Morgan Payne vs Ch'ang Dong-Geun

DISCLAIMER: Morgan speaks with a heavy Pittsburgh accent. The writing of her dialogue is done in a way to reflect this. The fedheads are well aware of this and have assured the the depicted grammar is not to be counted as “grammatical errors” in judging.
Beautiful Los Angeles, California. There was much to be seen around the city but Morgan Payne had already seen much of it. This was largely in thanks to her girlfriend Sativa Nevaeh actually being from there and knowing every nook and cranny of the city. While they lived in The Castle in Asheville, North Carolina, Morgan had spent so much time in the City of Angels that she didn’t need her GPS anymore to get around. It was here that she walked the streets of during the busiest part of the day, intent on one particular section of the city. The part that she had yet to visit. Why? She didn’t even know. Her mind wasn’t on leisure, however. Instead, it was on her next match in California Wrestling. The match she had been promised upon signing her contract and felt like they tried to screw her out of. It took everything from threatening with lawyers - which did nothing - to outright beating the living hell out of her opponent in her return match, after the bell, to push management into giving her what she wanted. Giving her what was rightfully hers. Maybe her attack on Whisper had nothing to do with it. Maybe Whisper really was just a replacement for Kendrick Kross, her original opponent who didn’t even show up. Perhaps they were sticking with the original plan and intended on giving Whisper a match for the Hollywood Heritage Title had she been able to beat the Pittsburgh native that was now walking underneath an arch structure right into Los Angeles’ China Town. Yeah, right. As if. Morgan thought, reflecting on the match. No way someone like Whisper would ever beat her. Either way, it was done. Morgan won her match, she had her contract, and now she had her match against Ch’ang Dong-Guen for the Hollywood Heritage Championship that had eluded her when she originally signed.

The video recording comes to life on a closeup of Morgan Payne as she walks the streets of China Town in Los Angeles, California. She’s wearing her street clothes with her jacket, gloves and backwards Steelers cap. She’s also got sunglasses on but it doesn’t hide the stoic, almost bored look on her face. For a rare moment, she doesn’t have that adorable, big grin on her face.

“Hey, whatchins been up to?” Morgan scoffs and nods. “Yeah. Anno dat I said I wasn’t dat bitch anymore but fuck yinz I do what I want a’ight?” She takes a drag from a Newport menthol as she walks. She’s almost bumped into by an old man pushing a cart. He says something in Mandarin but Morgan just flips him off with her cigarette. “Ey, get fucked, pops! I ain’t da one pushin a fuckin’ caht on a busy sidewalk! Headass muthafuckah.”

Morgan turns her attention back to the camera. “So anyway, here we are. I came to China Town cause everyone tells me abaht knowin’ your opponent. Gettin’ into their natural environment n’at. I dunno how da sayin’ goes. But here I am! China Town. Trynna see if I can get into da head of Cheng Quan Goddamn, whatever da fuck his name is. Da one who’s struttin’ around like he’s top shit wif a title he don’t deserve, runnin’ his fuckin mouth. See I ain’t da nicest person, despite what some people wanna think of me. I dunno why they think I’m dis sweet lil angel. Fuck ‘em. But yanno what? I ain’t a damn cowahd neither. I don’t back down from a fight or come up wif excuses on why I don’t wanna fight anybody. Meanwhile, Ch’ang, your ass is ovah heah talkin’ bout--” She switches to her impersonation of Ch’ang like last time, “--aiiiyyyyah!!! I Young Goat God! You girl not on level! I greatest champ! You get good and maybe get shot! Aiiiyyyaaaah!” Morgan switches back to her regular accent, not even realizing she’s got eyes on her from all over, looking offended. She throws a middle finger at the camera. “Fuck you, Ching.”

The video cuts briefly indicating it’s been cut off and started up at a later point. Morgan’s now chewing on a grilled piece of chicken on a stick. She chews thoughtfully and looks at the rest of the meat on the stick. Morgan grimaces, discards the rest of the snack and spits what’s in her mouth in the other direction. “Nasty ass shit! I thought authentic was ‘sposed ta be betta! Yanno, Chong, I’m not really learnin’ much heah. Da only similarity I’m seein’ is dat dis place is loud as fuck jus’ like you. But everyone loves it for some reason. Everyone wants to come to L.A and see China Town. I can kinda get it. Dat chicken sucked but I had a bomb ass egg roll before dat. What I don’t understand is how you ended up beating someone like Mike Mason for da Hollywood Heritage Title. I woulda preferred takin’ him on, like I said. At least I’d feel like I had a good match comin’ up. Meanwhile you? Dude, you got muthafuckahs on Twitter suckin’ ya dick like ya da next fuckin’ Bruce Lee. Lookin’ atchu Connie Mac. Get off Short Round’s dick!” Morgan pauses long enough to spark up a fresh Newport.

“And yanno what?” Morgan plucks the cigarette out of her mouth, blowing the smoke out in the camera. “Who da fuck are you, anyway, Cheng, talkin’ abaht I suck? Sayin’ I need ta get good. Da more I think abaht it, you ain’t even a wrestler. You’re one of those fuckin’ morons who played online poker and video games. Prolly jerked off ta fuckin’ Japanese cartoon porn wif a pair o’tweezers. Then ya wanna sit behind da safety of ya phone and say dat I ain’t shit.” She switches to her Ch’ang impersonation again. “Oh you crybaby girl! You get good come see me!” Then back to her normal voice. “Bitch, I’m already good. I’m fuckin’ great at what I do. I won five outta nine matches in a tournament where I barely had any rest days. I broke da streak of a bitch in dat same fuckin’ tournament. I got a title on my record dat I openly defended while I held it. I called aht anybody from any fuckin’ fed dat wanted a shot at it, to come see me. All they had to do was ask. And yanno what?” Morgan shakes her head. “Nobody did. Because they were prolly scared of who I am and where da fuck I come from. I come from a family lineage dat’s been in dis business for over twenty fuckin’ yeahs. You?” She scoffs and makes a disgusted face. “You ain’t shit but a fuckin’ internet fuck boy who thinks he knows shit about dis business. Do da wrestlin’ world a favor, bitch. After I whup your ass like da lil shit you are, go back ta tryin’ aht for da World Poker Tour. Maybe there you’ll actually fuckin’ matter to people because da only ones dat think you’re hot shit now? They got their heads up their fuckin’ asses as much as you do.”

Morgan drags long and hard off of her Newport, scowling under her sunglasses. “Yanno what else I got pretty good at? Exposin’ people. Dat’s what we do in da Kingdom. We expose people for what they really are. We exposed Ethan Roerich and his crew for bein’ shitty management and look how long it took them to get back on their feet. Fuckin’ months! I exposed Brady Vega for bein’ a fuckin’ sleaze towards women and now I’m abaht t’collect two hundred million dollas offa him. I ain’t even gonna hafta wrestle anymore. But yanno what? I’m gonna. Cause I’m gonna take great pleasure, Ch’ang, in exposin’ you for da fake ass, delusional piece of shit datchu are. Who da fuck have you faced in CW, so far? An anabolic Ken Doll and a couple of other jagoffs dat ain’t even worth my breath. And now ya gotta deal wif me inside a House of Horrors Hell In A Cell. Wif barbwire n’at. So who fuckin’ cares? Prolly Roerich trynna stack da cahds against me cause he knows I hate crazy ass goddamn deathmatches. But dat don’t matter. Cause for alla yinz dat ain’t bothered to pay attention? I’m growin’ as a competitor. My ass is evolving. Adapting and overcoming my flaws inside and ahtside of da ring. Dat stahts at Takeover 3 when I make shit right and take dat title offa you. Cause you’re da fuckin’ David Arquette of Cee Dub. You’re a joke, Ching. It’s an insult dat you were even allowed to put ya name on da fuckin tournament bracket. You’re a goddamn joke to wrestlin’ and I’mma expose you as jus’ dat. Trick or treat, trick or treat, gimme Cheng Quan’s ass ta beat.” Morgan flicks out her cigarette, throws up the middle finger and ends the feed.