Round Three of the King of the Cage Tournament - and for the EPW World Title.

Post all RP here.

(FADEIN: An empty throne, red plush cushioning, gold flaked wood, a crown rests on the seat of the throne and a robe draped over the back of throne. The camera pans back to show The First standing in front of the throne. First's face painted like Prince Nuada, wearing an "Outcast Hero" T-Shirt, black gi pants, the EPW World Title belt over his shoulder. "Magic" by B.o.B. ft Rivers Cuomo plays in the background.)

FIRST: When a King dies, and there's no clear successor, the various factions that seek power via for it...And that conflict is seldom peaceful...Right now in EPW the King is dead...I'm sure there are many that would say that I should take that throne, since it was I that vanquished him...But I don't see things that way...

I am but one of four men...Anarky, High Flyer, Erik Black...And me...All have an equal claim to the throne...All of us merely two matches away from being King...

The question that stands before Erik Black is not if he wants to be King...But if he wants to be Champion...See Erik, I'll admit it, I'm a greedy man...I want everything, this belt (pats belt) that crown (points to crown)...I want everything...Do you? Because honestly Erik, if you don't...I don't know why you bother to lace up the boots and fight...

You've spent two rounds trying to prove yourself as an escape artist...And you've had success...Donovan Astros and Layne Winters are not easy men to beat, that is for sure...But you've only done it by fleeing the cage...Which would be the hollowest and empty of victories were you to do so against me...

The cynic would say that I should let you climb out the cage, let you win, keep my title, take a week off, let you and whoever you end up facing in the finals beat each other silly and then defend my title against the winner...That would be the easy road to take...

And it's the road I won't take...Because I won't be a champion that takes the easy way out...No I believe this title is something I have to earn night in and night out...I have to prove myself worthy of being EPW World Champion every match I have...

So you can expect the fight of your life Erik...Cause I'm not thinking about Anarky or High Flyer, I'm not thinking about Unleashed and whoever the hell they want to put in the ring with me there...All I'm thinking about is you...I'm thinking about the fact that I was in your shoes not so long ago...How I, a man known mostly as a tag wrestler, was put into the main event fighting the World Champion in his first title defense since he won that title...

I think about that, and I think about how that night changed my career...And I think about you, and what fighting for this title could do for you...I hope you get what's at stake here...I honestly hope you try to pin me, try to submit me...Do everything in your power to win this title...I hope I get put through the ringer and have the fight of my life inside that cage...

Because if all you do is rush the door or scale the cage...Then I can not truly lose...And any match where defeat is impossible is a match where victory is meaningless...But in the end it’s your choice, and maybe you’ll decide to get out of that cage, maybe you’ll become King that way…

And there may be those who respect you…But I would not be counted among them…You would be an imposer, a fraud upon the throne…And for that reason, I must deny you that throne…Must prevent you from wearing that crown...At Aggression 54, you better come to that ring looking to fight, not to escape…Because no matter what you do…You WILL be in a fight…I promise you that…

(FADEOUT)

(FADEIN: The First sitting on a bench in Salem, near the Bewitched statue, he’s in a black button up shirt and black pants, his face still painted like Prince Nuada, the EPW World Title belt draped over his shoulder. Muse sits beside him in white shirt, black vest, black dress, gold rimmed goggles, and a newsboy’s hat. “Coin Operated Boy” by Dresden Dolls plays in the background.)

FIRST: You win the World Title…Everything changes…Yet nothing changes…New guy takes over, same stuff as the old guy…All those who thought Stevens was an abomination now think me a monster…Copycat’s plan to save EPW is based on my ruin…Anarky believes I’m planning on building a 50 foot statue of myself out of gold in front of EPW’s company head quarters…And they are merely the ones who’ve spoken recently…I know I have an even bigger fan club then them waiting for me come Aggression 54…But all their slings and arrows are meaningless…

For the one man that can truly hurt me at Aggression 54 is you Erik…You’re the one that can stop me before I even really get started as Champion…You can take this belt from me and replace all the praise, all the hype I’ve gotten since my win…You’re the man that turn me from the EPW World Champion…Into a fluke…

And that’s why I have to beat the hell out of you Erik…It’s why I have to work harder than I’ve ever worked before to be ready for when we fight…I enter that ring knowing that at any moment, I’m only three seconds away from no longer holding this belt…And you might have spent two rounds escaping the cage and doing your parlor tricks, and you might spend our whole match doing the same…But at any time, you might hit me with a move and decide to go for a cover, or maybe just catch me with a roll-up and hold my shoulders down…Anything is possible insane that cage…

I’ve won two matches that we both so close, that instant replay and rulebooks had to be broken out to make the determination about who won or lost. I watched the PGA championship and saw a man lose a chance to play for a championship because of a crazy ruling…I’ve walked the razor’s edge and come up a loser so many times…These last two shows, fate smiled upon me, and so I have this title (Pats belt) and the fame and scorn that comes with it…And I have the endless parade of challengers it gives me…

You are the first of them…You know that after Lindsay Troy held the belt that it passed to Stevens, then Rocko, then JA…And all three of those men failed to escape a single title defense with the belt? That it took Stevens a second run with the belt to finally make a successful defense of his belt…And of course he did that at my expense…

So I don’t plan on being on the wrong side of the coin twice in a row…And I don’t plan on losing at all…No, I’m not going to let you continue your antics of climbing out that cage or escaping out that door…You don’t beat me in this match…Period…Because I need to make a statement with my first title defense…And you’re the unfortunate man that I have to make an example out of it.

Winning this title was a dream come true for me, but it still doesn’t end this tournament…That’s still two more rounds of fighting, bleeding and suffering left ahead of me…And you’re in the way of me winning this thing…In the way of me being both Champion…And King…And I don’t envy you being in that spot…Nothing will stand in my way of that crown…

You won’t stop me…

Nothing can stop me…

(FADEOUT)

(We linger a while on the black while annoying dance/pop music continues playing with the anemic voice of Rivers Cuomo singing about how everybody knows he has magic in him, or something like that. But little by little, this sound is drowned out by the loud and incessant drone of guitars feeding back through tube amplifiers.)

(CUE UP: “The House on the Borderland” by the Electric Wizard.)

*BYOW-BYOW-BYOW-BYOW!*
*BYOW-BYOW-BYOW-BYOW!*
*BANNAH-BAH-BUH, BANNAH-BAH-BUH BRAAOW-W-W!!*

*BYOW-BYOW-BYOW-BYOW!*
*BYOW-BYOW-BYOW-BYOW!*
*BANNAH-BAH-BUH, BANNAH-BAH-BUH BRAAOW-W-W!!*

(As the power of low-tuned stoner doom drones on like a sonic funeral procession, the camera opens up in the back of the SPACEVAN. Coming to us from eons beyond space and time is DOPESMOKER, washed in the crimson dome light amid the retro metal and movie posters taped to the walls. He sits rather regally on a plush car-seat that is ripped open in many places, exposing the beige stuffing within. He casually puffs on a jet-black glass bowl, eyes narrow and looking far off, with something of a forced smirk on his face.)

DOPESMOKER
When I first entered the King of the Cage tournament... success wasn’t my goal.

After all, I have no use in winning crowns or thrones or titles... because those are material objects meant for materialistic individuals, and I strive to be a man of quality and substance.

Still... I came to fight... but not to succeed. Rather, I came to ensure that others FAILED... to see that NO king claimed rule over this federation. That was the will off the Fallen all along... to kill hopes and crush dreams... to knock people down a few pegs when their heads were getting away from them.

Up until the end of Aggression 53, I thought I was doing a pretty good job at that. As it turns out, somebody close to me thought I was doing TOO good of a job...

(He tilts his head over to the side and stretches out the collar of his black vintage Hot Topic “You Laugh At Me Because I’m Different; I Laugh At You Because You Are All The Same” t-shirt, momentarily revealing the bruises exposed on his neck.)

DOPESMOKER
And you know, it’s one thing to be stabbed in the back by a guy you considered to be a friend and mentor for many years. But what REALLY burns my ass is when I think back to all the times I publicly defended and justified the actions of that selfish son of a bitch, Jason “Stalker” Reeves, and I realize that THIS is all the thanks I get for my loyalty and hard work.

I tried in vain to convince this federation that there was actual MEANING behind the Fallen. But after that last show... I’ve sat back here for the past few days, thinking things over and smoking a good deal of dope... and I think I’ve come to the conclusion that maybe the only person I was trying to convince was MYSELF.

Maybe I came into this tournament for the wrong reasons.

(He snaps a small pillar of fire from the tip of his serpentine dragon lighter bought out of a gas station and takes another heavy drag off the bowl. He exhales through his nose, looking somewhat dragon-like.)

DOPESMOKER
I realize now that Stalker is the very thing that everybody has ever accused him of being: a selfish, whiny, overgrown child, who pitches fits when he doesn’t get his way, and blindsides people with chairs to overcompensate for his lack of brains and talent. And while I’d love to just grab a chair and chase him down at the next show to give him a little taste of own medicinal shwag... I’ve thought of a better way to stick it to that rat bastard.

I’m going to SUCCEED in this tournament. I’m going to win the whole damn thing. I’m going to RISE above the Fallen[/navy], just to prove to that crazy old motherfucker that I’ve always been better than him.

(A slight half-smirk crosses his face as he takes another hit from the bowl, this one causing him to cough a couple times as he lets it out. He picks around in it for a minute before deciding its cashed. Rather than set it aside, he pulls out it pouch and starts packing it again.)

DOPESMOKER
I’m sure there is hardly anyone that expects me to go all the way... but hey, practically nobody expected this humble and insignificant DOPESMOKER to make it this far, outlasting the likes of Karl Brown, Fusenshoff, Cameron Cruise, and the GREAT, AWESOME, UNSTOPPABLE FUTURE OF EVERYTHING Layne "Jesus Christ" Winters.

All the same, I’m here... thanks to my being professional wrestling’s greatest ESCAPE ARTIST. Not only am I here, but the Cosmos also saw fit to give me the main event of Aggression, against the World Heavyweight Champion, with the big strap on the line.

I imagine it’s one of those bright and perky “opportunities of a lifetime” that people talk up like they were the equivalent of finding gold nuggets in your shit. To me, though... it’s just the next step in this shindig of a King of the Cage tournament. The World Title isn’t my concern; never has been, to be honest. Right now, the only thing on my mind is finding a way either over that cage wall or through that cage door to move on to the final round.

(He lights up the green hit off the new bowl, and savors it for several moments before letting it drift out in a gray, billowy cloud that puts a smile on his face.)

DOPESMOKER
First... you can rest easy knowing one way or the other, you’ll be sleeping with that belt under your pillow for at least another show. At least until the guy you beat tracks you down and superkicks your head to fuckin’ Mars – you know, like he did to the LAST two guys that beat him.

I’m sure that disappoints you, but frankly, bro... I don’t give a damn. You have your way of looking at the world, and I have mine. Put that in your bowl and smoke it.

(He lights up and puffs again, smirking at the camera with an impish twinkle in his eye.)

DOPESMOKER
Don’t get me wrong... if this was any other regular match without those cage walls, I’d step into that ring and give you the challenge you so desperately want to legitimize your status. But the fact is, we’ll be in that cage... and the object of being on the inside is to get OUT. That’s what I do best... and while you may be one hell of a crafty high-flyer, I know for a FACT that you aren’t as fast, as crafty, or as daring as me.

I won’t HAVE to stop you, because the object of the game is stopping ME.

Astros and Winters couldn’t do the job when they said they wouldn’t let me escape. Yeah, they did a number on me... but I still managed slipped out with the skin on my back. It’s not about how hard you’re willing to fight, or how far you’re willing to go; if you can’t keep up with me, then you don’t have a prayer.

(He drops his favorite set of aviators over his eyes. Don’t ask WHY he’s doing it in dim red light in the back of a van, but for some reason, he looks ten times more badass than he did before... and he looked pretty badass a few seconds ago.)

DOPESMOKER
Grats, First... you finally got your brassy set-piece to complete the short-hair, photo-friendly ensemble that you’ve become. But I could care less as to where you go in trying to prove you’re the real deal. Championship or no championship, you’re in the way of my vendetta...

And if I came this far by not caring... imagine what I’m capable of doing when I PUSH myself to win.

So just sit back, relax, and enjoy the trip... because otherwise, I may just blow your fuckin’ mind...

(The DOPESMOKER reaches back and turns up the knob on the van’s stereo, peaking the droning stoner doom metal a few more decibels. He takes another long and heavy hit off the bowl before spacing out behind his sunglasses. The camera fades out behind a screen of smoke and haze.)

(FADEIN: The First sitting on the steps of Front Street, still in the same outfit as before. In the background Muse, in red shorts and a black T-Shirt, skateboards with some teenagers. “Don’t Come Around Here No More” by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers plays in the background.)

FIRST: Names are labels, they help us define things…The final four men in this tournament all are known by things other than their birth names, or have a nickname…I’m The First…and that’s my identity…High Flyer…Well he’s a high flyer…Even if now he appears to a comic-tragic creature both brushing off his problems while at the same time lamenting them…And Anarky, who is a violent maniac bent on carnage…Now turned into a cynical, seen-it-all-done-it-all veteran of the industry…

Then there’s you…what images does your nickname bring forth? What ideas do we get from the term “Dopesmoker”…Well, that you’re a pothead…Can’t say that’s too impressive really…So you like to smoke up…Great, get baked and have talks about motivation…I’ve heard this “I wasn’t trying” speech before, you and Layne Winters spent all this time talking about effort and who gave more…But now you re-write history that you were once again half assing it when you fought Layne…Of course if you do spend this whole match only going for escapes proves you’re half assing it against me…

Not that I give a damn if you’re motivated or not…Fact is we all lose matches, nobody goes undefeated forever, and when I lose I own it, I accept I wasn’t the better man…You, you get stoned and say “I coulda won, if I cared.” That’ll be the final report on the career of Erik Black…He could have mattered if he’d cared.

And since you don’t care…Since you live with your bong, and your fog of weed…Wrestling is a way to pay the bills, keep yourself stoned, keep yourself entertained, but you’ll never make it your craft, your way of life…I live this sport...Every night, every match is life and death to me…It’s funny that I gotta listen to Anarky complain about how I disrespect this industry yet here I stand fighting a man who’s exists only to brag about how much he dogs it in the ring…Maybe I should let you escape and give Anarky a real treat, a lazy slug who’s only goal is to see how little he effort he can put forth and still win…I’m sure that would make him real happy… (Smiles)

You know Erik, I spent all that time listening to you whine and cry about Stalker not being the stand-up, honorable man you thought he was…What a stunning turn of events that was, that Stalker, a psychopathic thug who spent a year tormenting Fusenshoff, that threw himself and Rocko Damyon off a three story building, might not be the wholesome and moral hero we’re all looking for to lead us to a better tomorrow…Sorry you found out he’s just another lunatic who wants the belt that is now mine…

I spent all that time listening to that pity party you threw yourself over how you wished The Fallen, consisting of two nutjobs, and yourself, could mean something, be important, be special in this crazy world of ours, and I figured that if I listened long enough that we’d get to the part where you started calling me out as per usual in these little witty verbal exchanges we have before matches…

And finally we got to it you decided to really instill fear in my heart and terror in my mind, you finally got around to letting me know exactly what I should worry about come Aggression 54…

“Triple X” Sean Stevens…

(First pauses for a moment, shrugs at the camera.)

That was the big payoff of all this…That Sean Stevens, the man I’ve been fighting for over a year to take this EPW World Title from…That he might kick me in the head at Aggression 54…You know Erik, I’d like to thank you for bringing that to my attention…I mean I’d spent all this time thinking that if I ever did manage to pry this belt off Stevens that he’d just go quietly off into sunset…That he’s just tip his cap and say “Brian, you done good.” And call it a day…

But you’ve shown me the truth that had been hidden from my eyes…That odds are Sean Stevens is gonna hit Aggression 54 and look to beat me half dead…That if I don’t take that beating before my match with you, that Aggression 54 is very likely to end with me laying in a pool of blood with Trip standing over my body while Dean Matthews says something like “The King is dead…Long live the King!”

You think I’m worried about taking another X-Factor? Trips hit me with so many of those, I lost count, I’ve been X-Factor’ed, X-Terminator’ed, kicked, punched, suplexed, whatever the hell that man’s wanted to do to me, he’s about done it…So the idea that maybe I’m in for another round of it…Well that’s not exactly so scary to me Erik…Worrying about Sean Stevens coming for my head would be like worrying about the sun coming up…I didn’t win this (Pats belt) thinking that it would make me a lot of friends…I won this because I wanted to be the best in the world…

You think you’re more daring, crafty, and faster than me…That is your opinion Erik…And we’ll get to test that out inside that steel cage…But you know what all my adventures, all my trials and sufferings in EPW have taught me…That in the end, it comes down to will…It comes down to who wants it more…You get in that ring, and you’re fighting for seconds, fighting for inches…And you don’t win if you’re not putting everything on the line, not doing all you can to win…And you don’t have that will…Hell, you brag about not having it…

And as I drag you away from that door time and time again…As I pull you off that cage each and every time you try to escape…You’ll start figuring it out, that I’m deadly serious about winning this tournament…That I’m not about to suffer a letdown after having the biggest win in my career…

Winters and Astros couldn’t stop you? That’s fine, cause they aren’t me….Astros is trying to get himself adjusted to EPW and Layne…Well his demons practically dictate that the man has to suffer before he finds salvation…But me…I don’t have any such problems…I’ve walked the long walk of pain and suffering, that steel cage has redeemed me, made me a champion…And now I shall continue to fight inside it, to battle anyone and everyone they put in that cage with me…Until in the end, I stand alone…

At Aggression 54…Your run in the King of the Cage ends at the hands of EPW’s Champion, it ends at the hands of the man…Who shall be King…

(FADEOUT)

(The sounds of Tom Petty’s nasally voice and 80’s pop synthesizers THANKFULLY fade out... or rather, are DROWNED out by the sludgey drone of electric guitars wailing through Orange amplifiers. There’s enough fuzz on that sound to make Sasquatch jealous.)

(CUE UP: “Gateway” by Bongzilla.)

DOPESMOKER
It’s storytime, folks...

(We open up on a still-frame photo of three seated dudes. The thin, dread-locked man on the left appears to be chuckling. The poofy-haired man on the right appears to be letting out a hit of smoke. The long black-haired man in the middle with the Fu Manchu moustache appears to be hitting a bowl or a joint.)

DOPESMOKER
Once upon a time... three kids out of San Jose, California had a doom metal band.

It wasn’t just any band, though. No... these kids were on the verge of something new and revolutionary. They had a sound that successfully merged the notions of doom and retro into a beautiful package. They put out an album in ‘93 that many claim birthed the genre of “Stoner Metal.”

(The camera zooms out slightly. The photo is actual the back of vinyl record being held by DOPESMOKER. Professional wrestling’s “Escape Artist” still has his favored aviators on... clad in a black tank-top that reveals his numerous tattoos and baggy red pants. The room he’s in is too dim to be made out clearly. All we can see right now is the man with the joint cleft in his lips. The spliff doesn’t seem to be impairing his ability to speak.)

DOPESMOKER
About fifteen years ago, these guys were approached by a major record label that saw the band’s budding popularity and thought they could cash in on it. They gave the band a record deal and a hefty advance, expecting a solid album of radio hits that they could mass market to a mainstream audience.

So what happened? Well, they took that advance... and smoked ALL OF IT. Then they hit the studio for a short while. The album they eventually played for the studio execs was not the album they were expecting. It had only one song... sixty-three minutes in length... the heaviest, slowest, most epic piece of music that’s ever been composed on the insignificant blue planet we call “Earth.”

The studio, naturally, didn’t want to release the album in such a format. Can’t play a sixty-three minute song on the radio, after all. So what did the band do? Did they cave? Did they compromise?

No... they didn’t. They chose to stick to being artists rather than being cash machines. They decided to stand by their work, because it made a STATEMENT in an industry that was so overwrought with marketing and mainstream appeal, the very concept of music as expression was becoming something of a ghost of the past.

The label wouldn’t release the album. The band, caught up in a contract that they couldn’t get out of, went their separate ways. Even with the prospect of having a rich and successful life if they just gave them what they wanted, they decided that it wasn’t worth giving up what they were at the very core. It was better off to just end it all right there... to let their work speak for itself.

(He flips the record around. It reveals the best album cover ever designed for an album... and a single logo in the center that reads “SLEEP”.)

DOPESMOKER
That name of that band... was Sleep.

(He sets the LP aside and picks up another one. The second vinyl has a demon-faced horseman on the cover, a falchion in one hand and a bouquet of serpents in the other.)

DOPESMOKER
That title of that song-album... was DOPESMOKER.

(He flips the cover around to look at it. Double LP, with a bonus live track on Side D. The back has a shaman, of sorts, with his eyes rolled back and cast skyward. From a nearby dais, a grail burns smoke into the air.)

DOPESMOKER
My name is more than just a simple description of what I am and what I do. I made the bold decision to refer to myself as DOPESMOKER in honor of this album... this revolutionary STATEMENT in the face of the music industry... because I want to make the same kind of statement in professional wrestling.

Sure, with a name like that, I’m not going to come off as very impressive or marketable. This album and I share the curse of being misunderstood and misrepresented in almost every imaginable way. All the same, there hasn’t been an undertaking that’s even come close to the brilliance and depth that this single album represents. Those three kids out of San Jose changed the face of underground metal... and while many people probably have never even HEARD of this album... at least those guys can say they made their mark on the world. At least they can claim they did something DIFFERENT and UNIQUE in a world where it was posh to be the exact same as everybody else.

That’s what I strive to be... DIFFERENT... UNIQUE. I don’t have to be a World Champion to be that way, just like Sleep didn’t have to go quadruple platinum to establish themselves as metal legends. I intend make my own mark on this world without having to compromise what I am.

(He glances at the second vinyl and puts it with the previous one, carefully setting it down as if it were a part of his life-force. His attention goes back to the camera as he finally removes the joint from his mouth after a hefty puff.)

DOPESMOKER
So why am I delving into music history instead of talking about our match? Well, First... if you look closely, maybe you could draw some comparisons.

You see, I remember a time when you and I weren’t too different from one another. We were just two undersized, high-flying tag-teamsters... with a habit of speaking on topics often left unspoken, and catering to small but loyal followings of fans. You had goth-kids, and I had stoners. Then came your life-changing experience with “Triple X” Sean Stevens back at Aggression Forty-Whatever... and something in you changed, First.

You became one of THEM.

(He scoffs, and shakes his head with what can only be considered something between disgust and disdain.)

DOPESMOKER
Just another plastic, mass-produced, Kung Fu-action, G.I. Jackoff ACTION FIGURE... riding that one-track mindset that the only real way to validate your existence is to tack a championship to your record, as if that proved everything.

There was once a time where you were UNIQUE, First. You were DIFFERENT. But after your encounter with Stevens, you suddenly decided that being what you were wasn’t enough. You compromised who you were. Look at yourself now... bulked up, short hair... ditzy chick following you around everywhere you go like she has nothing better to do... you’re a walking cliché of the stereotypical cookie-cutter hero.

You really think you’ve made it now that you’ve won that title? I’m sure Rocko thought the same thing... and JA right after him. Where are they now, First? Not here. They’re past-tense for the time being. Those particular action figures went out of style, and have since become obsolete. The mass-marketing machine that controls this industry has found the hip new toy to throw on the shelves for Christmas... and surprise, surprise... it’s YOU, dude.

(Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his blood-tinted slacks, he swivels around ninetey degrees and stoner-struts his way along, a prominent trail of smoke from the joint left in his wake. The camera follows his progress through the murky settings of the room.)

DOPESMOKER
I’m not surprised that you don’t understand me, First. I’ve been misunderstood ever since my habits became public. Ever since, people have been writing me off as some kind of helpless, hapless pothead with no clue where he is and no clue where he’s going. Easy pickings in the wrestling ring, so they think.

Well, to quote the late, great American comedian and poet Bill Hicks... “They lie about*marijuana. Tell you pot-smoking makes you unmotivated. Lie! When you're high, you can do everything you normally do, just as well. You just realize that it's not worth the fucking effort. There is a difference.”

You have trouble seeing that difference, First. If you had really paid attention to my career, you’d see that there was nothing every lazy or uncommitted in my performance. I can still bust out some sick-ass, mind-blowing flips and shit as well as any other midget in this federation. Just because I strive for pops out of the crowd instead of marks under my “W” column doesn’t mean I’m any less than capable of leaving you BEATEN and EMBARRASSED in that cage.

You talk about will and motivation... and how I apparently don’t HAVE those things. Couldn’t be more wrong there, Firsty. Maybe if you had paid more attention to that bit you call a “pity party”, you’d already know that this time around, I actually DO have something to fight for in this tournament. But the fact that it isn’t what YOU fight for gets your panties in a knot, for some reason.

You may not see it, but then... it wasn’t YOU hanging from that cage by your neck at Aggression 53. You don’t have a vendetta against Stalker... in fact, you pretty much owe him your thanks. All that so-called “reject” had to do was stand in one place at the bottom of the cage, and that was enough to make even the great, invincible “Triple X” Sean Stevens hesitate in a moment of uncertainly. That brief moment of fear and hesitation was all you needed to take something that you didn’t actually EARN on your own.

(He stops, and swivels around to face the camera again. The trail of smoke cuts a sharp arc into the air and quietly drifts away into the black.)

DOPESMOKER
Seriously... is it really so hard to accept that I’m more interested in moving on in this tournament than winning that paltry title off of you? Is it so hard to believe that another man’s goals and motivations might be different from your own? Why does it always have to be ALL or NOTHING, First? That’s a one-dimensional way of looking at the world. There needs to be a middle-ground.

But there’s nothing there for you anymore. You just want to prove yourself as the BEST EVER OF ALL TIME, period... or your life is unfulfilled. All I want to prove that I can be BETTER for just one night. I want to prove to that entire locker room – Stalker and YOU included – that I can succeed on my OWN ways... that I don’t have to compromise the way I am.

All I have to do is get out of that cage before you, First...

And while you’re too busy obsessing over things you think I don’t have, I’m more interested in the things I have OVER YOU that you don’t have the mind or the patience to see. I’ve got a foolproof strategy, greased lightning in my legs, and a stoner brilliance you can’t even begin to comprehend. If you think all I’m capable of doing is scurrying up a cage wall, then bucko... you ain’t seen nothing yet.

(He takes a long drag off the joint and lets it out in a cloud from the corner of his mouth.)

DOPESMOKER
And unfortunately... you aren’t willing to see anything more. You can do your best to convince everyone that you’re NOT Layne Winters and Donovan Astros, but it doesn’t really change the fact that you’re saying the exact same things and making the exact same false assumptions the two of them made before I went into that cage and blew their fuckin’ minds out of the kiddie pool of reality.

And if things go my way... if the Cosmos is willing... I may just do that again to the self-proclaimed “best in the world”, the man that believes his belt identifies what he is. I may just prove, after all this time that all my ranting and raving about how winning and losing and championships don’t matter in the grand scheme of things... that this humble little DOPESMOKER might be onto something...

(The corners of his mouth stretch into a bizarre grin as he takes another hefty puff of the equally hefty spliff. He blows two lungfuls of smoke into the camera before turning around and fading away into the dimness of the room. The buzzing outtro of “Gateway” fades in as the camera fades out.)

420

(FADEIN: The First and Muse sitting on a bench at the Salem Willows. First is in the same outfit as before, EPW World Title belt resting on his lap. Muse sits next to him, munching on some Chinese food. “F*ck You” by Cee-Lo Green plays in the background.)

FIRST: You’ve most likely seen it on TV, both in it’s original form and it’s Coors Light form. The post-game press conference with an irate Denny Green screaming “They are who we thought they were!”

And well, you Erik…You’re exactly who I thought you were…You want to tell me a story…He’s a story for you…

Guys form a band, guys play gigs, guys make some tapes, guys get noticed, become a local hit…Talent agents scout them out…They get a recording contract, suddenly they are on the radio, touring the world, selling out concert halls, they become big time…

Old fans of the band, who knew them ‘back in the day’ start to resent them, claim the band sold out…You know who this story is about…Every friggin’ band ever Erik…That’s who.

You liked my work with the Forsaken? Thanks Erik, so did I…But I guess you didn’t really pay attention to what was going on…Hell I just walked in the door with Felix and I was already jumping up and down trying to get Joey Melton’s attention…The goal of the Forsaken for us was to win the World Tag Team Titles and use that platform for me to go after the World Champion…

Yeah, sorry to break your heart Erik…But I’ve always wanted this belt…Even back then in my ‘playing in dad’s garage with my friends’ phase of my EPW career, I couldn’t wait to be a so called sell out…Couldn’t wait to make it to the top of this company…

Of course the moment I made the break from Felix I heard all you’ve said…That I was the ‘safe’ one of the two of us for EPW to give a push to, that Felix and his pill popping, blow snorting lifestyle wasn’t good for the image if this company, and that Felix Red as EPW World Champion would be an public relations nightmare…So they groomed me for success and sent Felix out of town on a rail…

Of course the fact is that Felix, like you, never had any drive or motivation, he never had any desire to do a damn thing…And that’s why he’s gone and I’m on top of the mountain…But letting the facts get in the way of a story is never a problem for people…

You are who I thought you were Erik…You’re the guy who equates ambition with being a crime, who defends his apathy as a sign of purity…You pretend that winning and losing don't matter because it makes you ‘above it all’…It makes life easier, you don’t have to try too hard, because if you win too much, then suddenly you’re the sell out, you’re the bastard who’s doing what the suits wanted him to do…

Don’t like the haircut? I didn’t want my hair in my face during matches...Yeah there are times when I look down at anime style me (Looks at his “Outcast Hero” T-Shirt.) and see him with the long hair and wish I had it back…So maybe I’ll grow it out again, maybe I won’t, but I did it to improve myself…To buy myself that second I need in the pivotal moment in the match…And you tell me it’s proof I’m a sellout…I guess seeking to make yourself better then you were the day before is selling out then…

You tell me I’ve ‘bulked up’ to become a carbon copy of everyone else…You know how long I’ve tried to gain weight? Since my first day in wrestling school…I’ve always been too small for this industry, always been the fool trying to chase a dream reserved for those much bigger and stronger than me…I haven’t had a fight where I’ve been the bigger man in the ring in my EPW career…I think all of Lindsay Troy…Who in spite of all the endless jokes…Is in fact a woman…And the skinny guy from the Heirs of Wrestling weigh less than me in this company...

And since Black Dawn and my newest attempt at piling on the weight…I’ve gained six pounds in two and a half months…Six pounds of bowing to the will of my corporate overlords…Some might think I’m trying to just make myself a bit stronger, a bit better at my job…Which, when you’re my size, involves you getting the hell beaten out of you every time you hit the ring…You tell me it’s selling out…Because as always will is the enemy…Dedication to one’s job is a sign of weakness…

MUSE: Oh I did want to interject for a moment here…Hi Erik (Waves at camera) I’m the ditzy chick with nothing better to do then follow First around…I assume that I too was hand-picked by some shadowy talent agency because I had the ‘wacky sidekick’ vibe to me…Or, I could just be a friend of this goof…After high school, he knocked up some girl and foolishly got married to her and ruined his life…While I was out playing guitar and drums for various bands you’ve never heard of all across America and Europe…I got tired of that scene, and always having bassists trying to screw me…And Mr. Big Time here was getting some play on TV…So I told him I was gonna crash the party and make myself a media darling…But if you know a band that needs a drummer, lemme know, I’m always up for a gig…

And don’t try to talk to him about music…He’s just some pop chart listening radio whore…Sleep is something he does every so often to rest, he has no idea they are one of the most awesome bands ever…He’d most likely be coming to the ring with his crappy Green Day theme if Felix hadn’t clued him into Birthday Massacre.

FIRST: Boulevard of Broken Dreams is a fine entrance song…

MUSE: Oh whatever…You’re clueless…Thank goodness we can agree on Lady Gaga…Go back to making fun of the guy who’s name didn’t make the cut for Reservoir Dogs. I mean, Mr. Pink, but no Mr. Black, just seems weird…

FIRST: Oh we’ll always have Gaga…And then Erik gets to the usual stuff about how JA and Rocko flamed out with the belt, so I’ll flame out to…Hell I heard Layne Winters tear apart Stevens and his run with the title…This is how it works, you can never make your critics happy, they’ll always find a flaw, always have a reason to tear you down. Maybe I do only hold this belt for a few months, maybe I hold it for a year or two…Who knows what the future will hold for me, fact is, I wanted this belt, and I won it…Now I want to keep it, so I’m going to do everything I can to hang onto it…

And I didn’t win the belt clean enough for your liking…I was a sell out for trying to win it, but I’m a sell out and a fraud because of the Stalkerference in our match…Well I guess my big mistake in my career in EPW was forgetting to put a challenge flag in my sock at Aggression 42, because if Pat Jones coulda gone under the hood to review that match he’d have seen when I laid out Stevens and pinned him for a 20 count…I’d have been champion over a year ago…

You can say Triple X didn’t deserve to lose his title that way…And I’ll tell you deserving had nothing to do with it…I’m not a big enough fool to question what happened in the match that made me EPW World Champion…You want to tell me I shouldn’t be champion…Well you can beat me and make it so I’m not champion…It’s pretty simple…

Of course, you won’t beat me for this title, because that would be selling out…(Smirks) of course you’re a sellout, just like me Erik…You signed a contract to be in EPW just like me, you wrestling on the shows just like me…You cash the checks this company sends you just like I do…You held the World Tag Team Titles just like I did…Of course that belt doesn’t make you a sellout…Only this one (Pats belt) does…The only difference is I want to be great…And you want to be stoned...So act like it all doesn’t matter, and that maybe you can change the world through your apathy…

But the fact is, when we’re in the cage and you’re playing your games trying to climb out of it or escaping that door…Or we’re trading punches and kicks and whatever crazy high risk stuff we feel like busting out…There’s going to be a Erik Black fan rooting for you to win…He won’t be rooting for you to keep it real or be awesome or whatever other empty platitude you want to make up for your actions, he’ll want you to obtain a victory…Because you’re his dog in the fight, and you root for your wrestler to win…

It’s not music where you enjoy a song, or have lyrics inspire you…It’s a fight…There’s a winner, and a loser…Music is subjective…You could tell me Sleep is better than Lady Gaga and really, I can’t disprove you…But wrestling…Wrestling is objective…End of the night, somebody wins, somebody loses…And your fan won’t go home that night proud that you didn’t conform to what “The Man” wanted you to do in that ring…He won’t be honored that you stayed true to the Dopesmoker Ethos…He’ll just be pissed off because his hero, his favorite wrestler got beat…That Erik Black lost to The First…

And maybe someday you’ll find that fan and you’ll talk to him and he’ll tell you he really wished you had beat me, and he really wanted you to be World Champion…And you’ll try to explain to him how the belt and winning and losing doesn’t matter and we’re all just a buncha stardust in the universe and that objective truth is a lie and all that…And he’ll nod and go along with it because you’re his idol and all…

But he’ll still wish you had become EPW World Champion…Or at the very least that you had beaten me…Because that’s what this is all about in the end, rooting for your guy to beat the other guy…Walking out of the ring at Black Dawn…As I stumbled to the back, I didn’t see anyone wearing my face paint or my T-Shirt happy that I’d put it all on the line and come up short…I didn’t see any of my fans the least bit thrilled that I’d been the best I could be and it wasn’t enough…And leaving the ring after Aggression 53, I didn’t see any of them upset or angry about how I won the EPW World Title…At the bar that night for the after party, nobody seemed to have a bad word to say about the events that had transpired that night…

In the end, everyone loves a winner, and everyone forgets a loser…It’s a cruel truth Erik…You can’t change that…That winner might have a bit shorter hair then he did when he was a loser, he might have gained a few more pounds…But he’s still a winner, and for that they love him…

Is it a foolish thing to seek victory in that ring? Perhaps, but that’s what I do, and it’s what I’m here for…To fight, struggle, beat and be beaten…To test myself against the best in the world and to listen to the roar of the crowd while I do it…Maybe one day it’ll all be empty, hollow, and meaningless to me…But I doubt it…

So you bring your foolproof plan to escape the cage…And I’ll bring a foolproof plan to beat the hell out of you, and we’ll see who had the better plan and who walks out of that ring one step closer to being King of the Cage…Because we’re wrestlers…And that’s what we do…We fight…One of us is hailed as the winner, and the other is shamed as the loserr…

Of course…I didn’t just have to listen to you Erik…I listened to Erik Black…The remix, by Triple X…All I could think of was the old saying about what you say to some punk who’s talking and talking and talking when his team is hopelessly far behind…You just say “Scoreboard”…Because that’s all you need to do, you’ve proven your point on the field…You’ve won, they’ve lost…And they can say all they want, it changes nothing…

So in honor of that, to you Trip, to everything you had Erik say, and said yourself…(Holds up EPW World Title Belt to the camera.) Nameplate. (Points to the nameplate reading “The First”)

(FADEOUT)

(The music by that guy from Gnarls Barkley fades out.)

(CUE UP: “Twin Earth” by Monster Magnet.)

DOPESMOKER
YA KNOW...

(These words are delivered in the drawn-out and annoyingly nasal way that can only be interpreted as a Cameron Cruise imitation. We fade in on the Escape Artist himself in the music cliched and over-used locations of promo-making: a park bench, in what can justifiably be assumed to be his home city. He’s got his aviators and moccasins on, as well as a black silk-screened floral print shirt with red pot-leafs instead of actual flowers. He’s got his legs crossed and his hands clasped behind his head, enjoying a breathless Midwestern sunset.)

DOPESMOKER
...it seems like all I’ve done lately is defend myself.

(The grin on his face suddenly disappears as something comes to his mind.)

DOPESMOKER
Wait a sec... didn’t Anarky say the exact same thing in the last round? Damb... looks like being misunderstood runs rampant in this tournament.

All the same, that statement couldn’t be any more true. The last two opponents I’ve had seemed more interested in criticizing my habits and my motives than actually considering my in-ring ability. That trend stretches on even before this tournament... back into the very haze of my memory that’s been smoked into oblivion. People just can’t get over the fact that I rock a “don’t-give-a-shit” attitude in that ring... and keep trying to justify that it’s somehow holding me back.

Thing is... I KNOW I’m not alone.

(He looks around briefly to confirm he’s alone and not being watched by a cop or anything. Been doing wayyy too much running from the law these past few months. With the coast clear, he plucks a joint out of his shirt pocket and lights up.)

DOPESMOKER
Should you move on in this tournament, First... are you prepared to repeat everything you’re saying? Cause look at the other two guys still in this. High Flyer’s made it no secret that he’s here for FUN... not titles. And I’m pretty sure Anarky’s just fine with where his career is, without ever having put a singles belt on his record. Are you going to give them the same shwag about having not motivation or will to succeed or some crap like that?

It’s a harsh hit to hold in, but yes... there are people in this industry that don’t give a fuck about inflating their egos with romantic notions of being “TEH BEST EVAR11!!!!!!” People like me... Anarky... High Flyer... we’re here just because we love doing what we do. We’ve come this far, not by will or motivation... but because we stick to our strengths. Flyer flies. ‘Nark breaks faces. I ESCAPE.

(He takes a healthy – if it can be called “healthy” – drag off the spliff, escaping the realm of reality for a moment as he holds it in, and lets it out with a restrained chortle.)

DOPESMOKER
But see, it’s not THAT you want to be the best that I have a problem with; it’s this screwy notion you have that your pursuit of being the best apparently makes you better by default than somebody who ISN’T trying to be what you are. I’ve survived allegedly better men to make it this far... so what makes you think that being “the BEST” means you won’t be fooled just like them?

You can say with all certainty that you’ll move on to that final round because you want it more – which, in my opinion, is a HIGH-ly debatable subject... but the truth is, First, that NOTHING is certain. Need proof? Just consider how I made it here. Consider how you currently walk around with that belt.

I’m not going to bullshit anybody by suggesting I got here on talent alone. I fully understand that it was luck that will get me here, and it will probably be luck that gets me to that final match to declare the King. I’m okay with that... cause luck is simply the will of the Cosmos. There are, and there always will be, factors that you and I cannot control.

Two of those factors you’ve ignored this entire time... deliberately sweeping them under your mental carpet and hoping they’d go away. One of them is the fact that you never had to beat ME to become World Heavyweight Champion. It’s been a long time since you and I have been in the ring together, First... and you CAN’T say you know me from the inside and out. When that cage door closes and bell rings, who knows... I may just prove that I’ve ALWAYS been better than you. And if I’m better than the proclaimed BEST... what does that make me?

Then of course there’s that second factor... Stalker... the crazy bastard who still thinks he’s in charge of this tournament and free to do whatever the hell he pleases. It’s almost a certainty he’ll make another appearance and try to bungle things up. What ISN’T certain, though, is who it will affect more. Will he go after his former ally, or the man carrying the title he wants for himself? Neither of us have the answers.

And if I can’t say in all confidence that I know how this is going to go, then how do you expect me to give a damb whether I win or lose?

(He takes another hit, impish grin on his face.)

DOPESMOKER
Well, since I’m cool, I’ll TELL you how...

Stalker strung my ass up on the cage last Aggression, and, well... it kinda pissed me off. In my mind, there are more important things than the one-dimensional cock-stroking ambition of putting a strap around your waist... like honor, and loyalty, or some other vague, sentimental shit like that.

I may have had apathy in my corner in the last two rounds... but THIS time... I’m daring enough to go against the will of the Cosmos, should it go against me. I’m not going to let that bastard run around and fuck up matches like this federation was his play-thing. I’m going to prove to the world that in spite of being lost in a stoned haze, this humble and insignificant little DOPESMOKER can triple-jump moonsault his way onto the golden toilet seat of sweet, sweet victory... not because he WANTS it, but just to prove that he CAN.

I’d also just like to say... fuck that hybrid man-bitch named Lady GaGa. I’m more of a Katy Perry fan myself. Same crappy music, but better face and better rack.

Sonic Titan
Yeah, I’d vjork her in ass.

DOPESMOKER
Yeah, I’d tap that shit too... but the point is –

(He cuts himself off, shakes his head comically, and looks over to the spot on the bench next to him. There’s a giant there with a LONG beard and an even longer gaze, dressed in a friar’s robe and an ushanka. It’s Tag Team Legend and one half of the CHRONIC COLLIZION!! (formerly the Crimson Calling) – Ivan Goddamn Dalkichev, in the flesh.)

DOPESMOKER
SONIC T!! You’re BACK!!

Sonic Titan
Oh no, Dope-Daddy... I’ve ALWAYS been here.

DOPESMOKER
Uh... what? I haven’t seen you for the past... shit, has it been over a year?

Sonic Titan
Not on this plane, but I assure you... there is no “back”, for I never left. I have been WATCHING from afar this entire time... from a sacred place far away and close at the same time.

(The Escape Artist looks questionably into the camera, then shrugs it off.)

DOPESMOKER
Uh... right, man. So why’d you pop in back out of your time and space trip all of a sudden?

Sonic Titan
I felt your promo needed sentimental value to give it some weight.

DOPESMOKER
Oh, right on... welcome back.

(He turns his attention back to the camera, passing the joint over to his former tag partner, who takes a good hit that nearly burns the spliff down to the roach. Big lungs in that man’s chest.)

DOPESMOKER
Anyway, First, the point is... I may not care about being the best, or being the World Heavyweight Champion of Empire Pro... but all the same, I’m walking into that cage with an intent to fight to win. I want to step up to that plush throne and kick it the fuck over... declaring that NO man rule over this federation as its “King.” Then we’ll rename it “Republic Pro Wrestling”, or something to that effect...

Forget will and motivation for just a second... and RECOGNIZE what you’re up against. I’m a man that leaves consequences to whim of fate. I’m a man that jumps off things just for the hell of it. In terms of personality, you might think I’m the man you thought I was... but who I am in that CAGE is something you can’t even begin to wrap your mind around.

You keep on hiding behind that belt... cause I’ve got nothing but my work to back up my words. Many years of taking bumps and busting out reality-defying maneuvers is all the credence I need to back up my claims that I can hang with EPW’s “best” and STILL squeak out of that cage with a win.

Put that in your bowl and smoke it, Firsty... and if you can’t help but hack it back up, then you need to wake the fuck up and stare into the rays of the new stoner sun rising, cause I’m about to blow your small and fragile worldview into another plane of reality.

(Abruptly, the Sonic Titan shoots to his feet and does the “Chronic-Hogan” pose off into a random direction.)

Sonic Titan
Spoken like a REAL Champ, bromangous! A COSMIC Heavyweight Champion!

COME! Let us ride out on the clouds of the new horizon! Proceeds the Weedian... TACO BELL!!

DOPESMOKER
Far out, dude. I guess it’s been a while since you’ve shat a chalupa...

(The man YOU call Erik Black, but calls himself DOPESMOKER puts out the roach and drops it back into his pocket before the reunited CHRONIC COLLIZION!! (formerly the Crimson Calling) walk – no, GROOVE their way down the dirt path and out of the shot while the stoner rock of Monster Magnet blares in the background. Fade to black, and three friendly little numbers...)

420

OOC: Buzzer-beat away.

(FADEIN: The First and Muse sitting in Logan airport, wearing their ‘sunglasses and black ball caps’ outfits to be less noticeable, they are being filmed on a hand held camera.)

FIRST: You know Erik I’m not the least bit worried about what High Flyer and Anarky think of the EPW World Title…High Flyer’s here for fun…And for the pain he’s caused so many so many times…And for his son who’s going under the knife…And everything else that is happening with him…

And as for Anarky…I think he’s called me a deluded maniac who thinks of EPW as his own personal journey and a fraud…And that EPW deserves better than me…So I’m pretty sure he’s going to be fine with winning the EPW World Title…

You’re projecting your own thoughts and your own ideals into others…You attempt to devalue my title by having everyone else think it as meaningless as you do…But honestly Erik, why did anyone sign up for this thing if the title didn’t mean anything? 14 people stepped up to the plate, and all of them knew that if they won this tournament, they would either already be EPW World Champion…Or that winning this tournament would give them a shot at the belt…

So either 13 of the most carefree, happy-go-lucky people in the world today signed up, just hoping to win this thing and somehow escape the title, and then exactly how they would avoid the title shot, I dunno…But that was their gameplan…Or the vast majority of them wanted to become EPW World Champion…

So you believe in your new generation of folks who don’t want the belt…Who live content with being just average or OK…Who live only to mock success and belittle those who dare seek to achieve something in this industry…You know who those people are…They are the ones history forgets…

Those that do, that drive, take the moment when it’s given them and don’t give it back, they are the ones that are remembered, they are the ones that matter and have meaning in this world...You are truly one of the most insidious poisons in this world…The affable, cheerful guy who tells people it’s OK to not give it your all, that winning is for the weak, that desire is a flaw…You accept that you’re going nowhere in this world, so everyone else should ease up and do nothing either….Let’s all get along in a happy sea of mediocrity….

You don’t want the title, that’s your deal Erik, that’s fine with me…But don’t think for a second I don’t know it’s on the line when we fight…We could fall off that cage and crash into the ring and you land on top of me and next thing I know, Erik Black has beaten me for the title…Or I get caught up in the cage or the ropes and shred my elbow or knee and have to submit to save my career…Belt is yours then…I know that there’s a lot of ways I can lose this title to you, and I have to stay on top of my game to make sure that it doesn’t happen…

You want to talk about luck and the will of the Cosmos to me Erik…(Laughs) really? Ain’t that precious…A man educating me on the nature of Destiny and Fate…Explaining to me that things we think of as flukes or accidents are instead truly part of a grand design…Yes Erik, you’re exactly right about these things, that is the nature of the universe…The hand, so often unseen but sometimes revealed, moving us towards whatever is that is the path we’re supposed to take…

Call it luck, call it Destiny…Call it whatever you like…I talked to one of the refs who’s son isn’t being brainwashed by Copycat…And he told me that the whole ‘heel to toe’ rule that applied in my match with Stevens was put there after the controversial ending to Stevens second World Title win, that the two men crashing to the floor made them debate what exactly a touch was, be it a toe or the flat of the foot…And so they had a meeting and that ruling was made…In his victory, the seeds of his defeat were sown…

Stalker, the instrument he used to take out Rocko and make it such that JA and himself could fight for the title…He too returned, and was vital to the outcome…Others see a tainted win, a fraud, a stolen title…I see the harmony of the universe…I see all the debts Sean Stevens ever had being paid for in full in one perfect storm of events that left me Champion….

You’re a funny guy Erik, because half the time you tell me how you don’t care, and how this is all meaningless, and the other half of the time you gimme a sob story that would make Anarky wince about what a hard knock career you’ve had and now you’re gonna put it together and really take it to me…Maybe you’re bi-polar and you’re just medicating yourself with all this weed you’re smoking, maybe you’re conflicted and don’t know what you really want…Who am I to judge?

Fact is I don’t know you that well as a person, and really I don’t think I ever will, but I will know you as a wrestler at Aggression 54, where you promise me you’ll do all your tricks and antics to try to sneak your way out of the cage and get yourself to the finals…

And about the whole “Republic Pro Wrestling” thing…I gave those anti-King speeches so many times I could give them in my sleep, but they never seemed to matter or work out for me…So I’ve learned the truth that EPW must always have a King…And that as long as I’m here…It might as well be me…

MUSE: Ugh…World Champion AND King of the Cage…You’re hard to live with now, that would make you insufferable…

FIRST: I’m not that bad am I?

(Muse punches First in the arm.)

FIRST: Oh OK…(Sarcastically) but it’s hard to be humble when you’re the best in the world…

(Muse repeatedly punches First in the arm, First stumbles off his seat and walks away from her, Muse grimaces and shakes her head in disgust…FADEOUT)

Buzzer beaters are only eligible for a free reply if posted within one hour of the deadline. The last RP by First will not count for judging.