The ladies of Gore Gore Luchadores kick a$$ for a cause 

Folks might find a woman who once sewed another woman's mouth shut, or hung one dozen red Christmas ornaments from hypodermic needles laced through her skin, a bit intimidating. Crazy, even. And if this same woman goes by the nickname "Road Kill Kelly," folks might stay clear of her altogether. But you'd be missing out if you let this keep you from getting to know Amee White, whose acts were just for show. A student in sustainable technologies at Central Piedmont Community College and founder of Gore Gore Luchadores, an all-female group of masked wrestlers (more Nacho Libre than El Santo) that raises money for a number of charities, the 31-year-old White is a down-to-earth straight shooter, who lives by the belief: "It's easier done, than said."

"The aim of all of this is to help empower women [who] are not seen as pillars of philanthropy," White says of the Luchadores. "We're tattooed and pierced, we're moms and daughters, we're big and small. But together we're enlightening a community to think bigger than themselves. If we can get out once a month [to] wrestle in fake blood for something we believe in, others can be inspired to do their own acts of kindness."

Had it not been for an incident that happened at Benefit Cosmetics, White might never have become Road Kill Kelly, her Luchadores persona. Less than a year into her job as lead esthetician at the Charlotte boutique, she was fired from her position operating a high-end brow bar, in a situation she will only explain as, "complicated."

"I made a lot of money," she says. "I was very driven ... and when you are that engaged and you have the rug pulled out from under you — it was a really crushing blow and I found myself depressed."

A body-modification artist before she was a brow-smith, White moved from Ft. Lauderdale, Fla., to Charlotte in 2001. Along with her troupe, Plush Pincushion, she performed at the fetish-inspired event Purgatory. White says their body-mod shows — manipulating flesh through piercing, branding and scarification — drew thousands of onlookers; at one point she says she made $350 for a seven-minute performance.

"It was kind of extreme, but at the time it was really innovative," she says. "I was very young, and it was a great way for me to show I was a body piercer. With 1,000 people watching you, it was like an instant business card in everybody's face."

White honed her skill writing shows that would appeal to audiences and became a sought-after collaborator on various side projects. She credits one of these, Nasty/Shane Productions' first Viking party, as the event that gave her the idea for the Luchadores.

"They brought out this wrestling ring and we got to wrestle inside this bar, [in] like, chocolate syrup," says White. "I'm in this Viking goddess [outfit] ... and me and another friend ... wrestled, and it was so much fun."

"... I took that idea and thought about ... not necessarily Mexican wrestling, but Mexican cock-fighting — how they place their bets. You've seen those movies [where] they have the dirty pits and they're all, like, betting on which animal is going to destroy the other one. And then you think of chicks in Jello, wrestling — kinda sexy but kinda dirty — and you mix those two and you put everybody in a name and a character and that's how I thought about the Luchadores."

"People do it every day, they talk to themselves ... they see themselves as they'd like to be, they don't have the courage you have, to just run with it." — Tyler Durden, Fight Club

"People spend so much time talking about everything, if they would've just done it, it would be over and then they could have accomplished something instead of sitting around talking about it," says White.

"[Amee] is very headstrong [and is] always trying to come up with some new idea — something to keep herself busy — and I think she really hit the nail on the head with this one," says Sarah Reinhart, a friend and fellow Luchadore. "With this project she's created ... this gives me something that makes me feel good about myself. ... It's a reason to get out of the house once a month."

White and Reinhart see the Luchadores as a way to give back to the Charlotte community and impact the lives of others. Opinionated and good-humored, they often interrupt each other when speaking; pick up where the other left off; and finish each other's sentences.

White: "If people can start doing more positive things, it's gonna be beneficial for everybody ..."

Reinhart: "... kind of like paying it forward, I guess."

White: "Yeah. Yeah."

Reinhart: "And when you watch people get creative, that makes a difference. It causes other people to be creative, too."

"The first time I saw [the Luchadores] was when we had them wrestle at the South End store," recalls Blake Barnes, owner of the Common Market. "I thought it was going to be some weirdo sex show. But what I liked about it was the fact that all the money goes to a charity.

"One of the other things I really like about [them] is when they do this donation," Barnes continues, "they don't make a big deal out of it. They're not on the air saying, 'Hey, I just gave 'x' amount of dollars to so-and-so.'" In fact, most of the charities the Luchadores donate to have likely never heard of them. White doesn't tell them beforehand that they've been selected, only sends them a check afterward.

On the Luchadores' Facebook page, a young girl — arms raised high above her head in celebration, a pink brace corseting her waist — beams into the camera. "A pic of Becky's brace — thanks again ladies!!" reads the photo caption.

In 2010, Ed Grindstaff, Becky's father and a friend of the Luchadores, was contemplating skipping a car payment so he could help pay for a brace to repair Becky's severely curved spine. The Luchadores held a wrestling match, and in one event, raised the entire sum Grindstaff needed — to the cent.

For Todd Kanipe, an off-duty police officer at the Common Market, who died suddenly from a brain aneurysm, the girls held a match to raise money for his 24-year-old wife and three-year-old son. They raised $500, which the Common Market matched, for a $1,000 donation.

"Every time I put a Gore Gore Luchadores event on the calendar, we get a lot of local and regional bands saying that they want to be a part of it," says Buck Boswell, the booking manager for The Milestone, a favorite venue of the Luchadores. "The bands love the fact that it's for a good cause and ... they can tell their friends: 'Hey, it's not just us playing — there are gonna be a bunch of crazy girls dressed up in zombie face-paint, wrestling in a kiddie pool filled with fake blood and plastic body parts."

"All right, if the applicant is young, tell him he's too young. Old, too old. Fat, too fat. If the applicant then waits for three days without food, shelter or encouragement, he may then enter and begin his training."

— Tyler Durden, Fight Club

Amee White is 5 feet 5 inches and wrestles in the maroon, heavyweight category. Her specialty move is "the cooter snatch." Her favorite charity, Charitywater.org. White has a 6-year-old daughter who attends an only-French-speaking school, enjoys "scientific insanity music" such as Man Man and post-punk, funk singer Tim Barry. In the ring, she favors fishnets, her referee dress, booty shorts, velvet black Doc Martins and her luchador mask. White describes herself as, "A hippie with a really hard edge."

Sarah Reinhart is 5 feet 3 inches and wrestles in the pink, lightweight category. The 32-year-old is all ska, heavy metal and punk (OTEP's "Confrontation" is her theme song); has a 7-year-old son who likes to introduce her skull tattoo, "Frank," to his schoolmates and has been through what she describes as "some really tough things in my past."

White, the delegator and organizer, used to spend hours before each match, cooking "blood" at Sarah's kitchen stove (Common Market now supplies the red food coloring for their matches). "[For] one of my pools, I needed about 1,000 gallons just to get it to about mid-calf," she says.

"I would have to bring a truckload of Tupperware bins filled with water. ... [At] around 12:30 a.m., we'd have to blow up the ring, put down all the padding, put down the tarp, enter all the water and food coloring — in about 15 minutes, mind you." "And find all the girls," adds Reinhart. "And find all the girls," White says.

Reinhart, the marketer, says if it wasn't for Facebook, the Luchadores would likely not still be running. Women regularly leave excited posts on their Facebook page ("I would love to be a part of this. Where do I sign up?") or come up to them after seeing a match.

"Honestly, it's almost like a recruitment thing," says Boswell. "It seems like every time they do one of their events, they manage to find a new girl or two by the end of the night."

"A lot of people Facebook me, 'Hey, this is amazing, how can I be a part of this?'" says White. "And then I usually have a sit-down meeting and go over the aspects of what's involved. I require them to come out and see at least one or two matches, and then come to a meeting and practice with someone in their weight class. That's how we can make sure nobody's getting hurt; nobody's there to hurt somebody else."

When they began wrestling in 2009, there were six Luchadores and they raised about $200 per event. Today, there are almost 40 Luchadores — ages 19 to 37 — and they regularly pull in double that amount (their largest earning is $1,000 in a 45-minute match). To date, White says they have raised more than $5,000 and have about 20 matches under their belt.

"As we wrestle, what happens is the two opponents get called to the stage, we put buckets in their hands ... and we get the crowd in a frenzy and say, 'Who wants to bet on who?' says White. "We circle around the ring and that's how we collect our donations. We make it really interactive ... so that the crowd is part of it. They're not just spectators, they're literally on the floor with us; they're betting on their favorite girl."

Of the students and bartenders and bookstore employees and servers and lingerie shop workers who have joined the Luchadores, White says none are "super-over-the-top technical." "We are kind of like Fight Club," she says. "We're kind of like the underbelly of Charlotte."

Tyler Durden: "If you could fight anyone, who would you fight?"

Narrator: "I'd fight my boss, prob'ly."

Tyler Durden: "Really."

Narrator: "Yeah, why, who would you fight?"

Tyler Durden: "I'd fight my dad."

— Fight Club

Creative Loafing: If there were anyone you could put in the ring, who would it be?

White and Reinhart 0x000A(in unison): "Sarah Palin!"

Reinhart: "You wrestle Sarah Palin, I'll get George Bush."

White: "Who would I wrestle? I would knock Paris Hilton down so fast — I would use her dog against her. Not to be rude — I'm sure at some point, they give money to something that's important."

In addition to Palin, Bush and Hilton, the cast of The Hills and Bad Girls Club also make the cut of most-wanted contenders. But if there's anything that gets White riled up, it's the ineptitude and empty lifestyles that pass as symbols of American ideals and culture. Or, as Reinhart puts it, "the botox and bickering."

"You know, I travel and I meet people from other countries, and they lay into me because I'm an American and they think I'm into this," Reinhart says. "Americans are smart people, we're resourceful. Yeah, we eat crappy food, but not all of us. And it would be nice to show people that we don't have to buy into that lifestyle just because our nationality begins with an 'A.' I know that the Luchadores aren't gonna change America's opinion, but this is our stand to say ... 'We're better than this.'"

The Luchadores grapple again during this year's Recess Fest (at various venues, Aug. 11-13). And on Aug. 19, the Luchadores battle The Charlotte Rollergirls in an event sponsored by Pabst Blue Ribbon and the Common Market. Proceeds from the match will benefit the Rollergirls' charity, Time Out Youth, a local advocacy and support organization for LGBTQ youth. PBR and the Common Market will both match the money the groups raise. Then, on Sept. 2, as part of the Appalucia Gun Club Weekend, The Milestone will hold a Labor Day event for the Luchadores that benefits the Multiple Sclerosis Bike Ride Charity.

As for the future of the Luchadores, White says she'd like to see them to get some corporate sponsors, and have larger cities adapt her idea for themselves.

"What my ultimate goal with this is," she says, "is to have other people in other cities take this idea and do their own wrestling matches. Where they can go into a bar and say [to people], 'Hey, you know what? You have extra money right now. You're buying beer, you're buying shots, why don't you take $5 of that money ... and put it to a charity.

"I would like to see a movement of women, men — people — get up and make a difference for themselves."

For more information on Gore Gore Luchadores, visit www.goregore.whitetrashgoddess.com or check them out on Facebook.