(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