November 2, 2014

Hello, Misty. Remember me? Oh, I'm sure you do, especially now that your biggest SVW claim to fame has come to rest around my waist— ah, but let's not forget how upset you are about how my so-called stooge insurance policy acquainted himself with your head. And let's face it, sweetie. It's not just you. Everyone out there is spweing all this jealousy-feuled vitriol where I'm concerned. I don't deserve to be champion because I didn't pin you all by myself. They claim I'm not skilled enough to defeat you on my own.

And really, let's forget that I've actually had quite a few moments in my career where I didn't pull off some spectacular stunt to pull out the big W. Let's focus solely on YOU and how unbelievably butthurt you are that your moment to gloat about beating Chrissy Kane was cut short by little ol' me. Poor, poor Misty Whitmore— so hard done by over here.

But I digress. I get where you're going with this little vendetta. You want to be the one who finally drives the unwanted little usurper bitch out of town. You want to show up at my door with the pitchforks and torches— angry mob mentality that your kind is so well-known for. Sure you do because you're the VOICE OF THE PEOPLE and I'm just the minority (despite the fact that I have a few friends who are ready and willing to come to my aid when I need them, unsolicited of course). Can you say the same?

Hardly.

And while the stipulations expressly state that Alex and Matthew are banned from ringside, there are no caveats for you. You could drag in the entire first row, use your precious PEOPLE to take me down, and that would be absolutely fine. Of course. Because you're Misty Whitmore and people like you? That's the most inane reason ever.

I know that's how you roll now that you've broken free from that false start you had, shackled to that vapid dipstick Kate Steele. Oh wait, is she still your stars or your moon or something? Honestly, I can barely keep up with all these connections around here. I'm just doing my best to make sure this Pride Championship around my waist isn't mired forever in mediocrity, buried like it was around your waist and Chrissy's before that— wait what? I typed it. I know what I meant and this belt has been all but meaningless since it left the waist of Claire Black. Remember when Larry Gowan tried more than once to win it? Do you remember how the world went absolutely berserk when he walked out of his match when he almost had the champion worn down simply because the Suicide Sisters were backstage, beating up poor wittle Chauncy while he was tied to a chair? Do you remember how they ridiculed him for choosing his partner over this belt? I'm sure you actually don't because that was right around the time you debuted, right when SVW was really taking off. Back then, there was a waiting list a mile long and people CARED about the product. The belts were important and not simply because they were shiny prizes.

They meant something.

But for you, this isn't about beating me for the ultimate prize. It's not even about righting a wrong.

It's about you and your gigantic ego and the fact that they all pander to you on this makes me sick. When you won, nobody even mentioned that Toronto was MY hometown as well. Of course not. You were the supreme little hero, basking in your moment while I got to regroup, lick my wounds and come up with a better game plan.

I did. And that's what irks you, isn't it? Tonight, this is history in the making— some epic little rivalry that you're barely equipped to handle. It doesn't matter because you're going to charge in there without a single thought, thinking that you've got the odds stacked in your favour. Tonight you can beat Nessa and walk out of that building with your belt back and that little blemish wiped off the wall thanks to Mr. Clean's little magic eraser.

You want that feather for your cap, right? Of course you do— I mean I did spit in the proverbial face of this lovely little organization, after all. According to you, I disrespected the belt. Apparently I took a big steaming crap all over the opportunities that my unworthy yet PERFECT ass was handed. According to you I'm the worst thing in this business. I can think of worse things than a pissed off girl who doesn't feel like being Chrissy Kane's personal piñata, but hey, let's not split hairs. You're the greatest Pride Champion ever, and I'm just the lowly piece of gum on the bottom of your shoe. I'll smile and nod to whatever accusations you want to pin to this. Say what you want, Misty. Everyone knows the truth. They all know that when push comes to shove, I'm still better than you.

Strip away the hubris and I still have the skill.

I've trained with Matt Stone, Brad Jackson, Larry Gowan and Matt Ford (the latter, you likely don't know but he held all the belts in FTW and was a pretty big deal in those circles).

Talk's cheap, sweetie. Maybe if you hadn't exhausted yourself with all those empty threats, you might have presented more of a challenge to my friends. Damn, is it too soon? My bad.

Frankly, I find this little game to be a nice diversion— hilarious, even.

It's so damned hard to stand here with my thumb up my ass and pretend that I'm not ten seconds from melting down while Misty Whitmore mocks everything and anything in my life. Pained silence is my best friend right now. I'm sure you're going to ask me how I can claim to be alone when I've got faithful friends who are more than willing to skew the odds for me? Hah. Let's be honest, Misty. I'm loved. As much as you hate to admit it— they love me. Mika loves me. Matt is my best friend and partner. Alex is my soulmate. I don't require their help. I made it to the Future Shock semi-finals TWICE on my own merit. Besides, why is it so bad to have allies? Who do you have other than Kate Steele? Your worthless husband, the 16 year old child? Gosh. That's exciting.

You're not the voice of any people I know.

You're a fraud and I cannot wait to expose you to the world.

Just you and I out there, Misty. No allies. No friends.

Just my educated feet against yours.

"I will beat Nessa Wall." I heard you said that. I didn't laugh. Everyone needs hope. Take it where you can find it.

I don't hold out hope. That's a ticket to humiliation. That is the only thing I am good at. Besides being the smartest woman in this business, and holding my ground. <p>

Doesn't matter. At the end of the day, when the rest of the universe is rallying with the torches and pitchforks to drive the monster out of town, I've got something to hold onto.

I have PRIDE.

I have the belt, Misty.

All the words in the world, all the voices screaming in protest won't change that.

It's your moment to shine, Misty. Everyone is waiting. Everyone is watching. No pressure or anything, but if you screw this up, you have NOBODY to blame but your pathetic self. Remember that when t he bell rings and I still have my gold.

I'll be nice just this once and not say "I told you so."

#kissykissy

—Ness