Cathy Fitch: Hell Hath No Fury Like a Woman/Girlfriend/Wres
Apr 23, 2016 9:56:27 GMT -5
Night Rider, The Polar Phantasm, and 2 more like this
Post by Cathy Fitch on Apr 23, 2016 9:56:27 GMT -5
-tler/Valet Nosold
Cathy Fitch is sitting in her hotel room in Toronto the night before Aftermath trying to “Netflix and chill” without the sex part because she’s by herself and this isn’t that kind of promo and also because she is just so mad! She stares at her phone, her seraphic face twisted into primal rage. Finally, she pauses “The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt” and goes to change into her ring gear. Her ring gear is just like Eva Marie from WWE NXT “All Red Everything” except her hair which stays blonde. Cathy then sets up her video camera so she can record her shoot right there in the hotel room.
Cathy: You know what makes me mad? When a guy texts you about doing something and you reply and you say “Sure!” because you’re available and then the guy doesn’t call back! This happened to me and let me tell you it is not a fun experience. Even women don’t like to be left hanging, especially a six tool players like me. I am a quality person. I am smart, sexy, funny, can wrestle and valet. Talent like me doesn’t just grow on trees. I am a hot commodity and deserve to be treated as such.
Cathy puts her hands on her hips.
Cathy: That’s why when I offer to betray my team for you at both of our debut matches at a Pay Per View Match for the biggest wrestling company on the planet in front of millions of people, you text! Me! Back! We could have stole the show at Aftermath. I’d low blow one of my partners when no one was looking, giving you the win and then post-match if you weren’t too sweaty we could make out in the ring for the heat. We could have been a great power couple in wrestling, like Macho and Elizabeth or Hunter and Steph or Brutus and Hogan, but nope: you had better things to do. So this is what’s going to happen now, Mister: you and your team is going to lose at Aftermath! You’re going to get squashed like the inconsiderate bugs you are by me, James Chevalier, Jericho Scrawl, and CIA Guy.
Cathy throws her shoulders back and whips her hair imperiously.
Cathy: But mostly by me! I am about to reign a fiery shitstorm of flaming fecal matter upon you and your partners’ empty heads! When I’m done speaking of heads you’ll feel so emasculated you’ll think you’re the Pillsbury Doughboy looking guy from “Game of Thrones”, the one who smuggled Tyrion to Dany who had his dick cut off. That’s what I am going to do to you four metaphorically! Prepare to be Hitchslapped, chumps!
Cathy folds her arms across her chest and begins talking trash.
Cathy: Let’s start with you, Bad News Benson. Didn’t you retire? I swear I read that on the website. Did the booking committee forget? Did you forget? Should we change your nickname to “No News Benson” because nobody cares enough about you one way or the other to check? Smack! You just got it! Right in the mush! Bad News Benson you might be the most experienced WCF wrestler in this match but that experience won’t feed the bulldog because it’s just experience in losing. Your tenure in this company is the equivalent to a Twinkie: empty calories which when you have to maintain a body like this you got no use for.
Cathy gesticulates at her hourglass frame.
Cathy: Next up is Snake Venom. This is what I know about you. You’re short. You’re from Boston. You’re “old school”. You’re a better wrestler than Bad News Benson. You know who is impressed by any of that? No one! On Sunday you’ll be dropping a bomb alright, but it won’t be an Atomic one, which is the name of his finisher I looked it up. At Aftermath you’ll be bombing because you’ll lose. Blame your tag team partner for that, because if he had had the sheer! Common! Courtesy! to text me back, you would have taken a post match trip to the pay window for a winner’s share of the purse.
Cathy smiles broadly.
Cathy: I have a joke. One day this man goes to his doctor and says “Doc I am having these weird dreams.” The doctor says “What kind of dreams?” and the man says “Some nights I dream I’m a teepee and some nights I dream I’m a wigwam.” So the doctor who is a psychologist says “I know your problem you are two tents.” Those are the kind of dreams Tom-O-Hawk should be having now before he is wrestling me and my crew. He should be so scared he’s palefaced about facing me. Tom-O-Hawk forget the tent dreams I am your worst nightmare. I am a Skin-Walker wrapping you up in smallpox covered blankets and pouring firewater down your throat. I am going to break more of your bones than the Bureau of Indian Affairs broke treaties. I am going to bury more than your heart at Wounded Knee, I’m burying your career! Um, there’s going to be a Trail of Tears going from the ring to your locker room after the match, because you are losing. And don’t call me racist for making these comments because I happen to be one sixteenth Indian Princess and so I can get away with them.
Cathy’s smile goes away and she looks very angry. Her frow burrows and she glares right into the camera.
Cathy: And now we come to the last man standing. The man who is responsible for all this mess. The man I am saving the most brutal Hitchslap of all for: Richie Shag. You could have been king, buddy, but you blew it. Blew it right out of that giant honker of a nose I was willing to overlook because not everybody’s parents will get them rhinoplasty for their Sweet Sixteen. We could have been a couple, and had a celebrity couple nickname like Rich/Fitch and dominated the WCF. We could have found a third partner, not a romance partner since I don’t do ménage-a-trois, but a wrestling partner and won the Trios Cup Tournament. But you flushed that down the toilet, along with any chance you had of winning your match Sunday at Aftermath. Because now I’m not going to help you Bitchie Shag, I’m going to beat you. I am going to rag doll you around that ring like you are Raggedy Andy and prove Girlfriend is Better by smashing your stupid face to the mat for the one two three. Girlfriend is Better is the name of my finisher if you did not know. Then you know what I’m going to do, Bitchie? I’m going to make one of the WCF editors to make a ten hour loop of me driving your head to the canvass and that will be my ASMR to go to sleep with from now on. ASMR stands for Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response, which is a scientific name for “noises that give you tingles”. Which it will, because the sound of your ugly mug going splat will bring me pleasant dreams, and also will be the closest you get you’ll ever have to getting into my bed, buster. Too bad, so sad. Bye bye now, see you all Sunday!
Cathy presses a button on her remote to turn off the camera and end her promo.
Cathy Fitch is sitting in her hotel room in Toronto the night before Aftermath trying to “Netflix and chill” without the sex part because she’s by herself and this isn’t that kind of promo and also because she is just so mad! She stares at her phone, her seraphic face twisted into primal rage. Finally, she pauses “The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt” and goes to change into her ring gear. Her ring gear is just like Eva Marie from WWE NXT “All Red Everything” except her hair which stays blonde. Cathy then sets up her video camera so she can record her shoot right there in the hotel room.
Cathy: You know what makes me mad? When a guy texts you about doing something and you reply and you say “Sure!” because you’re available and then the guy doesn’t call back! This happened to me and let me tell you it is not a fun experience. Even women don’t like to be left hanging, especially a six tool players like me. I am a quality person. I am smart, sexy, funny, can wrestle and valet. Talent like me doesn’t just grow on trees. I am a hot commodity and deserve to be treated as such.
Cathy puts her hands on her hips.
Cathy: That’s why when I offer to betray my team for you at both of our debut matches at a Pay Per View Match for the biggest wrestling company on the planet in front of millions of people, you text! Me! Back! We could have stole the show at Aftermath. I’d low blow one of my partners when no one was looking, giving you the win and then post-match if you weren’t too sweaty we could make out in the ring for the heat. We could have been a great power couple in wrestling, like Macho and Elizabeth or Hunter and Steph or Brutus and Hogan, but nope: you had better things to do. So this is what’s going to happen now, Mister: you and your team is going to lose at Aftermath! You’re going to get squashed like the inconsiderate bugs you are by me, James Chevalier, Jericho Scrawl, and CIA Guy.
Cathy throws her shoulders back and whips her hair imperiously.
Cathy: But mostly by me! I am about to reign a fiery shitstorm of flaming fecal matter upon you and your partners’ empty heads! When I’m done speaking of heads you’ll feel so emasculated you’ll think you’re the Pillsbury Doughboy looking guy from “Game of Thrones”, the one who smuggled Tyrion to Dany who had his dick cut off. That’s what I am going to do to you four metaphorically! Prepare to be Hitchslapped, chumps!
Cathy folds her arms across her chest and begins talking trash.
Cathy: Let’s start with you, Bad News Benson. Didn’t you retire? I swear I read that on the website. Did the booking committee forget? Did you forget? Should we change your nickname to “No News Benson” because nobody cares enough about you one way or the other to check? Smack! You just got it! Right in the mush! Bad News Benson you might be the most experienced WCF wrestler in this match but that experience won’t feed the bulldog because it’s just experience in losing. Your tenure in this company is the equivalent to a Twinkie: empty calories which when you have to maintain a body like this you got no use for.
Cathy gesticulates at her hourglass frame.
Cathy: Next up is Snake Venom. This is what I know about you. You’re short. You’re from Boston. You’re “old school”. You’re a better wrestler than Bad News Benson. You know who is impressed by any of that? No one! On Sunday you’ll be dropping a bomb alright, but it won’t be an Atomic one, which is the name of his finisher I looked it up. At Aftermath you’ll be bombing because you’ll lose. Blame your tag team partner for that, because if he had had the sheer! Common! Courtesy! to text me back, you would have taken a post match trip to the pay window for a winner’s share of the purse.
Cathy smiles broadly.
Cathy: I have a joke. One day this man goes to his doctor and says “Doc I am having these weird dreams.” The doctor says “What kind of dreams?” and the man says “Some nights I dream I’m a teepee and some nights I dream I’m a wigwam.” So the doctor who is a psychologist says “I know your problem you are two tents.” Those are the kind of dreams Tom-O-Hawk should be having now before he is wrestling me and my crew. He should be so scared he’s palefaced about facing me. Tom-O-Hawk forget the tent dreams I am your worst nightmare. I am a Skin-Walker wrapping you up in smallpox covered blankets and pouring firewater down your throat. I am going to break more of your bones than the Bureau of Indian Affairs broke treaties. I am going to bury more than your heart at Wounded Knee, I’m burying your career! Um, there’s going to be a Trail of Tears going from the ring to your locker room after the match, because you are losing. And don’t call me racist for making these comments because I happen to be one sixteenth Indian Princess and so I can get away with them.
Cathy’s smile goes away and she looks very angry. Her frow burrows and she glares right into the camera.
Cathy: And now we come to the last man standing. The man who is responsible for all this mess. The man I am saving the most brutal Hitchslap of all for: Richie Shag. You could have been king, buddy, but you blew it. Blew it right out of that giant honker of a nose I was willing to overlook because not everybody’s parents will get them rhinoplasty for their Sweet Sixteen. We could have been a couple, and had a celebrity couple nickname like Rich/Fitch and dominated the WCF. We could have found a third partner, not a romance partner since I don’t do ménage-a-trois, but a wrestling partner and won the Trios Cup Tournament. But you flushed that down the toilet, along with any chance you had of winning your match Sunday at Aftermath. Because now I’m not going to help you Bitchie Shag, I’m going to beat you. I am going to rag doll you around that ring like you are Raggedy Andy and prove Girlfriend is Better by smashing your stupid face to the mat for the one two three. Girlfriend is Better is the name of my finisher if you did not know. Then you know what I’m going to do, Bitchie? I’m going to make one of the WCF editors to make a ten hour loop of me driving your head to the canvass and that will be my ASMR to go to sleep with from now on. ASMR stands for Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response, which is a scientific name for “noises that give you tingles”. Which it will, because the sound of your ugly mug going splat will bring me pleasant dreams, and also will be the closest you get you’ll ever have to getting into my bed, buster. Too bad, so sad. Bye bye now, see you all Sunday!
Cathy presses a button on her remote to turn off the camera and end her promo.
