EPW Tag Team Titles ARE on the line. If Anarky wins the belts, he will have both belts and must choose a partner to defend them with after the tourney, should he retain all the way through.
Post all RP here.
Post all RP here.
AGGRESSION 53: KOTC Rd. 2 - Anarky vs. The Heirs of Wrestling (c)
- Thread starter DBrunkGXW
- Start date
- Joined
- Feb 4, 2005
- Messages
- 1,143
- Points
- 38
Dear Empire Pro Wrestling Fans in Attendance, Those Watching Empire Pro Wrestling from Home and Those Supporting the Heirs of Wrestling, Wherever You May Be:
As you now know, former member of HOPE, lover and purveyor of all that is hardcore garbage wrestling, and collector of the world's largest collection of retarded-looking Hello Kitty facepaint –- Anarky -- is no longer relevant in the current EPW landscape.
This was decided after a months-long string of uninspired, uncreative, and downright stale tirades with numerous dramatic pauses culminated in both loss of viewership and fans drinking poisoned Kool-Aid for immediate relief.
Clearly, as a result, we are very disappointed... mainly because we wanted to show those dead f*cks how great we are after we snuffed out Anthology for good and sent HOPE to their death bed, something nobody else was able to do.
But fear not, oh, wrestling fans. EPW's Greatest Team, Living or Dead, the reason why the EPW Tag Team Titles finally mean something... will not be dull. We will flex every last creative bone in our body. And most importantly, we won't force you to drink murderous substances. ...Well, unless you're into that kind of stuff or your name is Cameron Cruise. Then drink the f*ck up.
Needless to say, we will not bore you nor will we EVER bore the EPW audience by being one-dimensional knuckledraggers with gnarly 35-year-old gum disease.
And over the next several days, we will be communicating – well, probably more bragging than anything – to you, the proud fans of EPW about how great we are, how much more money we have than the rest of you, and even how Mack Brody gets more box than UPS on an average day. We will probably be teasing Anarky as well about how he doesn’t know which Heir he’ll exactly be facing and how little we actually CARE about the EPW Tag Titles as opposed to our very own EPW Dynastic Devine Right Ravishing Ruling Consortium Titles. Really. We aren’t sharing belts that unwashed and unworthy hands have soiled.
Simply put, you, the EPW fan base, do not deserve this kind of mediocrity and blandness. As people who love to hate us and secretly aspire to be us, you have given so much… actually, in the couple months we’ve been with EPW, we’ve probably given more than any of you 9-to-5ers, but you’ve given. And you deserve more than to have to put up with a guy that swings his fists like a gorilla with Down Syndrome and calls it a wrestling style.
For this, we want to make a statement and want to ensure this is crystal clear:
“THE HEIRS OF WRESTLING PERSONALLY GUARANTEE THAT THEY WILL WIN AN EPW CHAMPIONSHIP BEFORE ANARKY DOES…
Oh. Wait.”
If you think in any way, shape, form, or manner that Anarky stands a chance against any one of us come Aggression 53, I cordially invite you to get a spoon so you can eat our asses. His downright reprehensible behavior in and out of an EPW ring has not really shifted our motivation for winning the EPW King of the Cage tournament… in fact, about the only way we could take him seriously is if the cage match took place in a funeral home.
Dare we say, some people think that Anarky should just plain go to Hell and die the most painful, gruesome death to get there.
Anarky’s continued presence within Empire Pro Wrestling teaches people that it’s okay to be so vanilla, you need to be covered in rainbow jimmies to be interesting. This sends the exact opposite message to the fans of Empire Pro Wrestling that Dan Ryan and the rest of the brass wish to convey. And we wholeheartedly support Dan Ryan in his quest to make EPW the greatest sports entertainment franchise it can be, even though he’s essentially trying to bone us by making us defend our belts in a format that isn’t even a tag match!
The good news to take away from all of this is that these brainless actions will only bolster our resolve. We will take great pride in making an example out of Anarky and letting the other participants of the tournament know who runs this sh*t.
Just you wait.
Sleep well, Empire Pro Wrestling.
…Actually, I hope the sounds of rattled gunfire and b*tchy neighbors screaming keeps you up at night. You’re all a bunch of haters and will probably root for Anarky just to screw with us.
Know that our energy, resources, capital, and overall awesome are going to catapult The Heirs of Wrestling to one thing and one thing only:
Delivering US the EPW World Heavyweight Championship that we deserve above all others.
(FADE-IN: The Heirs of Wrestling, all dressed in up in causal gear, sitting around Ryan Gallway typing away on his netbook. Alexandria Malone shakes her head and buries a face into her palm.)
ALEXANDRIA MALONE: Really? We’re going to do this?
RYAN GALLWAY: Uh, yeah, why not?
(Frank Pierce puts a hand on her shoulder and tries his best to console his manager.)
FRANK PIERCE: Oh, Alexandria… sweetie… Yes.
MACK BRODY: Besides, it was either this or we have Ryan Gallway call Anarky with his Mel Gibson voice and scare the bejesus out of him with racially charged slurs.
ALEXANDRIA MALONE: Oh. Works for me, then.
(FADE)
As you now know, former member of HOPE, lover and purveyor of all that is hardcore garbage wrestling, and collector of the world's largest collection of retarded-looking Hello Kitty facepaint –- Anarky -- is no longer relevant in the current EPW landscape.
This was decided after a months-long string of uninspired, uncreative, and downright stale tirades with numerous dramatic pauses culminated in both loss of viewership and fans drinking poisoned Kool-Aid for immediate relief.
Clearly, as a result, we are very disappointed... mainly because we wanted to show those dead f*cks how great we are after we snuffed out Anthology for good and sent HOPE to their death bed, something nobody else was able to do.
But fear not, oh, wrestling fans. EPW's Greatest Team, Living or Dead, the reason why the EPW Tag Team Titles finally mean something... will not be dull. We will flex every last creative bone in our body. And most importantly, we won't force you to drink murderous substances. ...Well, unless you're into that kind of stuff or your name is Cameron Cruise. Then drink the f*ck up.
Needless to say, we will not bore you nor will we EVER bore the EPW audience by being one-dimensional knuckledraggers with gnarly 35-year-old gum disease.
And over the next several days, we will be communicating – well, probably more bragging than anything – to you, the proud fans of EPW about how great we are, how much more money we have than the rest of you, and even how Mack Brody gets more box than UPS on an average day. We will probably be teasing Anarky as well about how he doesn’t know which Heir he’ll exactly be facing and how little we actually CARE about the EPW Tag Titles as opposed to our very own EPW Dynastic Devine Right Ravishing Ruling Consortium Titles. Really. We aren’t sharing belts that unwashed and unworthy hands have soiled.
Simply put, you, the EPW fan base, do not deserve this kind of mediocrity and blandness. As people who love to hate us and secretly aspire to be us, you have given so much… actually, in the couple months we’ve been with EPW, we’ve probably given more than any of you 9-to-5ers, but you’ve given. And you deserve more than to have to put up with a guy that swings his fists like a gorilla with Down Syndrome and calls it a wrestling style.
For this, we want to make a statement and want to ensure this is crystal clear:
“THE HEIRS OF WRESTLING PERSONALLY GUARANTEE THAT THEY WILL WIN AN EPW CHAMPIONSHIP BEFORE ANARKY DOES…
Oh. Wait.”
If you think in any way, shape, form, or manner that Anarky stands a chance against any one of us come Aggression 53, I cordially invite you to get a spoon so you can eat our asses. His downright reprehensible behavior in and out of an EPW ring has not really shifted our motivation for winning the EPW King of the Cage tournament… in fact, about the only way we could take him seriously is if the cage match took place in a funeral home.
Dare we say, some people think that Anarky should just plain go to Hell and die the most painful, gruesome death to get there.
Anarky’s continued presence within Empire Pro Wrestling teaches people that it’s okay to be so vanilla, you need to be covered in rainbow jimmies to be interesting. This sends the exact opposite message to the fans of Empire Pro Wrestling that Dan Ryan and the rest of the brass wish to convey. And we wholeheartedly support Dan Ryan in his quest to make EPW the greatest sports entertainment franchise it can be, even though he’s essentially trying to bone us by making us defend our belts in a format that isn’t even a tag match!
The good news to take away from all of this is that these brainless actions will only bolster our resolve. We will take great pride in making an example out of Anarky and letting the other participants of the tournament know who runs this sh*t.
Just you wait.
Sleep well, Empire Pro Wrestling.
…Actually, I hope the sounds of rattled gunfire and b*tchy neighbors screaming keeps you up at night. You’re all a bunch of haters and will probably root for Anarky just to screw with us.
Know that our energy, resources, capital, and overall awesome are going to catapult The Heirs of Wrestling to one thing and one thing only:
Delivering US the EPW World Heavyweight Championship that we deserve above all others.
(FADE-IN: The Heirs of Wrestling, all dressed in up in causal gear, sitting around Ryan Gallway typing away on his netbook. Alexandria Malone shakes her head and buries a face into her palm.)
ALEXANDRIA MALONE: Really? We’re going to do this?
RYAN GALLWAY: Uh, yeah, why not?
(Frank Pierce puts a hand on her shoulder and tries his best to console his manager.)
FRANK PIERCE: Oh, Alexandria… sweetie… Yes.
MACK BRODY: Besides, it was either this or we have Ryan Gallway call Anarky with his Mel Gibson voice and scare the bejesus out of him with racially charged slurs.
ALEXANDRIA MALONE: Oh. Works for me, then.
(FADE)
Last edited:
JLevinson
Diva Tree
- Joined
- Jan 1, 2000
- Messages
- 707
- Points
- 0
- Age
- 43
(FADEIN to a dusty old dressing room, mostly dark. Anarky’s face can be seen in a cracked mirror, his back to the camera. Two open tins of makeup sit in front of him. He’s in wrestling gear, minus the facepaint. He begins to put his hands into the white makeup, slowly covering his face. As he does so, he speaks, his voice even.)
ANARKY: “They say that in order to understand a man, you gotta walk a mile in his shoes. See the world as he sees it, so to speak. If you can breathe him in. Understand him.
“There’s a word for it. Empathy. Children don’t have it. Many adults don’t, either. The capacity to understand that there are other people in the world and that they, too, are experiencing a very vivid thing very much like your own consciousness.
“ The Heirs of Wrestling, well… I’ll let you guess.”
(He smiles as he continues to apply his makeup, taking care to outline the skull on his face. He rounds the edges of the jaw and studies it closely.)
ANARKY: “Men such as yourself. Fusenshoff. Karl Brown.
“You dismiss me. You deem me irrelevant. Something to be mocked and moved past.
“Do you know how this makes me feel, boys?”
(He smiles and changes to the black facepaint, outlining the skull with slow precision of someone who has done it a million times.)
ANARKY: “It fills me with joy.
“Because I know that no matter which one of you shows up in that cage, he’s going to be so sure of himself, so confident, so sure of his impending victory and glory.
“I love that moment. It is beautiful, you know. After all these years. There’s something very… alluring about it, isn’t there?
“But there I go again, pausing as I speak. That really irritates you, doesn’t it? I’m sorry I have a way about me, gentlemen. I’m sorry for the way I am.
“Sometimes it feels like I’ve been apologizing my entire career. Apologizing for putting on my facepaint. For being who I am. For not being bigger or stronger or faster. For not measuring myself by the titles I’d won or the people I’d beaten. For not needing to be about that anymore.
“No, every f*cking week… I have to apologize for who I am. After all these f*cking years. To a buncha primadonnas who think they're too clever to fail. Too hip to slip.
“Because I don’t entertain you. Because apparently I’m a f*cking monkey and I’m here for your f*cking amusement. “
(He finishes up with his eyes and his lips, staring at himself as he does so. The skull is crude, but effective.)
ANARKY: “I’m done apologizing because you think I should. Because I’m not how you imagine I should be.
“I’m going to go into that ring and do what I always do. I’m going to keep fighting until I can’t f*cking fight anymore.
“And I’m not going to measure how I did by whether or not I end up with YOUR title. I’m not going to measure myself based on if I landed a really awesome looking suplex or if my biceps looked really awesome while I did it.
“I’m going to walk into that cage and I’m going to listen to that bell ring and I will be alive. I will see the real you. I will know you as you cannot know you.
“I will walk a mile in your shoes because I will come to know how far you will go. How bad do you want it? How much is your gold worth? How much of yourself is defined by the way you imagine you’ll destroy me.
“You’ll deny it later. You’ll brag to your buddies about how you didn’t flinch. How it didn’t hurt that bad. How you weren’t scared at all.
“But in that moment… in that precious second, I will see it. You will know it. A moment of doubt. Where you wonder. If everything you set before yourself was merely an illusion. A fabrication to keep you spinning on your little hamster wheel.
“You are not good and you are not glorious and there is no happy ending to your pitiful story, and you, too, will know suffering, because everyone does, and it isn’t always glamorous or funny.
“And sometimes, it isn’t your night, and the other guy does win, and that’s okay. Maybe that’s what’s wrong.
“Maybe in our f*cking obsession with superstars, with idols, with heroes, with supermen, we want to create an illusion… something that cannot be destroyed.
“We cannot accept our humanity. We cannot accept even a single fault or point or look foolish or even a moment, so frail are our egos.
“When I entered King of the Cage, I thought of it as an opportunity to throw someone’s skull into a cage and hear an extremely satisfying sound, and anything after that was bonus, but now I realize…
“There’s something more. There’s something real and beautiful in that ring. And I’ve given everything to it… I’ve spilled so much… and you… you don’t respect that… you don’t respect anything…
“You don’t DESERVE it. The universe should punish you, but it won’t.
“But I can.
“Inside that cage, you won’t need to walk a mile in my shoes. Because thirty seconds in my house, in that cage, you are going to know damn well how f*cking relevant I am.
“And you are going to be praying to a god that doesn’t exist that I DID give a f*ck about those tag belts of yours, rather than the gentle embrace of justice.
“Or maybe you won’t. Because sometimes it ain’t your night.
“Most men can’t understand that. It doesn’t make sense to the pitiful little illusionary world they’ve created for themselves.
“In that cage, I’m going to find out what kind of men you are. One way or the other.
“In a way… I always do.”
(FADEOUT.)
ANARKY: “They say that in order to understand a man, you gotta walk a mile in his shoes. See the world as he sees it, so to speak. If you can breathe him in. Understand him.
“There’s a word for it. Empathy. Children don’t have it. Many adults don’t, either. The capacity to understand that there are other people in the world and that they, too, are experiencing a very vivid thing very much like your own consciousness.
“ The Heirs of Wrestling, well… I’ll let you guess.”
(He smiles as he continues to apply his makeup, taking care to outline the skull on his face. He rounds the edges of the jaw and studies it closely.)
ANARKY: “Men such as yourself. Fusenshoff. Karl Brown.
“You dismiss me. You deem me irrelevant. Something to be mocked and moved past.
“Do you know how this makes me feel, boys?”
(He smiles and changes to the black facepaint, outlining the skull with slow precision of someone who has done it a million times.)
ANARKY: “It fills me with joy.
“Because I know that no matter which one of you shows up in that cage, he’s going to be so sure of himself, so confident, so sure of his impending victory and glory.
“I love that moment. It is beautiful, you know. After all these years. There’s something very… alluring about it, isn’t there?
“But there I go again, pausing as I speak. That really irritates you, doesn’t it? I’m sorry I have a way about me, gentlemen. I’m sorry for the way I am.
“Sometimes it feels like I’ve been apologizing my entire career. Apologizing for putting on my facepaint. For being who I am. For not being bigger or stronger or faster. For not measuring myself by the titles I’d won or the people I’d beaten. For not needing to be about that anymore.
“No, every f*cking week… I have to apologize for who I am. After all these f*cking years. To a buncha primadonnas who think they're too clever to fail. Too hip to slip.
“Because I don’t entertain you. Because apparently I’m a f*cking monkey and I’m here for your f*cking amusement. “
(He finishes up with his eyes and his lips, staring at himself as he does so. The skull is crude, but effective.)
ANARKY: “I’m done apologizing because you think I should. Because I’m not how you imagine I should be.
“I’m going to go into that ring and do what I always do. I’m going to keep fighting until I can’t f*cking fight anymore.
“And I’m not going to measure how I did by whether or not I end up with YOUR title. I’m not going to measure myself based on if I landed a really awesome looking suplex or if my biceps looked really awesome while I did it.
“I’m going to walk into that cage and I’m going to listen to that bell ring and I will be alive. I will see the real you. I will know you as you cannot know you.
“I will walk a mile in your shoes because I will come to know how far you will go. How bad do you want it? How much is your gold worth? How much of yourself is defined by the way you imagine you’ll destroy me.
“You’ll deny it later. You’ll brag to your buddies about how you didn’t flinch. How it didn’t hurt that bad. How you weren’t scared at all.
“But in that moment… in that precious second, I will see it. You will know it. A moment of doubt. Where you wonder. If everything you set before yourself was merely an illusion. A fabrication to keep you spinning on your little hamster wheel.
“You are not good and you are not glorious and there is no happy ending to your pitiful story, and you, too, will know suffering, because everyone does, and it isn’t always glamorous or funny.
“And sometimes, it isn’t your night, and the other guy does win, and that’s okay. Maybe that’s what’s wrong.
“Maybe in our f*cking obsession with superstars, with idols, with heroes, with supermen, we want to create an illusion… something that cannot be destroyed.
“We cannot accept our humanity. We cannot accept even a single fault or point or look foolish or even a moment, so frail are our egos.
“When I entered King of the Cage, I thought of it as an opportunity to throw someone’s skull into a cage and hear an extremely satisfying sound, and anything after that was bonus, but now I realize…
“There’s something more. There’s something real and beautiful in that ring. And I’ve given everything to it… I’ve spilled so much… and you… you don’t respect that… you don’t respect anything…
“You don’t DESERVE it. The universe should punish you, but it won’t.
“But I can.
“Inside that cage, you won’t need to walk a mile in my shoes. Because thirty seconds in my house, in that cage, you are going to know damn well how f*cking relevant I am.
“And you are going to be praying to a god that doesn’t exist that I DID give a f*ck about those tag belts of yours, rather than the gentle embrace of justice.
“Or maybe you won’t. Because sometimes it ain’t your night.
“Most men can’t understand that. It doesn’t make sense to the pitiful little illusionary world they’ve created for themselves.
“In that cage, I’m going to find out what kind of men you are. One way or the other.
“In a way… I always do.”
(FADEOUT.)
Last edited:
- Joined
- Feb 4, 2005
- Messages
- 1,143
- Points
- 38
(FADE-IN: A boardroom in heart of a hotel building in Minneapolis, Minnesota. We're not talking rinky-dink, fit-three-people-if-you're-lucky. This room makes Donald Trump’s “Apprentice” board room look like a tiny, quivering b*tch by comparison. Seated around the table are a few very young, entry-level reporters. Several of them look bored as all get-out just sitting around waiting for this meeting to start. The meeting was supposed to have started at one-fifteen sharp, but creeping up around two, there was no activity. In fact, a couple of the reporters look ready to leave when…)
“WHOA, WHOA, WHOA, WHOA, WHOA, WHOA, WHOA, WHOA… WHOA.”
(Call it the nick of time. Call it some BS ploy in order to build suspense. Call it the latter cause that’s exactly what it was. But in any event, the crowd came to life after a loud “BANG!” echoed into the streets. The forms of Frank Pierce, Mack Brody, and Ryan Gallway poured out in tremendous fashion. In fact, somehow, someway, they were walking in slow motion.
Frank Pierce looked every bit the badass with a black Armani dress shirt, D&G sunglasses, and $500 sneakers. Mack Brody looked even more badass in a black leather vest with diamond studded earring, O ROKR Pro sunglasses, a perfectly neat golden fauxhawk with a leather vest and black jeans. Ryan Gallway kept a steady gait; silver silk scarf blowing in the wind [read: fan blowing next to them] with a yellow shirt, blue jeans and for some f*cking reason, a bowler cap he probably borrowed from Muse during their “Chamber of the Muse” appearance. And if you need some music, “Die, Motherf*cker, Die” by The Geto Boys blasted from… someplace.)
REPORTER: How the hell are they doing that?
REPORTER #2: WHAT the hell are they doing?
(Indeed enough, they were STILL walking in slow motion to the podium, despite everything else around them moving at normal speed. Each man took a spot near the podium with Frank Pierce taking the first position. The music cuts as Frank, complete with 1.3 Trillion Yen Championship over his shoulder, adjusts the mic.)
FRANK PIERCE: All right, b*tches. I’d like to thank all of you for coming. For sponsorship, I’d like to thank the following: Twix, Wendy's, Sharpie, Rolex, Hilton Hotels, Dasani, Lexus, Binaca, D&G Right Guard, Cap'n Crunch, Pepto Bismol, Chick-Fil-A, Bazooka Joe, Lysol, Caesar's Palace, Compaq, Arby's, Sony, the National Basketball Association, Nintendo, Casio, and most importantly, Charmin. Because when your opponent runs his mouth constantly and all that comes out is crap, what else cleans it up better than Charmin? Uh, NOBODY.
(Ryan and Mack nod along with him as several camera bulbs flash.)
FRANK PIERCE: Now, earlier this week, we made an announcement that the Heirs of Wrestling were going to be utilizing our Freebird Rules clause and would be having one of us wrestle as a sponsor for each round of the tournament we compete in. Much speculation has been making the rounds. The questions have been asked. People have been wondering exactly WHAT action we are going to take against Anarky come Aggression 53. But before we drop The Decision™ on you, Ryan Gallway was nice enough to count the minutes while doing recon on our opponent a we prepared for this spectacular occasion. Mr. Gallway, you have the floor.
(Approaching the extra tall podium, he steps on a stool [read: phone books] and clears his throat before he begins.)
RYAN GALLWAY: 6:00PM. F*ck, I thought I was taping “Hot In Cleveland.” Oh, well. 6:01PM. Okay, so far, all he’s established is that people dismiss him. 6:03PM. Turned this sh*t off to play the new EPW Aggression game, now on sale at your local video game depositories. 6:25PM. I unlocked Lindsay Troy and played as her 25 straight times, winning all of them in record time with taking no damage. Nobody stood a chance. 6:36PM. Turns out that video game Anarky is much better than the real thing. I actually scored some achievements with him. I didn’t even make him deliver labored interviews that are so wooden, I could throw them on the fire to stay warm. 7:04PM. Remembered I was supposed to be doing recon. 7:05PM. Went back to the Anarky promo again to study up on him. He started flailing about; delivering dialogue that I think was really meant for The First. 7:12PM. Realized that he does for the side of good what Amy Winehouse does for sobriety. That is all.
FRANK PIERCE: Thank you. Now, The Decision, Tee Emm, has been weighing heavily on the hearts and minds of all those who are keeping up with this match… HOW are we going to beat Anarky? Are we going to pin him? Are we going to make him submit? Are we going to live to fight another day and escape the cage? These questions must be weighed carefully when taking this match into account.
(Off-camera, Mack Brody reaches down to a console panel built into the table and begins fiddling with a few buttons. A large screen begins to retract down from the ceiling and a projector rises up from underneath the table. Frank removes the lens cap and turns the device on, then walks to the back of the room to hit the lights.)
FRANK PIERCE: Thanks, Mack. Now, we’ve drawn out all three scenarios to see how all these will play out and measure them accordingly.
(FIRST SLIDE: A crude crayon drawing of what appears to be a stick figure with a painted skull on it face-down on the mat while a very bold, almost comic book-esque rendition of Mack Brody stands proudly, pinning him down with a boot on his chest.)
FRANK PIERCE: Pinfall. Anarky has thus far, talked a big game about how he’s going to flail our skin off and such. He’s made wild and unsubstantiated claims that we’re cowards and that he will torture us, but when we last competed against him… mind you, our official debut about three Aggressions ago, he and Layne Winters were OUR b*tches. Point: Heirs. Pinfall is a simple and efficient method, the majority of all matches nowadays are won in this manner.
(SECOND SLIDE: Another crude picture of a stick figure in skull facepaint locked in some newfangled torturous submission being twisted into pretzels. The assailant? Another comic book illustration of Ryan Gallway.)
RYAN GALLWAY: Submission. By trade, Anarky doesn’t even know the word “submission.” This is not a complement on his resolve, but really, his wrestling style matches kick-kick-punch-punch-stompy-stompy. His chair shot-addled brain cannot retain new information past a certain date, hence his Nintendo 64-ian Create-A-Wrestler name and appearance. We’d have no trouble beating him in this game.
(THIRD SLIDE: Cage escape. Frank Pierce climbing outside the cage. Guess how he’s animated. And in the ring appears to be a face-painted stick figure with tears running down his cheek, reaching out futilely as Frank is on the way to victory.
FRANK PIERCE: And we can’t forget. Cage Escape. Out of these three, this is the only real thing that Anarky is good at. He talked a big game about how he wanted to hurt us and before that, how he would be proud to injure Karl Brown and make him regret his words. And yeah, he won… BY RUNNING AWAY. Ooooh, scary. And as a man whose body has NOT been ravaged by tacks, wires, and other stupid crap that would ruin this badass physique, I could clearly outrun run... IF we were to run from the fight, that is.
(FINAL SLIDE: A professional mock-up of all three Heirs holding the EPW World Heavyweight Championship as well as their own horrid vanity belts in place of the EPW Tag Team Titles.)
FRANK PIERCE: So no matter how you slice it, Anarky is merely a turd in the punch bowl that is our greatness and will be removed swiftly, thus keeping our precious EPW Titles in place. In fact, we were planning on making a public demonstration right now by burning an Anarky t-shirt, but we then realized he isn’t popular enough to even HAVE merchandise, so we’ll open the floor for questions.
(All reporters raise their hands. Frank Pierce picks a portly fellow in the front row.)
FRANK PIERCE: You, sir.
REPORTER #3: Okay, so… this is all well and good, but have you decided which of you is actually going to FACE Anarky?
(All three Heirs exchange glances before turning their attention back to Mack Brody.)
MACK BRODY: We have. And we’ve decided that… well, you all need to shut the f*ck up. Get out! GET. THE. F*CK. OUT. I’ve got plenty of reporter jackets that we’ll burn on this floor right now! SCRAM!
(The reporters each file out of the room, stunned, leaving the Heirs to their own devices.)
RYAN GALLWAY: Wait… shouldn’t have this gone meeting and THEN open letter? Probably would’ve made more sense.
FRANK PIERCE: No, we're working backwards. Like Momento, b*tches.
(FADE.)
“WHOA, WHOA, WHOA, WHOA, WHOA, WHOA, WHOA, WHOA… WHOA.”
(Call it the nick of time. Call it some BS ploy in order to build suspense. Call it the latter cause that’s exactly what it was. But in any event, the crowd came to life after a loud “BANG!” echoed into the streets. The forms of Frank Pierce, Mack Brody, and Ryan Gallway poured out in tremendous fashion. In fact, somehow, someway, they were walking in slow motion.
Frank Pierce looked every bit the badass with a black Armani dress shirt, D&G sunglasses, and $500 sneakers. Mack Brody looked even more badass in a black leather vest with diamond studded earring, O ROKR Pro sunglasses, a perfectly neat golden fauxhawk with a leather vest and black jeans. Ryan Gallway kept a steady gait; silver silk scarf blowing in the wind [read: fan blowing next to them] with a yellow shirt, blue jeans and for some f*cking reason, a bowler cap he probably borrowed from Muse during their “Chamber of the Muse” appearance. And if you need some music, “Die, Motherf*cker, Die” by The Geto Boys blasted from… someplace.)
REPORTER: How the hell are they doing that?
REPORTER #2: WHAT the hell are they doing?
(Indeed enough, they were STILL walking in slow motion to the podium, despite everything else around them moving at normal speed. Each man took a spot near the podium with Frank Pierce taking the first position. The music cuts as Frank, complete with 1.3 Trillion Yen Championship over his shoulder, adjusts the mic.)
FRANK PIERCE: All right, b*tches. I’d like to thank all of you for coming. For sponsorship, I’d like to thank the following: Twix, Wendy's, Sharpie, Rolex, Hilton Hotels, Dasani, Lexus, Binaca, D&G Right Guard, Cap'n Crunch, Pepto Bismol, Chick-Fil-A, Bazooka Joe, Lysol, Caesar's Palace, Compaq, Arby's, Sony, the National Basketball Association, Nintendo, Casio, and most importantly, Charmin. Because when your opponent runs his mouth constantly and all that comes out is crap, what else cleans it up better than Charmin? Uh, NOBODY.
(Ryan and Mack nod along with him as several camera bulbs flash.)
FRANK PIERCE: Now, earlier this week, we made an announcement that the Heirs of Wrestling were going to be utilizing our Freebird Rules clause and would be having one of us wrestle as a sponsor for each round of the tournament we compete in. Much speculation has been making the rounds. The questions have been asked. People have been wondering exactly WHAT action we are going to take against Anarky come Aggression 53. But before we drop The Decision™ on you, Ryan Gallway was nice enough to count the minutes while doing recon on our opponent a we prepared for this spectacular occasion. Mr. Gallway, you have the floor.
(Approaching the extra tall podium, he steps on a stool [read: phone books] and clears his throat before he begins.)
RYAN GALLWAY: 6:00PM. F*ck, I thought I was taping “Hot In Cleveland.” Oh, well. 6:01PM. Okay, so far, all he’s established is that people dismiss him. 6:03PM. Turned this sh*t off to play the new EPW Aggression game, now on sale at your local video game depositories. 6:25PM. I unlocked Lindsay Troy and played as her 25 straight times, winning all of them in record time with taking no damage. Nobody stood a chance. 6:36PM. Turns out that video game Anarky is much better than the real thing. I actually scored some achievements with him. I didn’t even make him deliver labored interviews that are so wooden, I could throw them on the fire to stay warm. 7:04PM. Remembered I was supposed to be doing recon. 7:05PM. Went back to the Anarky promo again to study up on him. He started flailing about; delivering dialogue that I think was really meant for The First. 7:12PM. Realized that he does for the side of good what Amy Winehouse does for sobriety. That is all.
FRANK PIERCE: Thank you. Now, The Decision, Tee Emm, has been weighing heavily on the hearts and minds of all those who are keeping up with this match… HOW are we going to beat Anarky? Are we going to pin him? Are we going to make him submit? Are we going to live to fight another day and escape the cage? These questions must be weighed carefully when taking this match into account.
(Off-camera, Mack Brody reaches down to a console panel built into the table and begins fiddling with a few buttons. A large screen begins to retract down from the ceiling and a projector rises up from underneath the table. Frank removes the lens cap and turns the device on, then walks to the back of the room to hit the lights.)
FRANK PIERCE: Thanks, Mack. Now, we’ve drawn out all three scenarios to see how all these will play out and measure them accordingly.
(FIRST SLIDE: A crude crayon drawing of what appears to be a stick figure with a painted skull on it face-down on the mat while a very bold, almost comic book-esque rendition of Mack Brody stands proudly, pinning him down with a boot on his chest.)
FRANK PIERCE: Pinfall. Anarky has thus far, talked a big game about how he’s going to flail our skin off and such. He’s made wild and unsubstantiated claims that we’re cowards and that he will torture us, but when we last competed against him… mind you, our official debut about three Aggressions ago, he and Layne Winters were OUR b*tches. Point: Heirs. Pinfall is a simple and efficient method, the majority of all matches nowadays are won in this manner.
(SECOND SLIDE: Another crude picture of a stick figure in skull facepaint locked in some newfangled torturous submission being twisted into pretzels. The assailant? Another comic book illustration of Ryan Gallway.)
RYAN GALLWAY: Submission. By trade, Anarky doesn’t even know the word “submission.” This is not a complement on his resolve, but really, his wrestling style matches kick-kick-punch-punch-stompy-stompy. His chair shot-addled brain cannot retain new information past a certain date, hence his Nintendo 64-ian Create-A-Wrestler name and appearance. We’d have no trouble beating him in this game.
(THIRD SLIDE: Cage escape. Frank Pierce climbing outside the cage. Guess how he’s animated. And in the ring appears to be a face-painted stick figure with tears running down his cheek, reaching out futilely as Frank is on the way to victory.
FRANK PIERCE: And we can’t forget. Cage Escape. Out of these three, this is the only real thing that Anarky is good at. He talked a big game about how he wanted to hurt us and before that, how he would be proud to injure Karl Brown and make him regret his words. And yeah, he won… BY RUNNING AWAY. Ooooh, scary. And as a man whose body has NOT been ravaged by tacks, wires, and other stupid crap that would ruin this badass physique, I could clearly outrun run... IF we were to run from the fight, that is.
(FINAL SLIDE: A professional mock-up of all three Heirs holding the EPW World Heavyweight Championship as well as their own horrid vanity belts in place of the EPW Tag Team Titles.)
FRANK PIERCE: So no matter how you slice it, Anarky is merely a turd in the punch bowl that is our greatness and will be removed swiftly, thus keeping our precious EPW Titles in place. In fact, we were planning on making a public demonstration right now by burning an Anarky t-shirt, but we then realized he isn’t popular enough to even HAVE merchandise, so we’ll open the floor for questions.
(All reporters raise their hands. Frank Pierce picks a portly fellow in the front row.)
FRANK PIERCE: You, sir.
REPORTER #3: Okay, so… this is all well and good, but have you decided which of you is actually going to FACE Anarky?
(All three Heirs exchange glances before turning their attention back to Mack Brody.)
MACK BRODY: We have. And we’ve decided that… well, you all need to shut the f*ck up. Get out! GET. THE. F*CK. OUT. I’ve got plenty of reporter jackets that we’ll burn on this floor right now! SCRAM!
(The reporters each file out of the room, stunned, leaving the Heirs to their own devices.)
RYAN GALLWAY: Wait… shouldn’t have this gone meeting and THEN open letter? Probably would’ve made more sense.
FRANK PIERCE: No, we're working backwards. Like Momento, b*tches.
(FADE.)
JLevinson
Diva Tree
- Joined
- Jan 1, 2000
- Messages
- 707
- Points
- 0
- Age
- 43
(FADEIN to a single chair inside a ring inside a cage. The arena is empty.)
ANARKY: “Oh, the Heirs of Wrestling. Another promo, another opportunity to listen to them mistake pop culture references for actual humor.
“Not to mention your impressive sh*t talking skills, which are starting to make Cameron Cruise seem downright sensible.
“I mean, the best you can say about me is that I beat Karl Brown… wrongly? Or that you beat me by… beating Layne Winters? Is that supposed to make me feel… what? Sad? Scared? Inadequate?
“I mean, f*ck, you accuse me of having a name that sounds like the Nintendo 64 era. Y’know. When I started wrestling. Cause that wouldn’t make any sense. At all.
“No, please, gentlemen, spend more f*cking camera time listing every company you can think of, it was HILARIOUS. Let’s do ANOTHER promo mocking LeBron, cause there’s no way we aren’t already f*cking sick of talking about that sh*t a week ago, no, man, it’s GENIUS.
“Maybe if you could take Lindsay Troy’s magical golden strapon out of yourselves for a second here and listen, you’d learn something.
“You think you’re this new generation of wrestlers that completely changes the game. You’re funny, you’re clever, you mention things that happened in the news recently so we know how hip you are. It’s all very edgy, I swear. Bleeding edge sh*t.
“See, the thing is… it isn’t. I’ve been hearing this sh*t since day one. Sniveling little brats who think they’re better than this sport. Who pretend to be above it.
“Why the f*cking halos, boys? Your sh*t doesn’t stink? You don’t bleed? You don’t wince? You’re too f*cking rich for that?
“Yeah, I get it, you are… just… like… everyone… else.
“You think I didn’t hurt Karl Brown? You think I didn’t take a little piece of him?
“Right now, Karl Brown doesn’t know what the f*ck just happened. He knows he lost. But he doesn’t understand how. Because he still doesn’t understand. Why didn’t I pin him? Why didn’t I just take his title? I mean, after all, he HAS to care, right? He HAS to want my precious gold? YES?
“Are you listening, Heirs? Do you understand?
“What matters now isn’t the EPW Television Title. What matters isn’t the EPW Tag Team Titles. And what matters certainly isn’t whether you think calling someone a turd in a punch bowl is more insulting to you or the person stupid enough to say it.
“It’s just like… I can’t believe… after all this f*cking time… that all these f*cking opponents… not a one of you can even pretend like you have an ounce of respect for anything other than yourselves. I mean… I know I haven’t exactly been a stand-up citizen…
“But at least I didn’t pretend to be better than the sport itself. At least I didn’t put myself in front of it all. At least I know that I’m just a man… someone who has been LUCKY.
“But every week some f*cking child is telling me how he reinvented the f*cking wheel. How I’m just some punch-drunk loser who doesn’t understand how the world has changed.
“The world hasn’t f*cking changed… people have always been sh*t… myself included…
“Well enough of that… I don’t need to hold a f*cking press conference. I don’t need people to pretend to care about me.
“I’m just sick and f*cking tired of knowing that I wasted the last 14 years of my life so some petulant child could tell me I’m winning cage matches the wrong way to impress him.
“You know what?
“GOOD. I’m GLAD you aren’t impressed. I’d hate to f*cking think for one f*cking second that anything I’d done would make you happy because if I were to ever accidentally end up on the same side as you on an argument, just f*cking kick me in the balls and shoot me in the f*cking head, seriously.
“I’ve spent a long time in EPW here. Thinking about things. About violence. About annihilation. About what it means to wrestle long after you’ve stopped caring about the accomplishments and the glory. About what drives a man to push himself further when he knows he can’t.
“Maybe it’s just taken me this long to realize what I should’ve realized all along. That the violence… the rage… it’s justified. The lust may have been real, but behind it was something else.
“I’ve grown weary of sucking down all this bullsh*t. Pretending that it’s okay.
“It’s not okay.
“Because you’re never gonna learn. You can’t have sense beaten into you. You’re a product of this culture. It’s all mememe. You want sh*t handed to you.
“You want to be EPW World Heavyweight Champion? You wanna be the King? You think you can handle the burden?
“I welcome you to it, boys. But first you gotta go into that cage, and you’re going to have to put me down. Not a tag partner. Just me.
“You think I ran away from that last match? Go right ahead. Karl Brown’s still trying to understand it… from outside the tournament. Which is exactly where you’re going to be if you falter for even a f*cking second.
“Cause I ain’t the biggest or strongest or smartest or fastest or richest.
“But make one mistake in that ring. Give me one opening. One second.
“It doesn’t even take that long. There’s something very beautiful and savage about the sound it makes when a man’s skull pings against that cage.
“You wanna be King of the Cage? The path starts here, and I’ve been waiting my whole f*cking life for this chance to remind you of your humanity.
“You want the crown, boys? Is it so real you can taste it?
“Good.
“Now all you gotta do is come into the cage and earn it.”
(FADEOUT as he smiles and puts out his cigarette.)
ANARKY: “Oh, the Heirs of Wrestling. Another promo, another opportunity to listen to them mistake pop culture references for actual humor.
“Not to mention your impressive sh*t talking skills, which are starting to make Cameron Cruise seem downright sensible.
“I mean, the best you can say about me is that I beat Karl Brown… wrongly? Or that you beat me by… beating Layne Winters? Is that supposed to make me feel… what? Sad? Scared? Inadequate?
“I mean, f*ck, you accuse me of having a name that sounds like the Nintendo 64 era. Y’know. When I started wrestling. Cause that wouldn’t make any sense. At all.
“No, please, gentlemen, spend more f*cking camera time listing every company you can think of, it was HILARIOUS. Let’s do ANOTHER promo mocking LeBron, cause there’s no way we aren’t already f*cking sick of talking about that sh*t a week ago, no, man, it’s GENIUS.
“Maybe if you could take Lindsay Troy’s magical golden strapon out of yourselves for a second here and listen, you’d learn something.
“You think you’re this new generation of wrestlers that completely changes the game. You’re funny, you’re clever, you mention things that happened in the news recently so we know how hip you are. It’s all very edgy, I swear. Bleeding edge sh*t.
“See, the thing is… it isn’t. I’ve been hearing this sh*t since day one. Sniveling little brats who think they’re better than this sport. Who pretend to be above it.
“Why the f*cking halos, boys? Your sh*t doesn’t stink? You don’t bleed? You don’t wince? You’re too f*cking rich for that?
“Yeah, I get it, you are… just… like… everyone… else.
“You think I didn’t hurt Karl Brown? You think I didn’t take a little piece of him?
“Right now, Karl Brown doesn’t know what the f*ck just happened. He knows he lost. But he doesn’t understand how. Because he still doesn’t understand. Why didn’t I pin him? Why didn’t I just take his title? I mean, after all, he HAS to care, right? He HAS to want my precious gold? YES?
“Are you listening, Heirs? Do you understand?
“What matters now isn’t the EPW Television Title. What matters isn’t the EPW Tag Team Titles. And what matters certainly isn’t whether you think calling someone a turd in a punch bowl is more insulting to you or the person stupid enough to say it.
“It’s just like… I can’t believe… after all this f*cking time… that all these f*cking opponents… not a one of you can even pretend like you have an ounce of respect for anything other than yourselves. I mean… I know I haven’t exactly been a stand-up citizen…
“But at least I didn’t pretend to be better than the sport itself. At least I didn’t put myself in front of it all. At least I know that I’m just a man… someone who has been LUCKY.
“But every week some f*cking child is telling me how he reinvented the f*cking wheel. How I’m just some punch-drunk loser who doesn’t understand how the world has changed.
“The world hasn’t f*cking changed… people have always been sh*t… myself included…
“Well enough of that… I don’t need to hold a f*cking press conference. I don’t need people to pretend to care about me.
“I’m just sick and f*cking tired of knowing that I wasted the last 14 years of my life so some petulant child could tell me I’m winning cage matches the wrong way to impress him.
“You know what?
“GOOD. I’m GLAD you aren’t impressed. I’d hate to f*cking think for one f*cking second that anything I’d done would make you happy because if I were to ever accidentally end up on the same side as you on an argument, just f*cking kick me in the balls and shoot me in the f*cking head, seriously.
“I’ve spent a long time in EPW here. Thinking about things. About violence. About annihilation. About what it means to wrestle long after you’ve stopped caring about the accomplishments and the glory. About what drives a man to push himself further when he knows he can’t.
“Maybe it’s just taken me this long to realize what I should’ve realized all along. That the violence… the rage… it’s justified. The lust may have been real, but behind it was something else.
“I’ve grown weary of sucking down all this bullsh*t. Pretending that it’s okay.
“It’s not okay.
“Because you’re never gonna learn. You can’t have sense beaten into you. You’re a product of this culture. It’s all mememe. You want sh*t handed to you.
“You want to be EPW World Heavyweight Champion? You wanna be the King? You think you can handle the burden?
“I welcome you to it, boys. But first you gotta go into that cage, and you’re going to have to put me down. Not a tag partner. Just me.
“You think I ran away from that last match? Go right ahead. Karl Brown’s still trying to understand it… from outside the tournament. Which is exactly where you’re going to be if you falter for even a f*cking second.
“Cause I ain’t the biggest or strongest or smartest or fastest or richest.
“But make one mistake in that ring. Give me one opening. One second.
“It doesn’t even take that long. There’s something very beautiful and savage about the sound it makes when a man’s skull pings against that cage.
“You wanna be King of the Cage? The path starts here, and I’ve been waiting my whole f*cking life for this chance to remind you of your humanity.
“You want the crown, boys? Is it so real you can taste it?
“Good.
“Now all you gotta do is come into the cage and earn it.”
(FADEOUT as he smiles and puts out his cigarette.)
- Joined
- Feb 4, 2005
- Messages
- 1,143
- Points
- 38
(FADE-IN: Mere days before Aggression 53. The EPW crew sets up the hanging banners in advance of getting in some good promotional shots right before the second round of the EPW King of the Cage Tournament. In the middle of the very venue in Minneapolis, Minnesota, the very cage that some of EPW’s finest will do battle to take the title that EPW World Heavyweight Champion Sean Stevens looks to defend.
Just outside ring while some photographers snap various shots of the cage on the outside, Ryan Gallway and Mack Brody of the Heirs of Wrestling pace around, spotlight shining at their feet. Fun fact: Having a cage match without having a promo inside the cage is considered treason in America.)
RYAN GALLWAY: I do apologize to you, the viewing audience. Frank couldn’t actually make it. He said he was somewhere screaming at a wall, but WE’RE the ones filming a promo against Anarky. Go figure.
(While Mack is busy walking alongside the outer reaches of the structure, Ryan smirks and continues.)
RYAN GALLWAY: While Frank has been mainly having a go against that face-paint-colored turd bullet the whole time, if you REALLY want to know, I’ve been pissed. Why? I’m pissed that nobody told us we were doing impressions. I can do a f*cking awesome Jack from LOST, minus the getting stabbed in the end. I mean, really, I was assuming that we were doing impressions considering the last several days, we’ve made fun of LeBron. Anarky has been fighting it by switching between the “Torturous Angsty Soul” and “Generic Underdog Face” impersonations I’ve ever seen. He made his own camera guy cry tears of inspiration… or was it suffering? I dunno, they both look the same.
(Shrugging his shoulders, he starts admiring the confines of the steel structure with a mock grin on his face, shaking the chain link.)
RYAN GALLWAY: “I’m gonna torture any one of you!” “I’m not the biggest, strongest, smartest, or prettiest, you’re looking past me!” “You’re edgy and self-aware! I’m tired of swallowing bullsh*t!” “Oh, but I’ve been dragged and beaten.” I’m scared of what his rebuttal is going to be. “Two men enter, one man wins.” “But you gotta be the man to beat the man!” Well, ‘Nark, that’s too fuc…
“WHOA, WHOA, WHOA, GUYS, GUYS, GUYS!”
(Looking over to his side, Ryan spots Frank Pierce walking down the aisle, his own 1.3 Trillion Yen Championship around his waist while dragging the actual EPW title belts across the ground. Shaking his head frantically, he furrows his brow and breathes a heavy, disappointed sigh.)
FRANK PIERCE: Guys, this has to stop. I’m sorry to say, but… it’s over. He’s won.
(Both Ryan and Mack exchange glances before turning back to their co-champion. The look is very reminiscent of them seeing Frank’s eyeballs pop out of his head, climb onto his skull and start dancing “The Michigan Rag.”)
MACK BRODY: Frank, buddy, friend, ally, pal, amigo, compadre… are you out of your f*cking mind?
RYAN GALLWAY: Yeah, dude. I mean, I’m a child from outer space blessed with wrestling talent beyond the stars, but you’re off your g*ddamn rocker.
FRANK PIERCE: No, you guys. We are boned. Like that one YouTube video where the kid cornholes himself with a remote because his Mom took away his WoW account. THAT kind of boned.
(Ryan is inches away from backhanding his tag team partner, but decides against it. He readies his strong pimp hand.)
RYAN GALLWAY: Wait, how are we boned?
FRANK PIERCE: Well, sirs, once you get past the part where you just want to curl up into a ball and die, what we need to realize is that he’s is a time-tested veteran of the sport. He’s been through hell and back and there again, he’s put more hours than all of us put together. He’s been around the block and back. He’s seen everything there is to see. He knows better than us, so… sirs… it’s been a pleasure working with you.
RYAN GALLWAY: (gasping) But… but… dude, I had this whole set up. I really WAS going to call him as Mel Gibson and tell him he’d be attacked by a pack of N-bombs! I was gonna tell these people that his matches were like a Dane Cook monologue. You know, unnecessarily long and not original.
MACK BRODY: Frank, listen to yourself. YOU ARE NOT MAKING SENSE. His powers of deduction are shakier than Michael J. Fox. He thinks we called him an N64 character because he started wrestling around the time and not because he's a retarded, visually unappealing block of crap who can’t wrestle. He thinks we brought up his loss to us last time as us trying to intimidate him. He doesn’t understand we told him that because last time he talked a bunch of sh*t and assumed he’d hurt us, he failed just like he will this time.
FRANK PIERCE: Nope. Sorry, Ryan, that kind of talk is not going to fly with a real-life legend in the way. And Mack… we can bash him all we want, but the truth remains. I tried to actually reason with him earlier, but he didn’t respond. He’s set in his ways. We are f*cked.
(Pulling at his faux-hawk in frustration, Mack’s eyes look ready to bulge out of his head.)
MACK BRODY: Dude, this… this is bullsh*t. We’ve worked too hard to get this far, we’ve got the EPW Tag Team Titles and you’re throwing in the f*cking towel?
FRANK PIERCE: Look, it is what it is, Mack. I’d love to sit here and trade more barbs with the guy, I really would. I’d love to tell him that he should spend a lot more time actually fighting back verbally instead of just sitting there, looking stiffer than a cadaver. You don’t think I want to tell that he should just be doing more than painting himself scary colors to get his point across? I’d love to. I’d love to tell him all these things and if he could talk, I’d tell him that I… hate… this… I’m so… I’m… so… PISSED! F*CK… IT… ALL… F*CK… F*CK… F*CK…
(Ryan and Mack jump back after Frank slams a fist into the cage, shaking the very chain link. He shakes his head and throws the EPW Tag Team Titles on the ground, making sure to throw some kicks to the storied gold for good measure. Ryan pushes him back, but Frank puts up both his hands to protect himself. Taking a moment to regain his composure, he takes a deep breath before he presses on.)
FRANK PIERCE: Look, guys, we had a good run. We were the ones who ended Anthology’s year-long reign of terror over the tag team division. We’ve got gold in other places. We need to just cut our losses and run. We’re young, we’ve achieved a lot. We don’t need this kind of pressure. It’s time to call it a night.
(Throwing his arms up in the air, Mack Brody grunts, taking his spray tan-caked title with him.)
MACK BRODY: F*ck this, dude, I’m outta here.
(Ryan shoots a glare at Frank before walking back up the ramp, hoisting his own tag title over his shoulder. He turns away while casually throwing up a dismissive hand.)
RYAN GALLWAY: Dude, YOU can wrestle Anarky for all I care. Peace.
(Frank Pierce is left all alone, picking up the EPW Tag Team Championships. Grumbling to himself, he takes one last parting look at the cage before heading to the back.)
FRANK PIERCE: Anarky? Who the hell said anything about Anarky? I meant the wall…
(FADE.)
Just outside ring while some photographers snap various shots of the cage on the outside, Ryan Gallway and Mack Brody of the Heirs of Wrestling pace around, spotlight shining at their feet. Fun fact: Having a cage match without having a promo inside the cage is considered treason in America.)
RYAN GALLWAY: I do apologize to you, the viewing audience. Frank couldn’t actually make it. He said he was somewhere screaming at a wall, but WE’RE the ones filming a promo against Anarky. Go figure.
(While Mack is busy walking alongside the outer reaches of the structure, Ryan smirks and continues.)
RYAN GALLWAY: While Frank has been mainly having a go against that face-paint-colored turd bullet the whole time, if you REALLY want to know, I’ve been pissed. Why? I’m pissed that nobody told us we were doing impressions. I can do a f*cking awesome Jack from LOST, minus the getting stabbed in the end. I mean, really, I was assuming that we were doing impressions considering the last several days, we’ve made fun of LeBron. Anarky has been fighting it by switching between the “Torturous Angsty Soul” and “Generic Underdog Face” impersonations I’ve ever seen. He made his own camera guy cry tears of inspiration… or was it suffering? I dunno, they both look the same.
(Shrugging his shoulders, he starts admiring the confines of the steel structure with a mock grin on his face, shaking the chain link.)
RYAN GALLWAY: “I’m gonna torture any one of you!” “I’m not the biggest, strongest, smartest, or prettiest, you’re looking past me!” “You’re edgy and self-aware! I’m tired of swallowing bullsh*t!” “Oh, but I’ve been dragged and beaten.” I’m scared of what his rebuttal is going to be. “Two men enter, one man wins.” “But you gotta be the man to beat the man!” Well, ‘Nark, that’s too fuc…
“WHOA, WHOA, WHOA, GUYS, GUYS, GUYS!”
(Looking over to his side, Ryan spots Frank Pierce walking down the aisle, his own 1.3 Trillion Yen Championship around his waist while dragging the actual EPW title belts across the ground. Shaking his head frantically, he furrows his brow and breathes a heavy, disappointed sigh.)
FRANK PIERCE: Guys, this has to stop. I’m sorry to say, but… it’s over. He’s won.
(Both Ryan and Mack exchange glances before turning back to their co-champion. The look is very reminiscent of them seeing Frank’s eyeballs pop out of his head, climb onto his skull and start dancing “The Michigan Rag.”)
MACK BRODY: Frank, buddy, friend, ally, pal, amigo, compadre… are you out of your f*cking mind?
RYAN GALLWAY: Yeah, dude. I mean, I’m a child from outer space blessed with wrestling talent beyond the stars, but you’re off your g*ddamn rocker.
FRANK PIERCE: No, you guys. We are boned. Like that one YouTube video where the kid cornholes himself with a remote because his Mom took away his WoW account. THAT kind of boned.
(Ryan is inches away from backhanding his tag team partner, but decides against it. He readies his strong pimp hand.)
RYAN GALLWAY: Wait, how are we boned?
FRANK PIERCE: Well, sirs, once you get past the part where you just want to curl up into a ball and die, what we need to realize is that he’s is a time-tested veteran of the sport. He’s been through hell and back and there again, he’s put more hours than all of us put together. He’s been around the block and back. He’s seen everything there is to see. He knows better than us, so… sirs… it’s been a pleasure working with you.
RYAN GALLWAY: (gasping) But… but… dude, I had this whole set up. I really WAS going to call him as Mel Gibson and tell him he’d be attacked by a pack of N-bombs! I was gonna tell these people that his matches were like a Dane Cook monologue. You know, unnecessarily long and not original.
MACK BRODY: Frank, listen to yourself. YOU ARE NOT MAKING SENSE. His powers of deduction are shakier than Michael J. Fox. He thinks we called him an N64 character because he started wrestling around the time and not because he's a retarded, visually unappealing block of crap who can’t wrestle. He thinks we brought up his loss to us last time as us trying to intimidate him. He doesn’t understand we told him that because last time he talked a bunch of sh*t and assumed he’d hurt us, he failed just like he will this time.
FRANK PIERCE: Nope. Sorry, Ryan, that kind of talk is not going to fly with a real-life legend in the way. And Mack… we can bash him all we want, but the truth remains. I tried to actually reason with him earlier, but he didn’t respond. He’s set in his ways. We are f*cked.
(Pulling at his faux-hawk in frustration, Mack’s eyes look ready to bulge out of his head.)
MACK BRODY: Dude, this… this is bullsh*t. We’ve worked too hard to get this far, we’ve got the EPW Tag Team Titles and you’re throwing in the f*cking towel?
FRANK PIERCE: Look, it is what it is, Mack. I’d love to sit here and trade more barbs with the guy, I really would. I’d love to tell him that he should spend a lot more time actually fighting back verbally instead of just sitting there, looking stiffer than a cadaver. You don’t think I want to tell that he should just be doing more than painting himself scary colors to get his point across? I’d love to. I’d love to tell him all these things and if he could talk, I’d tell him that I… hate… this… I’m so… I’m… so… PISSED! F*CK… IT… ALL… F*CK… F*CK… F*CK…
(Ryan and Mack jump back after Frank slams a fist into the cage, shaking the very chain link. He shakes his head and throws the EPW Tag Team Titles on the ground, making sure to throw some kicks to the storied gold for good measure. Ryan pushes him back, but Frank puts up both his hands to protect himself. Taking a moment to regain his composure, he takes a deep breath before he presses on.)
FRANK PIERCE: Look, guys, we had a good run. We were the ones who ended Anthology’s year-long reign of terror over the tag team division. We’ve got gold in other places. We need to just cut our losses and run. We’re young, we’ve achieved a lot. We don’t need this kind of pressure. It’s time to call it a night.
(Throwing his arms up in the air, Mack Brody grunts, taking his spray tan-caked title with him.)
MACK BRODY: F*ck this, dude, I’m outta here.
(Ryan shoots a glare at Frank before walking back up the ramp, hoisting his own tag title over his shoulder. He turns away while casually throwing up a dismissive hand.)
RYAN GALLWAY: Dude, YOU can wrestle Anarky for all I care. Peace.
(Frank Pierce is left all alone, picking up the EPW Tag Team Championships. Grumbling to himself, he takes one last parting look at the cage before heading to the back.)
FRANK PIERCE: Anarky? Who the hell said anything about Anarky? I meant the wall…
(FADE.)
Last edited:
JLevinson
Diva Tree
- Joined
- Jan 1, 2000
- Messages
- 707
- Points
- 0
- Age
- 43
(FADEIN to a dark street corner where several prostitutes stand. Most of them look to be older than 40 and wear cheap skimpy outfits. A homeless man ambles by unnoticed. The camera pans up a little and finds a balcony, where Anarky stands, sans facepaint, in a Pantera t-shirt and jeans, watching.)
ANARKY: “Every night they’re out here, rain or snow… these days, desperate heat. Doing what they have to do to get by.
“Society ignores them on a good day. On a bad day, who knows.
“But in a way, at least… there is some honor in what they do. They haven’t ignored what they are. There is no false pretense to their place here.
“The world needs them even as it annihilates them. The cold, unflinching universe doesn’t judge them, though, even as it tramples them underneath its feet. Not like you do, Heirs.
“Nobody escapes your ever-watching eye. No one escapes the witty banter of the Heirs of Wrestling.
“I’m not gonna lie, boys. There are a lot of things about this sport I’ve hated for a long time. And it isn’t just punks like you.
“I hate the way every last motherf*cker here would rather make some f*cking excuse or ignore a loss than admit for one second that sometimes, as a professional wrestler, you’re going to lose a match every now and again.
“I hate how every time a guy wins a match he acts like that somehow proves he’s somehow unbeatable now. Like every dog doesn’t have his day.
“But y’know what really gets me?
“Guys who consider themselves so f*cking important… so f*cking witty and clever and wonderful… that they disregard any f*cking respect for the sport itself… sh*t on any sense of what came before them… and have the gall… to start accusing people of being a ‘Generic Underdog Face.’
“Maybe I’m just gettin’ too f*cking old, but who the F*CK are YOU to start editorializing Empire Pro? Huh? What the F*CK have YOU DONE to WALTZ IN HERE and tell ME who the F*CK I AM.
“Cause I’m tryin’ to figure out where you derive this f*cking authority of yours to pretend to be above such sh*t. See, the only difference between me ‘n you is that I still have enough f*cking dignity left to pretend to be a WRESTLER.
“Not you, though. Not a motherf*cking last one of you. You should go write for the Los Angeles Times and hang out with your yuppie friends and drink Martinis and talk about how much better you are than those ‘knuckle draggers’ in Empire Pro Wrestling.
“Cause that’s what the f*ck you are. You’re just a critic. You don’t bring sh*t all to the table. You sit back, pretending to be above the fray, you disregard EVERYONE you come into contact with who paved the f*cking way for you.
“And you sh*t even on the basic tenets of the sport itself. The codes of this sport. There aren’t many of them, but even that is too f*cking much for you children.
“And it ain’t just you, either, Heirs. I know you think you’re the first but I’ve been hearing this sh*t from Copycat for the last DECADE.
“This just in: Copycat and the Heirs of Wrestling give Anarky two thumbs down! They found it derivative and unoriginal.
“Well excuse me for f*cking existing in Heirs of Wrestling Land. If I’d known I was going to need a permission slip to exist in a 10-food radius of your critical eye, I would’ve worn a better t-shirt and an Armani jacket so you and your Ivory Tower buddies can tell me what a f*cking Neanderthal I am.
“Once again, I find myself apologizing to you guys. It seems I have to do this every week. I remember just the other week I was apologizing to Fusenshoff.
“I’m sorry. Really. I don’t MEAN to be a bitter disappointment. Maybe if you told me what I was supposed to be, I could be that, and then you could love me.
“Right? Right, guys?”
(He smiles and leans back, reaching down and grabbing a Miller Lite in a can, cracking it open, and taking a sip. He examines it for a moment and looks back at the camera.)
ANARKY: “Nah. The truth is, guys like you, guys like Copycat, guys like Fusenshoff… I can’t impress them. I could beat them in that ring 10 straight times and they’d have 10 straight excuses and it still wouldn’t matter because I’d have to hear a two-star review from the Heirs of Ebert here.
“I want to pretend that when we go into that cage, and you suddenly realize that this isn’t Showtime at the Apollo, that you’re going to learn something. That even if I beat you pillar to post, and left you in a heap and took your precious gold… that you’d somehow gain at least enough sense of humility to f*cking realize that you are a f*cking human being just like the rest of these guys out here…
“But no. You won’t. It doesn’t matter. I know it doesn’t matter. You’ll never f*cking learn because in your world, all things exist to glorify you. No matter what happens in that ring, you’ll see it as a sign of your destiny.
“It’s like your own personal religion. All signs point to God: you.
“But that’s okay. Because y’know what? Even if it DOESN’T matter… even if you don’t learn sh*t…
“It’s going to feel good.
“For those brief moments of silence between the neverending stream of sh*t that comes out of your mouths. When one of you is gasping for air. That one second, when you’re in too much pain, finally, to stop running your mouth at people.
“So you keep talking about the past. You keep reminding us about what you’ve done. Who you’ve beaten. How much I should care.
“At the next Aggression, I’m going to go into that cage and do what I do best. And it won’t matter how pretty it is. How clever it sounds. Whether or not it’s approved by the Heirs of Wrestling.
“I’m just a wrestler, guys. Sorry that isn’t enough. But don’t worry. If it makes you feel any better…
“You aren't the first I've disappointed. And you won't be the last.”
(FADEOUT as he winks at the camera and takes another swig of beer.)
ANARKY: “Every night they’re out here, rain or snow… these days, desperate heat. Doing what they have to do to get by.
“Society ignores them on a good day. On a bad day, who knows.
“But in a way, at least… there is some honor in what they do. They haven’t ignored what they are. There is no false pretense to their place here.
“The world needs them even as it annihilates them. The cold, unflinching universe doesn’t judge them, though, even as it tramples them underneath its feet. Not like you do, Heirs.
“Nobody escapes your ever-watching eye. No one escapes the witty banter of the Heirs of Wrestling.
“I’m not gonna lie, boys. There are a lot of things about this sport I’ve hated for a long time. And it isn’t just punks like you.
“I hate the way every last motherf*cker here would rather make some f*cking excuse or ignore a loss than admit for one second that sometimes, as a professional wrestler, you’re going to lose a match every now and again.
“I hate how every time a guy wins a match he acts like that somehow proves he’s somehow unbeatable now. Like every dog doesn’t have his day.
“But y’know what really gets me?
“Guys who consider themselves so f*cking important… so f*cking witty and clever and wonderful… that they disregard any f*cking respect for the sport itself… sh*t on any sense of what came before them… and have the gall… to start accusing people of being a ‘Generic Underdog Face.’
“Maybe I’m just gettin’ too f*cking old, but who the F*CK are YOU to start editorializing Empire Pro? Huh? What the F*CK have YOU DONE to WALTZ IN HERE and tell ME who the F*CK I AM.
“Cause I’m tryin’ to figure out where you derive this f*cking authority of yours to pretend to be above such sh*t. See, the only difference between me ‘n you is that I still have enough f*cking dignity left to pretend to be a WRESTLER.
“Not you, though. Not a motherf*cking last one of you. You should go write for the Los Angeles Times and hang out with your yuppie friends and drink Martinis and talk about how much better you are than those ‘knuckle draggers’ in Empire Pro Wrestling.
“Cause that’s what the f*ck you are. You’re just a critic. You don’t bring sh*t all to the table. You sit back, pretending to be above the fray, you disregard EVERYONE you come into contact with who paved the f*cking way for you.
“And you sh*t even on the basic tenets of the sport itself. The codes of this sport. There aren’t many of them, but even that is too f*cking much for you children.
“And it ain’t just you, either, Heirs. I know you think you’re the first but I’ve been hearing this sh*t from Copycat for the last DECADE.
“This just in: Copycat and the Heirs of Wrestling give Anarky two thumbs down! They found it derivative and unoriginal.
“Well excuse me for f*cking existing in Heirs of Wrestling Land. If I’d known I was going to need a permission slip to exist in a 10-food radius of your critical eye, I would’ve worn a better t-shirt and an Armani jacket so you and your Ivory Tower buddies can tell me what a f*cking Neanderthal I am.
“Once again, I find myself apologizing to you guys. It seems I have to do this every week. I remember just the other week I was apologizing to Fusenshoff.
“I’m sorry. Really. I don’t MEAN to be a bitter disappointment. Maybe if you told me what I was supposed to be, I could be that, and then you could love me.
“Right? Right, guys?”
(He smiles and leans back, reaching down and grabbing a Miller Lite in a can, cracking it open, and taking a sip. He examines it for a moment and looks back at the camera.)
ANARKY: “Nah. The truth is, guys like you, guys like Copycat, guys like Fusenshoff… I can’t impress them. I could beat them in that ring 10 straight times and they’d have 10 straight excuses and it still wouldn’t matter because I’d have to hear a two-star review from the Heirs of Ebert here.
“I want to pretend that when we go into that cage, and you suddenly realize that this isn’t Showtime at the Apollo, that you’re going to learn something. That even if I beat you pillar to post, and left you in a heap and took your precious gold… that you’d somehow gain at least enough sense of humility to f*cking realize that you are a f*cking human being just like the rest of these guys out here…
“But no. You won’t. It doesn’t matter. I know it doesn’t matter. You’ll never f*cking learn because in your world, all things exist to glorify you. No matter what happens in that ring, you’ll see it as a sign of your destiny.
“It’s like your own personal religion. All signs point to God: you.
“But that’s okay. Because y’know what? Even if it DOESN’T matter… even if you don’t learn sh*t…
“It’s going to feel good.
“For those brief moments of silence between the neverending stream of sh*t that comes out of your mouths. When one of you is gasping for air. That one second, when you’re in too much pain, finally, to stop running your mouth at people.
“So you keep talking about the past. You keep reminding us about what you’ve done. Who you’ve beaten. How much I should care.
“At the next Aggression, I’m going to go into that cage and do what I do best. And it won’t matter how pretty it is. How clever it sounds. Whether or not it’s approved by the Heirs of Wrestling.
“I’m just a wrestler, guys. Sorry that isn’t enough. But don’t worry. If it makes you feel any better…
“You aren't the first I've disappointed. And you won't be the last.”
(FADEOUT as he winks at the camera and takes another swig of beer.)
Last edited:
- Joined
- Feb 4, 2005
- Messages
- 1,143
- Points
- 38
(FADE-IN: Static, snowy-looking crap for a few moments. Soon, the camera comes into focus, but not before we get a shaky view of somebody's head.
The picture becomes a little clearer until it gets a peek into the pearly whites of Frank Pierce. With his head down to the camera in his hands and eyes forward, he does his best to work with what he has as he paces around the streets of Minneapolis, with a sole camcorder in his hands. No fancy tricks, no letters, no press conferences. Just a man, his camera, and retardedly expensive sunglasses.)
FRANK PIERCE: 'Nark, because you've been quite the sport this entire time, I'm going to spare you the drivel about how this match epitomizes the generation gap or culture clash, whatever you wanna call it. Being the time-tested, chairshot-approved veteran you are, it's something you've probably heard as many times as I've slammed eighteen-year-olds. Don't worry, we ran Jared Wells right out of EPW so you won't have to hear about anyone telling you how I made them call me Daddy.
Seems to me you've thrown a colossal b*tch fit with the way we've dealt with you so far. Understandable since with a name as ingenious as spelling anarchy with an extra-special K, you've blown your creative load already. So what is this? Me talking to you, mano y mongoloid, no tricks, no fancy sh*t. You've been raising your voice, screaming and howling at walls and cameras, trying to figure out why we're so entitled and why we're confident in our abilities. Now, it's gotten to the point where only homeless people and hookers give a sh*t what you say. That's actually pretty smart since hobos don’t have anywhere else to run and hookers are the only people you CAN pay to stick around. Bully for you.
But, Anarky, I'll do you a solid and tell you why we are the way we are. Here's the answer to why we're so gosh-darned lovable and cocksure of ourselves.
Ready for it?
Here it comes….
Because we do exactly what it is we say we're going to do!
I know, let that sink in for a minute. Whoa. Has your brain matter exploded in your skull yet? Are you on the phone with the guys that produced Bumfights right now, cursing God for our existence yet? Go ahead, I’ll give you a second.
(With a shake of the head, Frank lets out a chuckle.)
FRANK PIERCE: From day one, we told Empire Pro Wrestling we were here to make an impact. Nobody was there to hold our hand; nobody was there to show us the proverbial ropes. And most importantly, The First didn’t make us give him blow jobs to get into the good graces of EPW. We came in and here and started winning matches. It was just a bunch of kids from great wrestling backgrounds. Sure, we were blessed with unparalleled talent, good looks, sparkling wit, and an exceptionally awesome trust fund… but it’s been all “Heirs of Wrestling, greater than sign, your name here” so far. That little group, Anthology? You know, the one you and your HOPE buddies spent forever and a day feuding with? Wiped them out on our first try and haven’t looked back. Yeah, I’m bringing up the past again, but it’s kind of important since we said we’d beat their asses for the EPW Tag Team Titles and did it.
At this point, I could even make another pop culture crack about how I’m going to update my Facebook status to “victorious” or how I’ll post to the 200,000-plus followers of the Heirs of Wrestling “BowToHoW” Twitter page. It’ll read something like “Heirs win again!” with the trending topic of #theotherf*ckerlost. It'll set you off again. You’ll probably film your rebuttal in a nursery full of crying babies, cursing the next generation because of their superior motor skills but try and steal a kiss or two to gain favor. But I won’t do that. And why? Because at this point, there are no more wisecracks. The biggest joke around here is you.
(Frank clears his throat before he flips the camera over, showing the front steps of the very arena where in mere hours, eight men will battle to advance in the King of the Cage tournament.)
FRANK PIERCE: I’ll be… well… frank. Anarky, you talk about how you have to say “you’re sorry” for existing. And you talk about how you won’t lie. You ARE a liar. You SHOULD be apologizing. Profusely. You should apologize for lying about being someone you’re not. You’re somebody who’s molded his career after how many bodies he’s left behind, how many people he’s been able to hurt and put into the hospital, and suddenly you’re Randy The Ram? The guy trying to figure out how many years he has left, the man who’s suddenly a defender of the homeless and will share a beer with you? What should we do, be scared of you or feel sorry for you? Pfft, give me a f*cking break. Yeah, we have a penchant for talking crap about whoever we want, but we don’t pretend to be nice guys. We’re here for us and nobody else.
I can’t imagine that it feels good knowing that you’ve had to claw something like thirteen or fourteen years to get here while your opponents have had four matches in EPW and have the same opportunity. Probably makes your blood boil, doesn’t it? You’re pretty pissed hat some “punk kids” you’ve gone on incessantly about will surpass your many years in one night. Probably ticked that we’ve known you the least of anybody in EPW, yet we don’t buy what you’re selling every time you talk about painting the cage with our blood or pinging heads or whatever. We can actually see what’s behind the supposedly intimidating facepaint.
We can see you’re no threat to anybody and that you’re not that good. And this time next week, we’ll be sending you a “wish you were here” postcard when one of us is wrestling Fusenshoff or High Flyer in the semi-finals. Oh… excuse me for a second, could you?
(Pulling his BlackBerry from the pocket in his polo shirt, he clicks away at the buttons for a few moments. After he’s finished, he starts counting down seconds before a chime rings in. The BlackBerry the way of the camera so the viewing audience can see what he’s so happy about.)
“FRANK PIERCE JUST TOLD ANARKY WHAT’S UP!”
“RYAN GALLWAY, ALEXANDRIA MALONE, AND MACK BRODY LIKE THIS!”
The picture becomes a little clearer until it gets a peek into the pearly whites of Frank Pierce. With his head down to the camera in his hands and eyes forward, he does his best to work with what he has as he paces around the streets of Minneapolis, with a sole camcorder in his hands. No fancy tricks, no letters, no press conferences. Just a man, his camera, and retardedly expensive sunglasses.)
FRANK PIERCE: 'Nark, because you've been quite the sport this entire time, I'm going to spare you the drivel about how this match epitomizes the generation gap or culture clash, whatever you wanna call it. Being the time-tested, chairshot-approved veteran you are, it's something you've probably heard as many times as I've slammed eighteen-year-olds. Don't worry, we ran Jared Wells right out of EPW so you won't have to hear about anyone telling you how I made them call me Daddy.
Seems to me you've thrown a colossal b*tch fit with the way we've dealt with you so far. Understandable since with a name as ingenious as spelling anarchy with an extra-special K, you've blown your creative load already. So what is this? Me talking to you, mano y mongoloid, no tricks, no fancy sh*t. You've been raising your voice, screaming and howling at walls and cameras, trying to figure out why we're so entitled and why we're confident in our abilities. Now, it's gotten to the point where only homeless people and hookers give a sh*t what you say. That's actually pretty smart since hobos don’t have anywhere else to run and hookers are the only people you CAN pay to stick around. Bully for you.
But, Anarky, I'll do you a solid and tell you why we are the way we are. Here's the answer to why we're so gosh-darned lovable and cocksure of ourselves.
Ready for it?
Here it comes….
Because we do exactly what it is we say we're going to do!
I know, let that sink in for a minute. Whoa. Has your brain matter exploded in your skull yet? Are you on the phone with the guys that produced Bumfights right now, cursing God for our existence yet? Go ahead, I’ll give you a second.
(With a shake of the head, Frank lets out a chuckle.)
FRANK PIERCE: From day one, we told Empire Pro Wrestling we were here to make an impact. Nobody was there to hold our hand; nobody was there to show us the proverbial ropes. And most importantly, The First didn’t make us give him blow jobs to get into the good graces of EPW. We came in and here and started winning matches. It was just a bunch of kids from great wrestling backgrounds. Sure, we were blessed with unparalleled talent, good looks, sparkling wit, and an exceptionally awesome trust fund… but it’s been all “Heirs of Wrestling, greater than sign, your name here” so far. That little group, Anthology? You know, the one you and your HOPE buddies spent forever and a day feuding with? Wiped them out on our first try and haven’t looked back. Yeah, I’m bringing up the past again, but it’s kind of important since we said we’d beat their asses for the EPW Tag Team Titles and did it.
At this point, I could even make another pop culture crack about how I’m going to update my Facebook status to “victorious” or how I’ll post to the 200,000-plus followers of the Heirs of Wrestling “BowToHoW” Twitter page. It’ll read something like “Heirs win again!” with the trending topic of #theotherf*ckerlost. It'll set you off again. You’ll probably film your rebuttal in a nursery full of crying babies, cursing the next generation because of their superior motor skills but try and steal a kiss or two to gain favor. But I won’t do that. And why? Because at this point, there are no more wisecracks. The biggest joke around here is you.
(Frank clears his throat before he flips the camera over, showing the front steps of the very arena where in mere hours, eight men will battle to advance in the King of the Cage tournament.)
FRANK PIERCE: I’ll be… well… frank. Anarky, you talk about how you have to say “you’re sorry” for existing. And you talk about how you won’t lie. You ARE a liar. You SHOULD be apologizing. Profusely. You should apologize for lying about being someone you’re not. You’re somebody who’s molded his career after how many bodies he’s left behind, how many people he’s been able to hurt and put into the hospital, and suddenly you’re Randy The Ram? The guy trying to figure out how many years he has left, the man who’s suddenly a defender of the homeless and will share a beer with you? What should we do, be scared of you or feel sorry for you? Pfft, give me a f*cking break. Yeah, we have a penchant for talking crap about whoever we want, but we don’t pretend to be nice guys. We’re here for us and nobody else.
I can’t imagine that it feels good knowing that you’ve had to claw something like thirteen or fourteen years to get here while your opponents have had four matches in EPW and have the same opportunity. Probably makes your blood boil, doesn’t it? You’re pretty pissed hat some “punk kids” you’ve gone on incessantly about will surpass your many years in one night. Probably ticked that we’ve known you the least of anybody in EPW, yet we don’t buy what you’re selling every time you talk about painting the cage with our blood or pinging heads or whatever. We can actually see what’s behind the supposedly intimidating facepaint.
We can see you’re no threat to anybody and that you’re not that good. And this time next week, we’ll be sending you a “wish you were here” postcard when one of us is wrestling Fusenshoff or High Flyer in the semi-finals. Oh… excuse me for a second, could you?
(Pulling his BlackBerry from the pocket in his polo shirt, he clicks away at the buttons for a few moments. After he’s finished, he starts counting down seconds before a chime rings in. The BlackBerry the way of the camera so the viewing audience can see what he’s so happy about.)
“FRANK PIERCE JUST TOLD ANARKY WHAT’S UP!”
“RYAN GALLWAY, ALEXANDRIA MALONE, AND MACK BRODY LIKE THIS!”
JLevinson
Diva Tree
- Joined
- Jan 1, 2000
- Messages
- 707
- Points
- 0
- Age
- 43
(FADEIN to a King of the Cage banner with Empire Pro Wrestling written under it. Standing in front of it,Anarky, in ring gear.)
ANARKY: “What is it about simple people that makes them incapable of understanding the complexity of life? Is it some kind of genetic defect? Or perhaps some kind of ignorance inflicted upon them by their stupid parents.
“I don’t know. I don’t really want to know.
“I just know that every week I have to come out here and listen to my opponent label me as some kind of freak who just jerks off over the corpses of his dead, and then find themselves shocked that I am not, in fact, quite that deranged.
“Simply because I happen to particularly ENJOY kicking people’s asses doesn’t mean those people didn’t deserve their asses kicked, boys.
“See, this has all happened before. It will all happen again. It’s like being stuck in limbo.
“Is it wrong to enjoy one’s job? To whistle on your way to work? To take pride in what one does with one’s own hands?
“Simply because the sound of your soft cries for mercy entertain me doesn’t mean it isn’t important work.
“I don’t brag about putting people into the hospital or leaving behind a trail of bodies. In fact, I don’t brag about sh*t. This isn’t who I am. This is who you SAID I am. This is some imaginary Anarky you’ve created.
“You made this man and then you say he’s all wrong, no, really, he’s Randy the Ram and all this other sh*t that you think I care about. Yeah, I don’t have that many years in the tank. So what? Did I ask for your f*cking pity? Do you hear me crying about it?
“No. I’m just sick of every primadonna little punk runnin’ his mouth about sh*t when he doesn’t even have the sense in his head to pretend to at least be a professional f*cking wrestler and not some pr*ck on the outside who is above the fray.
“Every f*cking week I have to listen to the SAME SONG AND DANCE.
“’Oh Anarky, it must make you so upset that you worked so hard to get nowhere, it must make you so sad, you sad pathetic old man.
“Really? Every week with this sh*t? Do you know why I’m here right now? Because I want to be. Because there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.
“If I wanted to be in the f*cking Main Event, I’d go do it. I ‘d go cave First’s skull in. I’d go start finding Stevens in the locker room and reminding him of the last time we were in the ring together.
“But I’d rather be here, with you, in a cage, because THAT’S what matters to me. THAT’S what you still don’t f*cking get.
“After all these years, it’s not about what’s left in the tank, it’s about what keeps ya goin’. What drives you.
“I didn’t know for a long time. For a long time, it really was as simple as the violence. Or maybe I just thought it was.
“I guess maybe it’s my flaw for thinking people can actually be complex enough to not know, or to perhaps even change. I don’t f*cking know.
“But I know that when I hear you come out here and start throwing around certain words and having the audacity to try to turn your opponents into little stereotypes and gimmicks, well I’m sorry, but I just wanna kick you in the teeth.
“Does that make me a bad man? I don’t know. I don’t think I ever have.
“I just know that for me to survive in EPW… for me to continue to go out there, night after night, and do what I do… to give whatever IS left… I have to find something.
“And I’m gonna keep digging until I do… and if I have to leave you in a broken heap in the cage, then so be it, because in the end, that’s all that matters…
“I remember, boys. You might only remember your victories, but I remember, boys. I was there. I know.
“I wish I could say it’s been special or pleasant or that I only had to hear you make fun of my name once, but I don’t wanna lie.
“You’re as convinced now as you were the moment this match was booked. I am not threat. I am not good. And I stand no chance.
“You see before you a man who cannot decide if he is a sociopath or a martyr. A man stuck between two worlds.
“In that cage, you will come to know the truth… that am neither of those men… that you bought into a false premise, that you failed to imagine me because you lacked sufficient imagination, that you are simply incapable of understanding the complexity of an actual human being… because… as I said… you are children.
“And children deserve to be punished. And hey… if I don’t do it…
“… someone else will get to have all the fun.”
(FADEOUT.)
ANARKY: “What is it about simple people that makes them incapable of understanding the complexity of life? Is it some kind of genetic defect? Or perhaps some kind of ignorance inflicted upon them by their stupid parents.
“I don’t know. I don’t really want to know.
“I just know that every week I have to come out here and listen to my opponent label me as some kind of freak who just jerks off over the corpses of his dead, and then find themselves shocked that I am not, in fact, quite that deranged.
“Simply because I happen to particularly ENJOY kicking people’s asses doesn’t mean those people didn’t deserve their asses kicked, boys.
“See, this has all happened before. It will all happen again. It’s like being stuck in limbo.
“Is it wrong to enjoy one’s job? To whistle on your way to work? To take pride in what one does with one’s own hands?
“Simply because the sound of your soft cries for mercy entertain me doesn’t mean it isn’t important work.
“I don’t brag about putting people into the hospital or leaving behind a trail of bodies. In fact, I don’t brag about sh*t. This isn’t who I am. This is who you SAID I am. This is some imaginary Anarky you’ve created.
“You made this man and then you say he’s all wrong, no, really, he’s Randy the Ram and all this other sh*t that you think I care about. Yeah, I don’t have that many years in the tank. So what? Did I ask for your f*cking pity? Do you hear me crying about it?
“No. I’m just sick of every primadonna little punk runnin’ his mouth about sh*t when he doesn’t even have the sense in his head to pretend to at least be a professional f*cking wrestler and not some pr*ck on the outside who is above the fray.
“Every f*cking week I have to listen to the SAME SONG AND DANCE.
“’Oh Anarky, it must make you so upset that you worked so hard to get nowhere, it must make you so sad, you sad pathetic old man.
“Really? Every week with this sh*t? Do you know why I’m here right now? Because I want to be. Because there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.
“If I wanted to be in the f*cking Main Event, I’d go do it. I ‘d go cave First’s skull in. I’d go start finding Stevens in the locker room and reminding him of the last time we were in the ring together.
“But I’d rather be here, with you, in a cage, because THAT’S what matters to me. THAT’S what you still don’t f*cking get.
“After all these years, it’s not about what’s left in the tank, it’s about what keeps ya goin’. What drives you.
“I didn’t know for a long time. For a long time, it really was as simple as the violence. Or maybe I just thought it was.
“I guess maybe it’s my flaw for thinking people can actually be complex enough to not know, or to perhaps even change. I don’t f*cking know.
“But I know that when I hear you come out here and start throwing around certain words and having the audacity to try to turn your opponents into little stereotypes and gimmicks, well I’m sorry, but I just wanna kick you in the teeth.
“Does that make me a bad man? I don’t know. I don’t think I ever have.
“I just know that for me to survive in EPW… for me to continue to go out there, night after night, and do what I do… to give whatever IS left… I have to find something.
“And I’m gonna keep digging until I do… and if I have to leave you in a broken heap in the cage, then so be it, because in the end, that’s all that matters…
“I remember, boys. You might only remember your victories, but I remember, boys. I was there. I know.
“I wish I could say it’s been special or pleasant or that I only had to hear you make fun of my name once, but I don’t wanna lie.
“You’re as convinced now as you were the moment this match was booked. I am not threat. I am not good. And I stand no chance.
“You see before you a man who cannot decide if he is a sociopath or a martyr. A man stuck between two worlds.
“In that cage, you will come to know the truth… that am neither of those men… that you bought into a false premise, that you failed to imagine me because you lacked sufficient imagination, that you are simply incapable of understanding the complexity of an actual human being… because… as I said… you are children.
“And children deserve to be punished. And hey… if I don’t do it…
“… someone else will get to have all the fun.”
(FADEOUT.)
Last edited:
OOC: Buzzer Beater posted for Seth
~~~~~
(FADE-IN: We find ourselves on the steps of the Target Center where it's only a short time left before the arena will be jam-packed for the next edition of Aggression. Standing around one of the many entrances are the EPW Tag Team Champions, the Heirs of Wrestling, all three enjoying the daytime scenery. The vicinity has been decked out for the occasion with all kinds of posters and ads of various EPW superstars, ready to bring Minneapolis to its knees. Standing alongside the Heirs is backstage interviewer Kenny Lombardo.)
KENNY LOMBARDO: Ladies and gentlemen, with just mere hours to go until we kick off Aggression and see the quarter-finals of the King of the Cage tournament, we still have yet to find out which one of you is facing off against Anarky? Care to share some light on this?
(Mack Brody raises a hand.)
MACK BRODY: I'll share some light... No.
KENNY LOMBARDO: ...I'm sorry?
MACK BRODY: No, sir. We don't care enough to share anything. So kindly f*ck off and die, sir.
(Confused, the backstage interviewer shrugs his shoulders, trying to pass it off as nonsense.)
KENNY LOMBARDO: Right... now, some of the talk in the back is that Anarky has the advantage since he has years over the three of you. Also, none of you have competed in a singles match in EPW. That having been said, how do you plan on defeating him?
RYAN GALLWAY: ...Guys, do you hear that?
FRANK PIERCE: Nooooo? What?
RYAN GALLWAY: I hear this weird... whistling sound... it's annoying...
MACK BRODY: Wait... there it is...
RYAN GALLWAY: ...Oh, wait... IT'S THE ****ING WIND TRAVELING BETWEEN YOUR EARS, DUDE! Easily, that's how, you numbnuts!
(Taken aback, Lombardo takes a moment to regain his composure after being rattled by the cruiserweight contingent of the team. After his reprieve, he gets ready to ask another question.)
KENNY LOMBARDO: Well, how about this? Anarky had made it a point to tell you guys he'll take anything you can throw at him and will not be ignored. Your thoughts?
FRANK PIERCE: Thanks, Ken, and apologies for their offbeat behavior. I'll field that question.
KENNY LOMBARDO: Quite all right.
FRANK PIERCE: You see...
(All three Heirs get up and walk away, far out of sight leaving Mr. Lombardo to his own devices. He tries to get at them, but by the time he catches up, they're out of sight. He merely sighs as he turns on his heel and heads the other direction.)
KENNY LOMBARDO: Uh... thanks for joining us?
FADE.
~~~~~
(FADE-IN: We find ourselves on the steps of the Target Center where it's only a short time left before the arena will be jam-packed for the next edition of Aggression. Standing around one of the many entrances are the EPW Tag Team Champions, the Heirs of Wrestling, all three enjoying the daytime scenery. The vicinity has been decked out for the occasion with all kinds of posters and ads of various EPW superstars, ready to bring Minneapolis to its knees. Standing alongside the Heirs is backstage interviewer Kenny Lombardo.)
KENNY LOMBARDO: Ladies and gentlemen, with just mere hours to go until we kick off Aggression and see the quarter-finals of the King of the Cage tournament, we still have yet to find out which one of you is facing off against Anarky? Care to share some light on this?
(Mack Brody raises a hand.)
MACK BRODY: I'll share some light... No.
KENNY LOMBARDO: ...I'm sorry?
MACK BRODY: No, sir. We don't care enough to share anything. So kindly f*ck off and die, sir.
(Confused, the backstage interviewer shrugs his shoulders, trying to pass it off as nonsense.)
KENNY LOMBARDO: Right... now, some of the talk in the back is that Anarky has the advantage since he has years over the three of you. Also, none of you have competed in a singles match in EPW. That having been said, how do you plan on defeating him?
RYAN GALLWAY: ...Guys, do you hear that?
FRANK PIERCE: Nooooo? What?
RYAN GALLWAY: I hear this weird... whistling sound... it's annoying...
MACK BRODY: Wait... there it is...
RYAN GALLWAY: ...Oh, wait... IT'S THE ****ING WIND TRAVELING BETWEEN YOUR EARS, DUDE! Easily, that's how, you numbnuts!
(Taken aback, Lombardo takes a moment to regain his composure after being rattled by the cruiserweight contingent of the team. After his reprieve, he gets ready to ask another question.)
KENNY LOMBARDO: Well, how about this? Anarky had made it a point to tell you guys he'll take anything you can throw at him and will not be ignored. Your thoughts?
FRANK PIERCE: Thanks, Ken, and apologies for their offbeat behavior. I'll field that question.
KENNY LOMBARDO: Quite all right.
FRANK PIERCE: You see...
(All three Heirs get up and walk away, far out of sight leaving Mr. Lombardo to his own devices. He tries to get at them, but by the time he catches up, they're out of sight. He merely sighs as he turns on his heel and heads the other direction.)
KENNY LOMBARDO: Uh... thanks for joining us?
FADE.