WANTED : Office Help

I, Battlelines 37

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  • Grace Goeren
    Grace Goeren

    Okay…everyone just chill.  All y’all good.  Don’t go boofin’ on me just yet.  Aint none of you do a damn thing…I don’t fuck with you, you don’t fuck me with…

    There is heavy tension in the room as Grace Goeren scans the faces that stare back at her, seeing a wide variety of emotions from the gathered crowd.

    Anxiety.

    Fear.  

    Anger.  

    This is a very delicate situation that should be dealt with all the precision of a surgical scalpel.

    Unfortunately Grace has all the tact and precision of an oversized clown mallet.

    Fuck me, I’m deadass serious right now.  If any of you twats even dream about getting a hard on and jumpin’ me right now I will rip all two inches off your scrote and shove that firecracker right up your own ass…

    The situation has not improved.

    While doing her half-assed best to defuse the situation outwardly, in reality there is no greater pleasure in Grace’s life than having people react to her.  Watching people respond and adjust to her very presence is very soothing to the God Queen.

    It’s all about the physics.

    For a young woman who was invisible to the world for so long and who was treated as an object for many horrifically abused years…to receive such a reaction based on her unannounced appearance is enough to stroke her already out of control ego beyond measure.

    People see her and expect the worst.

    And in this particular case on this particular day in this particular building…they’re absolutely right.

    Soooooooooooo…whatcha all up to today?  EWA stuff?  Booking planes and shit for all the salty fuckwits on the roster who can’t afford private flights?

    The gathered mass of people who have formed a semi-circle around her have no reaction to her latest statement.  Grace finds herself at the EWA Headquarters here in Boston today, having just arrived and blown past security on her way to the first floor.  Most of the people here are fresh out of college or even interns…they have menial light office jobs as a way to pad their resume or work their way up to something bigger within the company.

    This is the stepping stone to greater things…most of the people here have never even met any of the wrestlers in person yet.  Until today that is.

    Sensing that she’s getting nowhere with this crowd, Grace flips back her hoodie and adjusts her gold-framed Oakleys before walking towards one of the cubicles.  She peers down into a cardboard box that was resting on someone’s desk and sneers at its contents.

    You fuckin’ kidding me?  Oh I can’t even…I can’t even.

    Grace removes a handful of action figures from the box, most notably a Sahara and Maggie McIntyre figure.  Prototypes from the new toy deal that EWA made several months ago, finally ready to hit the merchandise stands just in time for Christmas.  Grace tosses the Maggie figure over her shoulder, discarding it in a nearby garbage can.  She peers down at the Sahara figure and glances up at an extremely nervous young lady who is standing off to the side.

    This your desk?

    …yeah…yes.  Yes it is, Miss. Goeren.

    Uh huh…and whatcha doin’ with these?

    We’re…getting ready to send them to Seattle.  And put them for sale on the website.

    I got one?

    I’m…I’m not sure, these are the only ones they sent us.

    Uh huh.  Well I swung on in here to help you people today and that’s exactly what I’m gonna do.

    You want to help us?

    Did I fucking st…st…stutter?  RIP me, are all of you this fucking tarded?  Here, I’m gonna steal your pen for a sec…just want to make a few notes for whoever the hell makes these.  

    Going right to work, Grace jots down a few suggestions on a blank sheet of paper before clearing her throat and reading aloud to her captured audience.

    Number one…you all made Sahara FAR too pretty.  I don’t see any of the open meth sores on her face or the needle tracks in her arms.  We gotta fix that.  Our fans DEMAND total accuracy!  Someone making a copy of these suggestions?  You!  Pinky, get on this shit.

    The woman next to Grace, who had on a solitary pink bracelet, gets the hint and starts jotting down Grace’s ramblings.

    Number two…this action figure needs a gimmick.  Maybe make a hole in Sahara’s back that you can blow into and her wrecked roast beef pussy starts whistling?  Or how about we dunk some of these in just a swimming pool of chlamydia?  1 in 3 gets you an STD, just like being near that bitch.  Totes accurate if you ask me.  Shit, I’m on a roll here…can’t waste my time just working on action figures.  What other problems you all need me to solve?

    Grace begins to walk towards another EWA employee’s desk but not before tossing the Sahara figure into a nearby ficus.

    Bye felicia…so yeah, we all good for Seattle?  We gots the cameras and lighting crew and sound stuff to make me look fuckin’ fab again?  Last show I noticed my boy Vincent Ashe’s mic kept dropping when he was talking about me, maybe get him two mics so that doesn’t happen again?

    Miss. Goeren?

    Holy shit, it speaks!  What can I do for ya?

    We’re not in charge of production.

    Oh.  That ain’t a surprise I guess…none of y’all look like you have any idea what I’m talkin’ about anyways.  I’m sure there are PLENTY of other ways I can help you all out though.  You’re my babies, after all.  Every single should-have-been-aborted one of you.  My little retard dumpster babies, Mommy loves all y’all freaky asses!

    Are you…okay?

    Grace takes a big sniff and smiles.

    Never better.  So what exactly do you all do every day?

    The young lady, who seems to have been unofficially elected as the speaker of the group, clears her throat and shrugs her shoulders.

    I mean…we just do what needs to get done.  We make phone calls.  We ship stuff out.  We call airlines and rental car agencies to make sure everyone is taken care of…

    And?

    And…that’s kinda…it.

    Grace shakes her head and throws an arm over the now terrified young woman, walking her over to the glass window that overlooks the parking lot.

    Sweetie…don’t you get it?  All of y’all are the whole reason that EWA even exists.  You’re being exploited, ya feel me?  That’s why you’re here on the bottom floor…everyone in the penthouses above us think they can just use all of you for your talents and then toss you aside like a tampon.  Trust me, I know how that feels.  They do the same thing to me.  But nuh-uh…we’re not gonna take it anymore, isn’t that what that drag queen said?  The way I sees it, you’re all the backbone of this company.  The real leaders and movers and shakers.  That’s why I wanted to drop by and help…to let you know that I’m not like that cunt twizzler Stacy Vandervort.  I don’t look down on you.  You…

    Grace spins the young girl around and gives her a violent shake of the shoulders before pulling her in for a tremendously awkward hug..

    You’re my babies.  And you all are fuckin’ AWESOME.  Don’t let those fuckers upstairs push you around…demand more money!  More sick days!  Better benefits!  Nap time at 11AM, 1PM and 3PM!  We are the youth of America and we ain’t ever gonna get pushed around ever aga…

    GRACE!

    Grace spins around and spots EWA’s Head of Public Relations Shawna Jackson standing in the elevator, hands on her hips.  She holds out her hands and motions for her to come closer to her.

    Oh shit, sorry y’all.  Power to the people and all of that shit.  I got a meeting to hit up.

    Grace bounds over to the elevator and gives Shawna a playful slug on the shoulder.  Shawna rubs the spot that Grace just smacked her at and whispers over to her.

    The fuck is all of this?

    Just creating a little chaos at the street level, that’s all.  Kill those 1% assholes and all that jazz.

    Bitch, you are the 1%.

    These fuckweebles don’t know that.

    Come on, let’s get up to my office.  I got some new t-shirt designs to go over.  Tag-team ones with you and Alice.

    Sweet…just make sure I’m front and center.

    Like always.

    Yeah, like fucking always.

    As the elevator doors slowly begin to close, Grace throws a defiant raised fist in the air at her “comrades” on the main floor before the doors shut and she begins her ascent towards the penthouse.  The young woman who Grace was speaking with looks around her and shakes her head at her co-workers…seemingly lost in thought.

    You know guys…they really should pay us more…

    *****************************

    S’up Marisol.

    Cool face paint and shit.

    I gotta admit, it was fun to finally get a chance to see all of that crap up close and personal at the last Battellines.  

    Alice describing the whole costume to me beforehand really doesn’t do it justice.  

    That woman just doesn’t have a storytellers panache, ya feel me?  You’re lucky to get a few grunts out of her retarded ass…she has no sense of theatrics and showmanship.

    Not like you.  You got that shit down pat.

    You really got this queen of the damned thing going for you so big props to you, Aaliyah.  Finally got them all talking about your spooky latina ass.

    And hey, what I said a few weeks back about you and the rest of the Erinyes still stands.  This entire shitty-ass promotion is full of misogynists who want to keep their old boy network alive by any means necessary after people like you and me have put it in fuckin’ hospice.

    I mean, mostly me…but y’all helped.

    A little.

    What I’m saying is unlike half the fucking roster, I don’t necessarily hate any of you crazy bitches in the Erinyes, let alone you.  You serve a purpose here.  I saw what you did to my beautiful special baby Alice at Battlelines and that ain’t fucking easy to do.  Hell, it looked like you didn’t even register when she started wailing on you…you just took them shots like a fucking champ and then dished it right back out.

    So props to you, now I know you can take a beating from my socially handicapped giantess of a follower.

    But attacking Alice after a match is over and fighting me one on one…?

    Yeah…a little bit of a different beast there, Lady Punisher.

    Now I ain’t curvin’ you or anything…I’m taking you as serious as a fat kid heart attack.  But here’s the big thing that you haven’t realized just yet.

    I’m letting you fight me, not the other way around.

    Just because you have a championship around your waist doesn’t mean that you’re at my level because the only chica at my level is me, myself and fucking I.

    I don’t have peers or constituents or equals.

    I am the top fucking wrestler in the game and I’m not even in my god-damn prime yet.  Fuck, I JUST turned 19 last month.  Do you know what that’s like?  To have been this successful so early and have so many people tell you how great you are?

    Fuck…of course you have no idea, that was stupid of me for even saying that.

    You’re big and you’re tough and you’re one mean sister…and if this was just a regular ol’ match maybe you’d even have a chance at getting in a few shots against me.

    But this ain’t no ordinary match.

    You’ve got something that belongs to me just like every god-damn title in this place belongs to me.  Which means that as long as you and your friends carry those straps, you are targets.

    So every single day you are champion, consider that a day that you’ve been marked.  Once you do the polite thing and hand the belts over to me…then hey…we’re peachy keen again.  I want nothing but the best for you and your fam.

    But until that day comes I will never stop hunting you down, Mrs. Skeletor.

    You can play every-day Halloween all you like and be as moody and creepy as you want to be…but just know that type of shit might work on the rest of the roster but it doesn’t even come close to making me fear you.

    I’ve been in the ring with legends and I’ve beaten them all.  You name em’ and I’ve beaten them down like fucking animals.  I’ve headlined arenas all over the world and competed in the most violent and sadistically twisted matches that have been dreamed of.

    I am EWA.

    So when Battlelines rolls around, forgive me if I’m not shakin’ in my booties at the sight of ya.

    Its because I can see through your make believe world, my darling Santa Muerte.

    And I know exactly what you are.

    You’re playing dress up with the big girls now.

    And no matter what you do or don’t say…I think one thing is pretty clear.

    Your father would be so disappointed in the woman you’ve become.

    You’ve let him down.  As a wrestler.  As a woman.  As a daughter.

    You’re an embarrassment to the entire family name you’ve rejected.  I took my pig father’s name and made it into something greater…you’ve run away from yours and hide behind face paint, hoping the pain goes away.

    It never does.  It only gets worse.

    I promise you that, Marisol.

    I will make it so much worse on you until those title belts are mine.

    Starting at Battlelines.

    Starting with you.

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