Post by Deleted on Mar 14, 2013 11:16:13 GMT -6
I suppose its time for a little story time. After all. Everyone knows I want the World Title. However, no one really knows WHY I want the belt. Assholes like Kronin think they know. But while that smug son of a bitch was running his mouth on the radio, all he was doing was making an ass out of himself. Bottom line is everyone thinks they have the ‘inside scoop’ on Valora. On what makes me tick. I’ve been trying to keep things close to the vest, but perhaps a little show and tell will be a good thing. So buckle the fuck up kids. This ain’t gonna be a smooth ride and it definitely won’t be PG...
I was born in the American Embassy in Mexico City. An American and Mexican citizen by birth. My mother worked at the Embassy, helping American diplomats learn Spanish. Learn Mexican customs and culture, helping them learn the power players in Mexico, shit like that. My father? Well he was an Enforcer for one of the Drug Cartels. However, the birth of me and my twin sister had convinced him to change his life and he, too, was working with the American government, the DEA in his case, to bring down the cartel. A few months after my twin sister and I were born, we had to flee the country, the cartel was on to us. My father... never made it to the U.S. My mom? Well the government rewarded her service by finding the shitiest house in South Central Los Angeles to dump us and... well.. that’s where I grew up.
I fought my way out of that fuckin’ barrio. Not to be demeaned by racist white assholes like the so called American Icon. But so that I wouldn’t end up like my mother, working in a fuckin’ hotel, serving rich white assholes. I got into USC on athletic scholarships for Soccer and Track and Field. I graduated with a degree in psychology, specialty in criminal/abnormal psychology...
Valora smiled. At last it was all over. College and medical school. She could even continue on a bit and become a doctor. Vanessa, a girl that had been Valora’s friends and more during her time in college, walked over and smiled. “Hey there, sexy. Finally getting out of Med school, huh?”
Vanessa. It was in highschool that I had... inklings of where I was on the sexuality scale. Vanessa and college pretty firmly settled the issue once and for all. Vanessa was the first and thus far only person I ever loved. Yes, I know... shocking. Valora, the super bitch did actually love... once. I won’t bore you with details here. Vanessa chose that day to tell me she was going to Mexico. To join the Mexican Federal Police. She asked... heh, practically begged me to come with her. I was young and naive and fuckin’ stupid so I went.
Now, for the ignorant white fuckers at home... Mexico is about where the U.S. was in the 1950-1960s... there are some jobs that are just not ‘women’ jobs. Being a cop is one. It’s a ‘man’s job’ Thus Vanessa and I had an uphill climb. But yet, we managed to do what none of the ‘men’ could do, led the Mexican Federal Police in a war with the cartels and dismantled a couple of them... That’s when it happened...
Vanessa and Valora sat at an outside table of the cafe, drinking their coffee. Both were decked out in their Mexican Federal Police Uniforms. Thus far, they had kept their love secret as Mexico was not very... open minded towards homosexuality. There were a bit more people out and about today, a result of the efforts of the ‘Federales’ as the Mexican Federal Police were commonly called. Valora nodded. “Alright now we should focus on mov-” She was cut off. She noticed the glint too late and blood splattered on her face, her uniform, her hands, her coffee... the map... A split second after the blood of her lover splattered on her, she heard the shot and tackled her lover.. It was, of course, too late. Hit directly in the heart. Vanessa choked and blood came out of her mouth “H...how bad?” Valora looked and knew her lover was dead and forced a smile on her face before kissing her lover... breaking the kiss and laughing a bit. “You kidding me? Its a fuckin’ scratch! Get up you prissy bitch.”
Ever have to look your lover in the eye and watch them die, powerless to stop it? People wonder where my humanity went. I buried it with Vanessa. I swore to her, in blood, that I’d never fail again. Never be weak again. That I’d get bloody vengeance in her name. Its why they call me the Angel of Death in Mexico. I killed cartel thugs, their families. Corrupt cops, their families. Corrupt politicians and their families. I killed and kept killing. Eventually, the Cartel caught me, raped and tortured me, further removed my humanity and put me to work for them... I finally came full circle and took the job my father once had. But I was better. Once more, I found myself in a man’s world. Once more I earned respect.
Eventually, I was able to part ways with the cartel. My training as a luchadora helped me do that. Wrestling... once more the woman in man’s world fighting for respect. But when I came to the U.S. I learned just how bad it was really was. You see, American pro-wrestling hates Mexicans and hates women. Well. I’m a Mexican woman. 2 strikes right there..
Valora walked into the manager’s office with a huge smile on her face. She had just showcased her skills and was sure she’d have her first big contract. She was so excited! The manager looked up and looked over her outfit. “Hmm.. yeah... that’s why I like you latina girls... not afraid to show some skin.. show a bit more and make sure you’re ready to take care of my boys.... meantime, under the desk.”
Valora blinked. “Wait.. what?” The man sighed and rolled his eyes. “Habla fuckin’ Ingles?! You’re a whore I send out to keep the horny men in the crowd buying tickets. You wanna work? This is how you do it.”
Most women just pretend that part of their careers never happened. I’ll say it though I don’t take pride in it. I’ve taken a few shots of some sleezeball manager’s cum to the mouth.. but then my big break came. Wrestling Midwest. I was finally judged by my talent. Not on who I fucked, not on backstage politics... none of that shit. Talent.
Wrestling Midwest Presents Party in the Plaza, Cleveland, Ohio. 2009:
The plate glass window shattered as Justin Evers threw Valora through it and Valora hit the ground as people nearby screamed and dialed 911. On pedestrian pass out after Valora rolled over and spit up blood on the woman’s shoes. WMW personnel had to run out and explain to the stunned fans that this was a special kind of wrestling match. The infamous Texas Death Match. The fight went on for another 45 mins to an hour after that with the fighters using dumpsters, cars and anything else they could to try and gain the edge. Finally, Valora pushed a medic out of the way and grabbed the defibrillator, turning and catching Justin Evers plush on the chest with it and pressing the buttons, nearly ending her opponent’s life that night and beginning her rise to the WMW federation title.
So, Colt. I have more than you. So much more. A far more interesting book, if I ever chose to write it down and a past. Oh yeah, and soon. I’ll have your belt. Why? What makes me so sure?
Valora walks through the neighborhood she stays in while she’s in Chicago, she wears one of her New Edge Themed hoodies and sighs, looking over the neighborhood. After a few minutes, she narrows her eyes and shakes her head.
Heh. Just like the fuckin’ barrio I grew up in. I’m going to win because I’m tired of failure. I am destined for better. My people deserve a fuckin’ champion they can be proud. Oh yeah.. Lets not forgot I’ve forgotten more about being a champ and leading a company than you’ll ever know, Colt. Oopps. I said forgot. That touch a nerve?
30 minutes, Colt. You have to fight me for 30 fuckin’ minutes. This isn’t a sprint to the finish where you only need to get lucky once. You have to go the distance with me. Remember. I used to play soccer and ran track and field. Tests of endurance are nothing new to me. This is going to be a first for both of us. The Iron man match. 15 minutes we fight my way. Mexican street fight. Just like back home... where white boys like you get chewed the fuck up and spit the fuck out. See... I’m not worried about your half. Contrary to popular opinion. I wrestle just fine. I just prefer to cause pain and suffering in that ring. But I can do that hardcore style, or I can embarrass you and beat you at your own game. Can you say the same?
Valora smirked as she made her way back to the garage she kept her bike and truck in. She walked along the truck, trailing her fingers over it, and one can tell the truck has been modified. A lot of money has gone into this pick up. Both it and her chopper style motorcycle are really the only things into which Valora has dumped a lot of money. Valora opens the hood of her truck and looks over the engine, smirking.
See how perfect everything looks? Every part is in its proper place. I’ve modified, maintained and worked on this engine myself. Right now, it runs perfectly. This could be New Edge Wrestling. Once I’m the World Champ... it will be. As they say... third time’s the charm. I’m comin’ for my belt. And Colt? Well Colt gets to say he lost two fuckin’ titles to me. Its time to prove my critics in NEW wrong. It’s time for Valora to win the big one. It’s time for my ascension.. Finally, All the dues I've paid. The blood, the sweat, all the times I've been booed and pelted with beer by fuckin' mouth breathers that are jealous of me... It all pays off in the form of a nice, shiny World Championship belt.
End. Of. Story.
I was born in the American Embassy in Mexico City. An American and Mexican citizen by birth. My mother worked at the Embassy, helping American diplomats learn Spanish. Learn Mexican customs and culture, helping them learn the power players in Mexico, shit like that. My father? Well he was an Enforcer for one of the Drug Cartels. However, the birth of me and my twin sister had convinced him to change his life and he, too, was working with the American government, the DEA in his case, to bring down the cartel. A few months after my twin sister and I were born, we had to flee the country, the cartel was on to us. My father... never made it to the U.S. My mom? Well the government rewarded her service by finding the shitiest house in South Central Los Angeles to dump us and... well.. that’s where I grew up.
I fought my way out of that fuckin’ barrio. Not to be demeaned by racist white assholes like the so called American Icon. But so that I wouldn’t end up like my mother, working in a fuckin’ hotel, serving rich white assholes. I got into USC on athletic scholarships for Soccer and Track and Field. I graduated with a degree in psychology, specialty in criminal/abnormal psychology...
Valora smiled. At last it was all over. College and medical school. She could even continue on a bit and become a doctor. Vanessa, a girl that had been Valora’s friends and more during her time in college, walked over and smiled. “Hey there, sexy. Finally getting out of Med school, huh?”
Vanessa. It was in highschool that I had... inklings of where I was on the sexuality scale. Vanessa and college pretty firmly settled the issue once and for all. Vanessa was the first and thus far only person I ever loved. Yes, I know... shocking. Valora, the super bitch did actually love... once. I won’t bore you with details here. Vanessa chose that day to tell me she was going to Mexico. To join the Mexican Federal Police. She asked... heh, practically begged me to come with her. I was young and naive and fuckin’ stupid so I went.
Now, for the ignorant white fuckers at home... Mexico is about where the U.S. was in the 1950-1960s... there are some jobs that are just not ‘women’ jobs. Being a cop is one. It’s a ‘man’s job’ Thus Vanessa and I had an uphill climb. But yet, we managed to do what none of the ‘men’ could do, led the Mexican Federal Police in a war with the cartels and dismantled a couple of them... That’s when it happened...
Vanessa and Valora sat at an outside table of the cafe, drinking their coffee. Both were decked out in their Mexican Federal Police Uniforms. Thus far, they had kept their love secret as Mexico was not very... open minded towards homosexuality. There were a bit more people out and about today, a result of the efforts of the ‘Federales’ as the Mexican Federal Police were commonly called. Valora nodded. “Alright now we should focus on mov-” She was cut off. She noticed the glint too late and blood splattered on her face, her uniform, her hands, her coffee... the map... A split second after the blood of her lover splattered on her, she heard the shot and tackled her lover.. It was, of course, too late. Hit directly in the heart. Vanessa choked and blood came out of her mouth “H...how bad?” Valora looked and knew her lover was dead and forced a smile on her face before kissing her lover... breaking the kiss and laughing a bit. “You kidding me? Its a fuckin’ scratch! Get up you prissy bitch.”
Ever have to look your lover in the eye and watch them die, powerless to stop it? People wonder where my humanity went. I buried it with Vanessa. I swore to her, in blood, that I’d never fail again. Never be weak again. That I’d get bloody vengeance in her name. Its why they call me the Angel of Death in Mexico. I killed cartel thugs, their families. Corrupt cops, their families. Corrupt politicians and their families. I killed and kept killing. Eventually, the Cartel caught me, raped and tortured me, further removed my humanity and put me to work for them... I finally came full circle and took the job my father once had. But I was better. Once more, I found myself in a man’s world. Once more I earned respect.
Eventually, I was able to part ways with the cartel. My training as a luchadora helped me do that. Wrestling... once more the woman in man’s world fighting for respect. But when I came to the U.S. I learned just how bad it was really was. You see, American pro-wrestling hates Mexicans and hates women. Well. I’m a Mexican woman. 2 strikes right there..
Valora walked into the manager’s office with a huge smile on her face. She had just showcased her skills and was sure she’d have her first big contract. She was so excited! The manager looked up and looked over her outfit. “Hmm.. yeah... that’s why I like you latina girls... not afraid to show some skin.. show a bit more and make sure you’re ready to take care of my boys.... meantime, under the desk.”
Valora blinked. “Wait.. what?” The man sighed and rolled his eyes. “Habla fuckin’ Ingles?! You’re a whore I send out to keep the horny men in the crowd buying tickets. You wanna work? This is how you do it.”
Most women just pretend that part of their careers never happened. I’ll say it though I don’t take pride in it. I’ve taken a few shots of some sleezeball manager’s cum to the mouth.. but then my big break came. Wrestling Midwest. I was finally judged by my talent. Not on who I fucked, not on backstage politics... none of that shit. Talent.
Wrestling Midwest Presents Party in the Plaza, Cleveland, Ohio. 2009:
The plate glass window shattered as Justin Evers threw Valora through it and Valora hit the ground as people nearby screamed and dialed 911. On pedestrian pass out after Valora rolled over and spit up blood on the woman’s shoes. WMW personnel had to run out and explain to the stunned fans that this was a special kind of wrestling match. The infamous Texas Death Match. The fight went on for another 45 mins to an hour after that with the fighters using dumpsters, cars and anything else they could to try and gain the edge. Finally, Valora pushed a medic out of the way and grabbed the defibrillator, turning and catching Justin Evers plush on the chest with it and pressing the buttons, nearly ending her opponent’s life that night and beginning her rise to the WMW federation title.
So, Colt. I have more than you. So much more. A far more interesting book, if I ever chose to write it down and a past. Oh yeah, and soon. I’ll have your belt. Why? What makes me so sure?
Valora walks through the neighborhood she stays in while she’s in Chicago, she wears one of her New Edge Themed hoodies and sighs, looking over the neighborhood. After a few minutes, she narrows her eyes and shakes her head.
Heh. Just like the fuckin’ barrio I grew up in. I’m going to win because I’m tired of failure. I am destined for better. My people deserve a fuckin’ champion they can be proud. Oh yeah.. Lets not forgot I’ve forgotten more about being a champ and leading a company than you’ll ever know, Colt. Oopps. I said forgot. That touch a nerve?
30 minutes, Colt. You have to fight me for 30 fuckin’ minutes. This isn’t a sprint to the finish where you only need to get lucky once. You have to go the distance with me. Remember. I used to play soccer and ran track and field. Tests of endurance are nothing new to me. This is going to be a first for both of us. The Iron man match. 15 minutes we fight my way. Mexican street fight. Just like back home... where white boys like you get chewed the fuck up and spit the fuck out. See... I’m not worried about your half. Contrary to popular opinion. I wrestle just fine. I just prefer to cause pain and suffering in that ring. But I can do that hardcore style, or I can embarrass you and beat you at your own game. Can you say the same?
Valora smirked as she made her way back to the garage she kept her bike and truck in. She walked along the truck, trailing her fingers over it, and one can tell the truck has been modified. A lot of money has gone into this pick up. Both it and her chopper style motorcycle are really the only things into which Valora has dumped a lot of money. Valora opens the hood of her truck and looks over the engine, smirking.
See how perfect everything looks? Every part is in its proper place. I’ve modified, maintained and worked on this engine myself. Right now, it runs perfectly. This could be New Edge Wrestling. Once I’m the World Champ... it will be. As they say... third time’s the charm. I’m comin’ for my belt. And Colt? Well Colt gets to say he lost two fuckin’ titles to me. Its time to prove my critics in NEW wrong. It’s time for Valora to win the big one. It’s time for my ascension.. Finally, All the dues I've paid. The blood, the sweat, all the times I've been booed and pelted with beer by fuckin' mouth breathers that are jealous of me... It all pays off in the form of a nice, shiny World Championship belt.
End. Of. Story.