It would seem as though competition actually does exsist within the confines of ECW. And from a 'Roach' no less. You know, people say that being overly gimmickie is extremely lame so...what does that make 'Roach'? The Queen of lame?! Let's start at the very beginning, shall we? 'Roach' came to ECW just another useless girl wanting to make it big in the wide world of wrestling and, of course, wanted ECW to be her "beginning" or her "stomping grounds" but, there was a major flaw in her little plain. She was sanctioned to face yours truly; moi. Poor thing, and she actually thinks that she stands a chance. That, of course, is if she's not lost in translation...or bud. Guess Buddah Lovin' lives at her house, eh? Now, when I walked into the company I figured that I'd run across dames like her. The one's that try to be too "unique" only to find themselves stuck in the rankings with every other bitch that walks the face of this earth. And what makes her so unique? Because she decided to get high on live television? Or maybe because she wanted to show the world that she was nothing more then some poor schumck, wasting away to nothingness because she'd much rather spend money on weed then on the proper necessities to actually make a home a home? Surrrrrre. How very unique of her. Maybe next, we can see her leap off twenty foot ladders through eight tables and still manage to walk away; find a dog, name it Jack, own a trailer home in hopes of turning it into an actual house; burn it down -- get suspended for failing a drug test right before the biggest match of her life; then act like the super hero for privacy and "I made my mistakes, I've learned from them". Where have we seen that before?! Oh....that's right...it's the montre that Jeff Hardy lives his life by. And the Oscar for biggest Douchebag Jackass goes to..........Roach, for being nothing more then a useless little gutter tramp -- quite literally, actually. Bravo dear, bravo.

•�?nbsp;chantal felix •�?nbsp;the motherfucking queen of carnage •�?/STRONG>

It would seem as though competition actually does exsist within the confines of ECW. And from a 'Roach' no less. You know, people say that being overly gimmickie is extremely lame so...what does that make 'Roach'? The Queen of lame?! Let's start at the very beginning, shall we? 'Roach' came to ECW just another useless girl wanting to make it big in the wide world of wrestling and, of course, wanted ECW to be her "beginning" or her "stomping grounds" but, there was a major flaw in her little plain. She was sanctioned to face yours truly; moi. Poor thing, and she actually thinks that she stands a chance. That, of course, is if she's not lost in translation...or bud. Guess Buddah Lovin' lives at her house, eh? Now, when I walked into the company I figured that I'd run across dames like her. The one's that try to be too "unique" only to find themselves stuck in the rankings with every other bitch that walks the face of this earth. And what makes her so unique? Because she decided to get high on live television? Or maybe because she wanted to show the world that she was nothing more then some poor schumck, wasting away to nothingness because she'd much rather spend money on weed then on the proper necessities to actually make a home a home? Surrrrrre. How very unique of her. Maybe next, we can see her leap off twenty foot ladders through eight tables and still manage to walk away; find a dog, name it Jack, own a trailer home in hopes of turning it into an actual house; burn it down -- get suspended for failing a drug test right before the biggest match of her life; then act like the super hero for privacy and "I made my mistakes, I've learned from them". Where have we seen that before?! Oh....that's right...it's the montre that Jeff Hardy lives his life by. And the Oscar for biggest Douchebag Jackass goes to..........Roach, for being nothing more then a useless little gutter tramp -- quite literally, actually. Bravo dear, bravo. I guess The Walking Contradiction is all the rage now...I mean, we all know that 'Roach' lives up to it, right? And, it's even more sad that her first line against me was that I'm "dog ugly"...riiiight. At least I don't look like the evil dyke from hell, darling. But, I guess we can't blame all of her stupidity -- and ugliness -- just on her. I'm sure somewhere lies some sad, tragedy story about how she was abused as a child by a rapist father and a drunken, druggie mother. Brothers that molested her, aunts and uncles that didn't care. She was poor, living on the streets, having to learn how to fend for herself. I mean, that is everyone's back story now'days...right? But I'm the cliche and she's the unique one. Righto, darling. Well, all I can say for 'Roach' is...at least we know this one doesn't die when you drown them in water. Oh yeah, and that she bathes. Good because, the stincth of loser and stanky cunt makes me barf. At least, when I beat her, I won't have to get a riff of what she wore eight weeks ago. Aye, that would've driven me absolutely bonkers. Do I feel sorry for the useless waste of space? Hardly. She opened her mouth, she was better off being just like every other dame in this establishment; keeping her cock sucker closed buuuut, she wanted to 'bring a challenge' -- "she never backs down from a challenge" -- how very heroic of her. Someone get the barf bag! And yes, people, this is one of those eye rolling moments. She could've just walked on to next week, nothing on her mind but whatever match she gets next, never having to have dealt with me. She could've just pretended like this match didn't matter. Kind of like how "nothing matters anymore". Wasn't Emo out three years ago? Someone get me My Chemical Romance...maybe they can make another death song and play it for poor little Roach as she scurries to put the pieces of her broken life back together again. So, if nothing matters then...why does she care so much on winning this match? Why does she care so much, about the other useless tramps that do or don't show for this match? Why does she care about being a champion in ECW? The Walking Contradiction; two -- the rest of the sane world; zero. I guess it's true what they say; every companies going to have at least one person on the roster that wastes away to nothing. Maybe I'll do ECW a favor and just stomp the 'Roach' to death... -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Things seemed quite chaotic in this building. People seemed to fly by and there was a line that wrapped around the entire cafeteria. Women and men surrounded this place and yes, even children. I peered down, from the upper level, as I sat at the edge. The entire upper level was made of metal, it was nothing more then a platform used by the cleaning crew to store necessities like brooms and mopes, that held all electrical outlets and wires -- the heating and air conditioning unit -- the main circuit breaker. The entire upper level consisted of utility closests and the average person was never found up here. There was a winding staircase, a metal one, that lead from behind the kitchen area up to the upper level, and I happened to trot along it, as if nothing was wrong. I slunk my way past all the staff, scaled the steps methodically and found the perfect spot to just watch. I took a seat, letting my legs hang down over the side of the upper level, wrapping my arms around the bars that would keep me from falling to my death. My bright hazel eyes were focused, as they roamed the entire room, taking everything in. There were all sorts of characters down there. Little girls clutching their dirty teddy bears, boys playing with sticks and their food, women in rags, hair a mess, no make-up, trying to calm their screaming kids all while feeding them and keeping them away from the closest goon they saw. Men talking to themselves, shaking, pointing at random things in the room thinking they were aliens coming to claim their thoughts. Not everyone was insane, though. There was a family of four, an elder boy that looked to be about ten, a younger girl that looked about six, a mother and a father, that seemed more heart broken then hungry, as they desperately tried to give their kids all that would keep them full for the day. The kids ate their food humbly, it was globs of mush, whatever the kitchen staff found to throw together for the people of the streets. It was a warm cooked meal, so no one really complained and it kept them from eating someone's left over pot roast or pizza for the night. They were in a facility that kept them cool from the last days of the summer heat, and it kept the kids alive for another tragic day. The mother kept the kids preoccupied, feeding them, making sure they cleaned their plates. It was a rule in places like this; clean your plates or don't come back. And, when you were used to having nothing, those few times you'd actually get something were moments you tend to cherish. For this fourpod of people, they seemed content with making the best out of any tragedy. They found a place to sleep for the night, a nice warm bed that would keep the kids comfortable, as opposed to hard, concrete, cold floors in shacks and under bridges. They found a place where they could take off their dirty, smelly, wet rags -- take a warm bath, and put on new rags for them to get dirty again. A place that fed them, that entertained them...as medicore as the entertainment was, it was better then watching people pass by and making sticks and stones into toys. There were other kids to play with, other people to talk to. It was a day away from the streets that they'd become accustomed to. All of them. "People always wonder what it's like to be here. To be one of them. Poor and alone with a family to feed, a job that pays crap and isn't even enough to cover a months rent. Mouths that go nights hungry and thirsty, kids that have no toys to play with, no schools to go to, no education system that would give them  a chance, no financial institution that would cut them some slack. No one in the world to turn to but each other. You wonder what it's like to be without a home, without clothes, without your nightly baths, your toast of champagine for a better future. What about them? What about their better future? What about those kids that'll grow up to be just another statistic. End up in jail for violence, dying because of disease and hunger. Pregnant, starting the entire cycle all over again. Are most of them capable of working? Yes. But, if you were a business owner and one of them came into your company looking for a job, would you give them the time of day, let alone a chance in hell at creating a better life for themselves and their family? Would you really put your sneers, snide remarks and attitude that leads you to believe your better then them aside, to help someone that is probably in more need of a paycheck then you are? I doubt it. It's America. The land of opportunity and snoobery. Chivalry was dead years before this land was decalred it's own free territory, and humanity died not long after that" I said, shaking my head. My sight was focused on that family of four. Despite all of their bad luck, their very shitty life...they still found something to smile about, to laugh about, to hug about. Their solice...their saving grace...their solitude in a heap of shit luck. The one good apple in a basket full of bad. They had each other. They were poor, but they were humble. They had nothing to boast about, but everything to live for. There weren't many people like them anymore. That see the good in all the bad. That, no matter what, find that silver lining in life, that thing that kept them going every day, even though things seemed to get harder and harder. "I could easily say that, at one point I was in a spot similar but, that'd be a bold face lie. I didn't come from the lap of luxury but I always had a home cooked meal, a warm house, a working house -- electricity, water, gas to keep me warm and fed, money that put food on the table, clothes on my back and my ass in school to get an education. I had my own room, I had furniture and a comfortable bed. Toys to play with and a great future to look at it, even though tragedy struck when I was ten. My only comparrison to them, is the feeling that life sucks and then you die. A feeling that told me, what's this life for? Am I depressed? Nope. I have no reason to be. Am I 'emo'? Nope. I couldn't be, even if I tried. Do I feel empathy for them? Yeah. And, while the rest of the world turns their back on most of them, I'll reach out to at least one...help as much as I can. Offer something to be happy about, even though it'll last for only a little while" I said, as my eyes continued to wonder about the room, looking at what's become of this country...the so called 'Land of Opportunity'. So much for opportunity, right? "You can ask why I'm here. You could try and understand it, but I doubt anyone will. The question was asked a few days ago, by 'Roach'. Am I ready? Do I really want to do this? Now, I sure as shit hope those were rehtorical questions, otherwise...the pride we have in our devoted little education system was wasted on a gutter slut like Roach. Am I ready? Do I really want to do this?! Let me ask you something, Roach...do you have any idea how stupid you sound -- not to mention look? Do you have any idea on what you're doing? Because, it seems to me that, admist the cloud of weed and smoke that surrounds your crappy life, lies nothing more then a lost and lonely little girl full of big talk and no game. I was born to do this sweetheart. You may not care for who I am, who I was or who I will be. You may not care about my past, my present or my future but, if I were you, I'd grab the closest thing to the Poor Man's Hooked on Phonics I could find and learn to read, sweetheart. Take a few minutes from smoking what's left of your brain cells away, and come up with something a little better then 'are you ready' because, that sure as hell won't bring you any closer to realizing the dream that you pretend to not care about. The role I play in wrestling is probably one that you'd kill to play. While you sit in the back, mope around because your life sucks and all you have to live for is the hundreds of dollars on wasted weed that you seem quite content in smoking daily, I've been to the otherside and back, on more then one occassion. I know what it feels like to be a champion, to be the fucking best the business, the industry or the company has to offer and I loved the feeling of being better then everyone else...being above everyone else. I've trained for this my entire life, from the time I could walk to the day I debuted, years ago. It runs in my blood, in my veins. It keeps me up at night...when I can't seem to sleep. It rocks me to sleep at night, when I'm tired and worn out. It thrives me, it keeps me going. If it were a person, it would be my fucking soul mate. There is nothing better, no better feeling in the world, then being able to walk into a match knowing that you give it your all day in and day out, and walk out a winner...the better person, the better competitor. Nothing could even compare. It, like sex, has it's orgasm -- it's own little G-Spot and, for me, that G-Spot just happens to be the very match we're in now. I've made a career out of carnage and destruction, out of bloodshed and horror stories of matches gone array. I've injured people, I've injured myself...I've taken to the skies and I've been pushed well beyond my limits. I've leaped off cages and ladders, I've been driven to the brink of exhaustion, only to come back fighting and win. You ask if I'm ready but, that's not what I'm worried about. I know I'm ready. I was born ready -- as cliche as that may sound. Are you ready, Roach? Because, by the looks of it...I'd say your falling short. This industry runs in my blood, it's in my fucking DNA and this match is only going to prove that to everyone, including you. I was dubbed the Queen of Carnage for a reason, sweetheart, and it's not some cliche I looked up online and decided to start using, to make myself look and sound cool. I'm not out to make a paycheck, to find my value and worth in the world and in this business. I already know that. I've known that from the moment I first debuted and it's stuck with me to this day. I'm out for bloodshed, for pain. I get a sense of satisfaction when I hear people scream and wince in pain...it's like a turn on to me, when my opponent begs for mercy and asks me to stop. When he -- or she -- can no longer continue the match. I get a rise in knowing that, I've virtually plowed through my competition, leaving a path of carnage and destruction behind, for someone else to clean up. Hence the name, Queen of Carnge. So, ask me again if I'm ready....ask me again if I really want to do this...and think long and hard, on how badly you want it. I know what I'm willing to do, how far I'm willing to go, to walk out a winner, to walk out one step closer to Slaughter House. I've got a high threshold for pain...do you?" I asked, tilting my head to the side, starring at the camera that seemed to be close by. I shook my head, as I looked back down at the people that ate their meals, scarfing them down just as quickly as they had received them. "Do you know any of them? Do you find yourself on common grounds with them, Roach? Do you have it in your heart to reach out to them, to help them, to save them from all the pains that life holds. Do you even care, that everything you have, they'd long to make their own. You grumble about no gas and no electricity -- they grumble about not being able to go to school, to see a doctor when they have even the slightest cough. You said you were out for some sort of sweet redemption. That's fine and dandy, good luck with that. But I'm not...not yet, anyway. I'm out to make the world aware, that Chantal Felix is grade-a, the fucking best there is, was or ever will be. I am out to make someone scream, to make someone bleed, to make someone cry. You, Roach...you wonder if I'm prepared, if I'm fully trained...me...I wonder how long it'll take before I snap you in half, before I break you like a twig and toss you aside. Before I leave you a pile in the center of my ring -- a bloody mess, a vile, worthless piece of horse shit. I wonder what you'd really give up, to realize your 'dream' -- to get your redemption...I wonder what you'd sacrifice to win this match. I've made my sacrifices, I've declared my peace with the havoc I tend to cause...with the chaos that I leave behind" I said, as I rose to my feet. I began to rummage through my pocket, pulling out a small brown bag. Inside the bag, was a few items that Roach found herself quite familiar with. With a proud smirk on my face, I stared at the camera, as I held the bag in one hand. "I wonder, what would you do....to be declared the very fucking best...." I continued, as I pulled the contents of the bag out. Kneeling down, I placed a small orange flap on the metal floor, and next to it, a bag of weed. Looking at them, then back at the camera, I rolled my pierced tongue over my full lips, cracking another confident smirk, as my bright hazels peered into the camera..."I wonder...how much will you smoke, before you realize that the bubble you've created for yourself, the future that you secretly look forward to, yet pretend to not care about, is nothing more then that....a bubble. Something that I intend on bursting, on Trash TV. Smoke it up, sweetheart...it's the only solice you've got, the closest you'll ever come, to being happy and satisfied" I said. Standing up again, I stepped over the bag of weed and the pack of rolling papers that I'd left on the metal flooring. Heading down the small platform, back towards the staircase, I never looked back. Not even for 'one last glance'. The camera's stayed focused on the contents of the brown bag...it almost seemed as if they were supposed to symbolize something, but no one was clear on what. Heading threw the doors of the shelter, I made a pit stop at the family of foor, sliding the father a slip of paper, that seemed to catch everyone's attention. And before a question could be asked, I pushed my way through the doors and into the sunlight that peered through, and into the shelter...blinding anyone that was in close sight of it. Trash TV had the potential of being bigger and better then last weeks...could Chantal join the line up of winners?

•�?nbsp;chantal felix •�?nbsp;the motherfucking queen of carnage •�?/STRONG>