Post by wblstudios on May 22, 2006 12:43:02 GMT -5
Hearshot Kid Disaster: Chapter One
Another day, another Yen, another workout for the woman quickly becoming the next big cult favorite wrestler. Josephine was already heavily into her daily workout, laying back on the bench in the rather large gym situated within walking distance from the WCF arena, clothed in a sports bra and pair of tights that pretty much mimicked her wrestling attire. She knew the fans were going to be out in full force today, why not have a little fun with them? So there she was, blond hair cascading behind her, as she bench-pressed more weight than she was sure anyone watching her could. After that final rep almost set her arms on fire, she screamed out, racking the bar and sitting back up to the applause of the teenaged male crowd that had become glued to her workout.
“FUCKING A RIGHT!”, Jojo screamed, letting loose with an impressive bicep flex. Always give the fans what they want, she thought as she reached for a towel, leaning against the large barbell as she grinned at her impromptu audience. No matter where Josephine was over the course of her life, or the dozens of gimmicks she’d wrestled as over the course of a decade, she knew that was the cardinal rule. Especially in independent federations like this.
Usually when she was out on the town, Jojo didn’t like messing around with the usually obsessive and horny fan base she’d built up. But it was important to schedule out moments like this, to keep them happy. So a good 15-30 pictures for her website and a handful of autographed pictures later, Josephine had finally gotten her hands on a bottle of sake, and sat down for a small Q&A session recorded by a small tape recorder in her gym bag.
“Alright, motherfuckers. Let’s get the obvious questions out of the way. If any of you think I take steroids or any of that other bullshit, you can check any of the drug tests from any of the all-natural bodybuilding shows I’ve done recently. Anyone who thinks my tits are fake can go to my website and see just how big they were at 14. Good genetics, hard work, and generally being better than all you motherfuckers. Let’s try to keep this to wrestling, alright?”
Not everything was going to be a softball question. Jojo liked to think she had an intelligent fanbase built up over the course of a decade. But the first person to ask if wrestling was face was going to get a DDT right through the weight bench. The steel weight bench.
“Lady Miyazaki....”
“Ah, you know how I like to be referred. You first.”
“Thank you... Lady Miyazaki, you’ve held two belts at once in two countries... Hardcore and Tag champs with your sister in Tokyo Goddess Pro, and the Internet and Tag titles twice, once with Daisy Revolver, and once with Mary Arson in Mexico City Burning Lucha Libre... you’re so successful overseas, why come to America? I mean, most people in America don’t respect wrestling.”
Jojo leaned forward slightly, looking at the fan with a grin as she took another swig. “Because of people like you. I mean, look at that. You were able to rattle off my history just like that. I’ve said it before. Over in Japan, wrestling is a sport. In Mexico, it’s tradition. In America, it’s bullshit. American wrestling, and American wrestlers, aren’t worth shit...”
Jojo grinned slightly, watching the faces of the crowd in front of her as she took another swig.
“But damned if American wrestling fans aren’t some of the greatest motherfuckers around. I mean, how many of you motherfuckers still watch that bullshit coming out of Stamford? I mean, back home, they’d have run the place out of business after that Katie Vick bullshit. And Japan has MORE tolerance for wild gimmicks.”
Another fan stepped up as Jojo went to polishing off her bottle of sake.
“Lady Miyazaki, speaking of those gimmicks. Before you settled with glorious Chris as Violent Drunkard, you had a ton of wild gimmicks. What gimmick do you think is closest to the real you?”
The fans braced for the answer, having the eerie feeling they already knew what it was... and indeed, whether she was being a general for the forces of evil, a mad painter, a cyborg assassin from the future, or a mythic fiery phoenix, she gave that question the same reply...
“This IS the real me. Right now.”
“Lady Miyazaki, there’s a Pay-Per-View next week, and somehow you were able to get that spot alongside Ellis at the Tag Titles. So that double gold thing is a lock, but the question is, why did you get chosen of all people for that shot?”
Jojo sneered slightly, finishing off her bottle. “You saying I don’t deserve it?”
She watched the fan sweat for a few seconds and stammer for an answer before she let loose with a deep, guttural laugh. “Just fucking with you. Actually, Sean Hughes, this ‘rookie of the year’ guy who got pushed to the main event WAY too soon, got fired or dropped or got a sinus infection or something. Apparently, Logan couldn’t be assed to hunt down another contender, so since Ellis was getting the short end of the fucking stick, they let her manager choose someone... you remember Kikyo? Managed me when I was doing the Jo Phoenix thing in Mexico in the year between Violent Drunkard and coming here?”
“Why did you break off your relation with Matchbox Kikyo anyways?”
“Because I really didn’t need it anymore. She was kinda cramping my style anyways. After I picked up the language, got my oversees shit in order, we split up.”
“What do you think about Torture and Nytro? You’ve already fought them once and...”
Jojo grabbed another bottle of sake as she cut the fan off. “... and Ace was the one who fucking got pinned, not me. He was the weak fucking link. All that bullshit about being the highest card in the deck? He’s not even that... what’s that little faggot card they always throw in, the useless one that they use to tell people poker hands. That’s Ace. As for Tort and Nytro, I’ll admit, I got caught off-guard by them last time. But second chances are what I’m all about. I got fucking Torture’s number this time around, that ancient motherfucker. And that Nytro faggot too, with the fucking UFO crap, butt-raped by an alien probe.”
“What’s your opinion on your new partner Ellis?”
For the first time that afternoon, Jojo was silent for a few seconds as she picked up her gym bag. “I dunno. Jury’s still out on that kid. All I know is that as a team, we’re 1-0. Look, it’s been a hell of a time, but I gotta get on my way. Got appointments and all that shit, so you guys get your tickets to Timebomb, and get your asses to the WCF this Sunday, and I’ll see you motherfuckers around. After a workout like this, I gotta get back to my hotel and... take a nice... long... hot shower.”
Not wanting to see how many of these IWC fans had ‘exploded’ at that mention, Jo made her way out of the gym, and made the short walk back to South Ashford Heights, bag slung over her back. Gotta shower, gotta update my website with these new muscle and fan pics and that interview, and then a fancy dinner on the town, courtesy of the Pao-Pao Cafe.
Work never stops, she thought with a grin.
Another day, another Yen, another workout for the woman quickly becoming the next big cult favorite wrestler. Josephine was already heavily into her daily workout, laying back on the bench in the rather large gym situated within walking distance from the WCF arena, clothed in a sports bra and pair of tights that pretty much mimicked her wrestling attire. She knew the fans were going to be out in full force today, why not have a little fun with them? So there she was, blond hair cascading behind her, as she bench-pressed more weight than she was sure anyone watching her could. After that final rep almost set her arms on fire, she screamed out, racking the bar and sitting back up to the applause of the teenaged male crowd that had become glued to her workout.
“FUCKING A RIGHT!”, Jojo screamed, letting loose with an impressive bicep flex. Always give the fans what they want, she thought as she reached for a towel, leaning against the large barbell as she grinned at her impromptu audience. No matter where Josephine was over the course of her life, or the dozens of gimmicks she’d wrestled as over the course of a decade, she knew that was the cardinal rule. Especially in independent federations like this.
Usually when she was out on the town, Jojo didn’t like messing around with the usually obsessive and horny fan base she’d built up. But it was important to schedule out moments like this, to keep them happy. So a good 15-30 pictures for her website and a handful of autographed pictures later, Josephine had finally gotten her hands on a bottle of sake, and sat down for a small Q&A session recorded by a small tape recorder in her gym bag.
“Alright, motherfuckers. Let’s get the obvious questions out of the way. If any of you think I take steroids or any of that other bullshit, you can check any of the drug tests from any of the all-natural bodybuilding shows I’ve done recently. Anyone who thinks my tits are fake can go to my website and see just how big they were at 14. Good genetics, hard work, and generally being better than all you motherfuckers. Let’s try to keep this to wrestling, alright?”
Not everything was going to be a softball question. Jojo liked to think she had an intelligent fanbase built up over the course of a decade. But the first person to ask if wrestling was face was going to get a DDT right through the weight bench. The steel weight bench.
“Lady Miyazaki....”
“Ah, you know how I like to be referred. You first.”
“Thank you... Lady Miyazaki, you’ve held two belts at once in two countries... Hardcore and Tag champs with your sister in Tokyo Goddess Pro, and the Internet and Tag titles twice, once with Daisy Revolver, and once with Mary Arson in Mexico City Burning Lucha Libre... you’re so successful overseas, why come to America? I mean, most people in America don’t respect wrestling.”
Jojo leaned forward slightly, looking at the fan with a grin as she took another swig. “Because of people like you. I mean, look at that. You were able to rattle off my history just like that. I’ve said it before. Over in Japan, wrestling is a sport. In Mexico, it’s tradition. In America, it’s bullshit. American wrestling, and American wrestlers, aren’t worth shit...”
Jojo grinned slightly, watching the faces of the crowd in front of her as she took another swig.
“But damned if American wrestling fans aren’t some of the greatest motherfuckers around. I mean, how many of you motherfuckers still watch that bullshit coming out of Stamford? I mean, back home, they’d have run the place out of business after that Katie Vick bullshit. And Japan has MORE tolerance for wild gimmicks.”
Another fan stepped up as Jojo went to polishing off her bottle of sake.
“Lady Miyazaki, speaking of those gimmicks. Before you settled with glorious Chris as Violent Drunkard, you had a ton of wild gimmicks. What gimmick do you think is closest to the real you?”
The fans braced for the answer, having the eerie feeling they already knew what it was... and indeed, whether she was being a general for the forces of evil, a mad painter, a cyborg assassin from the future, or a mythic fiery phoenix, she gave that question the same reply...
“This IS the real me. Right now.”
“Lady Miyazaki, there’s a Pay-Per-View next week, and somehow you were able to get that spot alongside Ellis at the Tag Titles. So that double gold thing is a lock, but the question is, why did you get chosen of all people for that shot?”
Jojo sneered slightly, finishing off her bottle. “You saying I don’t deserve it?”
She watched the fan sweat for a few seconds and stammer for an answer before she let loose with a deep, guttural laugh. “Just fucking with you. Actually, Sean Hughes, this ‘rookie of the year’ guy who got pushed to the main event WAY too soon, got fired or dropped or got a sinus infection or something. Apparently, Logan couldn’t be assed to hunt down another contender, so since Ellis was getting the short end of the fucking stick, they let her manager choose someone... you remember Kikyo? Managed me when I was doing the Jo Phoenix thing in Mexico in the year between Violent Drunkard and coming here?”
“Why did you break off your relation with Matchbox Kikyo anyways?”
“Because I really didn’t need it anymore. She was kinda cramping my style anyways. After I picked up the language, got my oversees shit in order, we split up.”
“What do you think about Torture and Nytro? You’ve already fought them once and...”
Jojo grabbed another bottle of sake as she cut the fan off. “... and Ace was the one who fucking got pinned, not me. He was the weak fucking link. All that bullshit about being the highest card in the deck? He’s not even that... what’s that little faggot card they always throw in, the useless one that they use to tell people poker hands. That’s Ace. As for Tort and Nytro, I’ll admit, I got caught off-guard by them last time. But second chances are what I’m all about. I got fucking Torture’s number this time around, that ancient motherfucker. And that Nytro faggot too, with the fucking UFO crap, butt-raped by an alien probe.”
“What’s your opinion on your new partner Ellis?”
For the first time that afternoon, Jojo was silent for a few seconds as she picked up her gym bag. “I dunno. Jury’s still out on that kid. All I know is that as a team, we’re 1-0. Look, it’s been a hell of a time, but I gotta get on my way. Got appointments and all that shit, so you guys get your tickets to Timebomb, and get your asses to the WCF this Sunday, and I’ll see you motherfuckers around. After a workout like this, I gotta get back to my hotel and... take a nice... long... hot shower.”
Not wanting to see how many of these IWC fans had ‘exploded’ at that mention, Jo made her way out of the gym, and made the short walk back to South Ashford Heights, bag slung over her back. Gotta shower, gotta update my website with these new muscle and fan pics and that interview, and then a fancy dinner on the town, courtesy of the Pao-Pao Cafe.
Work never stops, she thought with a grin.
