./scene 1\. __mistaken identity

We fade in to the familiar setting of the local Circle K in Yucca Valley, California. Jalie was leaning back in the bed of her El Camino; it was vibrating with the bass of the stereo system. A widely known dance tune was blasting in the tiny parking lot while Cyprus and Kendra were dancing on the pavement.

"I like to move it move it, she like to move it move it, you like to move it move it… She like to…"

"Move it!" Kendra finished the tune as Cyprus made a rather poor attempt at break dancing. She'd always wanted to do it, but gigantic breasts tended to make things difficult. Jalie let out a yawn. This had become their usual activity as of late. California living, as it were. Jalie was donning a pair of tight black Tripp NYC jeans along with her usual white beater. Her boots were scuffed and needed a polish, but this was nothing new. Kendra had taken to cheering Cyprus on as she attempted a head spin. It didn't go well.

As Cyprus nursed the swelling lump on her head, Jalie made her way into the convenience store to grab something frozen. She pulled several Popsicles from the freezer and headed up to the counter. The clerk spoke very little English. And the man attempting to buy a couple of Mickey's and a chimichanga apparently spoke even less.

"No.. Cuanto Cuesto?" He pleaded, but Ahshid was not getting the message. The Mexican man turned to face Jalie.

"Tres dolores." She responded, not even bothering to look at him.

The man did a double take.

"Lielee?! Aye dios mio.. Como estas meha?"

"Papi! Estan bien… Uhm, tu habla ingles…" She noted, reminding him that he did in fact have a second language.

"Si, si. Ah, mierde… I've been hiding from your mother." He confessed, removing his worn and faded CMLL baseball cap. "She didn't send you here, did she?" He added, looking concerned.

"No… I haven't seen her in a couple of weeks. Why?"

"Aye, she's been on this health… Thing… I don't know. She does this to me now. Do you know how old I am? Do you? She's feeding me green things and making me walk like yo es un pinche perra…"

"Spanish or English, papi, pick one." Jalie admonished him lightly.

"You sound just like your mother."

"That's not always a bad thing. And neither is eating healthy. Plus, it wouldn't kill you to get the hell out of your chair a couple times a week. Any day now I swear mom's gonna call me telling me you got a catheter installed."

"What the fuck is a catheter?" He asked.

"It's this tube that… Ehh, never mind." Jalie stopped herself and shuddered. Her father looked confused but decided to let it go. Just then Kendra stumbled into the store and looked at Jalie, wide-eyed.

"It's getting' bad out here, Doc. We need that ice and possibly some sedatives, stat. She wants to give it another go."

Jalie's father began eyeing Kendra. Jalie punched him in the arm.

"What?! We haven't been introduced, that’s all meha… So who's your friend?" He asked, grinning widely. He was a paunchy Mexican man of about 47, slowly balding and dressed in the same tan slacks and white beater that he wore every day of his life. He had a dresser full of these identical items. Kendra, however was not impressed, and made it known by scrunching up her nose.

"What smells like beer and chili powder?" She asked.

"You're lookin' at him." Jalie informed her. "Kendra, my father Jorge. Papi, this is Kendra, a good friend of mine and my friend Lance's girlfriend." Jalie added, emphasizing the last bit. Her father got the hint. He placed his hat back on his head and ran his fingers over his goatee.

"Escuse' me, but are you going to pay for dese items or are you going to have a fucking family reunion?!" Ahshid shouted from behind the counter. He got so worked up his turban wobbled on top of his head. A nine millimetre fell from the wrappings and clattered onto the counter. He picked it up quickly and shoved it back into his turban. It went off, blazing a hole through the white fabric and shattering a glass jar that read 'Tipping is not a city in China'. The small Indian man stood in shock as his turban continued to smoulder.

"Well dat was a close one."

..-fade.

..|//dos. : home sweet home Shouts rang out from inside the small adobe-style home in Yucca Valley. Arguing could be heard inside, but the cameras were currently focused on the backyard. It contained a barbecue, two picnic tables on the verge of falling apart, and an assortment of classic old-world Mexican decorations. The piñata from Jalie's eleventh birthday was still hanging from a telephone pole near the fence. Grass was nonexistent but the dirt and weeds more than made up for it. A Joshua tree in the corner marked the only real form of plant life. Kids toys were scattered about the ground; squirt guns, army men, half-naked Barbie dolls, and several monster trucks. A couple kids were sitting on the ground and playing with the hose. Mariachi music blared from inside the house and made the arguing voices of Jalie's parents barely audible. This, as you may have guessed, was Jalie's childhood home and the continuing residence of Jorge and Rosalyn Dumas. Jorge had been born in El Salvador and travelled with his parents to Mexico City as a child. He was raised there, where he met the half-Mexican half-Italian Rosalyn. They married at seventeen and immigrated to the states by way of a friend with a camper van. Jorge got work at an animal control center, detaining and controlling dangerous dogs that no one else would approach. Rosalyn was your average house-wife. Eventually they got green cards, bought their home, and gave birth to their first child.. Jalie. Shortly after came Jorge Jr., also known as Jay… And eventually Carmen. Aunts, uncles, cousins… All flocked to this house as the focal point of the Dumas family. There was never a shortage of bare-footed children darting around the yard. Sitting at one of the picnic tables were Jalie and Cyprus. Seth and Orphan were off by the barbecue, conversing with two of Jalie's cousins. Cyprus was gazing longingly at the little boy playing in the mud puddle created by the hose.

"I want one of those things." She said, wistfully twirling her hair around her finger.

"Those 'things' require a male counterpart. One that isn't a complete jackass." Jalie reminded her.

"Lance isn't a jackass." Cyprus noted absentmindedly. Jalie looked at her blankly, then back at Orphan.

"Well, anyone who isn't Matt-fucking-Ford. Or JT Punk, for that matter."

"And what do you have against Punk?"

"Oh, please. He's a fucking moron. Straight edge, my ass. Think he fucking worships CM Punk by any chance? Not to mention the guy slurs his speech like a drunken kid with cerebral palsy. He and his chain-smoking wife are a fucking embarrassment. But that’s beside the point."

Cyprus returned her gaze to the kids, who were now chasing one of Jorge's pit bulls around with the hose. Jorge himself stepped out the back door of the house, grumbling and cursing under his breath. He appeared to have finally shaved, which is presumably what the argument had been about.

"Your house is fun." Cyprus chipped in, sipping a plastic cup filled with Rosalyn's homemade horchata. Jalie snorted.

"I suppose so. If you count a house full of loud and obnoxious beaners as fun. I wouldn't trade it for anything, though." She added. Rosalyn came out of the house carrying a platter of cinnamon and sugar tortillas. She set them on the picnic table in front of the two girls and then sat down.

"Lielee," she began in a serious undertone. "Your brother is an idiot. Carmen is not in the right state of mind, because she just lost a child. That leaves you. When are you and that white boy going to give me grandchildren?"

Jalie dropped her head to the picnic table with a dull thud.

"Mom, please, not now." Jalie's muffled voice pleaded. Obviously this conversation was a regular occurrence. "I think I have a right to know. I'm not getting any younger, meha."

Jalie groaned. Her mother got the hint and got up to go back in the house.

"Like there aren't enough rats running around this place as it is…" Jalie muttered.

"She does have a point." Cyprus said. Jalie looked up at her and frowned.

"I'm just saying!" Cyprus defended herself.

"Wouldn't I just be mother of the fuckin' year…" Jalie chuckled. Cyprus laughed in agreement.

Jalie took a glance at Seth and Orphan by the barbecue. Seth had Orphan in a headlock and was hollering something about forgetting to put deodorant on. Jalie sighed.

"Yeah. Maybe… One day when we figure out how to grow up."

..-fade

..|//tres. : getting serious…sort of. The scene faded in to Jalie and Seth's bedroom. Jalie and Cyprus were lounging in the circular sitting room. The entire bedroom had the look of a castle. Sheer white draperies were hung around the vaulted ceilings and swayed in the breeze from the open window. Cyprus was flipping through a book of Van Gogh prints and analyzing his mood at the time each one was painted. Nothing detailed, but simple one word statements such as 'hungry' or 'embarrassed'. Jalie nodded with each one. Instead of asking why she felt that, or what she was hoping to accomplish, Jalie sometimes felt it was easiest to just agree with her. Herself, Lie had been perusing a book of eastern philosophy. She set it down on the coffee table in front of her and looked at Cy.

"You up for this match?"

"'Course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

"You're preoccupied." Jalie said bluntly.

"Yeah. Well… Yeah. I don't know. Possibly. Probably. Ehh… Obviously." Cyprus dropped her book with a deep sigh.

"Well stop it. This match is serious. We have to concentrate. Calli and Barrows are bringing their a-game. We've gotta pull out all the stops to get past them. I mean, honestly Cy… It's time to step up to our responsibilities as champions. As much as I hate to admit this, and I know you do too, but… It has to be said, whether we like it or not. If we don't focus… Well… We may not walk out of New Orleans as the tag team champions."

Jalie stared at Cyprus, who cracked a smile. This broke Jalie's façade and the two of them burst into a fit of giggles.

"Yeah, because they're such extraordinary talent… " Cyprus snickered.

"Ah, well, no worries. We'll deal with the shit the same way we always do. It's funny though… They don't listen. At all. I mean sure, we don't listen to them either, but that's because they spew the same bullshit every single time any one of them speaks. No matter how many times we relay actual fucking fact, they refuse to accept it and go on saying the same shit they always have. Why, I'll never know… But as I've said before, stupid people are all the same. They don't understand the concept of fact, or reason. They just wanna call women bitches and say we're pms-ing. And of course, they think we can't win matches on our own. I am quite positive, however, that I previously mentioned the fact that every member in the last event won their matches entirely on their own. Seth said it before, and made it perfectly clear. Of course we can win the same way they do. We've proven that. It's easy when you're not only more talented, but infinitely more intelligent. But why bother wasting energy? Sure, I can suplex somebody repeatedly. But it's so much more enjoyable to just bash their fucking face in with a crowbar. To each their own, right?"

"Correct!" Cyprus agreed, "And like my dolly. My boom dolly. You cannot tell me that didn't take ingenuity. Although I must say I hated to part with her. She was beautiful. But alas! We cannot help it if we're smarter than they could ever hope to be. You know I bet that probably kills them. It's really no wonder that they hate us so much. It's almost like a high school jealousy type thing. Not to mention, this idiot Barrows presumes to tell his buddy that he and Calli teaming with Simon and Scotty has thrown us off. Oh! And that it'll cause our collapse." Cy added, snickering.

"Pfft. My ass. How he came to think that they matter that much to us is beyond me. I did get a kick out of his bird, though."

Cyprus shivered. She had a deep seeded loathing for anything feathered. Except penguins. Because, well, let's be honest. How can you not like penguins?!

"Fucking birds. He can bring it to ring-side if he likes. But if I get a hold of that little fucker I'm gonna wring it's shit-talking little neck." Cyprus threatened. Jalie frowned. Another fact, that Jalie was a champion for all animals. If she had her choice, half the population would be wiped out and the land would be returned to it's original state as a natural habitat. Then again it could be the part about wiping out half the worlds population that made her giddy.

"You know I think Callisto is halfway out of her damn mind. Instead of being all cocky now she's changed her tune to 'gee I hope we win'. Maybe she's finally getting the hint that they don't have a chance. I imagine that'd be too much to hope for, though. People like her, and the rest of her little group… They rarely change. They keep the same ridiculous ideals no matter how often they are blatantly proved wrong. "I know. Isn't it cute? But whatever they decide to do, it won't matter. They're still pathetic. This match isn't going to be anything more than going through the motions. Not that I expected any better, sadly. 'Raging hormones…'" Jalie quoted Barrows, shaking her head.

"Originality is a beautiful thing. And yet so very rare. There is a difference between a pms ridden beast, and a bitch. You and I, we're bitches. Admittedly. Proudly. That doesn't mean we're not evil geniuses."

"Or sexy." Cyprus added.

"Point taken, gorgeous." Jalie winked at her and raised her book once more.



Tuesday night. Myself and Cyprus Lolita face off against who I guess is supposed to be our hated rivals.. In the team of Callisto and Christian Barrows. Callisto… Hell. What the fuck more is there to say about her? She's an idiot. Honestly I don't have that much against her. Silly women. They're all over this business. Not much we can do about them anymore. She might improve one day, you never know. I like to be optimistic at times. Barrows, however, well… This daddy-issue touting little prick is beginning to get on my nerves.

The biggest most worthless whores you've ever seen, eh? Nice. Charming, Christian. But useless. Maybe you're supposed to offend me. I'm not sure what you're trying to accomplish but it's pointless. According to you the rest of AWA cannot stand our attitudes. Do you really think I give a fuck what you and your buddies think of me? Do you think anyone else with a shred of dignity gives a fuck what you think of them? No. Of course not. Both you and Callisto keep babbling on about how we stole the titles from you guys. What I'd like to know, is how we did that? By gaining an indisputable victory? By pinning you? Face it, Barrows. It was a hardcore match. Supposedly your specialty. And the fact is, you can't deal with losing to a couple of women in what is supposed to be your forte. But we fucking beat you, and your woman. Get the hell over it. We didn't steal a goddamn thing from you, not that it matters.

Even if that was what happened… Does it matter? We still would have outsmarted you.

Soaked in the sweet sweat of victory…

What the hell is wrong with you? Your father must have fucked you up even worse than I originally thought possible. But we all know he's a headcase to begin with, right? Hiding in the shadows and speaking to you like a fuckin' pedophile approaching a mark. Nicely done, both of you. The Barrows name never held much esteem before now anyway… But your father's managed to run it even further into the ground. You may find me to be a bitch. And you'd be right. But I am the bitch that will make you regret your bleak existence. And I'll do it, because I hate people. I hate everything that you stand for. You make me fucking sick. And why? I really don't know. Maybe it's that blatant lack of subtle humility that ideally should be present in every decent persons subconscious. You're missing that. Didn't get the memo. I'd blame you, but looking at the inherent cesspool you spawned from I'm really not that surprised.

I don't need your permission to call your woman a slut. I have proof. Video taped, actually. No Paris Hilton sex tapes here. All you need to do is look at the ridiculous entrance she subjects us all to every time she goes to the goddamn ring. A big, long, hard pole is 'erected', so to speak, in the middle of the ring. She comes out and gyrates in front of millions of viewers, then proceeds to go down to the ring and dry hump the fucking pole. I don't need written proof of every one night stand she's had to tell you she's a skank. I have eyes, and that's all I need.

You wanna go on about how we stole your life. Do you have any idea how utterly pathetic that makes you sound? It sickens me. Your life revolves around two cheap pieces of 'gold'.

Are you aware that the fucking things are made of tin? Tin. Plus leather… Some screws and spray paint. Not much unlike your woman's morning routine.

They're nothing but a material object. And this is what you base success on. As for me? I am fucking feared. Known worldwide. And hated universally by people like you and your little sesame street pals. What? I'm candid. I speak the truth when and where it needs to be spoken.

I say everything that all you goody two shoes motherfuckers will only think about. And suddenly that makes me awful? You watch a four hundred pound bitch cram a box of crispy kremes and you try to tell me you're not thinking, "Yeah bitch, eat another one you pig."

The difference? I voice it.

"The powdered sugar won't soak up your tears, Shamu."

You want a fuckin' apology from me for having the guts to be who I am. Well fuck that. Maybe I'm a nightmare. Maybe you're this worlds knight in shining armor. But I've got news for you.

The good guys don't always win, Barrows. And sometimes, you can't even distinguish the good guys from the bad. Because there is no black and white. No solid line between whats right and wrong. It's all in interpretation. Simple as that. I won't back down from my instincts. Yeah, I'm fuckin' better than you. But I still have my faults. Hell, I have a library of them. I admit that. I'm cocky, but I'm not ignorant in the least. And the fact remains, that even with all my fuck-ups… Even with Cyprus'… Still…

You can never. Never. Live up to us.

And that is what makes you half the man that Seth is. That Lance is. Hell, that Kendra is. You're a failure. You've failed your father. You've failed Callisto. You've failed yourself. And you will never redeem yourself while you chase shadows. Lower your standards a bit. Then, and only then, will you understand that you have no chance. No chance at respect from the people who matter, no matter how many times you yell into the empty space.

You're still nothing more than a joke. Until next time…

This has been one FucKKeD up production.

..-fade.