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YourHighnessofViolence · (05-10-2026)

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"Bookers LOVE pretending Dickie Watson is some mythical can’t-miss attraction. Every company acts like signing him is equivalent to discovering fire. “Oh, he’s an automatic top contender anywhere.” “He’s a locker room guy.” “He brings legitimacy.” Legitimacy to WHAT exactly? Looking fifty-three years old under fluorescent lighting while cutting the same angry divorce-core promo for the thousandth time? Dickie has spent his entire career being treated like wrestling’s sacred blue-collar mascot while somehow never actually becoming the guy. He’s everybody’s “great addition to the roster” but never the reason people buy the ticket. He’s the side dish they keep trying to convince themselves is the entrée.

At the end of the day, after all the screaming, all the fake tough-guy wisdom, all the internet essays about “respecting veterans”… who do people leave talking about?

Jenny Myst.

Every.single.time.

That’s what drives people insane about me. Not the attitude. Not the mouth. Not the chaos. It’s the fact that no matter how hard they try, they cannot control the narrative once I enter it. They can’t get under my skin. They can’t rattle me. They can’t force me to play the insecure little validation game this business survives on. I say exactly what I feel, exactly when I feel it, and I don’t water it down so fragile wrestling egos can sleep at night afterward.

People scream “X-Pac Heat” because it’s easier than admitting the truth.

The truth is I make people uncomfortable because I say the quiet part out loud.

I rip away the cosplay. I expose the insecurity. I point directly at the emperor with no clothes and refuse to pretend he’s wearing gold just because a promoter told everybody to clap.

That’s why they hate me.

Meanwhile they hate Dickie for an entirely different reason.

They hate him because they’re tired of being lied to.

Tired of being told this bitter, chain-smoking nostalgia project is somehow essential viewing. Tired of pretending every rambling promo is profound just because he says “business” and “respect” seventeen times. Tired of acting like surviving longer than your expiration date automatically makes you legendary.

People boo me because I provoke emotion.

People boo Dickie because they’ve seen this act before."

The person on the other end laughed nervously.

Jenny didn’t.

“Dickie Watson is what happens when mediocrity develops a victim complex and mistakes it for depth,” she said flatly, eyes never leaving the mirror.

Lipstick next.

Twist.

Apply.

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“You ever notice every promo sounds like somebody shook up a can full of Monster Energy, nicotine addiction, and unresolved childhood resentment and pointed it at a microphone?”

The voice on the phone tried interrupting.

Jenny raised a finger instinctively.

Jenny leaned closer to the glass, fixing the edge of her eyeliner with her pinky.

“He’s everybody’s ‘great addition to the roster’, some S-tier demi-god but SCOOPS McOldGuy is our Universal Champion?! And before you say 'But Jen Jen, you aren't either.....I haven't been booked for it. They are too afraid of that smoke.”

The person on the phone started again.

Jenny cut them off.

“No, no, no — don’t do that thing where everybody suddenly pretends he’s some outlaw prophet because he smokes cigarettes and says ‘respect’ a lot.”

She smirked at herself in the mirror.

She capped the tube and grabbed a makeup wipe, cleaning a tiny black smear beneath her eye.

Jenny rolled her eyes.

Her tone lowered.

Silence for a second.

Then Jenny laughed softly to herself.

“And Dickie?”

She picked up a small makeup brush, dusting powder across her cheekbones.

“They don’t hate Dickie because he’s dangerous.”

Her eyes stayed locked on the mirror.

“They hate him because every single thing about him feels stuck.”

Brush.

“Same matches. Same tantrums. Same ‘respect me’ speeches like he’s trapped in a time capsule nobody asked to reopen.”

Brush.

Another slow stroke beneath her eye.

“I already became unforgettable without having to beg for it.”

Brush.

“Wrestling fans are tired of hearing about ‘the business’ from a man who looks like he sleeps in the back of a bass boat.”

Jenny finally picked up the phone from the sink.

“You know the saddest part?”

She smiled coldly.

“Dickie got a pinfall over me…”

“…and somehow I still walked away with more momentum than he did.”

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Sure, Dickie Watson pinned Jenny Myst once.

And?

What exactly changed afterward?

Did the industry suddenly start treating him like more of a star?
Did locker rooms start whispering his name with more respect?
Did promoters suddenly look at him and think, “THAT’S the guy carrying the future”?

No.

He got one win and somehow managed to make it feel like a community service announcement.

That victory didn’t elevate Dickie Watson. It exposed him.

Because the second the moment was over, everybody realized the exact same thing: beating Jenny Myst was the biggest thing that would EVER happen to him.

That was his mountaintop.

His career achievement.

Meanwhile for Jenny? It was Tuesday. Or whatever day Warfare is on.

That’s the difference.

Dickie treats one pinfall like he conquered Rome because his entire career has been spent crawling through mud looking for validation. He clings to that win the way drowning people cling to driftwood because deep down he KNOWS there won’t be another moment bigger than that for him.

And honestly?
That’s pathetic.

Because if your greatest accomplishment still requires you to scream “BUT I BEAT YOU!” months later, then congratulations — you’ve accidentally admitted your career peaked already.

Meanwhile Jenny kept moving.
Still talked about.
Still marketable.
Still memorable.
Still the person audiences react to before she even opens her mouth.

Dickie got the win and somehow still came out looking smaller.

That’s almost impressive.

Most people use momentum to build a legacy.
Dickie used it to become wrestling’s version of a guy who still talks about scoring four touchdowns in high school.

One victory.
One moment.
One tiny flicker of relevance.

And he’s spent every day since desperately trying to keep the lights from going out again.

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