AGGRESSION 50: Erik Black vs. Aran Dishon
- Thread starter DBrunkGXW
- Start date
(CUE UP: "Sweet Leaf" by Black Sabbath. A looped sample of Ozzy Osbourne coughing gives way to Tony Iommi's pounding riff to a view of the cosmos. Two measures pass, and -- )
DOPESMOKER
ALL-RIGHT-NOW!!!
( -- Erik Black's Time and Space Travelling Spacevan comes speeding off the rings of Saturn and makes glowing trails of light as it plummets into the astral void.)
(When we get done looking at some low-budget special effects including an EPW action figure behind the wheel of a toy van suspended over a backdrop by fishwire... we cut to "DOPESMOKER" Erik Black behind the wheel of the van, bearing a sloppy grin as he greets the camera with squinted eyes.)
DOPESMOKER
Welcome once again my loyal Chrononauts to another mind-expanding caravan through the far reaches of the ever-expanding cosmos...
(The camera pulls out a bit to reveal "The Sonic Titan" Ivan Dalkichev in the seat next to him, wearing aviatar goggles, a pirate hat, and a poncho.)
The Sonic Titan
TOWARD THE CENTER OF THE GALAXY!
AWAY FROM EARTH AND ALL ITS MISERIES!
DOPESMOKER
Straight from the holy text, arr-migo.
(He turns to the camera and winks.)
DOPESMOKER
Get it? He's got a poncho and a pirate hat, so he's... ah, never fucking mind. You don't get it.
(With a grumble under his breath, he plucks a joint into his mouth and lights it up.)
DOPESMOKER
But that's okay, because there are a lot of things people don't get. Like why I joined forces with guys like Stalker and OMEGA to reform the Fallen. Well, given how NOBODY is getting ahead in Empire Pro unless they're somehow a part of this HOPE and Anthology clusterfuck, I really didn't see a choice in the matter.
The members of Anthology are too busy convincing themselves that countless wins in tag matches and six-man tag matches make them better than everybody else, including me. Apparently, being undersized, pasty, perpetually stoned, and having more than three functioning brain cells disqualifies me from their ranks.
As for the superhero team called HOPE? Well, see, there's a funny story about that. When Anthology was running roughshod over this federation, I was kinda HOPING I could get in on the resistance movement when it naturally formed itself. I guess, though, I wasn't cool enough for The First and the other rejects in the Breakfast Club to help them in their cause.
So, fuck the both of them. They can have their pointless war, all the while ignorant to the fact that neither will actually get what they want through constantly beating the other. The Fallen, meanwhile, will join the war on their terms, without actually having to be involved in it.
See, guys like Stalker, OMEGA, and me... we think a tad alternatively. Some would call us crazy, and to be honest... I consider that a compliment! I think it takes a crazy mind to truly see what other people cannot see... like the ridiculous façade of competition, the pointlessness of rat races, and the frailty of legacies. That's why rather than simply join this war, our intent is to royally fuck it up. Our interest isn't in success, but SABOTAGE.
(His ears twitch slightly as he hears rumors coming far and wide across the fabric of time and space, and grimaces slightly as he lets out a cloud of smoke that becomes a swirling nebula floating over the dashboard. As Dalkichev croons over this, Black's attention doesn't shift from the camera.)
DOPESMOKER
Now... I can hear people scoffing out there already, pointing to our lopsided win-loss records and thinking that this will never go anywhere. But again... the point is to go anywhere. The point is to let you all know that the Fallen always been here. Maybe it didn't come in the form of a stoner, a husband to a chair, and a pantry-drawer browser... but there have always been athletes in this industry that were more concerned about making an impact than they were with winning a title.
Well, once again, I'll fill you in on the secret of the new century: Winning is overrated. You can look to me if your so damned single-minded that you need proof. I haven't won a match in... shit, I can't honestly remember. Drugs will do that to you. But I've taken it in stride. It hasn't hampered my mind-blowing maneuvers, and it hasn't killed the heat I have now with the fans.
All this time losing matches and here I am now with the opportunity to move on and fight the TV Champion once again.
(Ivan plugs up one nostril with his finger, snorts as hard is he can, and inhales Erik's second-hand nebula. That's actually really crazy to watch, and Black even seems somewhat impressed. Still, he maintains attention on the camera.)
DOPESMOKER
But in order to jump on such an opportunity, I gotta go through this new guy first. I'd name him, but knowing me, I'd probably fuck it up.
The Sonic Titan
"A randish one?"
DOPESMOKER
Uh, sure. I don't know what "randish" means, but I'll be imaginative.
Rumor has it he scored a win over our buddy Olvir. Then again, who HASN'T been winning over Olvir these days. It's like right after TEAM closed its doors, things just haven't been the same for that Viking butt-berzerker.
Maybe this guy is a legit, or maybe he's a fluke. Since I seem to be an easy source of meaningless wins for guys who think they're in desperate need of them, I guess that makes me a good way to find out just what he is. Too bad I might actually feel like putting forward some effort this time around.
Because this time... it ain't about fighting to gain some exposure. This time I will take the belt from Layne Winters, not for my own personal gain, but simply to remove it from the HOPE/Anthology battlefield, and put it back in the hands of the prestigious and unsung undercard, where it belongs.
I suppose I could leave that to the whim of this "randish" dude, but I haven't gotten high enough to form an honest opinion of him yet. In crunch times, its wise to go with what you trust will get you there... and I trust my own high-flying, death-defying, and mind-blowing abilities.
(The joint is now down to a roach. He hands it off to Ivan, who gets the clamps...)
DOPESMOKER
"Randish" one... prepare yourself for the most off-the-wall and over-the-tops attacks you've never in your wildest imagine a human being capable of pulling off. If you feel a burning in the ring, don't mind it.
That's just the light of stoner brilliance, and you're just getting a tan in the rays of the new stoner sun rising.
(Black takes up the roach and takes a mighty puff as the camera pans over to Ivan Dalkichev, big grin etched on his face as he peers into the heart of the cosmos through a pair of aviator goggles.)
The Sonic Titan
PRESSING ON INTO THE BURNING SKY!!
BURNIN SPACESHIP IT'S TIME TO DIE!!
(The middle jam part of "Sweet Leaf" continues to roll through as the spacevan shifts gears and zooms off, racing through an asteroid belt and disappearing behind a shifting nebula of colors and shapes. The camera fades out to the 420 logo.)
DOPESMOKER
ALL-RIGHT-NOW!!!
( -- Erik Black's Time and Space Travelling Spacevan comes speeding off the rings of Saturn and makes glowing trails of light as it plummets into the astral void.)
(When we get done looking at some low-budget special effects including an EPW action figure behind the wheel of a toy van suspended over a backdrop by fishwire... we cut to "DOPESMOKER" Erik Black behind the wheel of the van, bearing a sloppy grin as he greets the camera with squinted eyes.)
DOPESMOKER
Welcome once again my loyal Chrononauts to another mind-expanding caravan through the far reaches of the ever-expanding cosmos...
(The camera pulls out a bit to reveal "The Sonic Titan" Ivan Dalkichev in the seat next to him, wearing aviatar goggles, a pirate hat, and a poncho.)
The Sonic Titan
TOWARD THE CENTER OF THE GALAXY!
AWAY FROM EARTH AND ALL ITS MISERIES!
DOPESMOKER
Straight from the holy text, arr-migo.
(He turns to the camera and winks.)
DOPESMOKER
Get it? He's got a poncho and a pirate hat, so he's... ah, never fucking mind. You don't get it.
(With a grumble under his breath, he plucks a joint into his mouth and lights it up.)
DOPESMOKER
But that's okay, because there are a lot of things people don't get. Like why I joined forces with guys like Stalker and OMEGA to reform the Fallen. Well, given how NOBODY is getting ahead in Empire Pro unless they're somehow a part of this HOPE and Anthology clusterfuck, I really didn't see a choice in the matter.
The members of Anthology are too busy convincing themselves that countless wins in tag matches and six-man tag matches make them better than everybody else, including me. Apparently, being undersized, pasty, perpetually stoned, and having more than three functioning brain cells disqualifies me from their ranks.
As for the superhero team called HOPE? Well, see, there's a funny story about that. When Anthology was running roughshod over this federation, I was kinda HOPING I could get in on the resistance movement when it naturally formed itself. I guess, though, I wasn't cool enough for The First and the other rejects in the Breakfast Club to help them in their cause.
So, fuck the both of them. They can have their pointless war, all the while ignorant to the fact that neither will actually get what they want through constantly beating the other. The Fallen, meanwhile, will join the war on their terms, without actually having to be involved in it.
See, guys like Stalker, OMEGA, and me... we think a tad alternatively. Some would call us crazy, and to be honest... I consider that a compliment! I think it takes a crazy mind to truly see what other people cannot see... like the ridiculous façade of competition, the pointlessness of rat races, and the frailty of legacies. That's why rather than simply join this war, our intent is to royally fuck it up. Our interest isn't in success, but SABOTAGE.
(His ears twitch slightly as he hears rumors coming far and wide across the fabric of time and space, and grimaces slightly as he lets out a cloud of smoke that becomes a swirling nebula floating over the dashboard. As Dalkichev croons over this, Black's attention doesn't shift from the camera.)
DOPESMOKER
Now... I can hear people scoffing out there already, pointing to our lopsided win-loss records and thinking that this will never go anywhere. But again... the point is to go anywhere. The point is to let you all know that the Fallen always been here. Maybe it didn't come in the form of a stoner, a husband to a chair, and a pantry-drawer browser... but there have always been athletes in this industry that were more concerned about making an impact than they were with winning a title.
Well, once again, I'll fill you in on the secret of the new century: Winning is overrated. You can look to me if your so damned single-minded that you need proof. I haven't won a match in... shit, I can't honestly remember. Drugs will do that to you. But I've taken it in stride. It hasn't hampered my mind-blowing maneuvers, and it hasn't killed the heat I have now with the fans.
All this time losing matches and here I am now with the opportunity to move on and fight the TV Champion once again.
(Ivan plugs up one nostril with his finger, snorts as hard is he can, and inhales Erik's second-hand nebula. That's actually really crazy to watch, and Black even seems somewhat impressed. Still, he maintains attention on the camera.)
DOPESMOKER
But in order to jump on such an opportunity, I gotta go through this new guy first. I'd name him, but knowing me, I'd probably fuck it up.
The Sonic Titan
"A randish one?"
DOPESMOKER
Uh, sure. I don't know what "randish" means, but I'll be imaginative.
Rumor has it he scored a win over our buddy Olvir. Then again, who HASN'T been winning over Olvir these days. It's like right after TEAM closed its doors, things just haven't been the same for that Viking butt-berzerker.
Maybe this guy is a legit, or maybe he's a fluke. Since I seem to be an easy source of meaningless wins for guys who think they're in desperate need of them, I guess that makes me a good way to find out just what he is. Too bad I might actually feel like putting forward some effort this time around.
Because this time... it ain't about fighting to gain some exposure. This time I will take the belt from Layne Winters, not for my own personal gain, but simply to remove it from the HOPE/Anthology battlefield, and put it back in the hands of the prestigious and unsung undercard, where it belongs.
I suppose I could leave that to the whim of this "randish" dude, but I haven't gotten high enough to form an honest opinion of him yet. In crunch times, its wise to go with what you trust will get you there... and I trust my own high-flying, death-defying, and mind-blowing abilities.
(The joint is now down to a roach. He hands it off to Ivan, who gets the clamps...)
DOPESMOKER
"Randish" one... prepare yourself for the most off-the-wall and over-the-tops attacks you've never in your wildest imagine a human being capable of pulling off. If you feel a burning in the ring, don't mind it.
That's just the light of stoner brilliance, and you're just getting a tan in the rays of the new stoner sun rising.
(Black takes up the roach and takes a mighty puff as the camera pans over to Ivan Dalkichev, big grin etched on his face as he peers into the heart of the cosmos through a pair of aviator goggles.)
The Sonic Titan
PRESSING ON INTO THE BURNING SKY!!
BURNIN SPACESHIP IT'S TIME TO DIE!!
(The middle jam part of "Sweet Leaf" continues to roll through as the spacevan shifts gears and zooms off, racing through an asteroid belt and disappearing behind a shifting nebula of colors and shapes. The camera fades out to the 420 logo.)
BoEd
Member
[Confusion and commotion had filled his life for the last few weeks. He started to live the majority of his life on an airplane. Cramped up between people that should have been forced to purchase two seats, smelling of liver and onions and expecting him to ignore the fact that their breath smelled of raw sewage as they explained how much they had enjoyed their vacation or where they were planning to go and the sights that they would see. Those that recognized him could not stop talking about how great a life he must live, and how much fun it must be to be able to travel all over the World.]
[All he wanted to do was stare out that tiny little window and get lost in the puffy white clouds that seemed to float aimlessly and carefree. Travelling from state to state, getting lost among the throngs of people amazed by the neon lights of the big cities, the stadiums and arenas where audiences screamed out in unison to declare their support or disdain for the men sweating and sometimes bleeding in the center of the ring, wasn’t all it was advertised as.]
[This was the life he wanted though, the life he longed for throughout his childhood. He had become the gladiator, the brave soul who dared to stand in the middle of the den of lions and await with arms spread for whatever was thrown his way, because that wasn’t what you really had to worry about. No, it was those people that paid their hard earned money for a seat. They were the ones that could make or break your career.]
[It didn’t matter if they cheered you or booed you, you either entertained them enough to gain a reaction or you were cast aside for someone who would.]
[Everyday would be a different city, a different town. He would live life one day at a time, one moment at a time. Eventually, it would all just blend together like a strawberry peach smoothie and become as routine as taking a piss after you roll out of bed.]
[Eventually, this would be considered normal.]
[The scent of coffee beans in the Starbucks was overtaken by the stink of businessmen and jetlag. Shove a half-assed coffeehouse into an airport, serve up white chocolate mocha lattes that taste more like muddy water, and make billions off of people willing to spend five dollars for something you can get at a gas station for a dollar. People flocked like lemmings toward whatever was considered normal, and there he was sipping on a grande sized Espresso Macchiato in the back corner, staring out the window at all the airplanes taking off and landing.]
[His clothes smelled like smoke, and he would probably die of lung cancer at an early age, despite never actually lighting up himself. He could see the interstate from his seat by the window. Cars and eighteen wheelers drove through the rain, their headlights piercing the infinite darkness that stretched out in front of them. The stars hid behind the clouds, the immaculate moon peeking out from time to time.]
[His name is Aran Dishon, a new name to Empire Pro Wrestling, but one he’s hoping will be remembered just as much as Stevens, Wells, or Windham.]
Aran Dishon: We take life for granted.
[He turns to face the camera, but his profile can still be seen as a reflection on the glass.]
Aran Dishon: We live our lives without rhyme or reason, then wonder how it happened when everything goes horribly wrong.
[Aran rests his elbows on the table in front of him, careful not to knock over the steaming cup of muddy water that is already there when he clasps his hands together and interlocks his fingers.]
Aran Dishon: Eric…can I call you Eric? Who am I kidding, I could call you Frank and you would probably be too high to even care. But that is how you live your life isn’t it, Eric.
[He shakes his head slowly, his lips twisted to the left in a frown as he expresses his own disdain for someone who looks to have so much potential.]
Aran Dishon: You talk about not caring about winning titles, about how winning itself is overrated. You just want to make an impact, want to prove that Anthology and HOPE are not the only people on the Empire Pro roster. Thing is, Eric, those fans that fill the arenas already know that. They show up knowing exactly what we have to offer them, and in your case…Well, it’s a guy that isn’t very successful, but can put on one hell of a match.
There’s a reason why you already had a match against Winters for the title, and that is because as carefree as you are you actually have a bit of talent. That’s why I never planned on coming in to this match with the mindset that it was going to be an easy win and I could just start watching tape on Layne. You’re unpredictable, and that is what makes you dangerous. I can just imagine what you could be like if you put half as much focus on the ring, instead of where you’re going to score your next fat sack.
[He turns and looks back out the window, and you can see the slight smile on his face.]
Aran Dishon: Maybe you’re just like those airplanes and cars out there. From here it looks like they are just travelling aimlessly into the darkness, but each one has a destination already predetermined that we just don’t know about. Maybe you do know where you’re going, but thing is…I know where I’m going too.
[He turns back and allows the smile to grow, he even allows a few of his pearly whites to peek through slightly parted lips.]
Aran Dishon: I can’t tell you whether or not I’ll get there right away, but life is a journey I’ve enjoyed travelling so far and I don’t plan on stopping any time soon. What I can tell you, Eric, is that I believe I can do what you couldn’t. I can make people stand up and take notice of me without joining Anthology or HOPE, without forming another faction just for the sake of doing it.
I can do it without being hypocritical.
He isn’t smiling anymore, because this part isn’t about fun and games. This part is business.]
Aran Dishon: You see, unlike you, I don’t plan on making up excuses if I end up losing this match. I won’t come out and claim that winning doesn’t matter, that I didn’t really try to win. No, I’ll be man enough to say that you were the better man that night and I’ll move on. That just isn’t your style though, is it? No, you haven’t really been the type of guy to give credit where it is due, to accept the fact that maybe you’re not standing there with the Television title because Layne is just better than you.
Will you be man enough to say that I was better than you if I win, or will you just fall back on the old tried and true excuses like an infant that needs to stick his thumb in his mouth because it makes him feel safe and secure?
He grabs the cup of coffee, not as hot as when we first started, and looks back out the window. A small commercial plane is out on the tarmac. It looks as if it wants to be up there in the skies, but without someone to guide it…It just sits there.]
Aran Dishon: Maybe you’re already where you belong, as far as you are ever going to go.
The last scene you see is of Aran’s reflection in the glass, staring out at the World that awaits him…Wondering if he is really ready for it.]
[All he wanted to do was stare out that tiny little window and get lost in the puffy white clouds that seemed to float aimlessly and carefree. Travelling from state to state, getting lost among the throngs of people amazed by the neon lights of the big cities, the stadiums and arenas where audiences screamed out in unison to declare their support or disdain for the men sweating and sometimes bleeding in the center of the ring, wasn’t all it was advertised as.]
[This was the life he wanted though, the life he longed for throughout his childhood. He had become the gladiator, the brave soul who dared to stand in the middle of the den of lions and await with arms spread for whatever was thrown his way, because that wasn’t what you really had to worry about. No, it was those people that paid their hard earned money for a seat. They were the ones that could make or break your career.]
[It didn’t matter if they cheered you or booed you, you either entertained them enough to gain a reaction or you were cast aside for someone who would.]
[Everyday would be a different city, a different town. He would live life one day at a time, one moment at a time. Eventually, it would all just blend together like a strawberry peach smoothie and become as routine as taking a piss after you roll out of bed.]
[Eventually, this would be considered normal.]
[In]
[The scent of coffee beans in the Starbucks was overtaken by the stink of businessmen and jetlag. Shove a half-assed coffeehouse into an airport, serve up white chocolate mocha lattes that taste more like muddy water, and make billions off of people willing to spend five dollars for something you can get at a gas station for a dollar. People flocked like lemmings toward whatever was considered normal, and there he was sipping on a grande sized Espresso Macchiato in the back corner, staring out the window at all the airplanes taking off and landing.]
[His clothes smelled like smoke, and he would probably die of lung cancer at an early age, despite never actually lighting up himself. He could see the interstate from his seat by the window. Cars and eighteen wheelers drove through the rain, their headlights piercing the infinite darkness that stretched out in front of them. The stars hid behind the clouds, the immaculate moon peeking out from time to time.]
[His name is Aran Dishon, a new name to Empire Pro Wrestling, but one he’s hoping will be remembered just as much as Stevens, Wells, or Windham.]
Aran Dishon: We take life for granted.
[He turns to face the camera, but his profile can still be seen as a reflection on the glass.]
Aran Dishon: We live our lives without rhyme or reason, then wonder how it happened when everything goes horribly wrong.
[Aran rests his elbows on the table in front of him, careful not to knock over the steaming cup of muddy water that is already there when he clasps his hands together and interlocks his fingers.]
Aran Dishon: Eric…can I call you Eric? Who am I kidding, I could call you Frank and you would probably be too high to even care. But that is how you live your life isn’t it, Eric.
[He shakes his head slowly, his lips twisted to the left in a frown as he expresses his own disdain for someone who looks to have so much potential.]
Aran Dishon: You talk about not caring about winning titles, about how winning itself is overrated. You just want to make an impact, want to prove that Anthology and HOPE are not the only people on the Empire Pro roster. Thing is, Eric, those fans that fill the arenas already know that. They show up knowing exactly what we have to offer them, and in your case…Well, it’s a guy that isn’t very successful, but can put on one hell of a match.
There’s a reason why you already had a match against Winters for the title, and that is because as carefree as you are you actually have a bit of talent. That’s why I never planned on coming in to this match with the mindset that it was going to be an easy win and I could just start watching tape on Layne. You’re unpredictable, and that is what makes you dangerous. I can just imagine what you could be like if you put half as much focus on the ring, instead of where you’re going to score your next fat sack.
[He turns and looks back out the window, and you can see the slight smile on his face.]
Aran Dishon: Maybe you’re just like those airplanes and cars out there. From here it looks like they are just travelling aimlessly into the darkness, but each one has a destination already predetermined that we just don’t know about. Maybe you do know where you’re going, but thing is…I know where I’m going too.
[He turns back and allows the smile to grow, he even allows a few of his pearly whites to peek through slightly parted lips.]
Aran Dishon: I can’t tell you whether or not I’ll get there right away, but life is a journey I’ve enjoyed travelling so far and I don’t plan on stopping any time soon. What I can tell you, Eric, is that I believe I can do what you couldn’t. I can make people stand up and take notice of me without joining Anthology or HOPE, without forming another faction just for the sake of doing it.
I can do it without being hypocritical.
He isn’t smiling anymore, because this part isn’t about fun and games. This part is business.]
Aran Dishon: You see, unlike you, I don’t plan on making up excuses if I end up losing this match. I won’t come out and claim that winning doesn’t matter, that I didn’t really try to win. No, I’ll be man enough to say that you were the better man that night and I’ll move on. That just isn’t your style though, is it? No, you haven’t really been the type of guy to give credit where it is due, to accept the fact that maybe you’re not standing there with the Television title because Layne is just better than you.
Will you be man enough to say that I was better than you if I win, or will you just fall back on the old tried and true excuses like an infant that needs to stick his thumb in his mouth because it makes him feel safe and secure?
He grabs the cup of coffee, not as hot as when we first started, and looks back out the window. A small commercial plane is out on the tarmac. It looks as if it wants to be up there in the skies, but without someone to guide it…It just sits there.]
Aran Dishon: Maybe you’re already where you belong, as far as you are ever going to go.
The last scene you see is of Aran’s reflection in the glass, staring out at the World that awaits him…Wondering if he is really ready for it.]
[Out.]