AGGRESSION 52: KOTC - "Dopesmoker" Erik Black vs. Donovan Astros
- Thread starter DBrunkGXW
- Start date
(CUE UP: “Saturnine” by Electric Wizard. We fade in on the Cosmos itself from our meager perspective on the insignificant blue rock we call our home.)
DOPESMOKER
Beautiful, aren’t they?
(A lighter flicks on. The camera zooms out slightly to a low-angle shot of “DOPESMOKER” Erik Black lighting a joint sticking out of his mouth as he gapes into the heavens above. He takes in a hit of Conan-the-Barbarian-sized proportions, and chokes out the following utterance barely louder than a whisper...)
DOPESMOKER
Billions upon billions of colossal units of vast energy... flickering endlessly through the deepest reaches of the galaxy. The irony of it all, of course, is that we’ll never see the bulk of them in our lifetimes.
(He releases the lungful of smoke, accompanying it with a single and somewhat restrained cough. With his right hand, he extends a finger to a star marking the constellation Orion’s “shoulder.”)
DOPESMOKER
From here... we can see Betelgeuse... a massive red giant star, over six hundred light years away. Scientists predict that sometime in the thousand years, it may very well supernova... and finally wink out of existence completely.
Really makes you wonder though... since it takes HALF a millennium for its light just to REACH us here on Earth... if Betelgeuse hasn’t already sang its swan song. For all we know, out there, six hundred light years away, there could be NOTHING but a nebulous cloud of excess gasses left in the wake of its explosion. No matter how we try and look at them... our view of a star’s past will always overshadow it’s reality in the present.
(Taking another brief puff off the joint, he turns to the camera... his darkened silhouette looking down at the viewer with a view of the star-scape floating over his shoulders.)
DOPESMOKER
I wonder how many other “stars” are out there... seemingly bright and shining in our eyes, but actually DEAD... forces of power that imploded in upon themselves long ago, and now only live on the brilliance aged memories.
I wonder, really... how many people in Empire Pro think they have their feet on the ground... when in reality, they’ve already FALLEN, and not even realized it.
(The camera zooms out further and readjusts its angle. Black grabs a seat in a lawn chair and briefly ashes the joint in an ashtray. The new perspective reveals him to be sitting out in the middle of a field somewhere, outside of the city where the stars are fully visible in their unadulterated splendor.)
DOPESMOKER
Given the vastness of the Universe... it’s easy to see how insignificant, short, and uneventful our existence is. Though as easy as it would be for me to sit here and give the same old speeches about how I don’t care whether or not I win or lose... or how a stint with a gaudy strap of leather and tin is something I could comfortably live without... but I feel that most of you have heard enough of it by now.
I’m with you on that. I’m interested in doing something a little DIFFERENT this time around, as fourteen of the best and brightest stars in the Empire Pro galaxy step into the cage and fight until a KING rises above the rest.
Good ol’ Stalker helped me to realize the other day, in light of our shortcomings, why it IS important for us to strive for the win. A lot of people here in Empire Pro are just too STUPID to recognize the impact the Fallen have made since we united our visions of destruction and chaos. They’ve blatantly ignored the bruises, the cuts, the lingering PAIN that will haunt them for years to came... and insist they had the last laugh, because at the end of the day, it was always one of us being on the bottom while the three count was being made.
But what, really, did any of us lose? HOPE went supernova due to the heat of its fast-rising energy, and imploded under the weight of its own egos. Members of Anthology are one by one dwindling away, losing interest in a cause that was pointless and causeless from the very beginning. All that is left is the Fallen... with our lopsided win-loss records and insane, nonsensical ramblings.
So... who’s laughing now?
(He lets out a stoner chuckle, cut off by another hit of the joint. This one apparently hits the wrong nerve, as it sends him into a brief fit of coughing. After a couple short hacks, he immediately tenses up, and his eyes pop open wide into a trance-like state, hands reaching out to some unseen sights and sounds.)
DOPESMOKER
CTHULHU FHTAGN!
(He shakes his head and comes to, blinking a few times with tear-soaked eyes which he immediately wipes dry.)
DOPESMOKER
Whoa, sorry... had to cut out there for a minute.
What was I talking about again?
OH RIGHT... the Fallen’s supposed lack of “success.”
But really... how didn’t I succeed in a personal victory at Black Dawn? I walked into that match not to win... but just to prove a point. Given the way I CHOKED LAYNE WINTERS THE FUCK OUT, I’d say that point was well proven.
Problem is, even in light of how I physically and mentally DOMINATED that match... Layne Winters is no doubt preparing his speech about how he’s glad to be rid of the belt and moving on... as I’m sure Karl Brown’s just stoked he walked away with another belt. Two fools... trying to save face by blatantly ignoring the fact that in that ring, I held their DESTINIES in my unpredictable hands.
(He casts his eyes skyward again, taking another hit... savoring the smoke... letting it drift out his nostrils.)
DOPESMOKER
It’s become a seemingly endless, monotonous cycle... and it could very well go on forever. I’d keep busting sick-ass moves... and the locker room can continue to cast a blind eye to their private failures. But we’d get nowhere. And while the ultimate fate of the human race is SPACEDUST... I can’t help but feel just a LITTLE disappointed if I didn’t live up to the fullest extent of my human narco-sapien nature.
The FALL of this Empire is inevitable... and if I have to beat each and every one of you – or better yet, declare this lone and humble smoker of dope as the KING OF THE CAGE – just to prove that to you, then so be it.
(The joint’s been burned down to a roach now. He puts it out in the ashtray and comes to his feet. Even at night, he wears his aviators... and in them, one can see the reflection of the strip of stars hanging above him.)
DOPESMOKER
I’ve always attributed my “losses” up until now as a simple lack of motivation on my part. But now? Seeing all the potential breakthough STARS going into the cage... seeing them FALL in unison under their own pride and arrogance at my unpredictable and unassuming hands... I think I’m FINDING that motivation that many of you out there have been dreading.
And as for Donovan Astros... the man who takes his name after the STARS themselves...
(He shrugs with an apathetic smirk.)
DOPESMOKER
To quote our favorite Vietnam Veteran, Walter Sobchack... “Shut the fuck up, Donny; you are OUT of your ELEMENT.”
(With the droning noises of Electric Wizard’s doom jams blaring over the soundtrack, Black steps out of the frame as the camera pans up to the stars. One by one, they seemingly wink out... fading from existence... until the end, there is only BLACK.)
420
DOPESMOKER
Beautiful, aren’t they?
(A lighter flicks on. The camera zooms out slightly to a low-angle shot of “DOPESMOKER” Erik Black lighting a joint sticking out of his mouth as he gapes into the heavens above. He takes in a hit of Conan-the-Barbarian-sized proportions, and chokes out the following utterance barely louder than a whisper...)
DOPESMOKER
Billions upon billions of colossal units of vast energy... flickering endlessly through the deepest reaches of the galaxy. The irony of it all, of course, is that we’ll never see the bulk of them in our lifetimes.
(He releases the lungful of smoke, accompanying it with a single and somewhat restrained cough. With his right hand, he extends a finger to a star marking the constellation Orion’s “shoulder.”)
DOPESMOKER
From here... we can see Betelgeuse... a massive red giant star, over six hundred light years away. Scientists predict that sometime in the thousand years, it may very well supernova... and finally wink out of existence completely.
Really makes you wonder though... since it takes HALF a millennium for its light just to REACH us here on Earth... if Betelgeuse hasn’t already sang its swan song. For all we know, out there, six hundred light years away, there could be NOTHING but a nebulous cloud of excess gasses left in the wake of its explosion. No matter how we try and look at them... our view of a star’s past will always overshadow it’s reality in the present.
(Taking another brief puff off the joint, he turns to the camera... his darkened silhouette looking down at the viewer with a view of the star-scape floating over his shoulders.)
DOPESMOKER
I wonder how many other “stars” are out there... seemingly bright and shining in our eyes, but actually DEAD... forces of power that imploded in upon themselves long ago, and now only live on the brilliance aged memories.
I wonder, really... how many people in Empire Pro think they have their feet on the ground... when in reality, they’ve already FALLEN, and not even realized it.
(The camera zooms out further and readjusts its angle. Black grabs a seat in a lawn chair and briefly ashes the joint in an ashtray. The new perspective reveals him to be sitting out in the middle of a field somewhere, outside of the city where the stars are fully visible in their unadulterated splendor.)
DOPESMOKER
Given the vastness of the Universe... it’s easy to see how insignificant, short, and uneventful our existence is. Though as easy as it would be for me to sit here and give the same old speeches about how I don’t care whether or not I win or lose... or how a stint with a gaudy strap of leather and tin is something I could comfortably live without... but I feel that most of you have heard enough of it by now.
I’m with you on that. I’m interested in doing something a little DIFFERENT this time around, as fourteen of the best and brightest stars in the Empire Pro galaxy step into the cage and fight until a KING rises above the rest.
Good ol’ Stalker helped me to realize the other day, in light of our shortcomings, why it IS important for us to strive for the win. A lot of people here in Empire Pro are just too STUPID to recognize the impact the Fallen have made since we united our visions of destruction and chaos. They’ve blatantly ignored the bruises, the cuts, the lingering PAIN that will haunt them for years to came... and insist they had the last laugh, because at the end of the day, it was always one of us being on the bottom while the three count was being made.
But what, really, did any of us lose? HOPE went supernova due to the heat of its fast-rising energy, and imploded under the weight of its own egos. Members of Anthology are one by one dwindling away, losing interest in a cause that was pointless and causeless from the very beginning. All that is left is the Fallen... with our lopsided win-loss records and insane, nonsensical ramblings.
So... who’s laughing now?
(He lets out a stoner chuckle, cut off by another hit of the joint. This one apparently hits the wrong nerve, as it sends him into a brief fit of coughing. After a couple short hacks, he immediately tenses up, and his eyes pop open wide into a trance-like state, hands reaching out to some unseen sights and sounds.)
DOPESMOKER
CTHULHU FHTAGN!
(He shakes his head and comes to, blinking a few times with tear-soaked eyes which he immediately wipes dry.)
DOPESMOKER
Whoa, sorry... had to cut out there for a minute.
What was I talking about again?
OH RIGHT... the Fallen’s supposed lack of “success.”
But really... how didn’t I succeed in a personal victory at Black Dawn? I walked into that match not to win... but just to prove a point. Given the way I CHOKED LAYNE WINTERS THE FUCK OUT, I’d say that point was well proven.
Problem is, even in light of how I physically and mentally DOMINATED that match... Layne Winters is no doubt preparing his speech about how he’s glad to be rid of the belt and moving on... as I’m sure Karl Brown’s just stoked he walked away with another belt. Two fools... trying to save face by blatantly ignoring the fact that in that ring, I held their DESTINIES in my unpredictable hands.
(He casts his eyes skyward again, taking another hit... savoring the smoke... letting it drift out his nostrils.)
DOPESMOKER
It’s become a seemingly endless, monotonous cycle... and it could very well go on forever. I’d keep busting sick-ass moves... and the locker room can continue to cast a blind eye to their private failures. But we’d get nowhere. And while the ultimate fate of the human race is SPACEDUST... I can’t help but feel just a LITTLE disappointed if I didn’t live up to the fullest extent of my human narco-sapien nature.
The FALL of this Empire is inevitable... and if I have to beat each and every one of you – or better yet, declare this lone and humble smoker of dope as the KING OF THE CAGE – just to prove that to you, then so be it.
(The joint’s been burned down to a roach now. He puts it out in the ashtray and comes to his feet. Even at night, he wears his aviators... and in them, one can see the reflection of the strip of stars hanging above him.)
DOPESMOKER
I’ve always attributed my “losses” up until now as a simple lack of motivation on my part. But now? Seeing all the potential breakthough STARS going into the cage... seeing them FALL in unison under their own pride and arrogance at my unpredictable and unassuming hands... I think I’m FINDING that motivation that many of you out there have been dreading.
And as for Donovan Astros... the man who takes his name after the STARS themselves...
(He shrugs with an apathetic smirk.)
DOPESMOKER
To quote our favorite Vietnam Veteran, Walter Sobchack... “Shut the fuck up, Donny; you are OUT of your ELEMENT.”
(With the droning noises of Electric Wizard’s doom jams blaring over the soundtrack, Black steps out of the frame as the camera pans up to the stars. One by one, they seemingly wink out... fading from existence... until the end, there is only BLACK.)
420
"To guide you, look for the Big Dipper, Ursa Major. Draw a line between the two stars at the end of the dipper opposite the handle and follow that line to Polaris, the North Star..."
Our cameras fade in to the exterior of the Samuel Oschin Planetarium in Los Angeles, where another crowd is exiting the star show. Here in Los Angeles, you can see the stars whenever you like... as long as you don't mind them projected onto a ceiling screen. People file out of the building and into Griffith Park. One man in particular spots the cameraman and approaches. A little over six feet tall, the man is wearing a polo shirt with a stylized Walk of Fame logo and black slacks. A prominent scar across his forehead makes him stand out from the rest of the people in the park, that and his stature and demeanor.
MAN: Even when they're fake, you still get a little closer to peace with yourself when you look up at the stars.
The man smiles.
MAN: Of course, some of us aren't looking for peace. Take Erik Black for example. He's not looking for peace. He's looking for focus. His loss at Black Dawn was due to a lack of focus and motivation. And the one before that. And the one before that. You do good against rookies, though, so I guess maybe I should watch myself there?
It should be obvious by now that the man we're looking at is EPW newcomer Donovan Astros. He doesn't look intimidated by the situation one bit, though.
ASTROS: It's a good thing I'm not a rookie, then, isn't it? For those of you that don't know me, my name is Donovan Astros. I'm one of the most talked about wrestlers on the indy circuit, and you might have seen me kicking around the Ocho a few years back. For years, I've been called a big fish in a small pond, and while I've enjoyed those ponds, I think it's time for me to be a big fish in a big pond. And they don't get any bigger than Empire Pro.
Astros can't help but laugh at his big shill.
ASTROS: I've been called the greatest wrestler on God's green Earth, one of the best technical wrestlers on the planet, a ring general, savvy... and some of those things were even said by people other than me! But you know what? I could call myself anything I wanted to, and it would matter one iota to anyone in the locker room here in EPW. I've been in this sport for over a decade, and you don't often get a chance to start over from scratch. That means proving myself night in and night out, and at Aggression, inside of a steel cage, it starts with you, Erik. It starts with you and the King of the Cage tournament.
I think you're focusing too much on the failures... oh, I'm sorry, let's go with what you're calling them, successes we just don't understand. When Karl Brown wins the TV title and not you, that's a success... why again? Because you played kingmaker and didn't want to be the king? Contentment for you might come wrapped in a Zig-Zag, but for me, the only pieces of paper I want in my hands are ones with pictures of presidents on them, and last I checked, titles mean money. But kudos to you, Erik, you've had a lot of these successes lately. Not winning the TV title, not winning the IC title. A lot of kingmaking. And when Aggression comes around, Erik, you'll be helping to make another king out of Donovan Astros.
A smirk crosses Astros's face.
ASTROS: The good news, Erik, is once you step out of that cage after I'm declared the winner, you'll have plenty of time to focus on the future of you and The Fallen. That future just won't find you as King of the Cage. Good luck... 'cause I don't need it.
Astros smiles and walks off-camera as we fade to black.
Our cameras fade in to the exterior of the Samuel Oschin Planetarium in Los Angeles, where another crowd is exiting the star show. Here in Los Angeles, you can see the stars whenever you like... as long as you don't mind them projected onto a ceiling screen. People file out of the building and into Griffith Park. One man in particular spots the cameraman and approaches. A little over six feet tall, the man is wearing a polo shirt with a stylized Walk of Fame logo and black slacks. A prominent scar across his forehead makes him stand out from the rest of the people in the park, that and his stature and demeanor.
MAN: Even when they're fake, you still get a little closer to peace with yourself when you look up at the stars.
The man smiles.
MAN: Of course, some of us aren't looking for peace. Take Erik Black for example. He's not looking for peace. He's looking for focus. His loss at Black Dawn was due to a lack of focus and motivation. And the one before that. And the one before that. You do good against rookies, though, so I guess maybe I should watch myself there?
It should be obvious by now that the man we're looking at is EPW newcomer Donovan Astros. He doesn't look intimidated by the situation one bit, though.
ASTROS: It's a good thing I'm not a rookie, then, isn't it? For those of you that don't know me, my name is Donovan Astros. I'm one of the most talked about wrestlers on the indy circuit, and you might have seen me kicking around the Ocho a few years back. For years, I've been called a big fish in a small pond, and while I've enjoyed those ponds, I think it's time for me to be a big fish in a big pond. And they don't get any bigger than Empire Pro.
Astros can't help but laugh at his big shill.
ASTROS: I've been called the greatest wrestler on God's green Earth, one of the best technical wrestlers on the planet, a ring general, savvy... and some of those things were even said by people other than me! But you know what? I could call myself anything I wanted to, and it would matter one iota to anyone in the locker room here in EPW. I've been in this sport for over a decade, and you don't often get a chance to start over from scratch. That means proving myself night in and night out, and at Aggression, inside of a steel cage, it starts with you, Erik. It starts with you and the King of the Cage tournament.
I think you're focusing too much on the failures... oh, I'm sorry, let's go with what you're calling them, successes we just don't understand. When Karl Brown wins the TV title and not you, that's a success... why again? Because you played kingmaker and didn't want to be the king? Contentment for you might come wrapped in a Zig-Zag, but for me, the only pieces of paper I want in my hands are ones with pictures of presidents on them, and last I checked, titles mean money. But kudos to you, Erik, you've had a lot of these successes lately. Not winning the TV title, not winning the IC title. A lot of kingmaking. And when Aggression comes around, Erik, you'll be helping to make another king out of Donovan Astros.
A smirk crosses Astros's face.
ASTROS: The good news, Erik, is once you step out of that cage after I'm declared the winner, you'll have plenty of time to focus on the future of you and The Fallen. That future just won't find you as King of the Cage. Good luck... 'cause I don't need it.
Astros smiles and walks off-camera as we fade to black.
(CUE UP: “666 lb. Bong Session” by Bongzilla. The shot opens on the sky once again, this time at day. The sky is a crisp blue. White clouds passively drift by. Let’s see you recreate THAT shit in an observatory.)
DOPESMOKER
Well, there you have it, Empire Pro... there’s your newest acquisition, Donovan Astros.
Yet another mass-produced action figure... no imagination... no personality... no PASSION for the sport... just a piece of molded plastic in color-schemed tights, with a stupid fake smile and a stupid fake name... here for fame and fortune.
(There’s a bubbling noise that breaks up the voice-over. Another cloud appears in the sky, though its appearance is notably strange, in that it billows up from the bottom of the frame. It’s also darker than the other clouds, and seems to dissipate faster.)
DOPESMOKER
Just a typical wrestler, moving on from the indies to the big leagues, with the same high hopes and big dreams of every other John Q. Jobber in this sport.
Unfortunately for him... the will of the Cosmos has decided that he’ll be making his debut in the steel cage, against one of the most ATYPICAL stoner daredevils this industry’s ever seen. And I’m not here to MAKE MONEY; I’m here to CRUSH the hopes and dreams of those who come here to CHEAPEN this sport with their own selfish agendas.
(More bubbling. The camera zooms out as another “cloud” rises into the sky. We find the source: “DOPESMOKER” Erik Black’s maw, cast skyward and releasing an epic-sized hit into the air. The source of the bubbling, we find, comes from the custom-made bong named GEEZER, resiting placidly in his lap. Eyes shielded behind the reflective lenses of aviator sunglasses lower and find the camera.)
DOPESMOKER
Like I said, Donny... you are OUT of your element.
In those small ponds in the indies, you could get away with calling yourself a “big fish”. Here in the OCEAN that is Empire Pro, however... there are BIGGER fish. Sharks... killer whales... squid-faced demi-gods, you name it. Here, a big fish from a small pond is little more than a guppy... food for the predators that lurk in dark waters that you dare not swim in.
And where do I swim in this ocean? Well, I’ll be honest... I HATE swimming.
(The camera zooms out a bit more. He’s in the same lawn chair, sitting on the end of a fisherman’s wharf. He’s got a rod sitting nearby with the line dropped down into the water. The t-shirt he’s wearing is one of those black ones you’d see in Hot Topic a few years back. It reads: “You laugh at me because I’m different. I laugh at you because you’re all the same.”)
DOPESMOKER
I sure do enjoy fishing, though.
That’s why I’m here on dry land... on the OUTSIDE looking IN. I see all the fish in the sea, and I recognize their pointless struggles in constantly trying to swim ahead of each other.
Same goes with wrestling. I don’t engage in the tedious rat race of winning titles and making money. Rather, I sit back and watch idiots like YOU waste your time in such a pointless struggle. I differentiate myself by picking my own battles, and succeeding by the DOPESMOKER’s definition of success.
I don’t expect you to understand that. Few ever do. Typical wrestlers aren’t too different from fish, in that they’re stupid, forgettable, and led by the single-tracked instinct of consuming everything put in front of them.
Take the TV Title match at Black Dawn. Why is that a success in my book? Well, I suppose I could sit here and explain it to you over the next couple hours... but it would be much easier if you just smoked a joint and THOUGHT for once in your life.
(This last statement reminds him of the task at hand in his lap. He lights the slide... draws it... takes a BIG hit... and lets it out before turning to the camera again.)
DOPESMOKER
Seriously, though... if you have to ask, then you clearly don’t have the brains or the lungs to ever fully understand. But if you’d actually watched the match instead of fast-forward to the end, you’d see that I clearly out-smarted and out-wrestled the other guys in the ring. As I said in my last promo, that was the whole point of my going into that match. There were numerous opportunities where I could have made the pin... but I didn’t, because I had another goal in mind that night other than walking out of the ring with a tacky belt around my waist. I wanted to prove that I could be just as “successful” in this sport without needing the extra weight of a title to pad my resume... as Layne Winters and Karl Brown clearly do... and no doubt you as well.
You really think Brown is a “king” because I LET him walk away as the TV Champion? King of what, exactly? Bottom-feeders? Overzealous ROOKIES like YOU? Layne Winters carried that belt for a whole year before he finally realized it was getting him nowhere. Considering how a few years ago, Brown was just as dominant as the Intercontinental Champion... I’d say that “win” was a monumental step DOWN for the “The Dragon.”
Me? Pardon the pun, but I’ve got bigger fish to fry.
(Abruptly, he notices the tip of his rod bending over.)
DOPESMOKER
Oh SHIT!
(His smirk warps into a taut grimace as he scrambles to set the bong down and grab the rod. He picks it up and begins reeling away.)
DOPESMOKER
See this? Every now and then, I get a fish hooked on my line. What follows is the standard life and death struggle. Sometimes I win, and I reel him in. Most of the time though, I let the bastard get away... because truth be told, my heart isn’t set on catching him.
(He briefly flashes his face up to the camera as he struggles with the fish in the water, fighting said life and death struggle.)
DOPESMOKER
And why is that? Well, to be honest... I enjoy the ACT of fishing more than I like taste of fish... the same way I enjoy the act of wrestling more than my ego likes the taste of winning matches. There have been MANY whoppers that have come by and gobbled my bait with their single-tracked fish minds... and I’ve willingly let just as many GO.
You call it a lack of focus... but I don’t think that’s the case. If anything, my view of this industry is clearer than any other man’s. What I said in my last promo, however, was that it all boils down to a simple lack of motivation.
Like I said, though... I think I’m FINDING that motivation.
(He gives the rod a decisive yank... reels it in a few more times, and finally pulls a sizable trout from the water. Do trout swim in saltwater? I don’t fucking know. He promptly takes ahold of the fish, removes the hook from its mouth, and points it to the sky.)
DOPESMOKER
SEE THAT, little fish? This is the world you NEVER KNEW existed above the surface. And to think... past that endless skies, there are worlds even I don’t know exist. No matter WHAT you know... no matter HOW MUCH you think you’ve got a grasp on things around you... there’s always something BEYOND anything your feeble little mind can grasp.
Now get the fuck out of here...
(Chuckling, he tosses the fish back into the water. It swims off and disappears in the blue-green waters.)
DOPESMOKER
Imagine the off-the-wall shit he’ll have to tell his fish buddies. Do you think any of them will believe him?
“There’s a world above the surface? Dude, you’re tripping! You’ve been swimming too close to that busted pipeline down in the gulf again...”
(He shrugs... adds another worm to his hook, and casts the line back into the water before falling back into the lawn chair.)
DOPESMOKER
So why, after ALL this time and ALL these losses, do I suddenly say I think I’ve found the motivation to win? Well ironically, Donny, it’s because of people like YOU...
People who have the audacity to call me a “kingmaker” when they don’t know DICK behind the ten years they’ve squandered the better part of their lives trying to crawl their way out of the minor leagues...
People who IGNORE my sick-ass ring skills and undaunted efforts in that ring... instead focusing on the fact that I have a line of losses behind me that I could otherwise give a damn about...
People who just see me as some stupid pot-head without a cause or a clue, when they themselves have no idea of the inevitable FALL that awaits them...
People who are motivated by PROFIT instead of PASSION... who expect REWARDS but have no intention of WORKING for them...
(He glances to the camera again, eyes still hidden behind the sunglasses. An eyebrow arches.)
DOPESMOKER
I mean, really... why is it that so many people in this sport these days are only focused on the END RESULT of a match instead of the match itself? Why is it that more people remember the main event of Black Dawn as The First’s latest failure to take the gold as opposed to match of the fuckin’ year?
The finish is simply the exclamation point to an intricate and finely written piece of physical prose in the ring... but most people in Empire Pro have become so fixated on who wins and who loses, that they lose sight of what actually makes a GOOD WRESTLER. Sucks to be them.
I keep thinking of the poor old Anthology and all of their purported potential. I can’t remember a single match against those guys where the Fallen came away with the win. And where are half of them now? Gone. What does THAT tell you?
It tells ME that winning is OVERRATED. It doesn’t matter how successful or talented you THINK you might be; if you’re just another generic cookie-cutter pro wrestler, you WON’T last in this federation.
(He shakes his head, knowing all too well the dismal future that lies ahead of his opponent.)
DOPESMOKER
If it takes this lowly stoner winning this whole damn tournament to prove that... then hey, so be it. If that’s what it takes to beat into your thick, mongoloid skull the realization that you are nothing more than a small and powerless flea on the back of a completely indifferent beast.
The beauty of it is... I don’t have to BEAT YOU. With this being a cage match, all I have to do is escape that cage before you do.
And while I may not go around calling myself “the greatest wrestler on Cthulhu’s green earth”... there are many who DO know me as the ESCAPE ARTIST.
There isn’t a hold I can’t break out of... and there isn’t a cage in this this world to contain me.
(He retakes geezer onto his lap and takes yet another hit. This one goes down a little harsher than previous ones, throwing him into a brief fit of coughing. When he recomposes himself, he continues as though nothing even happened.)
DOPESMOKER
Earlier this week... I visited the EPW headquarters, and asked the guys there if they could set up one of their regulation-sized cages. When it was finally finished, I went inside... handed a guy a stopwatch... and timed myself as I climbed from the ring to the top of the cage.
He clocked me at 5.2 seconds.
Five seconds... that’s all it takes for me to scale a cage wall. That can be attributed to my speed and size.
I don’t need to out-wrestle or out-smart you to move on in this tournament... although I very well could. What it all comes down to, though, is out-running you. You’ll step into that cage, in your very first Empire Pro match... you’ll try to impress the fans with some generic slams and suplexes... and every time you think you’ve finally got your hands on me, I’ll GET AWAY from you.
You’ll get frustrated... knowing your debut is being RUINED by this smirking, annoying little TWERP you just can’t stop for even a second. Then you’ll get sloppy... and when THAT happens... I’ll make my move. I’ll strike when you slip. I’ll deliver one solid kick to the head to really shake you... and by the time you finally remember where you are, you’ll find yourself ALONE in that cage. You’ll experience something that few EVER experience: you’ll hear the bell ring, while standing on your feet.
(The smirks seems to widen on his face. He comes to his feet and approaches the water, looking into the blue-green and all the little fishies down below... seemingly in an ocean of ignorance, never knowing the horrors of the Above World that so few have seen... and even more have never returned from.)
DOPESMOKER
Then you’ll see me standing at ringside with a shit-eating grin... on the OUTSIDE looking IN.
(Black lights up the slide as he walks away from the water, collects his fishing gear, and wanders off. He sends another cloud of smoke into the sky as the scene fades to black.)
420
DOPESMOKER
Well, there you have it, Empire Pro... there’s your newest acquisition, Donovan Astros.
Yet another mass-produced action figure... no imagination... no personality... no PASSION for the sport... just a piece of molded plastic in color-schemed tights, with a stupid fake smile and a stupid fake name... here for fame and fortune.
(There’s a bubbling noise that breaks up the voice-over. Another cloud appears in the sky, though its appearance is notably strange, in that it billows up from the bottom of the frame. It’s also darker than the other clouds, and seems to dissipate faster.)
DOPESMOKER
Just a typical wrestler, moving on from the indies to the big leagues, with the same high hopes and big dreams of every other John Q. Jobber in this sport.
Unfortunately for him... the will of the Cosmos has decided that he’ll be making his debut in the steel cage, against one of the most ATYPICAL stoner daredevils this industry’s ever seen. And I’m not here to MAKE MONEY; I’m here to CRUSH the hopes and dreams of those who come here to CHEAPEN this sport with their own selfish agendas.
(More bubbling. The camera zooms out as another “cloud” rises into the sky. We find the source: “DOPESMOKER” Erik Black’s maw, cast skyward and releasing an epic-sized hit into the air. The source of the bubbling, we find, comes from the custom-made bong named GEEZER, resiting placidly in his lap. Eyes shielded behind the reflective lenses of aviator sunglasses lower and find the camera.)
DOPESMOKER
Like I said, Donny... you are OUT of your element.
In those small ponds in the indies, you could get away with calling yourself a “big fish”. Here in the OCEAN that is Empire Pro, however... there are BIGGER fish. Sharks... killer whales... squid-faced demi-gods, you name it. Here, a big fish from a small pond is little more than a guppy... food for the predators that lurk in dark waters that you dare not swim in.
And where do I swim in this ocean? Well, I’ll be honest... I HATE swimming.
(The camera zooms out a bit more. He’s in the same lawn chair, sitting on the end of a fisherman’s wharf. He’s got a rod sitting nearby with the line dropped down into the water. The t-shirt he’s wearing is one of those black ones you’d see in Hot Topic a few years back. It reads: “You laugh at me because I’m different. I laugh at you because you’re all the same.”)
DOPESMOKER
I sure do enjoy fishing, though.
That’s why I’m here on dry land... on the OUTSIDE looking IN. I see all the fish in the sea, and I recognize their pointless struggles in constantly trying to swim ahead of each other.
Same goes with wrestling. I don’t engage in the tedious rat race of winning titles and making money. Rather, I sit back and watch idiots like YOU waste your time in such a pointless struggle. I differentiate myself by picking my own battles, and succeeding by the DOPESMOKER’s definition of success.
I don’t expect you to understand that. Few ever do. Typical wrestlers aren’t too different from fish, in that they’re stupid, forgettable, and led by the single-tracked instinct of consuming everything put in front of them.
Take the TV Title match at Black Dawn. Why is that a success in my book? Well, I suppose I could sit here and explain it to you over the next couple hours... but it would be much easier if you just smoked a joint and THOUGHT for once in your life.
(This last statement reminds him of the task at hand in his lap. He lights the slide... draws it... takes a BIG hit... and lets it out before turning to the camera again.)
DOPESMOKER
Seriously, though... if you have to ask, then you clearly don’t have the brains or the lungs to ever fully understand. But if you’d actually watched the match instead of fast-forward to the end, you’d see that I clearly out-smarted and out-wrestled the other guys in the ring. As I said in my last promo, that was the whole point of my going into that match. There were numerous opportunities where I could have made the pin... but I didn’t, because I had another goal in mind that night other than walking out of the ring with a tacky belt around my waist. I wanted to prove that I could be just as “successful” in this sport without needing the extra weight of a title to pad my resume... as Layne Winters and Karl Brown clearly do... and no doubt you as well.
You really think Brown is a “king” because I LET him walk away as the TV Champion? King of what, exactly? Bottom-feeders? Overzealous ROOKIES like YOU? Layne Winters carried that belt for a whole year before he finally realized it was getting him nowhere. Considering how a few years ago, Brown was just as dominant as the Intercontinental Champion... I’d say that “win” was a monumental step DOWN for the “The Dragon.”
Me? Pardon the pun, but I’ve got bigger fish to fry.
(Abruptly, he notices the tip of his rod bending over.)
DOPESMOKER
Oh SHIT!
(His smirk warps into a taut grimace as he scrambles to set the bong down and grab the rod. He picks it up and begins reeling away.)
DOPESMOKER
See this? Every now and then, I get a fish hooked on my line. What follows is the standard life and death struggle. Sometimes I win, and I reel him in. Most of the time though, I let the bastard get away... because truth be told, my heart isn’t set on catching him.
(He briefly flashes his face up to the camera as he struggles with the fish in the water, fighting said life and death struggle.)
DOPESMOKER
And why is that? Well, to be honest... I enjoy the ACT of fishing more than I like taste of fish... the same way I enjoy the act of wrestling more than my ego likes the taste of winning matches. There have been MANY whoppers that have come by and gobbled my bait with their single-tracked fish minds... and I’ve willingly let just as many GO.
You call it a lack of focus... but I don’t think that’s the case. If anything, my view of this industry is clearer than any other man’s. What I said in my last promo, however, was that it all boils down to a simple lack of motivation.
Like I said, though... I think I’m FINDING that motivation.
(He gives the rod a decisive yank... reels it in a few more times, and finally pulls a sizable trout from the water. Do trout swim in saltwater? I don’t fucking know. He promptly takes ahold of the fish, removes the hook from its mouth, and points it to the sky.)
DOPESMOKER
SEE THAT, little fish? This is the world you NEVER KNEW existed above the surface. And to think... past that endless skies, there are worlds even I don’t know exist. No matter WHAT you know... no matter HOW MUCH you think you’ve got a grasp on things around you... there’s always something BEYOND anything your feeble little mind can grasp.
Now get the fuck out of here...
(Chuckling, he tosses the fish back into the water. It swims off and disappears in the blue-green waters.)
DOPESMOKER
Imagine the off-the-wall shit he’ll have to tell his fish buddies. Do you think any of them will believe him?
“There’s a world above the surface? Dude, you’re tripping! You’ve been swimming too close to that busted pipeline down in the gulf again...”
(He shrugs... adds another worm to his hook, and casts the line back into the water before falling back into the lawn chair.)
DOPESMOKER
So why, after ALL this time and ALL these losses, do I suddenly say I think I’ve found the motivation to win? Well ironically, Donny, it’s because of people like YOU...
People who have the audacity to call me a “kingmaker” when they don’t know DICK behind the ten years they’ve squandered the better part of their lives trying to crawl their way out of the minor leagues...
People who IGNORE my sick-ass ring skills and undaunted efforts in that ring... instead focusing on the fact that I have a line of losses behind me that I could otherwise give a damn about...
People who just see me as some stupid pot-head without a cause or a clue, when they themselves have no idea of the inevitable FALL that awaits them...
People who are motivated by PROFIT instead of PASSION... who expect REWARDS but have no intention of WORKING for them...
(He glances to the camera again, eyes still hidden behind the sunglasses. An eyebrow arches.)
DOPESMOKER
I mean, really... why is it that so many people in this sport these days are only focused on the END RESULT of a match instead of the match itself? Why is it that more people remember the main event of Black Dawn as The First’s latest failure to take the gold as opposed to match of the fuckin’ year?
The finish is simply the exclamation point to an intricate and finely written piece of physical prose in the ring... but most people in Empire Pro have become so fixated on who wins and who loses, that they lose sight of what actually makes a GOOD WRESTLER. Sucks to be them.
I keep thinking of the poor old Anthology and all of their purported potential. I can’t remember a single match against those guys where the Fallen came away with the win. And where are half of them now? Gone. What does THAT tell you?
It tells ME that winning is OVERRATED. It doesn’t matter how successful or talented you THINK you might be; if you’re just another generic cookie-cutter pro wrestler, you WON’T last in this federation.
(He shakes his head, knowing all too well the dismal future that lies ahead of his opponent.)
DOPESMOKER
If it takes this lowly stoner winning this whole damn tournament to prove that... then hey, so be it. If that’s what it takes to beat into your thick, mongoloid skull the realization that you are nothing more than a small and powerless flea on the back of a completely indifferent beast.
The beauty of it is... I don’t have to BEAT YOU. With this being a cage match, all I have to do is escape that cage before you do.
And while I may not go around calling myself “the greatest wrestler on Cthulhu’s green earth”... there are many who DO know me as the ESCAPE ARTIST.
There isn’t a hold I can’t break out of... and there isn’t a cage in this this world to contain me.
(He retakes geezer onto his lap and takes yet another hit. This one goes down a little harsher than previous ones, throwing him into a brief fit of coughing. When he recomposes himself, he continues as though nothing even happened.)
DOPESMOKER
Earlier this week... I visited the EPW headquarters, and asked the guys there if they could set up one of their regulation-sized cages. When it was finally finished, I went inside... handed a guy a stopwatch... and timed myself as I climbed from the ring to the top of the cage.
He clocked me at 5.2 seconds.
Five seconds... that’s all it takes for me to scale a cage wall. That can be attributed to my speed and size.
I don’t need to out-wrestle or out-smart you to move on in this tournament... although I very well could. What it all comes down to, though, is out-running you. You’ll step into that cage, in your very first Empire Pro match... you’ll try to impress the fans with some generic slams and suplexes... and every time you think you’ve finally got your hands on me, I’ll GET AWAY from you.
You’ll get frustrated... knowing your debut is being RUINED by this smirking, annoying little TWERP you just can’t stop for even a second. Then you’ll get sloppy... and when THAT happens... I’ll make my move. I’ll strike when you slip. I’ll deliver one solid kick to the head to really shake you... and by the time you finally remember where you are, you’ll find yourself ALONE in that cage. You’ll experience something that few EVER experience: you’ll hear the bell ring, while standing on your feet.
(The smirks seems to widen on his face. He comes to his feet and approaches the water, looking into the blue-green and all the little fishies down below... seemingly in an ocean of ignorance, never knowing the horrors of the Above World that so few have seen... and even more have never returned from.)
DOPESMOKER
Then you’ll see me standing at ringside with a shit-eating grin... on the OUTSIDE looking IN.
(Black lights up the slide as he walks away from the water, collects his fishing gear, and wanders off. He sends another cloud of smoke into the sky as the scene fades to black.)
420
(CUE UP: “Baghdad” by High On Fire. No stars. No clouds. Just stage lights... and the square frame of steel bars marking the top portion of a cage. The camera’s shot rotates, causing the square void above to spin with mesmerizing dread.)
DOPESMOKER
The cage has existed since the beginning of time... when primitive man first learned of the advantages of entrapping and confining the will of lesser beings. Cages have evolved with us over the eons that led us to this present day... but the message has always remained clear... no matter how big or small the cage, and no matter what was trapped inside...
Nothing gets in... Nothing gets out...
“NO ESCAPE!”
(The camera pans down. For a moment, we get a glimpse of Erik Black’s equally evolving bald spot. A second later, he pivots around, face coming to the camera. Beneath a gaze that is so epic and badass that it has to be hidden behind a set of aviators, he bears a deft and daring smile.)
DOPESMOKER
P’AH!! Crom LAUGHS at your four walls of steel! Laughs from his MOUNTAIN!
(On this occasion, the Escape Artist sports a simple glass bowl. He takes a steady puff as the camera comes to a stop on the stoner-daredevil sensation, centering his wiry and impish form in the center of the frame. He passively releases the hit and speaks this time to the audience watching at home rather than the cage itself.)
DOPESMOKER
The cage has been brought here to Empire Pro, with the sole purpose of declaring Kings. Not long ago, in this very steel structure, “Triple X” Sean Stevens conquered his way to claim his reign of dominance over this federation as its World Heavyweight Champion. Nobody’s been able to kill him since...
Like so many others involved in this shindig, I intend to follow in his footsteps... only I won’t “conquer” a throne of my own. Why try to kill the King when I can just steal his crown jewels, and slip away like a thief in the night?
(He looks away for a moment, recalling something from memory while he gingerly puffs away on the bowl again.)
DOPESMOKER
To quote the late, great Bill Hicks...
One could write a Bible through the wisdom of the Prophet that was Bill Hicks... and truer words have never been spoken. Getting high helps me realize the MONOTONY and TEDIUM we seldom realize in our everyday professional wrestling lives.
Getting high makes me think... is hitting a Jewish guy with a German suplex considered anti-Semitic?
It also makes me think... why complicate the matter? Why not think OUTSIDE the box – err, CAGE?
A man of my size and blurred peripheral vision would get EATEN ALIVE in here if given enough time against some of this competition. Not that I’ve ever backed down from a guaranteed ass-kicking before... but evidently, being the greatest worker in the history of this sport equates to being a “kingmaker”.
So I’ll fight without fighting. I’ll fight by ESCAPING. I’ll win without actually having to score a pinfall or grinding my way to a tap-out. All I have to do is play keep-away...
(He boldly removes the aviators from his face to reveal his reddened eyes. Even now, so young in his twenties, he’s showing crow’s feet around the corners from countless psychedelic trips that have given him sight and knowledge beyond normal human comprehension.)
DOPESMOKER
Donovan Astros... you fancy yourself as “the Greatest Wrestler on God’s green earth.” You may be, for all we know... but we won’t know until you step into the ring and back it up.
But even after Aggression, I can guarantee we still won’t know the full potential of Empire Pro’s newest action figure to added to the merch line. No doubt, when the match is over, you’ll feel as though you could have gone at least another five or ten minutes... more time to milk your touted coming to the great Empire Pro, the EPICENTER of professional wrestling as we know it.
As I do with so many other Kodak moments... I’ll spoil that milk. I’ll just piss right in it.
(He’s got a completely apathetic “Fuck it” about his expression in general.)
DOPESMOKER
It doesn’t matter what level of skill or experience you might have, Donny. Nobody in this tournament can match my speed and my cunning... and if you can’t get to me before I squeeze my ass either through that door or out that wall, then your precious decade of scrapping your way through forgettable indie feds will be all as useless as tits on a boar.
The way I see it... if I can’t get my point across by just wrestling five-star matches while giving two shits about how the match ends... then I’ll do the exact opposite. I’ll conform to the norm. I’ll wrestle as LITTLE AS POSSIBLE, and just try to finish things as quickly and directly as possible.
(He chuckles before savoring another hit off of the bowl. Some hidden irony that only he can pick up on, perhaps.)
DOPESMOKER
It took a negligible and worthless DOPESMOKER like me to think of the simplest solution in winning this tournament. I look at all the people involved... all the dominant champions, and the hungry challengers, and everybody with a hope, dream, or desire to call themselves the BEST... and hilariously enough, I see only MYSELF as having the distinct advantage.
(Quite calmly and nonchalantly, he wanders over to the door and steps through without fuss. Back on the outside looking in, he clears his throat and continues.)
DOPESMOKER
All I have to do to move AHEAD in this tournament is to avoid engaging in any combat whatsoever. The only count-defense to my non-offense would be to keep me trapped. But as we all know... I can ESCAPE anything. Any hold... any pin... and any CAGE.
(The door creaks as he closes it and bolts it shut. Now the camera guy is locked inside. That must be a bummer, but he doesn’t get paid to think. He doesn’t really get paid, come to think of it.)
DOPESMOKER
You... NON-ENLIGHTENED types can keep your petty battles for superiority and control. While you all fight for the same throne, I’ll be sitting out here, laughing... watching you FALL one by one.
Some of you might actually recognize the folly of your stupidity and the inevitability of your demise... but by then, it will be too late. You’ll try to run, but find yourself surrounded by these same cage walls.
“NO ESCAPE!”
Only the ANTI-KING of the Cage will survive to reap the rewards. But before people even realize he’s there...
(He takes another hit... this one a BIG one. He lets it out in a huge cloud that obscures his figure briefly.)
DOPESMOKER
...he’ll DISAPPEAR!
(By the time to smoke clears, he’s nowhere to be seen. The outtro to “Baghdad” blares on as the camera fades to black.)
420
DOPESMOKER
The cage has existed since the beginning of time... when primitive man first learned of the advantages of entrapping and confining the will of lesser beings. Cages have evolved with us over the eons that led us to this present day... but the message has always remained clear... no matter how big or small the cage, and no matter what was trapped inside...
Nothing gets in... Nothing gets out...
“NO ESCAPE!”
(The camera pans down. For a moment, we get a glimpse of Erik Black’s equally evolving bald spot. A second later, he pivots around, face coming to the camera. Beneath a gaze that is so epic and badass that it has to be hidden behind a set of aviators, he bears a deft and daring smile.)
DOPESMOKER
P’AH!! Crom LAUGHS at your four walls of steel! Laughs from his MOUNTAIN!
(On this occasion, the Escape Artist sports a simple glass bowl. He takes a steady puff as the camera comes to a stop on the stoner-daredevil sensation, centering his wiry and impish form in the center of the frame. He passively releases the hit and speaks this time to the audience watching at home rather than the cage itself.)
DOPESMOKER
The cage has been brought here to Empire Pro, with the sole purpose of declaring Kings. Not long ago, in this very steel structure, “Triple X” Sean Stevens conquered his way to claim his reign of dominance over this federation as its World Heavyweight Champion. Nobody’s been able to kill him since...
Like so many others involved in this shindig, I intend to follow in his footsteps... only I won’t “conquer” a throne of my own. Why try to kill the King when I can just steal his crown jewels, and slip away like a thief in the night?
(He looks away for a moment, recalling something from memory while he gingerly puffs away on the bowl again.)
DOPESMOKER
To quote the late, great Bill Hicks...
One could write a Bible through the wisdom of the Prophet that was Bill Hicks... and truer words have never been spoken. Getting high helps me realize the MONOTONY and TEDIUM we seldom realize in our everyday professional wrestling lives.
Getting high makes me think... is hitting a Jewish guy with a German suplex considered anti-Semitic?
It also makes me think... why complicate the matter? Why not think OUTSIDE the box – err, CAGE?
A man of my size and blurred peripheral vision would get EATEN ALIVE in here if given enough time against some of this competition. Not that I’ve ever backed down from a guaranteed ass-kicking before... but evidently, being the greatest worker in the history of this sport equates to being a “kingmaker”.
So I’ll fight without fighting. I’ll fight by ESCAPING. I’ll win without actually having to score a pinfall or grinding my way to a tap-out. All I have to do is play keep-away...
(He boldly removes the aviators from his face to reveal his reddened eyes. Even now, so young in his twenties, he’s showing crow’s feet around the corners from countless psychedelic trips that have given him sight and knowledge beyond normal human comprehension.)
DOPESMOKER
Donovan Astros... you fancy yourself as “the Greatest Wrestler on God’s green earth.” You may be, for all we know... but we won’t know until you step into the ring and back it up.
But even after Aggression, I can guarantee we still won’t know the full potential of Empire Pro’s newest action figure to added to the merch line. No doubt, when the match is over, you’ll feel as though you could have gone at least another five or ten minutes... more time to milk your touted coming to the great Empire Pro, the EPICENTER of professional wrestling as we know it.
As I do with so many other Kodak moments... I’ll spoil that milk. I’ll just piss right in it.
(He’s got a completely apathetic “Fuck it” about his expression in general.)
DOPESMOKER
It doesn’t matter what level of skill or experience you might have, Donny. Nobody in this tournament can match my speed and my cunning... and if you can’t get to me before I squeeze my ass either through that door or out that wall, then your precious decade of scrapping your way through forgettable indie feds will be all as useless as tits on a boar.
The way I see it... if I can’t get my point across by just wrestling five-star matches while giving two shits about how the match ends... then I’ll do the exact opposite. I’ll conform to the norm. I’ll wrestle as LITTLE AS POSSIBLE, and just try to finish things as quickly and directly as possible.
(He chuckles before savoring another hit off of the bowl. Some hidden irony that only he can pick up on, perhaps.)
DOPESMOKER
It took a negligible and worthless DOPESMOKER like me to think of the simplest solution in winning this tournament. I look at all the people involved... all the dominant champions, and the hungry challengers, and everybody with a hope, dream, or desire to call themselves the BEST... and hilariously enough, I see only MYSELF as having the distinct advantage.
(Quite calmly and nonchalantly, he wanders over to the door and steps through without fuss. Back on the outside looking in, he clears his throat and continues.)
DOPESMOKER
All I have to do to move AHEAD in this tournament is to avoid engaging in any combat whatsoever. The only count-defense to my non-offense would be to keep me trapped. But as we all know... I can ESCAPE anything. Any hold... any pin... and any CAGE.
(The door creaks as he closes it and bolts it shut. Now the camera guy is locked inside. That must be a bummer, but he doesn’t get paid to think. He doesn’t really get paid, come to think of it.)
DOPESMOKER
You... NON-ENLIGHTENED types can keep your petty battles for superiority and control. While you all fight for the same throne, I’ll be sitting out here, laughing... watching you FALL one by one.
Some of you might actually recognize the folly of your stupidity and the inevitability of your demise... but by then, it will be too late. You’ll try to run, but find yourself surrounded by these same cage walls.
“NO ESCAPE!”
Only the ANTI-KING of the Cage will survive to reap the rewards. But before people even realize he’s there...
(He takes another hit... this one a BIG one. He lets it out in a huge cloud that obscures his figure briefly.)
DOPESMOKER
...he’ll DISAPPEAR!
(By the time to smoke clears, he’s nowhere to be seen. The outtro to “Baghdad” blares on as the camera fades to black.)
420
ASTROS: Erik, we can do this one of two ways.
Our cameras fade in on Donovan Astros, sitting down in a tape room, watching videos of Erik Black's promos. Astros doesn't look angry... he looks more confused than anything.
ASTROS: I can go through what you've said, word by word, sentence by sentence, find every flaw and every half-truth, and pick apart everything you say. I can turn this into a long winded debate. But you know what, Erik? You're right. This should be something different, cause I don't have hate for you or what you do in your spare time. Even though it sounds like you have a lot of hate for the establishment, and you see a lot of the establishment in me. What you need, Erik, isn't a war of words. Or a war of philosophies. What you need, Erik, is a history lesson.
The lights dim around Astros. Right now, it's all eyes on him.
ASTROS: It actually hurt me a lot when you said I don't have passion for wrestling. And why, Erik? Because I said I want to make money, and the fastest way to do that in this sport is to be a champion? See, this is why I can't debate with you, Erik. You're like Fox News. You deny reality. But you wanna know about my passion, the reasons I have for still stepping into a wrestling ring after doing this for thirteen years? The reason I would take a shot at making my mark in Empire Pro Wrestling after spending the last three years being one of the biggest names on the independent circuit?
Astros shakes his head, like he'd even be doubted.
ASTROS: You'd think it would be easy to step away from the squared circle. I even managed to do it for a couple of years, but like that leafy substance in your spliff, wrestling is an addiction. I tried to get away after my best friend in the business saw his knee turned to mush. But inevitably, I came back. Stupid me. That's passion, not brains. I came back and was a heavyweight champion... but I gave that up when the company was about to go under so that I could take over because I loved wrestling there and working with the people I was working with. Passion for this sport. And on the indy circuit, I had my neck cracked by someone who ought to be familiar by everyone here in Empire Pro... Dan Ryan. I was out for nine months. Nine months where I could have just said, *BLEEP* it. Go find a regular job and fade off into obscurity. Well, you're smart. You know the answer. I'm here.
A stern look into the camera.
ASTROS: No passion. Passion's why I'm here and not doing stuntwork or training new wrestlers or being a manual laborer somewhere. I'm addicted to the limelight. I'm addicted to the sound the crowd makes when my music comes on. The rush in the arena as I step out through the curtains. That's passion, Erik. That's what flows through my veins. It ain't a drug or a pill, but it's far more addictive than anything you can smoke, Dopesmoker.Astros brings his fingers to his lips like he's smoking a joint.
ASTROS: So I like to get paid for my passion. So what? It's what I like to do, and I do it well. And at Aggression, Erik, you're going to experience my passion first-hand.
Astros stops mid-thought.
ASTROS: Not like that. That sounded awful.
Astros puts his fingers to his temple in embarrassment. What a disaster.
ASTROS: You know what? Enough talk. Time for some action. Step into the cage, Erik, and face the greatest wrestler on God's green Earth.
Astros shakes his head, laughing to himself as he walks away. You can hear the cameraman laugh too as we fade out.
Our cameras fade in on Donovan Astros, sitting down in a tape room, watching videos of Erik Black's promos. Astros doesn't look angry... he looks more confused than anything.
ASTROS: I can go through what you've said, word by word, sentence by sentence, find every flaw and every half-truth, and pick apart everything you say. I can turn this into a long winded debate. But you know what, Erik? You're right. This should be something different, cause I don't have hate for you or what you do in your spare time. Even though it sounds like you have a lot of hate for the establishment, and you see a lot of the establishment in me. What you need, Erik, isn't a war of words. Or a war of philosophies. What you need, Erik, is a history lesson.
The lights dim around Astros. Right now, it's all eyes on him.
ASTROS: It actually hurt me a lot when you said I don't have passion for wrestling. And why, Erik? Because I said I want to make money, and the fastest way to do that in this sport is to be a champion? See, this is why I can't debate with you, Erik. You're like Fox News. You deny reality. But you wanna know about my passion, the reasons I have for still stepping into a wrestling ring after doing this for thirteen years? The reason I would take a shot at making my mark in Empire Pro Wrestling after spending the last three years being one of the biggest names on the independent circuit?
Astros shakes his head, like he'd even be doubted.
ASTROS: You'd think it would be easy to step away from the squared circle. I even managed to do it for a couple of years, but like that leafy substance in your spliff, wrestling is an addiction. I tried to get away after my best friend in the business saw his knee turned to mush. But inevitably, I came back. Stupid me. That's passion, not brains. I came back and was a heavyweight champion... but I gave that up when the company was about to go under so that I could take over because I loved wrestling there and working with the people I was working with. Passion for this sport. And on the indy circuit, I had my neck cracked by someone who ought to be familiar by everyone here in Empire Pro... Dan Ryan. I was out for nine months. Nine months where I could have just said, *BLEEP* it. Go find a regular job and fade off into obscurity. Well, you're smart. You know the answer. I'm here.
A stern look into the camera.
ASTROS: No passion. Passion's why I'm here and not doing stuntwork or training new wrestlers or being a manual laborer somewhere. I'm addicted to the limelight. I'm addicted to the sound the crowd makes when my music comes on. The rush in the arena as I step out through the curtains. That's passion, Erik. That's what flows through my veins. It ain't a drug or a pill, but it's far more addictive than anything you can smoke, Dopesmoker.Astros brings his fingers to his lips like he's smoking a joint.
ASTROS: So I like to get paid for my passion. So what? It's what I like to do, and I do it well. And at Aggression, Erik, you're going to experience my passion first-hand.
Astros stops mid-thought.
ASTROS: Not like that. That sounded awful.
Astros puts his fingers to his temple in embarrassment. What a disaster.
ASTROS: You know what? Enough talk. Time for some action. Step into the cage, Erik, and face the greatest wrestler on God's green Earth.
Astros shakes his head, laughing to himself as he walks away. You can hear the cameraman laugh too as we fade out.