known that he ain’t no bitch. Or the time he found a man in for tax fraud, and made him his bitch in exchange for protection. He headed up the Aryan Brotherhood within months, though he never actually bought into their rhetoric. He made enemies within the group when he changed his ways. He reached a point of wishing for death. He found comfort in the thought of taking his last breath, so he turned on the Brotherhood, and cut his mark right off of his skin. They wanted him dead, but they wanted to play with him first. They beat him up, and they forced themselves upon him countless times. But, never once had they broken him.
However, today was a brighter day…
â€Today is the day that I get to get out of here. I get to start over, and make a new life for myself. I want to do right by everyone that I’ve hurt. I want to carry it as a burden so that I can make sure that this never happens again. Maybe I’ll settle down with a wife, have a few kids. Make a life for myself, to set an example for people who don’t believe that they can change. It has become my new mission in life. But, it’s been so long.â€
The doors open up and a very butch female guard steps forward, handing Damien his belongings. He gently takes them and sets his Bible on top. He walks along the row of inmates, getting congratulated by some, while members of the Brotherhood laugh and taunt him, even going as far as to throw literal shit at him, narrowly missing him. He raises his head, refusing to let them see the damage. He is eventually brought forth through the prison gates, and led to a car. The classic white car shines under the sun as a red headed man steps out, his sunglasses perched on his face as he watches Damien carefully.
Diamond: Damien Xanthos?
Damien: Yeah…?
Diamond: Welcome to your new life. It starts today.
Diamond looks Damien up and down, assessing the situation. However, there is a little more assessing of his physique than most would expect, but Damien is more focused on being on the outside. Diamond opens up the passenger side door for Damien, and shuts it behind him as they take off and drive through the city. It had been so long since Damien had seen this side of things.
â€Everything is changed in such a short amount of time. I remember I hit my first deal right over there in that building. It was a 7-Eleven back then, but now it’s a church with a drive thru window. And this skate park used to be a swimming pool, where I picked up my first “employeesâ€. As a matter of fact, I picked up Whisper here. Ah, Whisper… I wonder how she’s doing right…â€
Damien’s eyes move over to a photograph on the dashboard of the car. It’s a picture of the officer, three children, and none other than Whisper.
â€Oh shit…â€
Diamond: Lovely, isn’t she? And the children are my ultimate pride and joy. A lot’s changed over the last six and a half years, Xanthos. A lot. And I have to say that I was very instrumental in tearing apart your empire.
Damien: Surprisingly, I want to thank you for that.
Diamond: You shut your fucking mouth, and you listen to me, son…
Diamond reaches around Damien’s neck, and slams the back of his head against the dashboard, bloodying up his nose.
Diamond: You are on borrowed time. Intel says that there are at least 6 people or groups that want to see you dead. My job is to hold them at bay until you are off our watch. Not a second longer than that. Unfortunately, that’s a job that I have to do, whether I want to or not. I’ve set you up with the shittiest halfway house in town, that will make you wish that you were still in prison betting buttfucked by Nazi Nick or Aryan Alec. Now reach under that seat and find something to wipe up the blood. You don’t want these guys to see you looking weak.
Damien does as he is told, though the anger boils up inside of him. He grits his teeth as he holds the tissue to his nose to stop the bleeding. Diamond stops in front of a broken down house on the worst block in town. Damien watches as a window shutter literally falls off of the side of the house. Diamond flashes a smirk as he unlocks the doors. They get out as Diamond leads him into the house, finding the man in charge.
â€This was the worst part of the transition. It won’t be easy, and it won’t be here, but I will definitely get back to good, and on the right path…â€
Damien zones out as he is led through the shotty craftsmanship of the house. He tucks his head, and ignores the man as he speaks about the house rules. He settles down in his bed as “Dancing In the Dark†by Bruce Springsteen begins playing. He holds his belongings tightly in his arms as he curls up, despite the large guy walking in with his pants practically hanging down to his knees. He talks to Damien, challenging him, but Damien just tunes it out. He tunes everything out as the man shoves him over.
â€This… this right here, is all just temporary. The surroundings. The guilt. The regret. I’m going to make it right. I’m going to make everything right with the people I’ve hurt, and if it’s too late for them, then with God.
Damien ignores the man as he slides behind him in bed, spitting in his face as he pulls the back of Damien’s pant’s down. He just closes his eyes, and finds his place of zen, burying his face in his favorite fleece jacket, tuning out the world as best as he can, ignoring the pain, which he has become so used to ignoring over the past several years. He doesn’t even cry this time as he just listens to the song playing in his head. And when it is all over, he receives a taunting kiss on his cheek, followed by a slap right across his ass.
Thug: Welcome to Dickwood Heights, motherfucker. Next time I talk to ya, and ya don’t answer me, ya better have a good reason for not talkin’ like ya mouth is full or somethin’ or else it will be.
Damien winks and blows a kiss right at the thug as he turns over on his stomach, putting it back in the air as a form of insult to the thug. The thug shakes his head and mutters under his breath as he leaves the room. Damien looks around the room to notice that he’s got a roommate sitting on the bed across the room.
Morgan: You can’t let him get away with that shit, or else he’s going to keep on with it. Knock out one of his gold teeth, and he’ll run away crying like a little bitch.
Damien: Whose to say I didn’t want it? I did just get out of state penitentiary.
Morgan: Bruh, that’s fucked up. You coulda just asked me nicely and I could have done it a lot more sweetly.
Damien: Either way, I’m delighted with the unwanted conversation afterward. That’s sweet enough… whatever your name is.
Morgan gets off of the bed, and pulls his underwear down, alarming Damien for a moment. Damien pulls his pants back up as he rolls over on his side as he watches Morgan’s naked form moving in closer to him. Every beautiful inch of his form. However, given what’s just happened to him, he holds his hands out to block any sort of attack. Morgan rolls his eyes and shakes his head as he picks a pair of underwear out from the opened top drawer of the dresser.
Morgan: Morgan… And relax… sloppy seconds ain’t my style, bruh. I’m just getting ready for work.
Damien: Those are some interesting underwear to wear to work. What do you do?
Morgan takes no time in pulling his underwear up over everything, positioning it all just right before he goes searching for the right pair of jeans. Damien sits on the edge of the bed, almost nonchalantly as he still waits for an answer that just won’t come. So he asks it again.
Damien: Look, I’m obviously out of work right now, and you look like you’re taken care of enough with your job. Plus, jeans to work? You must have a good lead or two.
Morgan: Why don’t you apply at Club X?
Damien stands up, anger written on his face as he tries to stop himself from attacking Morgan right then and there. This alarms Morgan somewhat, but given the circumstances, he doesn’t prepare to fight back. However, Damien approaches him slowly, narrowing his eyes at Morgan.
Damien: What the actual fuck did you just say to me, pretty boy?
Morgan: That… I work at Club X? Do you have something against my place of employment? Sorry, I just work there.
Damien: What exactly do you do there?
Morgan: I’m a dancer. Obviously. Look, if you’re interested in a job, then I’m sure I can put in a good word. Looks like you already know Detective Diamond, so you should be able to get on there pretty easily. If you don’t think all the extra activities going on there will tempt you into trouble. I don’t wanna be responsible for causing you to stray. You can do that all on your own.
Damien: Oh, no… I think I have plenty of experience with resisting temptations. Introduce me to the boss…
Damien is all smiles as he waits for Morgan to get ready, all while waiting to see the person who usurped his throne. What he does with this information is still to be determined, but you can’t blame him for being eager to find out. Once Morgan is ready, he leads Damien out of the door to their bedroom. The pair prepares to sign out to leave for Club X.
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Self Doubt
#NP “Ride†by Lana Del Rey
I can’t lie and say that preparing for the battle of my life has been easy. Confidence has come and gone, and I have felt the highs and the lows. I hit a moment where I wasn’t feeling the power that I usually feel when I channel Holly. Was that because I was planning to only half dress as Holly for this show? Either way, I’m feeling a little bit shaken, and a whole lot of drunk.
Fast forward to some bar in the middle of nowhere, far from everything I call near and dear to my heart. I don’t even have Amand with me right now, because the low I’m feeling is a low that I haven’t felt in a while. I take a shot of tequila, sitting in the back of the bar, in my cute cut off jean shorts, and a male crop top. I’m sloppy enough where my that I wear to further establish myself in public, is starting to slowly peel off. I raise my glass in the air, when a hand reaches over and pulls it from my own hand. She slams it down on the table and quickly sets her Prada handbag down on the table. She pulls a chair over to the table, and sits down backwards, facing me. I sigh and rub my temples.
Me: Why…? What’re you do-wing here?
Delia: You’re a fucking mess, darling… It’s pas’etic.
The Original French Bombshell glares over at me, and I roll my eyes. She reaches across the table and gently taps the side of my face… or maybe she slapped me. I was too stupid drunk to remember. Either way, I stare up at her, and I can feel her eyes burning into me.
Me: Well, it’s par for the course, henny. I couldn’t cut it from your shadow, and I can’t take the spotlight. And I prrrrobably can’t go back to being a referee, so…
Delia: Stop it right now, Alex…
Me: Heh… ya’ven’t called me Alex in a *hiccup* long time. That’s funny.
Delia grabs onto my hand and squeezes onto it. She holds on, and doesn’t let me look away, even though I can’t really help looking to the side. She uses her free hand and turns my head back to face her. I just giggle as I raise my shot glass once more.
Delia: You are so strong. I tried to tell you z’at before, but you simply would not listen. You can handle z’is…
Me: Oh, yeah. Because I’m making this match out to be an even bigger deal than I should, right?
Delia: Wrong! You are clearly not making z’is match to be as big of a deal as it is. Z’is match is make or break for your career. But, more importantly, z’is match is z’e epitome of what you are fighting for, darling. We have our problems. We always have. You have not forgiven me, and I probably have not forgotten, myself. But we butted heads because you are so strong. You are so beautiful. You are many s’ings which I am not, as well. We trained toges’er, and I learned many s’ings from you.
I laugh as the barkeep brings the bottle of golden liquid courage to my end of the bar. He pours it, while Delia whispers “Last one†to him. He nods his head as I look over at him and I think I roll my eyes, but I probably just fluttered them.
Me: You were top bitch for a long time. I barely scratched the surface before I gave up. There’s a reason I gave up, sweet cheeks, and I should have known to stay back. That’s on me. I ain’t sorry ‘bout it. I ain’t swimming in a sea of self pity. I’m just admitting that this isn’t for me. My head got hot, and now I’m paying the price.
Delia: You are giving up so quickly. I have to say z’at I am surprised. You never give up.
Me: Did you miss the memo when I quit wrestling the last time? It’s like… my thing.
Delia: I will slap z’e piss out of you, child. You didn’t give up. You were waiting for your purpose. My purpose was to make history wi’s a collection of z’e best women in wrestling, and to lead by example. My purpose was grand, but your purpose? Your purpose is so much greater. Your purpose has a meaning, and it is one z’at we bo’s hold near and dear to our hearts. All of my friends are part of z’is community. When you have someone going around saying “faggot†z’is and “faggot†z’at, z’en we have a cultural problem z’at needs to be addressed, and you can hold onto z’at, channel z’at, and own z’at.
I nod my head, smiling as I try to act like I was following all of that. I heard half, but it was half that made me think. I stay quiet, and Delia watches me, I guess noticing that it’s starting to sink in. I go to take the shot, but instead, I just let it sit there in my hand as I look at it.
Me: You know what? You’re right. It was so simple, even you thought of it, Deelz. No T no shade, baby.
Delia: Yeah, and you didn’t.
Me: I just don’t understand how someone can perpetuate so much ignorance. Andre Aquarius is ignorant, and bigoted, all while calling everyone else out for being that way. Hell, I fully expect to be called whitey and faggot, while disregarding rules in SCW. I guess since I’m no longer a referee to enforce the rules, the rules don’t mean shit. But it’s cool. At least I know what to expect. Come Sunday, the Age of Aquarius will be over, and the Age of Holly Wood can finally begin. My confidence is back, and in full force, baby. Violent Conduct is mine, girl. I don’t need this drink any more. Win or lose, that fucking ignorant asshat is going to be learning a lesson, pulled straight from my playbook.
Delia claps her hands as I slide the drink to the edge of the table. I set a tip down on the table as me and Delia get up from the table for her to bring me back to civilization where I need to be, once I sleep this off, at least. Either way, once I set foot in that ring, this shit is on, and there won’t be any changing that.
