AGGRESSION 69: Alceo Dentari & Boogie Smallz v. Rezin & Anarky
- Thread starter DBrunkGXW
- Start date
(CUE UP: “Madness of the Architect” by High on Fire. More sludge out of San Fran, cause we haven’t quite left the Bay Area yet.)
(Our scene fades in within the cramped confines of one of San Francisco’s many Single Room Occupancy hotels. REZIN is sitting in the lotus posture on the narrow bed grafted into the wall, head freshly shaved following the events of Black Dawn and eyes concealed behind his sunglasses. One hand holds a razor blade and the other holds the glass bowl he’s scraping. We can hear more of the city’s homeless and drug-addled moaning and giggling like lunatics through the paper thin walls. Just another night at the bottom of the barrel.)
Rezin
So, Sean... is this where I’m supposed to quit?
I mean, if there was going to be a time and a place, I figure this would be it... on the heels of the most monumental failure of my career. I could just spend the rest of my miserable days in a place like this, in San Francisco, the Mecca of aimless drifters and addicts like me. I’d be happy with an existence of slipping through the cracks of obscurity, sucking on sludge, waiting for the apocalypse to come... maybe I’d even be lucky enough to see it.
Quitting now would have no impact on this federation whatsoever. Nobody in Empire Pro will miss me. None of the fans will stop watching. Everybody would move on without giving me a second though, while I slowly decay into nothing in this piss-reeking cell.
(Rezin sets the blade aside to pick up his blowtorch lighter, and lights the bowl to take a puff off of the scraped flakes of blackened pipe residue. Dark smoke seeps from his nostrils as his head turns around to face the camera.)
Rezin
You’d LIKE to see that... wouldn’t you, Sean? After all, if I just dropped off the face of the earth, then that would mean one less freak out there to waste your precious time in the ring. But I hate to disappoint you, because I will NEVER quit.
Even if I had a bitch and a bastard back home... even if I had celebrity endorsements to retire on... even if I had two stints as the World Heavyweight Champion of Empire Pro, and a spot in the company’s Hall of Fame... even with all that, I wouldn’t quit. I’ll be with this company all the way until its sweet destruction... even after you’ve lost the World Heavyweight Title for the THIRD time and walked out with your fat paycheck in hand.
Because people like you, Sean... the kind of athletes that come and go as they please just so they can RAPE this company I helped build from the ground up... you DESERVE to have freaks in your life, wasting your time. That’s why I can’t quit... because I have to be here in Empire Pro, to be that freak, regardless of how many times I get superkicked in the face.
You think I’m disappointed because I failed to beat you in two matches? I’ve failed at everything in the majority of my life... disappointment and heartbreak don’t phase me anymore. Those emotions simply sink into the forsaken quagmire that is my broken mind... and down at the bottom, it all congeals into a black and venomous HATRED...
Failure doesn’t hinder me. It simply gives me another reason to set this world on fire.
(Speaking of fire, he lights the bowl once again, and this time hacks painfully as he jettisons the resin-smoke out of his lungs. His voice joins the cacophonous chorus of strange sounds coming from other tenants in the flop house. When he finishes he clears his throat, spews a dark wad of mucous across the room, and addresses the camera again.)
Rezin
Empire Pro has given me the kindling for that fire... in the form of its annual King of the Cage tournament. I suppose if I can’t kill a king... I’ll get one that can.
In previous tournaments, you could say that the cosmos wasn’t rolling the ol’ Goat Bastard’s way. Last year, Dopesmoker had the unfortunate luck of being paired up with a partner who was too high-and-mighty to admit that a lowly stoner had the more obvious answer to winning the match... which was escaping the cage. Then the one before that, a chance to overcome the reigning World Heavyweight Champion and appear in the finals was rudely interrupted when Stalker narced me over to the feds.
This year, however... the cage isn’t being graced with the sour odor of dope smoke... but instead, the toxic and unfathomably black stench of REZIN. This year, I have an ally that I know I can count on... a former King of the Cage, a former World Champion, and the reigning TV Anti-Champion of Empire Pro, ANARKY. This year, CHAOS is on my side...
...and in the cage, regardless of who’s a king or who’s a clown, CHAOS reigns over all.
(Rezin goes back to scraping out the bowl as the camera slowly fades to black, lingering on the forlorn noises surrounding us.)
(Our scene fades in within the cramped confines of one of San Francisco’s many Single Room Occupancy hotels. REZIN is sitting in the lotus posture on the narrow bed grafted into the wall, head freshly shaved following the events of Black Dawn and eyes concealed behind his sunglasses. One hand holds a razor blade and the other holds the glass bowl he’s scraping. We can hear more of the city’s homeless and drug-addled moaning and giggling like lunatics through the paper thin walls. Just another night at the bottom of the barrel.)
Rezin
So, Sean... is this where I’m supposed to quit?
I mean, if there was going to be a time and a place, I figure this would be it... on the heels of the most monumental failure of my career. I could just spend the rest of my miserable days in a place like this, in San Francisco, the Mecca of aimless drifters and addicts like me. I’d be happy with an existence of slipping through the cracks of obscurity, sucking on sludge, waiting for the apocalypse to come... maybe I’d even be lucky enough to see it.
Quitting now would have no impact on this federation whatsoever. Nobody in Empire Pro will miss me. None of the fans will stop watching. Everybody would move on without giving me a second though, while I slowly decay into nothing in this piss-reeking cell.
(Rezin sets the blade aside to pick up his blowtorch lighter, and lights the bowl to take a puff off of the scraped flakes of blackened pipe residue. Dark smoke seeps from his nostrils as his head turns around to face the camera.)
Rezin
You’d LIKE to see that... wouldn’t you, Sean? After all, if I just dropped off the face of the earth, then that would mean one less freak out there to waste your precious time in the ring. But I hate to disappoint you, because I will NEVER quit.
Even if I had a bitch and a bastard back home... even if I had celebrity endorsements to retire on... even if I had two stints as the World Heavyweight Champion of Empire Pro, and a spot in the company’s Hall of Fame... even with all that, I wouldn’t quit. I’ll be with this company all the way until its sweet destruction... even after you’ve lost the World Heavyweight Title for the THIRD time and walked out with your fat paycheck in hand.
Because people like you, Sean... the kind of athletes that come and go as they please just so they can RAPE this company I helped build from the ground up... you DESERVE to have freaks in your life, wasting your time. That’s why I can’t quit... because I have to be here in Empire Pro, to be that freak, regardless of how many times I get superkicked in the face.
You think I’m disappointed because I failed to beat you in two matches? I’ve failed at everything in the majority of my life... disappointment and heartbreak don’t phase me anymore. Those emotions simply sink into the forsaken quagmire that is my broken mind... and down at the bottom, it all congeals into a black and venomous HATRED...
Failure doesn’t hinder me. It simply gives me another reason to set this world on fire.
(Speaking of fire, he lights the bowl once again, and this time hacks painfully as he jettisons the resin-smoke out of his lungs. His voice joins the cacophonous chorus of strange sounds coming from other tenants in the flop house. When he finishes he clears his throat, spews a dark wad of mucous across the room, and addresses the camera again.)
Rezin
Empire Pro has given me the kindling for that fire... in the form of its annual King of the Cage tournament. I suppose if I can’t kill a king... I’ll get one that can.
In previous tournaments, you could say that the cosmos wasn’t rolling the ol’ Goat Bastard’s way. Last year, Dopesmoker had the unfortunate luck of being paired up with a partner who was too high-and-mighty to admit that a lowly stoner had the more obvious answer to winning the match... which was escaping the cage. Then the one before that, a chance to overcome the reigning World Heavyweight Champion and appear in the finals was rudely interrupted when Stalker narced me over to the feds.
This year, however... the cage isn’t being graced with the sour odor of dope smoke... but instead, the toxic and unfathomably black stench of REZIN. This year, I have an ally that I know I can count on... a former King of the Cage, a former World Champion, and the reigning TV Anti-Champion of Empire Pro, ANARKY. This year, CHAOS is on my side...
...and in the cage, regardless of who’s a king or who’s a clown, CHAOS reigns over all.
(Rezin goes back to scraping out the bowl as the camera slowly fades to black, lingering on the forlorn noises surrounding us.)
(FADEIN to Boogie Smallz standing in front of an EPW backdrop with a chain link fence steel cage in front of him covering the entire viewing screen for the audience. Smallz looks up and with a look of disappointment on his face.)
BOOGIE SMALLZ: Games. Some folks never outgrow them. They continue to live a life stuck in their adolescent years…high school bullsh*t…because they either resist having to become an adult or their existence on this earth of so menial that they have to play these games in order for their life to have any type of meaning. Some put on a façade in order for their peers…or in some instances their fans, so they can root them on and support his or her actions every step of the way.
Right now I am dealing with an individual that basically needs to call his career a wrap. Put a bullet in his proverbial dome and call it quits. He thinks he is a superstar…and no doubt the man has done a lot in this industry. So much, in fact, that most of the talent in the biz wishes they could have just a fraction of the success that he has had in the ring. But the man is not too bright. He hides behind suits and intellectual types in order to keep up the persona of a man about his wits. He is too stupid to realize that his career has hit a brick wall and there is no way around it.
I saw what he did in the Ultratitle tournament. Not even able to defeat a man that had no right to even advance in the tournament. He is displaying signs of weakness, chinks in his armor, and rumor has it…he has pulled out from pretty much every organization he was active in because he no longer has the skills to pay the bills, so to speak. And now…now he runs around trying to play the role of a corporate tycoon that can toy with his employees and try to ruin their livelihood because his own is in shambles.
Dan Ryan…if you haven’t fit the pieces to the puzzle together, let me help you out. I’m talking about YOU!
In my last stint in Empire Pro, I noticed the signs. You wanted me to go out and do your dirt. You wanted to use me as some sort of puppet to convey a message to the rival promoters and to your own talent.
(Smallz speaks in a condescending tone with a slight southern accent, mocking Dan Ryan.)
“Boogie, what if you did a shoot on GXW and talk about how its owner screwed you over?”
“Hey Boog, what if I have you attack the World champ because he isn’t conforming to my ways?”
(Smallz smirks and shakes his head.)
Yeah…how did that work out for you? Business boomed. EPW was considered a major player…a legitimate promotion because you finally had the one star that every company in the world was vying for. And I fell for it hook, line, and sinker. See…I thought because you were an active wrestler…that you had my best interest at heart. Little did I know that you were a swindling conman that duped everyone you had in EPW at the time into thinking they were gettin’ a sweet deal.
Then because you wanted to shut me up, to quiet a man that wasn’t afraid to tell it how it is…you suspended me. You wanted me off your television show so that I wouldn’t pull back the curtain on the lies and deceit that EPW was founded on. Yet, interestingly enough, you continued to use my likeness and promote your shows as if I was still apart of this upstart organization. Using me in your show intros to try and hook the viewing audience into watching with the hopes that Boogie Smallz would be there.
But I tried to let it go. I moved on with my life and tried not to hold it against you. All the bitterness in my heart of you f*ckin’ me over without giving me a fair shake.
Then my agent hits me up. He gets me back in the ring for the Ultratitle and looks over my current contracts. Hey…whatya know…I still have a valid deal with EPW and can’t move on with my career because of it. He gets in contact with Ryan, they work out my return, and now every step of the way since I came back has been you flexing your muscle trying to get me to fall in line. You have a whole new crop of talent since I was last here…I guess you pulled the wool over their eyes…but me? I see right thru that ish.
First you didn’t want me on Black Dawn… then I goaded you into giving me a match. You tried to throw a wrench into my plans by givin’ me an opponent that you thought would disrupt my path back to the top. And guess what…it didn’t work.
So I sign up for the King of the Cage tournament and we have the big random pairings drawing for the tournament. (Gives a slight chuckle to himself.) Random my ass! The First gets Cruise, Sean Stevens gets Impulse, and I get…(Pulls out a sheet of paper and reads.) I get Alceo Dentari? Excuse me for the WTF expression on my face, but don’t try to sell the audience on all of this being random. You put all your top guys together and left me out in the cold with some two-bit mobster thinkin’ he’s gonna make a name here by havin’ me carry his ass through this tournament. F*ck that ish!
I would say this is the last straw, but I guess that would be a bit repetitive on my part, now wouldn’t it?
Dentari, I don’t know much about you…and quite frankly, I don’t need to know. See, I’ve been saddled with an Italian wise guy for a partner before. Many years ago, when I was one-half of the greatest tag team in the game, the Hip Hop Express. We won World tag titles everywhere we fought. I carried him to greatness and since I have no other choice…I will do the same for you.
But understand this…I’m the captain of this ship. What I say goes! You get out of line with me, cost me a match, and you will pay…in blood, futhamucka! At the moment, this is all I have to rub in Dan Ryan’s face. My only shot at gettin’ my just due and takin’ a jab at him in the process. Do you think he wants me to advance? Does anyone think he wants me to be successful and win this tournament?
Let’s keep it real…keep thangs one hun’ded. He wants me to fail and by pairin’ us up, he expects me to fail. I can’t let him get the best of me…I won’t let him.
And now, on top of all this, he wants to bracket us against two more guys he has issues with. Maybe he is tryin’ to kill two birds with one stone…or in this case three with one match. Our opponents? Anarky and Rezin.
In all honesty, I see a lot of parallels with our disputes against Dan Ryan. The fact that we all hate his guts and want to see his demise makes me think that we should form a unit to topple the evil dictator. But then I turn on my television and I see Rezin droppin’ a promo on our match. Does he say ONE THING about his opponents? Not one mention. And that irks me, dawg. It gets under my skin because in my eyes…he sees beatin’ me and my partner a foregone conclusion. An afterthought.
Let me be perfectly clear, no matter how much “chaos” you want to unleash on EPW…if it comes at my expense…I take issue with that. Rezin, you wanna run around and talk about how you lost to Sean Stevens and you were robbed of victory. Boo f*ckin’ hoo. Sorry about your f*ckin’ luck…and your bad haircut to boot…but truthfully speakin’, it might be an improvement on that greasy mop you got sittin’ on top of your head!
Do you think your threats of “chaos” are supposed to strike fear in my heart? Look at me, son (Smallz mean mugs the camera)…I ain’t impressed! You want to hype the fact that you ooze a toxic stench? Are you for real? They got somethin’ in the store for your stankin’ ass…it’s called Summer’s Eve! And all of this comin’ from some cat that is named after the ish that used to clog up my bong back in the day. Gimme a break, dawg.
If you and your girlfriend wanna advance in this tournament, you gotta bring it. Don’t half-ass ish like you did with Stevens. Don’t try to intimidate me with threats of your foul body odor and unleashing it upon an arena full of innocent people. And don’t try to look past the fact that you gotta beat me in order to move on to bigger and better things. I don’t care what you’ve done, who you’ve beat, or what your resume looks like. The bottom line is, I bust ish up with whoever I have to in order to reach my objectives. If it’s you, Anarky, Dan Ryan, the futhamuckin’ Dalia Lama…I don’t care! I will break you in half and not think twice about it!
I ain’t got no beef with you, but before its all said and done…I got a feelin’ that regardless of our mutual commonalities…this thing ain’t gonna end pretty. Dan Ryan may think this is all a game, but it’s my f*ckin’ life, dawg! And when my life is on the line, I tend to go all out, the natural instinct of survival kicks in, and whoever is tryin’ to end my livelihood is gonna GET GOT! It’s kill or be killed, do or die, and I ain’t ready to check out just yet! At Aggression 69, inside of steel cage, four men enter…two men leave. And you’re lookin’ at half of that winning equation right the f*ck here! Seeya in San Diego, beeyatch!
(Smallz looks intently into the camera with his hands on the steel cage.)
BELIEVE ‘DAT!
(FADE TO BLACK)
BOOGIE SMALLZ: Games. Some folks never outgrow them. They continue to live a life stuck in their adolescent years…high school bullsh*t…because they either resist having to become an adult or their existence on this earth of so menial that they have to play these games in order for their life to have any type of meaning. Some put on a façade in order for their peers…or in some instances their fans, so they can root them on and support his or her actions every step of the way.
Right now I am dealing with an individual that basically needs to call his career a wrap. Put a bullet in his proverbial dome and call it quits. He thinks he is a superstar…and no doubt the man has done a lot in this industry. So much, in fact, that most of the talent in the biz wishes they could have just a fraction of the success that he has had in the ring. But the man is not too bright. He hides behind suits and intellectual types in order to keep up the persona of a man about his wits. He is too stupid to realize that his career has hit a brick wall and there is no way around it.
I saw what he did in the Ultratitle tournament. Not even able to defeat a man that had no right to even advance in the tournament. He is displaying signs of weakness, chinks in his armor, and rumor has it…he has pulled out from pretty much every organization he was active in because he no longer has the skills to pay the bills, so to speak. And now…now he runs around trying to play the role of a corporate tycoon that can toy with his employees and try to ruin their livelihood because his own is in shambles.
Dan Ryan…if you haven’t fit the pieces to the puzzle together, let me help you out. I’m talking about YOU!
In my last stint in Empire Pro, I noticed the signs. You wanted me to go out and do your dirt. You wanted to use me as some sort of puppet to convey a message to the rival promoters and to your own talent.
(Smallz speaks in a condescending tone with a slight southern accent, mocking Dan Ryan.)
“Boogie, what if you did a shoot on GXW and talk about how its owner screwed you over?”
“Hey Boog, what if I have you attack the World champ because he isn’t conforming to my ways?”
(Smallz smirks and shakes his head.)
Yeah…how did that work out for you? Business boomed. EPW was considered a major player…a legitimate promotion because you finally had the one star that every company in the world was vying for. And I fell for it hook, line, and sinker. See…I thought because you were an active wrestler…that you had my best interest at heart. Little did I know that you were a swindling conman that duped everyone you had in EPW at the time into thinking they were gettin’ a sweet deal.
Then because you wanted to shut me up, to quiet a man that wasn’t afraid to tell it how it is…you suspended me. You wanted me off your television show so that I wouldn’t pull back the curtain on the lies and deceit that EPW was founded on. Yet, interestingly enough, you continued to use my likeness and promote your shows as if I was still apart of this upstart organization. Using me in your show intros to try and hook the viewing audience into watching with the hopes that Boogie Smallz would be there.
But I tried to let it go. I moved on with my life and tried not to hold it against you. All the bitterness in my heart of you f*ckin’ me over without giving me a fair shake.
Then my agent hits me up. He gets me back in the ring for the Ultratitle and looks over my current contracts. Hey…whatya know…I still have a valid deal with EPW and can’t move on with my career because of it. He gets in contact with Ryan, they work out my return, and now every step of the way since I came back has been you flexing your muscle trying to get me to fall in line. You have a whole new crop of talent since I was last here…I guess you pulled the wool over their eyes…but me? I see right thru that ish.
First you didn’t want me on Black Dawn… then I goaded you into giving me a match. You tried to throw a wrench into my plans by givin’ me an opponent that you thought would disrupt my path back to the top. And guess what…it didn’t work.
So I sign up for the King of the Cage tournament and we have the big random pairings drawing for the tournament. (Gives a slight chuckle to himself.) Random my ass! The First gets Cruise, Sean Stevens gets Impulse, and I get…(Pulls out a sheet of paper and reads.) I get Alceo Dentari? Excuse me for the WTF expression on my face, but don’t try to sell the audience on all of this being random. You put all your top guys together and left me out in the cold with some two-bit mobster thinkin’ he’s gonna make a name here by havin’ me carry his ass through this tournament. F*ck that ish!
I would say this is the last straw, but I guess that would be a bit repetitive on my part, now wouldn’t it?
Dentari, I don’t know much about you…and quite frankly, I don’t need to know. See, I’ve been saddled with an Italian wise guy for a partner before. Many years ago, when I was one-half of the greatest tag team in the game, the Hip Hop Express. We won World tag titles everywhere we fought. I carried him to greatness and since I have no other choice…I will do the same for you.
But understand this…I’m the captain of this ship. What I say goes! You get out of line with me, cost me a match, and you will pay…in blood, futhamucka! At the moment, this is all I have to rub in Dan Ryan’s face. My only shot at gettin’ my just due and takin’ a jab at him in the process. Do you think he wants me to advance? Does anyone think he wants me to be successful and win this tournament?
Let’s keep it real…keep thangs one hun’ded. He wants me to fail and by pairin’ us up, he expects me to fail. I can’t let him get the best of me…I won’t let him.
And now, on top of all this, he wants to bracket us against two more guys he has issues with. Maybe he is tryin’ to kill two birds with one stone…or in this case three with one match. Our opponents? Anarky and Rezin.
In all honesty, I see a lot of parallels with our disputes against Dan Ryan. The fact that we all hate his guts and want to see his demise makes me think that we should form a unit to topple the evil dictator. But then I turn on my television and I see Rezin droppin’ a promo on our match. Does he say ONE THING about his opponents? Not one mention. And that irks me, dawg. It gets under my skin because in my eyes…he sees beatin’ me and my partner a foregone conclusion. An afterthought.
Let me be perfectly clear, no matter how much “chaos” you want to unleash on EPW…if it comes at my expense…I take issue with that. Rezin, you wanna run around and talk about how you lost to Sean Stevens and you were robbed of victory. Boo f*ckin’ hoo. Sorry about your f*ckin’ luck…and your bad haircut to boot…but truthfully speakin’, it might be an improvement on that greasy mop you got sittin’ on top of your head!
Do you think your threats of “chaos” are supposed to strike fear in my heart? Look at me, son (Smallz mean mugs the camera)…I ain’t impressed! You want to hype the fact that you ooze a toxic stench? Are you for real? They got somethin’ in the store for your stankin’ ass…it’s called Summer’s Eve! And all of this comin’ from some cat that is named after the ish that used to clog up my bong back in the day. Gimme a break, dawg.
If you and your girlfriend wanna advance in this tournament, you gotta bring it. Don’t half-ass ish like you did with Stevens. Don’t try to intimidate me with threats of your foul body odor and unleashing it upon an arena full of innocent people. And don’t try to look past the fact that you gotta beat me in order to move on to bigger and better things. I don’t care what you’ve done, who you’ve beat, or what your resume looks like. The bottom line is, I bust ish up with whoever I have to in order to reach my objectives. If it’s you, Anarky, Dan Ryan, the futhamuckin’ Dalia Lama…I don’t care! I will break you in half and not think twice about it!
I ain’t got no beef with you, but before its all said and done…I got a feelin’ that regardless of our mutual commonalities…this thing ain’t gonna end pretty. Dan Ryan may think this is all a game, but it’s my f*ckin’ life, dawg! And when my life is on the line, I tend to go all out, the natural instinct of survival kicks in, and whoever is tryin’ to end my livelihood is gonna GET GOT! It’s kill or be killed, do or die, and I ain’t ready to check out just yet! At Aggression 69, inside of steel cage, four men enter…two men leave. And you’re lookin’ at half of that winning equation right the f*ck here! Seeya in San Diego, beeyatch!
(Smallz looks intently into the camera with his hands on the steel cage.)
BELIEVE ‘DAT!
(FADE TO BLACK)
(CUE UP: “Grim Reefer” by Bongzilla.)
(Our scene opens up within a trendy Californian medical marijuana dispensary. The camera takes a long panning shot across a display case with every great green bud known amongst the stoner circles of the world -- White Widow, Purple Kush, AK-47... you name it, it’s there. Not to mention a variety of THC-laden consumable products like candy and baked items for the non-smoking demographic.)
(A bald, bearded man’s face appears in the reflection on the glass... and the camera pulls up to give us a closer shot of the nefarious REZIN than we’d rather see. Grimacing, he looks over the dispensary’s product... years ago, if it had been Dopesmoker standing there, he’d be a kid in a candy store. Another person in the store, perhaps because they don’t recognize him right away, makes the fatal mistake of approaching the Goat Bastard and asking him a question. Coincidentally, he’s bald too... though for an entirely different reason.)
Cancer Patient
You have cancer too?
(Reacting to the question, Rezin’s eyes noticeably pop upwards over his shades as he remembers his hair is gone, and his face is still bruised from having an EPW Hall of Famer’s foot stuck into it. In his current state, he looks something like Anton LaVey crossed with an early-imprisonment Charles Manson... with AIDS and Leukemia at the same time.)
Rezin
No, dude... the cancer has ME!
(Realizing right away that this person is probably too weird for even Californian standards, the other shopper slowly backs away goes back to minding his own business. Rezin turns his attention back to the product in the display case.)
Rezin
You’re going to have to forgive me, Boogie... but I’m not really good at introductions. I figured since, you know... there’s a whole WEEK until we get our asses to San Diego, that I wouldn’t have to immediately rush into the monotonous ritual of talking “ish” back and forth, as we’d have plenty of time to get to all that. But anyway, please, excuse my ass to pieces for not spending those opening remarks gushing all over you and talking about how much the great and almighty Boogie Smallz is going to kick my ass in the cage.
I wasn’t trying to look past you... but regrettably, that’s something I have no control over. I have this tendency to look ahead beyond everything. Beyond you, your opponent, and the next set of rounds... beyond this entire tournament... beyond Empire Pro, and the existence of life on Earth as we know it. I’m look all the way ahead to the end of time, when all become one and one becomes none.
Destruction and decay awaits everyone and every thing... including you, Boogie. You could beat us... and you could beat everybody else through this tournament... but Dan Ryan won’t be any closer to being humbled, and you won’t be any closer to immortality. Damed if you win... damned if you don’t. Welcome to the paradox of your existence.
(At this point, an employee approaches him... probably to figure out what he needs, give it to him, and get him out of the store.)
Store Employee
Uhh... anything in particular you’re looking for, sir?
(Rezin smirks... or sneers. We can’t really tell from this angle.)
Rezin
There just may be... but I’m not going to find it here, I’m afraid. Do you have something a bit more... DENSE? In the second-hand variety?
Store Employee
...I’m sorry, could you be more specific than that? Is there something here in the display case you want, maybe?
Rezin
You’ve got quality dope here, sonny... I’ll give you that... but it’s not for me. I don’t smoke what’s been cut down... only what’s been scraped out. I’m talkin’ straight resin, bro... now you got any?
(The clerk glances around for a moment to make sure nobody’s watching.)
Store Employee
Follow me...
(He goes, and Rezin and the cameraman follow. They go through a door leading to the back which leads to a set of stairs leading down into a flood of darkness. The store clerk pulls an old oil lantern off of a hook set in the wall nearby, lights it, and descends with the Escape Artist in tow. When they reach the bottom, there’s a small room matted in dust, with three broken sofas circling a round coffee table like some pagan altar of sacrifice.)
Store Employee
This is the employee break room... what you’re looking for is on the table.
(The camera zooms in on a muffin-sized chunk of black, viscous resin shaped into a lumpy cone upon a simply metal plate, sitting on the middle of the table.)
Store Employee
The pipes down here get used pretty often... and when we clean those pipes, it all goes into that. Years upon years of black hash, one layer just slabbed on top of the other. We call it “the Mound”...
(Rezin nods approvingly as he walks up to the hill of black hash, glancing at it from various angles like an auctioneer inspecting livestock.)
Rezin
That’s a substantial lump you’ve got there... could last me a long time. What’s the price?
(The employee thinks it over for a moment... suddenly gets a decent idea.)
Store Employee
You know what... I’ll give it to you for nothing. There’s no way anybody who works here would smoke that stuff. Pretty sure it’s cursed. If you want it, you can have it.
Rezin
Sounds like too good of a deal to pass up then. But first, I’ll need a minute to sample the merchandise...
(The clerk lingers for a moment until Rezin gives him a glance that says he needs to get lost, and he awkwardly goes back up the stairs. When he’s alone, the Goat Bastard pulls out his metal razor and scrapes a tiny bit off the top of the black hill in the middle of the table. He slabs the sludge into a bowl and smokes it with a pyrophile’s lighter. The hit generates a dense cloud of smog and puts him through a fit of coughing that lasts for a few moments. When it subsides, he falls onto the nearest sofa and turns his attention to the camera.)
Rezin
When you’ve smoked all the dope there is in life, Boogie... it loses its luster. It becomes monotonous. It becomes a distraction. But I’ve found that nice, healthy regiment of REZIN keeps the desire to destroy alive and kicking in my shriveled husk of a soul... because when you’re out of dope, all you can do is reach into that bong and scrape out the sludge to give yourself a desperate high.
That’s what I am, Boogie... professional wrestling SLUDGE. All my hopes, all my dreams, all my aspirations as an ARTIST of professional wrestling... it’s all gone to the void. All that’s left is a hatred for the caste of generic, idealistic meat-heads that have ostracized me for all these years... a hatred that compels me to keep crawling my pathetic hide to that ring for one punishing match after the next.
I had to reach down and SCRAPE into the black to find that hatred... and though it hasn’t given me much in the way of success in a technical sense, it’s given me plenty in the way of satisfaction, knowing that I can still bring the pain, the agony, and the doom.
If I wanted to impress you, Boogie, I wouldn’t give you names. Simply put, there aren’t any. Any time a big match was on the line, I’ve come up short. Sometimes, the fault was on me for not giving a damb... and other times, it just wasn’t meant to be.
I can’t threaten you by giving you the names of people I’ve beaten... but what SHOULD give you warning, however...
(He grabs a handful of his pants and pulls his leg up onto the coffee table. The foot is black and worn from miles of travel... like a dark cudgel grafted onto the end of a reaper’s scythe.)
Rezin
Is this heel... going into your face with the force of a cyclone.
(He slaps his thighs.)
Rezin
Or these legs... springing me every which way off those ropes into mind-erasing angles and contortions through the air... before I come crashing down upon you.
(He holds up his index and middle finger. Both are sticky with pipe residue. A sinister smirk spreads across his face.)
Rezin
Or these fingers... jamming their way into your mouth, defiling your every sense while at the same time paralyzing your every limb with maddening pain.
THOSE things should give you cause for concern, Boogie... because if I can’t guarantee a victory, then at the very least, I CAN guarantee a long and torturous moment of suffering. If I can’t be the winner... then at the very least, I’m going to give you something to remember me by. Something that will haunt you in your darkest dreams.
(He sits up, intent on on every word.)
Rezin
But I don’t need to be a winner to see the colonnades of this wretched company come tumbling down. That’s what my partner is for... because after what I witnessed at Black Dawn, I am convinced that ANARKY is the Great Destroyer of the Empire of Pro Wrestling.
Have you heard of Anarky, Boogie? Former World Heavyweight Champion? Former King of the Cage winner? That’s the guy in my corner. You beat one washed-up legend from a dead federation at Black Dawn. He outlasted six. That’s SIX! Four, plus two, plus zero.
There have been only two moments in the man’s Empire Pro career where you can say he came up short. The first time was against Marcus Westcott for a shot at the World Title... an opportunity lost at the whims of a saboteur and his wigger of a mercenary. The second was Russian Roulette, where our current World Heavyweight “Champion” and his wife pulled every trick in the book to edge out a win over a man that was dominating everybody who stepped in the ring with him. The common denominator in those two instances was that he didn’t have anybody there to watch his back.
Enter the Rezin... the equalizer. The insurance policy. With me watching his back, slinking around like a serpentine sentinel in the shadows and haze, there will be nothing to distract him from doing what he does best...
Surviving... persevering... kicking ASS... and, of course, overcoming.
(He takes another long hit off the pipe. Again, it puts him through a fit of coughing... but there’s a satisfied smile on his face as a deep and heavy high overwhelms his body.)
Rezin
You can’t HOPE to stop the two of us, Boogie... with or without your tag partner, who’s name I can’t really pronounce at this point. The two of us have a commonality in being agents of chaos... and why should CHAOS give you a reason to be worried?
Because when those cage walls come up, ANYTHING can happen in that ring. There’s no getting in, and there’s no getting out. CHAOS reigns... and Cthulhu forbid the referee be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Because if he goes down, you don’t even want to BEGIN to imagine the sick “ish” the two of us will be ready to throw down.
(He looks up as the store employee who led him to this place returns.)
Store Employee
So... have we come to a decision?
(Rezin nods once.)
Rezin
Yes... I have decided NOT to kick you in the face.
Store Employee
...uh... what?
Rezin
Please, don’t make me regret that decision by suddenly going stupid on me. You got something for me to put this stuff in, or what?
(The clerk groans.)
Store Employee
Be right back... I’ll get a lid.
(As he leaves again, Rezin pinches a smidge of sludge off of the Mound and holds it up to the camera.)
Rezin
You want to stick it to Dan Ryan, Boogie? Then get in line, as the saying goes. This tournament is more to me than showing the ‘roid freak that a lowly sludge-sucker like me can get ahead over his groomed and glowing stars of the ring. It’s more than just wanting back the Tag Team Titles that have been without their original champion for some eight years now...
Simply put... I want to crush dreams... I want to destroy hopes and ambitions. I want the world to feel the anguish that I feel every waking moment of my life. If that has to come at your expense, Boogie... if I have to beat you to move on and keep spreading the disease of doom... then I’ll do whatever it takes.
I can’t get any lower than where I am... and if I can’t rise, then I’ll just pull you down into the black pit of sludge with me.
(On the image of Rezin cackling like a stoned Satanist engaged in a heretic ritual, our shot slowly fades to black.)
(Our scene opens up within a trendy Californian medical marijuana dispensary. The camera takes a long panning shot across a display case with every great green bud known amongst the stoner circles of the world -- White Widow, Purple Kush, AK-47... you name it, it’s there. Not to mention a variety of THC-laden consumable products like candy and baked items for the non-smoking demographic.)
(A bald, bearded man’s face appears in the reflection on the glass... and the camera pulls up to give us a closer shot of the nefarious REZIN than we’d rather see. Grimacing, he looks over the dispensary’s product... years ago, if it had been Dopesmoker standing there, he’d be a kid in a candy store. Another person in the store, perhaps because they don’t recognize him right away, makes the fatal mistake of approaching the Goat Bastard and asking him a question. Coincidentally, he’s bald too... though for an entirely different reason.)
Cancer Patient
You have cancer too?
(Reacting to the question, Rezin’s eyes noticeably pop upwards over his shades as he remembers his hair is gone, and his face is still bruised from having an EPW Hall of Famer’s foot stuck into it. In his current state, he looks something like Anton LaVey crossed with an early-imprisonment Charles Manson... with AIDS and Leukemia at the same time.)
Rezin
No, dude... the cancer has ME!
(Realizing right away that this person is probably too weird for even Californian standards, the other shopper slowly backs away goes back to minding his own business. Rezin turns his attention back to the product in the display case.)
Rezin
You’re going to have to forgive me, Boogie... but I’m not really good at introductions. I figured since, you know... there’s a whole WEEK until we get our asses to San Diego, that I wouldn’t have to immediately rush into the monotonous ritual of talking “ish” back and forth, as we’d have plenty of time to get to all that. But anyway, please, excuse my ass to pieces for not spending those opening remarks gushing all over you and talking about how much the great and almighty Boogie Smallz is going to kick my ass in the cage.
I wasn’t trying to look past you... but regrettably, that’s something I have no control over. I have this tendency to look ahead beyond everything. Beyond you, your opponent, and the next set of rounds... beyond this entire tournament... beyond Empire Pro, and the existence of life on Earth as we know it. I’m look all the way ahead to the end of time, when all become one and one becomes none.
Destruction and decay awaits everyone and every thing... including you, Boogie. You could beat us... and you could beat everybody else through this tournament... but Dan Ryan won’t be any closer to being humbled, and you won’t be any closer to immortality. Damed if you win... damned if you don’t. Welcome to the paradox of your existence.
(At this point, an employee approaches him... probably to figure out what he needs, give it to him, and get him out of the store.)
Store Employee
Uhh... anything in particular you’re looking for, sir?
(Rezin smirks... or sneers. We can’t really tell from this angle.)
Rezin
There just may be... but I’m not going to find it here, I’m afraid. Do you have something a bit more... DENSE? In the second-hand variety?
Store Employee
...I’m sorry, could you be more specific than that? Is there something here in the display case you want, maybe?
Rezin
You’ve got quality dope here, sonny... I’ll give you that... but it’s not for me. I don’t smoke what’s been cut down... only what’s been scraped out. I’m talkin’ straight resin, bro... now you got any?
(The clerk glances around for a moment to make sure nobody’s watching.)
Store Employee
Follow me...
(He goes, and Rezin and the cameraman follow. They go through a door leading to the back which leads to a set of stairs leading down into a flood of darkness. The store clerk pulls an old oil lantern off of a hook set in the wall nearby, lights it, and descends with the Escape Artist in tow. When they reach the bottom, there’s a small room matted in dust, with three broken sofas circling a round coffee table like some pagan altar of sacrifice.)
Store Employee
This is the employee break room... what you’re looking for is on the table.
(The camera zooms in on a muffin-sized chunk of black, viscous resin shaped into a lumpy cone upon a simply metal plate, sitting on the middle of the table.)
Store Employee
The pipes down here get used pretty often... and when we clean those pipes, it all goes into that. Years upon years of black hash, one layer just slabbed on top of the other. We call it “the Mound”...
(Rezin nods approvingly as he walks up to the hill of black hash, glancing at it from various angles like an auctioneer inspecting livestock.)
Rezin
That’s a substantial lump you’ve got there... could last me a long time. What’s the price?
(The employee thinks it over for a moment... suddenly gets a decent idea.)
Store Employee
You know what... I’ll give it to you for nothing. There’s no way anybody who works here would smoke that stuff. Pretty sure it’s cursed. If you want it, you can have it.
Rezin
Sounds like too good of a deal to pass up then. But first, I’ll need a minute to sample the merchandise...
(The clerk lingers for a moment until Rezin gives him a glance that says he needs to get lost, and he awkwardly goes back up the stairs. When he’s alone, the Goat Bastard pulls out his metal razor and scrapes a tiny bit off the top of the black hill in the middle of the table. He slabs the sludge into a bowl and smokes it with a pyrophile’s lighter. The hit generates a dense cloud of smog and puts him through a fit of coughing that lasts for a few moments. When it subsides, he falls onto the nearest sofa and turns his attention to the camera.)
Rezin
When you’ve smoked all the dope there is in life, Boogie... it loses its luster. It becomes monotonous. It becomes a distraction. But I’ve found that nice, healthy regiment of REZIN keeps the desire to destroy alive and kicking in my shriveled husk of a soul... because when you’re out of dope, all you can do is reach into that bong and scrape out the sludge to give yourself a desperate high.
That’s what I am, Boogie... professional wrestling SLUDGE. All my hopes, all my dreams, all my aspirations as an ARTIST of professional wrestling... it’s all gone to the void. All that’s left is a hatred for the caste of generic, idealistic meat-heads that have ostracized me for all these years... a hatred that compels me to keep crawling my pathetic hide to that ring for one punishing match after the next.
I had to reach down and SCRAPE into the black to find that hatred... and though it hasn’t given me much in the way of success in a technical sense, it’s given me plenty in the way of satisfaction, knowing that I can still bring the pain, the agony, and the doom.
If I wanted to impress you, Boogie, I wouldn’t give you names. Simply put, there aren’t any. Any time a big match was on the line, I’ve come up short. Sometimes, the fault was on me for not giving a damb... and other times, it just wasn’t meant to be.
I can’t threaten you by giving you the names of people I’ve beaten... but what SHOULD give you warning, however...
(He grabs a handful of his pants and pulls his leg up onto the coffee table. The foot is black and worn from miles of travel... like a dark cudgel grafted onto the end of a reaper’s scythe.)
Rezin
Is this heel... going into your face with the force of a cyclone.
(He slaps his thighs.)
Rezin
Or these legs... springing me every which way off those ropes into mind-erasing angles and contortions through the air... before I come crashing down upon you.
(He holds up his index and middle finger. Both are sticky with pipe residue. A sinister smirk spreads across his face.)
Rezin
Or these fingers... jamming their way into your mouth, defiling your every sense while at the same time paralyzing your every limb with maddening pain.
THOSE things should give you cause for concern, Boogie... because if I can’t guarantee a victory, then at the very least, I CAN guarantee a long and torturous moment of suffering. If I can’t be the winner... then at the very least, I’m going to give you something to remember me by. Something that will haunt you in your darkest dreams.
(He sits up, intent on on every word.)
Rezin
But I don’t need to be a winner to see the colonnades of this wretched company come tumbling down. That’s what my partner is for... because after what I witnessed at Black Dawn, I am convinced that ANARKY is the Great Destroyer of the Empire of Pro Wrestling.
Have you heard of Anarky, Boogie? Former World Heavyweight Champion? Former King of the Cage winner? That’s the guy in my corner. You beat one washed-up legend from a dead federation at Black Dawn. He outlasted six. That’s SIX! Four, plus two, plus zero.
There have been only two moments in the man’s Empire Pro career where you can say he came up short. The first time was against Marcus Westcott for a shot at the World Title... an opportunity lost at the whims of a saboteur and his wigger of a mercenary. The second was Russian Roulette, where our current World Heavyweight “Champion” and his wife pulled every trick in the book to edge out a win over a man that was dominating everybody who stepped in the ring with him. The common denominator in those two instances was that he didn’t have anybody there to watch his back.
Enter the Rezin... the equalizer. The insurance policy. With me watching his back, slinking around like a serpentine sentinel in the shadows and haze, there will be nothing to distract him from doing what he does best...
Surviving... persevering... kicking ASS... and, of course, overcoming.
(He takes another long hit off the pipe. Again, it puts him through a fit of coughing... but there’s a satisfied smile on his face as a deep and heavy high overwhelms his body.)
Rezin
You can’t HOPE to stop the two of us, Boogie... with or without your tag partner, who’s name I can’t really pronounce at this point. The two of us have a commonality in being agents of chaos... and why should CHAOS give you a reason to be worried?
Because when those cage walls come up, ANYTHING can happen in that ring. There’s no getting in, and there’s no getting out. CHAOS reigns... and Cthulhu forbid the referee be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Because if he goes down, you don’t even want to BEGIN to imagine the sick “ish” the two of us will be ready to throw down.
(He looks up as the store employee who led him to this place returns.)
Store Employee
So... have we come to a decision?
(Rezin nods once.)
Rezin
Yes... I have decided NOT to kick you in the face.
Store Employee
...uh... what?
Rezin
Please, don’t make me regret that decision by suddenly going stupid on me. You got something for me to put this stuff in, or what?
(The clerk groans.)
Store Employee
Be right back... I’ll get a lid.
(As he leaves again, Rezin pinches a smidge of sludge off of the Mound and holds it up to the camera.)
Rezin
You want to stick it to Dan Ryan, Boogie? Then get in line, as the saying goes. This tournament is more to me than showing the ‘roid freak that a lowly sludge-sucker like me can get ahead over his groomed and glowing stars of the ring. It’s more than just wanting back the Tag Team Titles that have been without their original champion for some eight years now...
Simply put... I want to crush dreams... I want to destroy hopes and ambitions. I want the world to feel the anguish that I feel every waking moment of my life. If that has to come at your expense, Boogie... if I have to beat you to move on and keep spreading the disease of doom... then I’ll do whatever it takes.
I can’t get any lower than where I am... and if I can’t rise, then I’ll just pull you down into the black pit of sludge with me.
(On the image of Rezin cackling like a stoned Satanist engaged in a heretic ritual, our shot slowly fades to black.)
(FADEIN to Boogie Smallz standing inside of a wrestling ring with the steel cage structure surrounding it. The arena is empty and the lights above the ring shine down on him as the camera zooms in for a closer look at the EPW superstar.)
BOOGIE SMALLZ: The cozy confines of a steel cage. Seem like most of my life people told me I would end up behind bars. Locked in some jail cell like a caged animal for crimes I committed. But lucky for me, I never got caught doin’ any of the dirt I used to do in my younger days. I did my fair share of unlawful acts, but just like I am with anything in life…I’m smart enough to get while the gettin’ is good.
(Boogie paces around the ring and walks up to a section of the fencing. He places his hand on it and gives it a rattle. The sound of the noise echoes throughout the arena.)
Now I find myself surrounded by a galvanized chain link steel cage that will soon be used for the demise of two individuals that want to do nothing more than eliminate me from the King of the Cage tournament and possibly from the landscape of professional wrestling. I can’t say that I blame them for wanting this, because quite frankly…that’s the exact same thing that I want to do to them.
(Boogie steps back and looks at the cage surround him. He rests his arms on the ring ropes and looks into the camera.)
Rezin, I tried to listen to your promo. All your threats, the devastating heel you are so keen on bragging about. But one thing distracted me from givin’ any of what you said one ounce of my attention…
It was Anarky’s jizz that you had dribbling down your chin! I mean…could you suck the guy off any more than what you did in that last video you sent in? Does he paint his cock like a clown too?
Let’s be real with this. You are just gushin’, no pun intended, over what this guy has done…all the while selling yourself as being good for nothin’. A worthless piece of ish that, by your own account, has no business even being in EPW. Do you have any backbone whatsoever? Are you a man or are you a b*tch? Can you stand on your own two or do you need use a crutch in the form of Anarky so that your life has some semblance of meaning?
Is Anarky's so great that you willingly carry his bags? You apparently do the talking for him…do you wash the dishes too? And maybe, just maybe if you would be a little more perfect, he wouldn't have to hit you…bein’ the obvious battered wife in the couple.
I know what you tell yourself Rezin, that he only does it because he loves you. But really man, there's a way out, you can get help. You can break the cycle of abuse. If not for you, do it for the children. (Smirks.)
Seriously man, exactly why the fuck do you think Anarky's ever going to destroy anything? This is a man who has sat on his promised rematch for the EPW World Title for nearly a year. If you want this company to burn so bad why don't you tell him to man the f*ck up and go beat the ish out of the guy who barely beat him? Have him win that title and then set it on fire and piss on it to put it out.
Of course that's his cue to give you a backhand and tell you to get him another beer. Cause you both know he'll never do shit. And to press him on the issue only earns you a beating.
Pathetic.
Does Anarky make fun of you, call you fat? Has his constant insults given you an eating disorder? Do you purge cuz you want to be pretty for him? You are a sad shell of a man. Here I thought this would be a good fight. A way to test myself for once against two mofos that had been entrenched in EPW for a while. Guys I thought were supposed to be coldhearted ruthless pricks that wanted to dismantle this company brick by brick. Man…was I ever wrong about that.
Why the kcuf am I fighting a guy who's declared him a total piece of ish compared to Anarky, a do nothing piece of ish himself. Really, this is the best EPW has to offer me, it's TV Champion who hates holding the TV title and the guy who says “I'm shit compared to that great man.”
(Shakes his head in disgust.)
F*ck it, whatever the salary my agent is going to ask for after my three matches are up on this contract…I'm orderin’ that he demand it doubled! EPW needs me far more than I need EPW.
(Smallz steps back and the camera zooms out a bit. He rubs his face as he collects his thoughts.)
I entered the King of the Cage to be tested. To get into the mix of thangs up in here. To find out what the EPW stars of today are all about. And to yet again…take my place at the top of the industry by knockin’ fools out every step of the way and winning this competition.
What do I get instead? I get Rezin actin’ like Twan the prison bitch…with the front of his shirt tied in a knot being led around by his pants pocket by Anarky. Speaking of pants…what’s with the ill-fitted ones you wrestle in? Is that what Anarky demands of you for easy access to your balloon knot? (Grins.)
Truth be told…some of what you said did come across, despite the jizz mustache adorned on your grill.
You asked if I ever heard of Anarky? I only know of him from competing for the Ultratitle. As far as his performance at Black Dawn…good for him. But I think you may be overstatin’ the victory he had just a tad bit. Yeah he wrestled six other dudes and yeah…he won. But he didn’t single handedly defeat them all in one fell swoop. And on top of all this, these are lower-tier athletes we are talkin’ about. It’s not like he was in there with the top dawgs of Empire Pro. Most of those cats haven’t even been in the biz all that long. Exactly who the fuck did he beat and did any of them ever win anything in this company? I'm sure I could line up six morons and plow through them if I really needed to, doesn't make me a bad ass, just makes me the least pathetic person in a group of seven.
So go ahead…live up his victory. Fool yourself into thinkin’ he’s elite. Pat your self on the back for good measure. Feed your ego as much as you can…cuz after we face off in San Diego, that ish is gonna be on a diet, yo. A long fast…cuz there ain’t gonna be ish for you to do once I bounce you hoez out of the KOTC.
Let's be painfully honest Rezin, I'm better than Anarky and that means, by your logic, you shouldn't even be allowed in the same ring as me. The only thing that can save you two is if my mafia buddy is such dead weight that not even I can drag his a$$ to victory.
Mob man, I want to make this VERY clear to you. If we lose…I'm going to break your maphuckin’ neck. I need this win like I need blood to live. These two can't stop me unless you're truly incapable of doin’ jacksh*t. And if that's the case, then enjoy spendin’ the next three years of your life learning to walk again!
(Boogie grits his teeth and mean mugs the camera. He lets out a deep breath and continues to speak.)
Rezin, you want the world to feel anguish? Mission accomplished. After havin’ to sit through your trip to the weed shop…I don’t think you are the only one that’s lighter in the brain cells department because of it. All of us became less intelligent by witnessing you purchase goodies with your medical marijuana card.
And on that note…I think I am done with this round of verbally bashin’ you.
I would say I just ripped you a new a$$hole…but I think that’s Anarky’s job.
Fade me out.
(FADE TO BLACK as Boogie peers at the camera from inside the cage.)
BOOGIE SMALLZ: The cozy confines of a steel cage. Seem like most of my life people told me I would end up behind bars. Locked in some jail cell like a caged animal for crimes I committed. But lucky for me, I never got caught doin’ any of the dirt I used to do in my younger days. I did my fair share of unlawful acts, but just like I am with anything in life…I’m smart enough to get while the gettin’ is good.
(Boogie paces around the ring and walks up to a section of the fencing. He places his hand on it and gives it a rattle. The sound of the noise echoes throughout the arena.)
Now I find myself surrounded by a galvanized chain link steel cage that will soon be used for the demise of two individuals that want to do nothing more than eliminate me from the King of the Cage tournament and possibly from the landscape of professional wrestling. I can’t say that I blame them for wanting this, because quite frankly…that’s the exact same thing that I want to do to them.
(Boogie steps back and looks at the cage surround him. He rests his arms on the ring ropes and looks into the camera.)
Rezin, I tried to listen to your promo. All your threats, the devastating heel you are so keen on bragging about. But one thing distracted me from givin’ any of what you said one ounce of my attention…
It was Anarky’s jizz that you had dribbling down your chin! I mean…could you suck the guy off any more than what you did in that last video you sent in? Does he paint his cock like a clown too?
Let’s be real with this. You are just gushin’, no pun intended, over what this guy has done…all the while selling yourself as being good for nothin’. A worthless piece of ish that, by your own account, has no business even being in EPW. Do you have any backbone whatsoever? Are you a man or are you a b*tch? Can you stand on your own two or do you need use a crutch in the form of Anarky so that your life has some semblance of meaning?
Is Anarky's so great that you willingly carry his bags? You apparently do the talking for him…do you wash the dishes too? And maybe, just maybe if you would be a little more perfect, he wouldn't have to hit you…bein’ the obvious battered wife in the couple.
I know what you tell yourself Rezin, that he only does it because he loves you. But really man, there's a way out, you can get help. You can break the cycle of abuse. If not for you, do it for the children. (Smirks.)
Seriously man, exactly why the fuck do you think Anarky's ever going to destroy anything? This is a man who has sat on his promised rematch for the EPW World Title for nearly a year. If you want this company to burn so bad why don't you tell him to man the f*ck up and go beat the ish out of the guy who barely beat him? Have him win that title and then set it on fire and piss on it to put it out.
Of course that's his cue to give you a backhand and tell you to get him another beer. Cause you both know he'll never do shit. And to press him on the issue only earns you a beating.
Pathetic.
Does Anarky make fun of you, call you fat? Has his constant insults given you an eating disorder? Do you purge cuz you want to be pretty for him? You are a sad shell of a man. Here I thought this would be a good fight. A way to test myself for once against two mofos that had been entrenched in EPW for a while. Guys I thought were supposed to be coldhearted ruthless pricks that wanted to dismantle this company brick by brick. Man…was I ever wrong about that.
Why the kcuf am I fighting a guy who's declared him a total piece of ish compared to Anarky, a do nothing piece of ish himself. Really, this is the best EPW has to offer me, it's TV Champion who hates holding the TV title and the guy who says “I'm shit compared to that great man.”
(Shakes his head in disgust.)
F*ck it, whatever the salary my agent is going to ask for after my three matches are up on this contract…I'm orderin’ that he demand it doubled! EPW needs me far more than I need EPW.
(Smallz steps back and the camera zooms out a bit. He rubs his face as he collects his thoughts.)
I entered the King of the Cage to be tested. To get into the mix of thangs up in here. To find out what the EPW stars of today are all about. And to yet again…take my place at the top of the industry by knockin’ fools out every step of the way and winning this competition.
What do I get instead? I get Rezin actin’ like Twan the prison bitch…with the front of his shirt tied in a knot being led around by his pants pocket by Anarky. Speaking of pants…what’s with the ill-fitted ones you wrestle in? Is that what Anarky demands of you for easy access to your balloon knot? (Grins.)
Truth be told…some of what you said did come across, despite the jizz mustache adorned on your grill.
You asked if I ever heard of Anarky? I only know of him from competing for the Ultratitle. As far as his performance at Black Dawn…good for him. But I think you may be overstatin’ the victory he had just a tad bit. Yeah he wrestled six other dudes and yeah…he won. But he didn’t single handedly defeat them all in one fell swoop. And on top of all this, these are lower-tier athletes we are talkin’ about. It’s not like he was in there with the top dawgs of Empire Pro. Most of those cats haven’t even been in the biz all that long. Exactly who the fuck did he beat and did any of them ever win anything in this company? I'm sure I could line up six morons and plow through them if I really needed to, doesn't make me a bad ass, just makes me the least pathetic person in a group of seven.
So go ahead…live up his victory. Fool yourself into thinkin’ he’s elite. Pat your self on the back for good measure. Feed your ego as much as you can…cuz after we face off in San Diego, that ish is gonna be on a diet, yo. A long fast…cuz there ain’t gonna be ish for you to do once I bounce you hoez out of the KOTC.
Let's be painfully honest Rezin, I'm better than Anarky and that means, by your logic, you shouldn't even be allowed in the same ring as me. The only thing that can save you two is if my mafia buddy is such dead weight that not even I can drag his a$$ to victory.
Mob man, I want to make this VERY clear to you. If we lose…I'm going to break your maphuckin’ neck. I need this win like I need blood to live. These two can't stop me unless you're truly incapable of doin’ jacksh*t. And if that's the case, then enjoy spendin’ the next three years of your life learning to walk again!
(Boogie grits his teeth and mean mugs the camera. He lets out a deep breath and continues to speak.)
Rezin, you want the world to feel anguish? Mission accomplished. After havin’ to sit through your trip to the weed shop…I don’t think you are the only one that’s lighter in the brain cells department because of it. All of us became less intelligent by witnessing you purchase goodies with your medical marijuana card.
And on that note…I think I am done with this round of verbally bashin’ you.
I would say I just ripped you a new a$$hole…but I think that’s Anarky’s job.
Fade me out.
(FADE TO BLACK as Boogie peers at the camera from inside the cage.)
JLevinson
Diva Tree
- Joined
- Jan 1, 2000
- Messages
- 707
- Points
- 0
- Age
- 43
(FADEIN to an empty Rentschler Field in East Hartford, Connecticut. The field has the UConn logo already painted and ready for Game Day. Sitting on the bleachers is Anarky, the all-black EPW Television Title draped over his shoulder. His covered in bruises and bumps and appears to be nursing more than a few injuries. He’s drinking a Stone Arrogant Bastard.)
ANARKY: “Sorry, fellas. I meant to get here sooner, but sometimes it’s nice to watch Rezin get all baked and listen to stoner metal and ramble on and on about how wonderful I am.
“The true savior of Empire Pro, it seems.
“Of course, nothing could be further from the truth, but you have to admire the man. He’s honest to a fault. He knows what he knows.
“And he is a true believer in the cause.
“Me... well... I’ve never been much of a self-promoter. If Rezin wants to remind the world what it’s too stupid to see for itself, then I suppose I’m thankful. Your homoerotic overtones merely expose your ignorance, Boogie.
“I suppose it’d be too much to ask you not to succumb to your lesser qualities. A man who represents his culture, so to speak.
“All your bravado and confidence is utterly meaningless to me. You’re going to break me, Biggie? You’re so sure you’re better than me?
“Words... words... words. Empty promises like the rest.
“You can dress it up however you like, Boogie, but at the end of the day... it is not the Empire itself which must be destroyed... it is men like you.
“Men who believe they are infallible. Self-promoting, self-aggrandizing, verbal masturbation addicts.
“Do you record the sound of yourself talking and play it back while you flex in the mirror at night? Do you drift off to sleep, dreaming of yourself and your glories? The things you’re owed?
“I don’t give a sh*t if you don’t think I’ve earned it. If I faced lesser competition. If you aren’t impressed or even care.
“Because the cage will define us. The cage will find truth in us.
“You hate Dan Ryan... and you think we are alike. But Dan is just the Zookeeper... he can’t be blamed for the inmates of this sad asylum. He can’t be blamed for the insanity of The First. The wasted potential of Cameron Cruise. The return of Sean Stevens. The glorification of Boogie Smallz.
“Just symptoms of the disease, you see.
“Like you.”
(He stops and takes a long draw off the Arrogant Bastard ale, enjoying himself. He leans back and smiles.)
ANARKY: “Can you feel it? Football is almost in the air. Soon... young men will come to this field and lay it on the line for a small taste of glory. Even here, where college football barely pushes the needle... these boys... these almost-men... will do anything for that taste.
“Whether they ever make it big. Whether their names ever echo out in glory.
“Their quiet rage defines them.
“Like me.
“I don’t need the recognition. I don’t need Boogie Smallz to decide if what I’ve done matters. Or if The First thinks I was a great World Champion. Or if Dan Ryan thinks I’ve made this cesspool worse.
“Nobody owns me. Nobody gets to tell me what matters.
“I went into Black Dawn with one goal and one goal only. To redefine the EPW Television Title forever. To create a spectacle of violence and desperation so great that the Gods would know it...
“... and I did.
“And now... the Cage... my home, once again.
“The place where I was born in EPW... where I will be born again.
“This... this is the beginning of my ascent...
“And I will not rest until I have paid back each and every animal in this zoo. Until I finally hold up the mirror to your own, sad, wasted existence.
“We will find the truth... together, Boogie.
“And then we shall know... who you really are...
“We shall know if you can truly break me.
“Many have tried, Boogie.
“Many.”
(FADEOUT.)
ANARKY: “Sorry, fellas. I meant to get here sooner, but sometimes it’s nice to watch Rezin get all baked and listen to stoner metal and ramble on and on about how wonderful I am.
“The true savior of Empire Pro, it seems.
“Of course, nothing could be further from the truth, but you have to admire the man. He’s honest to a fault. He knows what he knows.
“And he is a true believer in the cause.
“Me... well... I’ve never been much of a self-promoter. If Rezin wants to remind the world what it’s too stupid to see for itself, then I suppose I’m thankful. Your homoerotic overtones merely expose your ignorance, Boogie.
“I suppose it’d be too much to ask you not to succumb to your lesser qualities. A man who represents his culture, so to speak.
“All your bravado and confidence is utterly meaningless to me. You’re going to break me, Biggie? You’re so sure you’re better than me?
“Words... words... words. Empty promises like the rest.
“You can dress it up however you like, Boogie, but at the end of the day... it is not the Empire itself which must be destroyed... it is men like you.
“Men who believe they are infallible. Self-promoting, self-aggrandizing, verbal masturbation addicts.
“Do you record the sound of yourself talking and play it back while you flex in the mirror at night? Do you drift off to sleep, dreaming of yourself and your glories? The things you’re owed?
“I don’t give a sh*t if you don’t think I’ve earned it. If I faced lesser competition. If you aren’t impressed or even care.
“Because the cage will define us. The cage will find truth in us.
“You hate Dan Ryan... and you think we are alike. But Dan is just the Zookeeper... he can’t be blamed for the inmates of this sad asylum. He can’t be blamed for the insanity of The First. The wasted potential of Cameron Cruise. The return of Sean Stevens. The glorification of Boogie Smallz.
“Just symptoms of the disease, you see.
“Like you.”
(He stops and takes a long draw off the Arrogant Bastard ale, enjoying himself. He leans back and smiles.)
ANARKY: “Can you feel it? Football is almost in the air. Soon... young men will come to this field and lay it on the line for a small taste of glory. Even here, where college football barely pushes the needle... these boys... these almost-men... will do anything for that taste.
“Whether they ever make it big. Whether their names ever echo out in glory.
“Their quiet rage defines them.
“Like me.
“I don’t need the recognition. I don’t need Boogie Smallz to decide if what I’ve done matters. Or if The First thinks I was a great World Champion. Or if Dan Ryan thinks I’ve made this cesspool worse.
“Nobody owns me. Nobody gets to tell me what matters.
“I went into Black Dawn with one goal and one goal only. To redefine the EPW Television Title forever. To create a spectacle of violence and desperation so great that the Gods would know it...
“... and I did.
“And now... the Cage... my home, once again.
“The place where I was born in EPW... where I will be born again.
“This... this is the beginning of my ascent...
“And I will not rest until I have paid back each and every animal in this zoo. Until I finally hold up the mirror to your own, sad, wasted existence.
“We will find the truth... together, Boogie.
“And then we shall know... who you really are...
“We shall know if you can truly break me.
“Many have tried, Boogie.
“Many.”
(FADEOUT.)
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(FADEIN to Boogie Smallz watching video clips of Rezin and Anarky from their matches at Black Dawn. The latest Anarky promo plays and Boogie smirks at the comments made by the Television champion. He stops the clips and looks at the camera.)
BOOGIE SMALLZ: So Anarky finally decides to enter the fray and speak his mind. After havin’ his boy make a fool out of them both, the man gets off his ass to hit the record button and drops a promo on our upcomin’ match. Anarky to the rescue…tryin’ to stick up for his good-for-nothin’ tag partner and defend their honor. What a crock of bullshit.
You're the world's biggest hypocrite, Anarky. I have no idea how you can get in front of a camera and say the shit you do. I'd be too ashamed to do it. If some guy was out here telling the world how amazing I was, you would roll your eyes and tell us all he was an asshole nobody should pay attention to., But since it's your boy workin’ your shaft we get you talking about how Rezin's a sweetheart cause he cups the balls just the way you like it. So that makes everything A-OK.
Maphucka, I'm right with ya on the self-promotion. We go through the whole “you suck, everyone sucks” routine that is your existence. You know what? I fucking hate talkin’ too, but we ain't in that cage yet, I can't beat the shit out of you until that bell rings and it makes everything I do to you legal and above board. I wanna bust your skull open RIGHT THE FUCK NOW, but until I get in that arena in San Diego, get my mitts on you, and start givin’ you the beatin’ of your life…well, I'm reduced to callin’ you out for being the piece of ish that you are.
So really Anarky all we got is talk. Funny thing is you talk big too. That same big talkin’ you hate from everyone else…you do it just the same. You beat up so many guys and so many guys have tried and failed to beat you. If anyone but YOU said that ish, you would drink yourself into a stupor and pray never to wake up again so you don't have to hear anymore. But cuz the great and powerful Anarky says it…that makes it meaningful and special. Fuck you Anarky you ain't shit.
You and your boy talk such a big game about chaos and how it'll destroy this company, how much you love random stuff happenin’. I threw my name in the hopper and I got some idiot mafia wanna be for a partner. What about you and Mr. Chaos over there? You throw your names in the hat and take a chance? You roll the dice to see if you could partner with an Impulse or Stevens or First to maybe give them a little heartache, mess with their minds a little bit? Maybe break some newbie into EPW with your special blend of insanity?
Fuck no, you took the safe way out and latched yourselves to one another. Chaos scares the shit out of you. Rezin uses that skull painted moron as his teddy bear that he clings to so he can feel safe at night.
Neither one of you has a backbone. You two are a crutch for one another because you couldn’t possibly handle bein’ alone in this cold cruel world without someone to fluff you up so that you can try to stand with your head held high…knowin’ at the end of the day the head drops to each others laps as you blow the skin flute. You are a regular Kenny G.
And tell me exactly, HOW you redefined the TV title? I am tryin’ to figure that out, Nark. I watched the match, nothin’ out of the ordinary. You had your boy there givin’ you moral support…but I fail to see the significance of how that moment inserted a new definition in the EPW dictionary of what the Television title is all about. And I would be remiss if I didn’t point out that there you go contradictin’ yourself. “I don’t brag about my accolades” and then you go pumpin’ up your Black Dawn match like it was the turnin’ point of your career and changed the landscape of EPW forever.
If Black Dawn was supposed to be the crown jewel of your accomplishments in professional wrestling, somethin’ you can hang your hat on as being the defining moment of your tenure in Empire Pro…then the hat just fell of the hook. It wasn’t truly all the noteworthy of an achievement. It didn’t necessarily resonate and echo throughout the minds of the men you are tryin’ to intimidate with your actions.
(Smallz cracks his knuckles and rolls his neck before speaking his mind.)
And if this cage match is the beginnin’ of your ascension…wouldn’t that mean you’ve been wallowin’ in mediocrity…in the gutter, if ya will? Further provin’ my point that you are no longer as important as you believe yourself to be and that your run as Television champ is the last hoorah before you ride off into the sunset with Rezin…like a modern day Thelma and Louise committin’ suicide by speedin’ their car off the Grand Canyon and plummeting to their death. Hey…at least you will go out on your own terms.
Or maybe the sunset is more in a romantic setting? Like the two of you in a pair of bathtubs out in the forest holdin’ hands like a maphuckin’ commercial for Cialis. Just because you’re approachin’ 40 doesn’t mean you can’t have an active sex life with your partner.
(Smallz gives a slight smile.)
Your mixed signals are the least of my concerns, but I just wanted to point out that you don’t have your ish together as much as you THINK you do.
And yes, football is comin’ up. It’s right around tha corner. And just like those fearless individuals you referred to are tryin’ to make their respective teams…those same people throw caution to the wind and go all out. And most of the time…its all for nothin’. They get hurt…crippled. Out for the season and in some cases…career ending. Do you want to end up like them? Is that the future you want to have? Sippin’ meals through a straw and replayin’ that headshot you took over and over again in your mind. Retracing your steps, second guessing the moves you made or the decisions you could have changed in order to prolong your career? Because soon, inside the steel cage, that is the reality you and Rezin will face. I feel no regret for my actions. I have no conscience when it comes to my actions inside the ring. You wanna step up and play the role of the courageous badass, I’ll knock your damn head off!
And if Alceo Dentari doesn’t wanna play ball. If he thinks he will weasel his way through this match and use me as his bulldozer, clearin’ the path for him to become a fly-by-night sensation in EPW…he’s got another thing comin’. He needs to listen to me and understand that what I say goes. If I choose to sacrifice him just to gain an advantage on you two…so be it. In my eyes, he is expendable…as long as it helps further my cause.
Rezin…Anarky…you two have no idea what you are up against and I prefer it that way. I like the element of surprise. So when we defeat you…I want to see the look of shock on your bloodied faces as me and Dentari advance to Round Two and leave you both consoling one another like you always do. In each other’s arms tryin’ to comfort yourselves durin’ an embarrassin’ loss to a team that no one thought would get past you. So let Rezin continue fellatin’ your ego because that’s the only way you can swallow it. You…the bitter taste of defeat and him…the bitter taste of jizz.
(Shakes his head in disgust.)
Believe…’dat…
(Boogie grabs a small dictation device from a nearby table. Smallz stands up and looks in the mirror. He rewinds the tape and plays it back as he flexes in the mirror.)
“You're the world's biggest hypocrite, Anarky….”
(Speaking over the audio from the tape.)
How is that for verbal masturbation? Oh yeah…that’s the spot.
(Smallz grins at the camera and gives a wink. FADE TO BLACK.)
BOOGIE SMALLZ: So Anarky finally decides to enter the fray and speak his mind. After havin’ his boy make a fool out of them both, the man gets off his ass to hit the record button and drops a promo on our upcomin’ match. Anarky to the rescue…tryin’ to stick up for his good-for-nothin’ tag partner and defend their honor. What a crock of bullshit.
You're the world's biggest hypocrite, Anarky. I have no idea how you can get in front of a camera and say the shit you do. I'd be too ashamed to do it. If some guy was out here telling the world how amazing I was, you would roll your eyes and tell us all he was an asshole nobody should pay attention to., But since it's your boy workin’ your shaft we get you talking about how Rezin's a sweetheart cause he cups the balls just the way you like it. So that makes everything A-OK.
Maphucka, I'm right with ya on the self-promotion. We go through the whole “you suck, everyone sucks” routine that is your existence. You know what? I fucking hate talkin’ too, but we ain't in that cage yet, I can't beat the shit out of you until that bell rings and it makes everything I do to you legal and above board. I wanna bust your skull open RIGHT THE FUCK NOW, but until I get in that arena in San Diego, get my mitts on you, and start givin’ you the beatin’ of your life…well, I'm reduced to callin’ you out for being the piece of ish that you are.
So really Anarky all we got is talk. Funny thing is you talk big too. That same big talkin’ you hate from everyone else…you do it just the same. You beat up so many guys and so many guys have tried and failed to beat you. If anyone but YOU said that ish, you would drink yourself into a stupor and pray never to wake up again so you don't have to hear anymore. But cuz the great and powerful Anarky says it…that makes it meaningful and special. Fuck you Anarky you ain't shit.
You and your boy talk such a big game about chaos and how it'll destroy this company, how much you love random stuff happenin’. I threw my name in the hopper and I got some idiot mafia wanna be for a partner. What about you and Mr. Chaos over there? You throw your names in the hat and take a chance? You roll the dice to see if you could partner with an Impulse or Stevens or First to maybe give them a little heartache, mess with their minds a little bit? Maybe break some newbie into EPW with your special blend of insanity?
Fuck no, you took the safe way out and latched yourselves to one another. Chaos scares the shit out of you. Rezin uses that skull painted moron as his teddy bear that he clings to so he can feel safe at night.
Neither one of you has a backbone. You two are a crutch for one another because you couldn’t possibly handle bein’ alone in this cold cruel world without someone to fluff you up so that you can try to stand with your head held high…knowin’ at the end of the day the head drops to each others laps as you blow the skin flute. You are a regular Kenny G.
And tell me exactly, HOW you redefined the TV title? I am tryin’ to figure that out, Nark. I watched the match, nothin’ out of the ordinary. You had your boy there givin’ you moral support…but I fail to see the significance of how that moment inserted a new definition in the EPW dictionary of what the Television title is all about. And I would be remiss if I didn’t point out that there you go contradictin’ yourself. “I don’t brag about my accolades” and then you go pumpin’ up your Black Dawn match like it was the turnin’ point of your career and changed the landscape of EPW forever.
If Black Dawn was supposed to be the crown jewel of your accomplishments in professional wrestling, somethin’ you can hang your hat on as being the defining moment of your tenure in Empire Pro…then the hat just fell of the hook. It wasn’t truly all the noteworthy of an achievement. It didn’t necessarily resonate and echo throughout the minds of the men you are tryin’ to intimidate with your actions.
(Smallz cracks his knuckles and rolls his neck before speaking his mind.)
And if this cage match is the beginnin’ of your ascension…wouldn’t that mean you’ve been wallowin’ in mediocrity…in the gutter, if ya will? Further provin’ my point that you are no longer as important as you believe yourself to be and that your run as Television champ is the last hoorah before you ride off into the sunset with Rezin…like a modern day Thelma and Louise committin’ suicide by speedin’ their car off the Grand Canyon and plummeting to their death. Hey…at least you will go out on your own terms.
Or maybe the sunset is more in a romantic setting? Like the two of you in a pair of bathtubs out in the forest holdin’ hands like a maphuckin’ commercial for Cialis. Just because you’re approachin’ 40 doesn’t mean you can’t have an active sex life with your partner.
(Smallz gives a slight smile.)
Your mixed signals are the least of my concerns, but I just wanted to point out that you don’t have your ish together as much as you THINK you do.
And yes, football is comin’ up. It’s right around tha corner. And just like those fearless individuals you referred to are tryin’ to make their respective teams…those same people throw caution to the wind and go all out. And most of the time…its all for nothin’. They get hurt…crippled. Out for the season and in some cases…career ending. Do you want to end up like them? Is that the future you want to have? Sippin’ meals through a straw and replayin’ that headshot you took over and over again in your mind. Retracing your steps, second guessing the moves you made or the decisions you could have changed in order to prolong your career? Because soon, inside the steel cage, that is the reality you and Rezin will face. I feel no regret for my actions. I have no conscience when it comes to my actions inside the ring. You wanna step up and play the role of the courageous badass, I’ll knock your damn head off!
And if Alceo Dentari doesn’t wanna play ball. If he thinks he will weasel his way through this match and use me as his bulldozer, clearin’ the path for him to become a fly-by-night sensation in EPW…he’s got another thing comin’. He needs to listen to me and understand that what I say goes. If I choose to sacrifice him just to gain an advantage on you two…so be it. In my eyes, he is expendable…as long as it helps further my cause.
Rezin…Anarky…you two have no idea what you are up against and I prefer it that way. I like the element of surprise. So when we defeat you…I want to see the look of shock on your bloodied faces as me and Dentari advance to Round Two and leave you both consoling one another like you always do. In each other’s arms tryin’ to comfort yourselves durin’ an embarrassin’ loss to a team that no one thought would get past you. So let Rezin continue fellatin’ your ego because that’s the only way you can swallow it. You…the bitter taste of defeat and him…the bitter taste of jizz.
(Shakes his head in disgust.)
Believe…’dat…
(Boogie grabs a small dictation device from a nearby table. Smallz stands up and looks in the mirror. He rewinds the tape and plays it back as he flexes in the mirror.)
“You're the world's biggest hypocrite, Anarky….”
(Speaking over the audio from the tape.)
How is that for verbal masturbation? Oh yeah…that’s the spot.
(Smallz grins at the camera and gives a wink. FADE TO BLACK.)
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Damien
Member
- Joined
- Apr 6, 2012
- Messages
- 515
- Points
- 16
“I was gonna sit back an’ watch as all this unfurled before me. Can’t exactly do that though, ‘cause I got a question that’s burnin’ a hole in my tough as it’s tryin’a get out.”
"Ain't this supposed to be some kinda Tag Team tournament? 'Cause I seem to a' walked right into the middle a' some kinda high school drama."
There's really no way to sugar coat it, the man seated before us doesn't strike a particularly formidable figure. After all, it's difficult to do so when you stand at five foot three and weigh a mere buck fifty five. The fact that he’s dwarfed even further by the high backed, golden colored, red velvet lined throne encasing him doesn’t help matters either.
"EPW this, EPW that. My partner’s done this, your partner’s not done that..." Our un-intimidating man said mockingly, "Maybe it's 'cause I ain't from around these parts, maybe it's 'cause I don't care, but I ain't got the faintest idea about who, or what, yous guys is talkin' about."
Neither did his voice do anything to assist in the illusion that he was any more threatening. Not many people could sound tough if they had a voice of even parts Joe Pesci and Andrew Dice Clay. He shook his head and shrugged slightly. Although he did raise a finger as though to say ‘One thing though’.
"'Cept that Dan Ryan guy." He said with a slight smile, "I seem to remember a time when I kicked 'The Ego Buster' in the back a' that cinder block he calls a head. Next thing you know he's headed to the back after bein' pinned by some outta shape nerd."
That’ll be Defiance’s TLC event being referred to there.
"So imagine my surprise when I was begged, begged, by Eric Dane to lace up these shoes an' head on over to represent Defiance in this tournament here." Our man said, "I thought to myself, I thought, how in the blue Hell can Dan Ryan run his own company when he ain't got the skills to hang with the big boys?"
"Needless to say, I just had to see it for myself."
He smiled and winked before flaring his eyebows and slapping himself gently on the forehead.
"I'm sorry, how rude a' me. I forgot to introduce myself, didn’t I?" He said with a sigh and a shake of his head, "My name is Alceo Dentari. That's Al-See-Oh Den-Tah-Ree if yous got Q-Tips stuck in your ear canals an' ain't never heard none a' the wrestlin' world talkin' 'bout the man a' the moment."
Dentari prodded himself in the chest before opening his arms wide as though to present himself to the world.
“Although I can’t exactly blame some a’ yous.” He added sounding ever so slightly depressed, “Yous been sold Empire Pro Wrestlin’ like it’s the be all an’ end all a’ this sport. Yous all been brainwashed into thinkin’ that guys like Rezin an’ Anarky are who you should be watchin’ week in, week out.”
Alceo fell silent and solemnly shook his head.
“I’m fully aware that yous might not be quite familiar with what yous is watchin’ right now though,” He continued, “So I’ll extend my apologies this time an’ this time only for not doin’ anythin’ stereotypical or expected a’ me, like sittin’ around eatin’ mama’s pasta fazool an’ dismemberin’ horses.”
The depression and solemnity didn’t last long though, and with a click of his fingers Alceo said, “I’m only here to snap you outta that trance yous all in an’ show yous... It don’t have to be that way.”
The is hope on the horizon.
“Rezin... an’ Anarky... Rezin Anarky... sounds like a guy with some mental handicap tryin’a incite a riot.” Dentari said in disbelief, “I’m sorry, I ain’t usually the type a’ guy to lay into nobody’s name, but I ain’t too familiar with nobody around here, so I gotta work with what I got, capiche?”
“Then again, I ain’t exactly got much to work with.” He shrugged, “Unless watchin’ some drug addict, already whacked outta his mind, virtually cradle another man’s cojones in the hope he’ll carry him to a nice fat paycheck counts as something substantial, that is.
A cold shiver shot down Alceo’s spine at the mental image he’d just provided himself. Not cool.
“Somehow I seriously doubt it though.”
“You boys can claim to have whatever home field advantage you want, whether it’s ‘cause yous gonna be standin’ in an EPW ring or simply ‘cause yous like bein’ locked in a cage with three other men,” Alceo continued in a matter of fact tone, “That home advantage ain’t gonna help you none when the skin is torn’ from your faces as I, Alceo Dentari, grate your foreheads against that steel like parmesan on a rich Penne Arrabiata.”
Another slap to the forehead.
“Oops, Stereotype.” Alceo chuckled, “I guess EPW just has that effect on me.”
“An’ Boogie Smallz, don’t go thinkin’ I forgot about yous.” He added ‘reassuringly’, “You feel free to call yourself whatever you want. Captain, Admiral, Commander, I couldn’t give a squirt a’ piss what you wanna call yourself. But don’t be expectin’ no ‘Dead Poets Society’ moment from me, ‘cause you sure as sh*t ain’t my leader.”
“I ain’t never rode nobodies coat tails nowhere, an I ain’t about to start now.” He said with pursed lips, “Yous gonna learn fast, I didn’t get to be the best in Defiance’s Evolution league by sittin’ back an’ lettin’ everyone else do all the work. I got there by breakin’ legs an’ kickin’ heads, just ask Dan Ryan if yous ever manage to get on speakin’ terms with him.”
“Until Aggression 69, boys.”
“Now ain’t that a kick in the head.”
"Ain't this supposed to be some kinda Tag Team tournament? 'Cause I seem to a' walked right into the middle a' some kinda high school drama."
There's really no way to sugar coat it, the man seated before us doesn't strike a particularly formidable figure. After all, it's difficult to do so when you stand at five foot three and weigh a mere buck fifty five. The fact that he’s dwarfed even further by the high backed, golden colored, red velvet lined throne encasing him doesn’t help matters either.
"EPW this, EPW that. My partner’s done this, your partner’s not done that..." Our un-intimidating man said mockingly, "Maybe it's 'cause I ain't from around these parts, maybe it's 'cause I don't care, but I ain't got the faintest idea about who, or what, yous guys is talkin' about."
Neither did his voice do anything to assist in the illusion that he was any more threatening. Not many people could sound tough if they had a voice of even parts Joe Pesci and Andrew Dice Clay. He shook his head and shrugged slightly. Although he did raise a finger as though to say ‘One thing though’.
"'Cept that Dan Ryan guy." He said with a slight smile, "I seem to remember a time when I kicked 'The Ego Buster' in the back a' that cinder block he calls a head. Next thing you know he's headed to the back after bein' pinned by some outta shape nerd."
That’ll be Defiance’s TLC event being referred to there.
"So imagine my surprise when I was begged, begged, by Eric Dane to lace up these shoes an' head on over to represent Defiance in this tournament here." Our man said, "I thought to myself, I thought, how in the blue Hell can Dan Ryan run his own company when he ain't got the skills to hang with the big boys?"
"Needless to say, I just had to see it for myself."
He smiled and winked before flaring his eyebows and slapping himself gently on the forehead.
"I'm sorry, how rude a' me. I forgot to introduce myself, didn’t I?" He said with a sigh and a shake of his head, "My name is Alceo Dentari. That's Al-See-Oh Den-Tah-Ree if yous got Q-Tips stuck in your ear canals an' ain't never heard none a' the wrestlin' world talkin' 'bout the man a' the moment."
Dentari prodded himself in the chest before opening his arms wide as though to present himself to the world.
“Although I can’t exactly blame some a’ yous.” He added sounding ever so slightly depressed, “Yous been sold Empire Pro Wrestlin’ like it’s the be all an’ end all a’ this sport. Yous all been brainwashed into thinkin’ that guys like Rezin an’ Anarky are who you should be watchin’ week in, week out.”
Alceo fell silent and solemnly shook his head.
“I’m fully aware that yous might not be quite familiar with what yous is watchin’ right now though,” He continued, “So I’ll extend my apologies this time an’ this time only for not doin’ anythin’ stereotypical or expected a’ me, like sittin’ around eatin’ mama’s pasta fazool an’ dismemberin’ horses.”
The depression and solemnity didn’t last long though, and with a click of his fingers Alceo said, “I’m only here to snap you outta that trance yous all in an’ show yous... It don’t have to be that way.”
The is hope on the horizon.
“Rezin... an’ Anarky... Rezin Anarky... sounds like a guy with some mental handicap tryin’a incite a riot.” Dentari said in disbelief, “I’m sorry, I ain’t usually the type a’ guy to lay into nobody’s name, but I ain’t too familiar with nobody around here, so I gotta work with what I got, capiche?”
“Then again, I ain’t exactly got much to work with.” He shrugged, “Unless watchin’ some drug addict, already whacked outta his mind, virtually cradle another man’s cojones in the hope he’ll carry him to a nice fat paycheck counts as something substantial, that is.
A cold shiver shot down Alceo’s spine at the mental image he’d just provided himself. Not cool.
“Somehow I seriously doubt it though.”
“You boys can claim to have whatever home field advantage you want, whether it’s ‘cause yous gonna be standin’ in an EPW ring or simply ‘cause yous like bein’ locked in a cage with three other men,” Alceo continued in a matter of fact tone, “That home advantage ain’t gonna help you none when the skin is torn’ from your faces as I, Alceo Dentari, grate your foreheads against that steel like parmesan on a rich Penne Arrabiata.”
Another slap to the forehead.
“Oops, Stereotype.” Alceo chuckled, “I guess EPW just has that effect on me.”
“An’ Boogie Smallz, don’t go thinkin’ I forgot about yous.” He added ‘reassuringly’, “You feel free to call yourself whatever you want. Captain, Admiral, Commander, I couldn’t give a squirt a’ piss what you wanna call yourself. But don’t be expectin’ no ‘Dead Poets Society’ moment from me, ‘cause you sure as sh*t ain’t my leader.”
“I ain’t never rode nobodies coat tails nowhere, an I ain’t about to start now.” He said with pursed lips, “Yous gonna learn fast, I didn’t get to be the best in Defiance’s Evolution league by sittin’ back an’ lettin’ everyone else do all the work. I got there by breakin’ legs an’ kickin’ heads, just ask Dan Ryan if yous ever manage to get on speakin’ terms with him.”
“Until Aggression 69, boys.”
“Now ain’t that a kick in the head.”
(“Southern Discomfort” by Eyehategod. Sludge from the southern swamps, in case anybody down there needed a comforting sound to keep their spirits up during the storm.)
(...seriously, though, you crackaz be safe.)
(Our scene opens up yet again in San Francisco, along an overpass bridge that merges onto the freeway leading down south to San Diego. The side of the road is riddled with California’s homeless all-stars... a crack-addict, a jobless drunk, a one-armed Vietnam veteran, and at the far end of the line, a prophet of doom we immediately recognize as Empire Pro’s own Escape Artist, REZIN.)
(We’re greeted by the sight of the Goat Bastard leaning up against the handrail, shades over his eyes and mouth gaping open. On his lap there’s a cardboard sign that reads “BROKE-ASS PROFESSIONAL WRESTLER -- NEED RIDE TO SAN DIEGO!!” For a moment, our collective hearts skip a beat as we think, “Jesus be praised, the pathetic bastard is finally DEAD!” Our hopes are shattered when the guy in the weathered marines jacket sees the camera and taps him on the shoulder. Rezin jolts awake and immediately begins raking his arms and shoulders.)
Rezin
D’AH!! THEY’RE EVERYWHERE!! GET ‘EM OFF!! GET ‘EM OFF!!
(When he finally realizes it was all a nightmare, he shakes his head and looks to the maimed soldier that woke him up.)
Rezin
Ugh... ferrets. I hate those sons-o’-bishes...
(The ‘Nam vet gestures to the camera and Rezin suddenly notices that he’s on.)
Rezin
Oh, jeez... guess it’s that time, huh?
(The vet grumbles something.)
Rezin
What’s that? His partner finally posted a promo? Damn... it’s ON now.
(Getting his shit together, he pushes himself back up to his feet, cracks his neck, takes a rip off of a sludge-packed one-hitter, wastes another ten seconds of our time as he hacks up a lung, and addresses us all in a manner that can only be described as agonizing.)
Rezin
So did you hear the news, my happy little lambs? By royal decree, the ol’ Goat Bastard that’s kept jumpin’ and bumpin’ across every corner of the EPW ring is a JOKE.
Personally, I’d prefer to the term “bohemian”... but whatever, let’s roll with it. I’m a joke... a guy that makes you laugh when I stand up and try to make something happen, because the irony of my situation can’t help but draw the emotion of hilarity.
Now... I pretty much thought this was already established, but... it apparently took a “king” to come out and make it official, just in case there were a few people out there that still had it in their heads that this sludge-sucking and Nihilistic rogue of the ring is an elite-level professional wrestler. I figured a man on a throne would have more important things to talk about in his royal address to the masses other than a mere insect that he apparently “doesn’t care” about... but hey, what do I know? I’m not a king.
And I never said I was. Two tournaments ago, I declared myself the JOKER of the Cage. There’s a difference in those two, clearly. A joker is a court jester and a clown... he doesn’t have the flair or the recognition of a king, but that’s quite alright with him, because while the court laughs at him, he can only laugh back at them. People see a fool... but the fool doesn’t see people. He sees ANIMALS.
He doesn’t see a king on a throne. He sees only a child strapped into a high-chair... squealing for attention, drunk on his own ego and power, and yet... imprisoned by the duties and expectations of his position. The fool sees the the king as a child living in a perpetual state of fear that he ignores and hides from... a fear of making that one false step... that one fatal error... and giving all those braying beasts that fill his court room all the reason they need to leap upon him and rip him to shreds.
So yeah... I don’t got a problem being a joke, instead of being whatever the hell people consider “elite” these days. I mean, when you think about it, pretty much all of professional wrestling is a joke. Grown men dressing in flashy tights engaged in non-violent combat with each other for the entertainment of poorly educated lower-middle-class consumers, all the while trying to maintain it as a “serious sport”? Yeah, sounds like a joke to me...
Here’s another joke for ya: Sentient life appears on a small blue planet in an insignificant corner of the galaxy... a true cosmic miracle. It thrives and evolves... surviving numerous setbacks, ranging from climate changes to senseless conflicts and wars amongst its own kind. It triumphs over these obstacles, modernizing itself into languages, cultures, and civilizations. It builds a unified EMPIRE meant to last forever. Then it all comes crashing down under the weight of it’s own hubris... and the desire for immortality and power. The life dies... the planet dies... and the sun dies. An entire cosmic anomaly, born, alive, and dead in the eyes of God.
That life is humanity... and that planet is Earth.
(The line of hobos chuckle in unison... maybe not necessarily at his “joke”, but maybe because he sounds funny going into such a diatribe... or maybe just because their brains are so scrambled and their lives are so ruined, they’d laugh at anything at this point.)
Rezin
...seriously, what better punch line is there?
Wrestling is a joke... LIFE is a joke... READ WATCHMEN and WATCH THE DARK KNIGHT, you dumb muthafuggers.
(He takes another hit off his one-hitter to finish it off, and manages to hold it in without going into a fit coughing this time. He brazenly does this in broad daylight, in front of Friday rush hour traffic. And if somebody narcs on him, then so what? There ain’t a cop on the West Coast that can stay standing after a Damascus Heel to the face.)
Rezin
I find the humor in the dark things in life. Likewise, I find the ugly things in all that’s good. But because that runs counter to what the majority of good ol’ Jesus-lovin’ ‘MERICANZ believe in, people have this tendency to drop all of these names on me. I guess it’s the hip thing to put down the people who are already out on their asses.
Back me up here, guys, am I right?
(He gets some supportive grunts from the other homeless people, although they could also be confused mumblings.)
Rezin
They call me things like COWARD... LIAR... QUITTER...
But how am I a coward? I was the ONLY MAN to step up and challenge the Hall of Famer, “Triple X” Sean Stevens, when he came back to Empire Pro. Where was Cameron Cruise that whole time? How about Impulse? Was there something more important going on at the time that kept them from the opportunity of wrestling and possibly defeating one of the most imposing figures in this industry? I really can’t say... but I can say plenty for myself. Even knowing the odds were stacked against me, and I was guaranteed at least ONE epic superkick to the face... I FEARLESSLY walked into the lion’s den with my hair and pride on the line... sacrificing all that I had left just to have a chance to prove that I can fight the “elite” even without having to BE “elite”.
And how am I liar? I’m the only man in this federation with the balls to say things like they are! Yes, I admit I have weaknesses... I confess that there’s always that unseen risk while swimming through the ether of chaos... I concede that I am a human being, with skin that can tear, blood that can spill, and bones that can break... and by saying this, I’m only trying to be honest. Anybody else who denies these things or pretends that they don’t exist are flat-out LYING to you people. Consequently, that can be said about the majority of the Empire Pro locker room. So many people here are diseased with a self-absorbed God complex, you might as well call this federation Mount Olympus. But there are no gods in that ring... just people acting like gods... and I’m the one person trying to show this world the truth.
As for being a quitter? I think I touched upon that already. The fact that I’m still here pretty much proves what a load of bullshit that statement is.
But despite the fact that it’s nothing even close to the truth, the haters out there have dumped these names on me... and sadly, for years, I would believe them.
(The homeless entourage audibly give their sympathies. The crack-head gives an obligatory “That is WHACK, yo!”)
Rezin
As I’ve explained many times, I didn’t have an easy upbringing. It’s hard for a shrimpy kid with no father figure and no love in his life to grow up with positive self-esteem. And every time I had the chance to prove all those haters wrong, I fell short. Either I didn’t have it in me, or I couldn’t be there in the right place at the right time.
And really, THAT is what makes you “elite”... being there, in right place, at right time, and KNOWING all the right things that need to be done. Being LUCKY, in other words. The truth is, most people do the right thing, but get nowhere for it... because it wasn’t their time or place to move on up. We call these people FAILURES... which doesn’t really justify all the years of hard work, effort, and commitment they put into doing what they love.
For example, I look at my career of eight years, my modest accomplishments, and my under-appreciated matches, and the black core of my heart, there’s a satisfaction knowing that at all times, I was giving it my best, regardless of where it got me. At the same time, balancing that satisfaction is a hunger... a desire to keep going out there and doing the things I do in the ring. Because regardless of what people think about the things I’ve done, I’m much more interested in the things I WILL do.
But personal success, evidently, is inferior to PERCEIVED success. It’s all about how you twist things around. Realities can change, and all you have to do is alter the way you’re looking at it. “Triple X” Sean Stevens can call himself the greatest professional wrestler in the sport, and back it up with his results in the ring... but can you call a man “the greatest” if he doesn’t invest every spare moment of his life to the thing he represents?
(A car honks as it breezes past behind the camera. Rezin briefly holds up his sign, but his grimace shows that he’s no closer to getting a ride. He drops the sign to reveal another one being held behind it. This one reads “GIVE A BUM A RIDE AND I WON’T KICK YOU IN THE FACE -- CTHULHU BLESS!!”)
Rezin
You want another example? Okay, try this on for size...
Many years ago, I was just a kid growing up in a cornfield, back-flipping off my momma’s garage through every object I could find that would -- and in some unfortunate cases, would NOT -- break in half. Wrestling was my passion... and the wrestler I always adored and looked up to was none other than...
...you guessed it... BOOGIE SMALLZ.
Yeah, I know... BIG surprise, right? Who would’ve thought that the kid who would one day grow up to call himself “Dopesmoker” could be a fan of the guy who took bong hits before every one of his matches?
But what can I say... I was young, impressionable... most of the time STONED... and not to mention, the sport was very different back in those days. It was a time when you could smoke dope in this business and be considered cool and rebellious in the eyes fans. Smoking weed before you stepped through the ropes made you the James Dean of professional wrestling.
It was a time when Global Xtreme Wrestling reigned supreme, and you couldn’t finish a match without hitting somebody with a chair, or at the very least putting him through a table. In fact, you didn’t need any wrestling ability whatsoever to win matches and get ahead... all you needed was enough size and strength to toss the other guy around for a bit, finish him off with a generic powerbomb, and holy shit, you’re a wrestling LEGEND.
It was also a time when you didn’t really need to make any logical points in a wrestling promo. All you had to do to impress people was talk a bunch of shit, stroke your ego, and make a bunch of shots at your opponent’s sexual preference. And whoever did the most shit-talking, ego-stroking, and gay-bashing on the stick, people would just assume he won the “argument”.
The young, purist wrestlers of today’s era of wrestling turn their nose up to these extreme years, passing it off as a circus of “garbage wrestling”. I don’t know if they understand that at the time, this is what people were PAYING to see. It wasn’t our fault that the fanbase that this business depended upon had a thirst for blood... but many good men gave theirs, and would have given more... just for a chance to be immortal.
Immortality that many would never find, sadly...
(He sighs. The veteran with one arm next to him notices that he fades out for a few moments, and knows the feeling right away. When you see a man pause like that, you know he’s reliving those own moments of his life... moments that will never leave him... moments that will haunt him until his dying day.)
Rezin
I’m not proud to say it, but Erik Black the wrestler was born in this era of wrestling. But as the industry changed, so too did he evolve... eventually becoming the dastardly and dangerous figure you see before you today. All the skills of a technical wrestling Escape Artist... all the grit and guts of a daredevil Goat Bastard.
Needless to say, as those years passed, and that transformation went by, my favor of the great Boogie Smallz waned when I realized just how NOT great he really was. The only reason he was considered great back then? He was in the right time, in the right place... doing all the right things. Global Xtreme Wrestling... the early two-thousands... throwing things around, talking a bunch of shit, and hitting a lot of bongs.
But Boogie Smallz did not evolve with this industry. He was apparently frozen in time, and with his return, brings with him everything that was once great ten years ago... but not so great anymore. Boogie Smallz has walked right into the WRONG time and WRONG place... and worst of all, he’s doing all the WRONG things.
Newslfash, Boogie: It’s 2012... you’re in Empire Pro... and while you’ve put the bong down, you’re still sitting there, talking a big game with nothing to show for it, ignoring the valid threats we’ve made to maintain a frail image of badassedry, and all the while stroking your fattened ego to the point where it’s practically cumming in your face.
...but there’s jizz on MY stache, right?
(He shakes his head.)
Rezin
Take a long look in the mirror, you rehabilitated relic...
You think I’m pathetic and weak... just like everybody else in this company... but to be honest, I’m thinking the exact same thing about YOU every time I see you in front of the camera, pulling the same shit you used to pull ten years ago and thinking you’re still going to have the same level of success.
“Uhhh, you ain’t SHIT, Rezin! I don’t care about who you’ve beaten OR what you’re done in the ring!”
That’s too bad, Boogie... because being a guy who’s only professional wrestling win in the past eight or so years is over an equally washed up relic from the past, the people I’ve beaten and the things I’ve done in that ring are the only frame of reference you have to who I am as a wrestler. You should be studying those things you don’t care about in order to understand who I am... as a competitor, and as a man who is willing to go to any lengths to HURT anybody who stands in the way of his path of destruction.
You’re not focusing on the wrestler that I am. All you’re focused on is the mentality... the image... the words... the philosophy... the things, these DISTRACTIONS that everybody else who got their faces kicked in by this heel couldn’t look past. Agents of chaos like myself just LOVE distractions... because it keeps people from understanding our capabilities in the ring... and you’ve bought into it, hook, line, and sinker.
I’ll admit that I live in my own little world... but honestly, who doesn’t? You’re beyond fucking retarded if you don’t think you’re living in your own. In Smallz world, people are distinguished as “bitches” and, I would presume, real “men.” Apparently, because I decide that it wouldn’t only be a waste of time to flaunt my own ego and give some much needed verbal praise to man who hasn’t received even HALF the attention he should have had by now, I fall into this latter category.
Is that what makes me a “bitch”? If so, what would I have to do in order to get the Boogie Smallz Stamp of Approval to become an all-out “man”?
If I came out and said that nothing could stop me, you’d call me out on being overconfident. If I gave you praise, you’d accuse me of trying to kiss your ass. If I said I was the undisputed BEST wrestler in Empire Pro, you’d point to my lackluster resume as proof of otherwise. Regardless of what I say, I’m pretty sure it will all draw the same conclusion in your head. Apparently, the only way not to be a bitch in the eyes of Boogie Smallz is to simply not get involved in a match with him.
(He rolls his eyes at this logic.)
Rezin
You know, Boogie, the reason why I come out and show you my humility and lack of any pride or ego whatsoever is not because I’m weak. It’s to show you that I live free from the shackles of physical and mental boundaries.
I don’t believe in maintaining the “elite” image, because I don’t believe it exists. There’s no point in coming out here and lying to you by saying I can’t be beaten. Anything can happen once that bell rings. That’s the entire basis of CHAOS. When you leave your fate in the blind hands of the Cosmos, you can’t complain about where you end up.
Yet, you still bitch and moan about having Oreo Atari, or whatever his name is, for a tag partner. But hey man, you had the same chance as everybody else to find somebody reliable in your corner, but you were evidently too busy convincing yourself that you were just simply too BADASS to have to rely on somebody else. You can’t blame Dan Ryan for your own arrogance. Maybe finding somebody to buddy up with would have been considered gay, or maybe that would have made you a “bitch” by Boogie Smallz definition. Honestly though, you’re bitch in any case... because bitches tend to bitch, and along with a lot of pissing and moaning about how much people are holding you down, you’ve done quite a bit of that since you came back.
Speaking of your partner... OH JOY... here comes ANOTHER guy with a “I’m gonna kick you in the head” angle. First Teddy Alexander, now this guy. Bossman must be getting desperate fishing all of these guys from outside leagues. I mean, I thought it was pretty clear that I was already established as THAT guy ‘round these parts, but hey... when it comes to thinning the herd, I’ve had a tendency to outlast the wannabes. Stalker and Mr. Sunshine are gone, after all.
I always wondered what it would be like to get in a fight with one of the guys from Goodfellas... and now, I guess I’ll have the chance to realize that life-long fantasy.
Anyway... just when I didn’t think I’d ever find somebody shorter than me this far north of the border... in walks this gremlin-lookin’ dude from a place called Defiance. Never heard of it, personally... I don’t see much outside of the federation while I’m living life in the gutter... but hey, just because I don’t know it doesn’t mean I’ll underestimate that lingering unknown factor. That’s living a life of CHAOS... never knowing what might come at you, and being ready to take whatever it may bring.
The unknown, you can’t control... but it never hurts to dive in with a degree of preparation.
Will YOU be prepared, Boogie? Can you say in all confidence that choosing to go with a random partner was the best choice you could possibly make?
I made the mistake in last year’s tournament of putting my name into the hat and seeing where it got me. My partner ended up being Impulse. You’d think with a guy like that on my side, we couldn’t possibly fail... but alas, he was yet another victim of his own ego. Impulse didn’t wanted to take the cue from the Escape Artist and escape the cage when the opportunity to win the match and move on was right there and staring at us in the faces. He had to go back into the ring and try to win it the “true” way. He had to maintain his false image of elitism... and for that reason, my path in last year’s tournament was cut short, when he subsequently got his ass double-teamed and kicked to the canvas.
Before that tournament, Dopesmoker was on the fast-track to the top of this company... then along comes this asshole Marathon Man who struts his shit out, throws his own partner under the bus by telling the fans he doesn’t do things the “easy” way, rides the whole martyr angle after the dumb fucker LOST, uses all of my hard-fought momentum and marijuana moxie as a stepping stone, and cruises his way into a title match that was all but a guaranteed win for him. The stone was already teetering on the edge, but it was this catastrophe that gave it good solid kick and sent it on its way. Eventually, that stone would burn all the green out of Dopesmoker... leaving the hideous lump of REZIN that the world sees before it today.
(He grins, and mothers shriek, covering the eyes of their children.)
Rezin
Not that any of that matters any more. This year, I’m walking into the King of the Cage with a partner I KNOW I can trust... a partner that won’t put me down just to make himself look more appealing to the fans. A partner with a track record for SUCCESS... especially in the cage, of which he is ALSO a king. The only “king” I would willingly kneel to, and ironically, he rejects the crown.
Yeah, I speak highly of my partner, ANARKY... because he rocks a cause that I support. No pompous claims... no ego... just one match after the next, and a growing trail of bodies behind him. I’m not saying that makes him ideal, or “elite”, or better than anybody else by any stretch... after all, this is just the opinion of a lowly Goat Bastard... but the results are there on the tape.
You can watch it yourself, Boogie, if you still have your doubts. Fuck whether or not you’re “impressed” by any of it... you haven’t BEEN HERE the past couple years, so you don’t have room to talk. All you need to do is compare it to any other stooge back in that locker room, and you’ll see for yourself that while the elite image and mentality were never there, he proved that they were never important. Without any selfish interest in being the pinnacle of this federation whatsoever, he represented this Empire as its World Heavyweight Champion... and held onto it so hard, it took a masked man and his equally masked wife to pry it away.
Why would he want to bank in on the rematch clause on his contract? The debacle at Russian Roulette only proved that the EPW World Heavyweight Title is NOT the symbol of professional wrestling excellence everybody thinks it is... it’s simply a token to be desired by every self-infatuated jackass out there who is desperate to be acknowledged as special... superior... “elite”.
Vain little attention whores, all of them... when will they learn? A belt doesn’t make you... YOU make the BELT.
And that’s exactly what Anarky is doing with the Television ANTI-Championship, and what I hope to do with his help in taking the Tag Team Soon-to-be-ANTI-Titles. We will PROVE to the millions across this doomed planet where the “true” superiority is in this federation. You don’t become an ANTI-Champion by simply calling yourself the best. You just go into the right and PROVE that you’re the sickest muthafugger to crawl out of the back.
If I gotta kick my childhood icon’s face right through the back of his head in order to fulfill that vision of doom... then hey man, sucks to be you. Same goes for Your Cousin Vinnie.
I couldn’t kill the King on my own. No shame in that... especially considering the HUNDREDS that came and failed before me. But this tournament is the last shot I have left... and Anarky is the Ace in my hand to trump that goddamn King. And should ‘Nark fall, well... that’s where I come in. I’m the JOKER stuffed into that deck... the wild card that trumps all.
You think I’m just tagging up with him because I’m motivated by FEAR?
(Rezin giggles like a madman. A normal person would be feeling fear right now, just seeing someone so twisted taken up in sickening delight. The Goat Bastard pulls out an orb surrounded in tin foil, the great ball of black hash he earlier purchased from the medical marijuana dispensary. As he pulls away the layer of foil, the black mass underneath almost seems to cast a shadow on his weathered face, as if the very substance was diminishing the light of the day. He stuffs his one-hitter into the mound to pack it up, and puts his stash away as he lights up once more. No coughing this time... not even a clear of the throat. The smoke clears, and Rezin is still grinning on the other side.)
Rezin
You don’t know what FEAR is, Boogie. But believe me... I do. For fuck’s sake, I was MANAGED by FEAR!!
(True story.)
Rezin
What the fuck do I have to be afraid of, Boogie? What do I have left to lose?
I fight in every match like it’s the last match of my career, and live every day like it’s my last. I take the risks that you and so many others are unwilling to do, because you’ve always got the thought on your mind... “What if I seriously fuck this up? Am I going to bounce back?”
You can mock me all week if you want to turn it into an extended gay joke, but the fact is, I don’t care whether I bounce back or not. All I care about is whether or not the impact leaves a black STAIN that you just can’t wash off, no matter how hard you scrub.
(He holds up his hand, the stands tips of his middle and ring fingers clenched together in a manner that suggests he’s about to clamp on the Cottonmouth.)
Rezin
I’ll SHOW YOU Fear, Boogie... once these nasty-ass fingers find their way into your mouth. FEAR lies in the world of revulsion and pain I will put you in. Fear lies in the CHAOS... and it’s in that dark cloud where I forever live.
When the cage is surrounding us... when the bell rings... you’ll see for yourself what the Boogie Smallz generation has devolved into after ten years of watching a passion degenerate into a pissing contest. If I don’t outright KILL YOU, Boogie, then I’ll at the very least bring you to the brink of death.
When the darkness overcomes you in that moment... hope to see a light... but don’t be surprised if you find nothing but the VOID...
(Signalling the end of his speech, his homeless audience breaks into light applause. It’s perhaps the best ovation he’s had since crossing over to the dark side.)
Rezin
Thank you, San Francisco... it’s been a blast. Now can you fellas do me a favor and tell me if there’s actually a camera in front of me, or if I’m just hallucinating, and have been talking to myself for the past hour or however long it’s been. Come on, can I see a show of hands here?
(He gets two out of three votes.)
Rezin
There you have it! Majority rules, and the ol’ Escape Artist is once again the SANEST person in Empire Pro!
(Two bursts of a car horn catch his attention, and we can hear a car skid to a halt up the road. Rezin looks legitimately surprised.)
Rezin
HOLY SHIT! FINALLY!!
(Tossing his cardboard sign aside, Rezin quickly marches down the line and shakes every person’s hand one by one.)
Rezin
So long, Tyrone! I sincerely hope you pursue your dream of a full recovery and publishing a children’s book!
And goodbye, Butch! Don’t worry about that bitch of an ex-wife... I’m sure she’ll get run over in traffic someday!
And farewell to you, Sarge! You are a true American patriot, and don’t let a single one of those red Commie muthafuggers tell you otherwise!
(Rezin hurries over to the vehicle, an ordinary yellow cab. As the rear window pulls down, we can see somebody already in the backseat. It’s the face of EPW reporter KENNY LOMBARDO, on his way to San Diego, and his expression immediately deteriorates into dread as soon as he sees who just ran up.)
Rezin
KENNY!! Bro! Cthulhu PRAISED!!
Kenny Lombardo
Oh God... GOD IN HEAVEN... IT’S HIM!! DRIVE!! DRIVE!!!
(The cab driver slams on the gas. Rezin, with one arm on the door handle and another reaching in through the narrow opening above the window, is swept off his feet and dragged.)
Rezin
GODDAMNIT, KENNY, YOU FUCKING TRAITOR!!
(The vehicle picks up speed, and Rezin is shaken free, with the momentum causing him to tumble across the asphalt in a whirlwind of yellow dust, black threads, and a barrage of obscenities and pained groans. The taxi disappears in the distance as Rezin pulls himself back to his feet in a mess of pain and rage. Blood on his forehead, he shambles to the cameraman.)
Rezin
Okay, fuck it... we’re getting to San Diego! Where’s your van?
(Before the cameraman can react, Rezin’s hands shoot past our view, and the shot abruptly cuts to static.)
(...seriously, though, you crackaz be safe.)
(Our scene opens up yet again in San Francisco, along an overpass bridge that merges onto the freeway leading down south to San Diego. The side of the road is riddled with California’s homeless all-stars... a crack-addict, a jobless drunk, a one-armed Vietnam veteran, and at the far end of the line, a prophet of doom we immediately recognize as Empire Pro’s own Escape Artist, REZIN.)
(We’re greeted by the sight of the Goat Bastard leaning up against the handrail, shades over his eyes and mouth gaping open. On his lap there’s a cardboard sign that reads “BROKE-ASS PROFESSIONAL WRESTLER -- NEED RIDE TO SAN DIEGO!!” For a moment, our collective hearts skip a beat as we think, “Jesus be praised, the pathetic bastard is finally DEAD!” Our hopes are shattered when the guy in the weathered marines jacket sees the camera and taps him on the shoulder. Rezin jolts awake and immediately begins raking his arms and shoulders.)
Rezin
D’AH!! THEY’RE EVERYWHERE!! GET ‘EM OFF!! GET ‘EM OFF!!
(When he finally realizes it was all a nightmare, he shakes his head and looks to the maimed soldier that woke him up.)
Rezin
Ugh... ferrets. I hate those sons-o’-bishes...
(The ‘Nam vet gestures to the camera and Rezin suddenly notices that he’s on.)
Rezin
Oh, jeez... guess it’s that time, huh?
(The vet grumbles something.)
Rezin
What’s that? His partner finally posted a promo? Damn... it’s ON now.
(Getting his shit together, he pushes himself back up to his feet, cracks his neck, takes a rip off of a sludge-packed one-hitter, wastes another ten seconds of our time as he hacks up a lung, and addresses us all in a manner that can only be described as agonizing.)
Rezin
So did you hear the news, my happy little lambs? By royal decree, the ol’ Goat Bastard that’s kept jumpin’ and bumpin’ across every corner of the EPW ring is a JOKE.
Personally, I’d prefer to the term “bohemian”... but whatever, let’s roll with it. I’m a joke... a guy that makes you laugh when I stand up and try to make something happen, because the irony of my situation can’t help but draw the emotion of hilarity.
Now... I pretty much thought this was already established, but... it apparently took a “king” to come out and make it official, just in case there were a few people out there that still had it in their heads that this sludge-sucking and Nihilistic rogue of the ring is an elite-level professional wrestler. I figured a man on a throne would have more important things to talk about in his royal address to the masses other than a mere insect that he apparently “doesn’t care” about... but hey, what do I know? I’m not a king.
And I never said I was. Two tournaments ago, I declared myself the JOKER of the Cage. There’s a difference in those two, clearly. A joker is a court jester and a clown... he doesn’t have the flair or the recognition of a king, but that’s quite alright with him, because while the court laughs at him, he can only laugh back at them. People see a fool... but the fool doesn’t see people. He sees ANIMALS.
He doesn’t see a king on a throne. He sees only a child strapped into a high-chair... squealing for attention, drunk on his own ego and power, and yet... imprisoned by the duties and expectations of his position. The fool sees the the king as a child living in a perpetual state of fear that he ignores and hides from... a fear of making that one false step... that one fatal error... and giving all those braying beasts that fill his court room all the reason they need to leap upon him and rip him to shreds.
So yeah... I don’t got a problem being a joke, instead of being whatever the hell people consider “elite” these days. I mean, when you think about it, pretty much all of professional wrestling is a joke. Grown men dressing in flashy tights engaged in non-violent combat with each other for the entertainment of poorly educated lower-middle-class consumers, all the while trying to maintain it as a “serious sport”? Yeah, sounds like a joke to me...
Here’s another joke for ya: Sentient life appears on a small blue planet in an insignificant corner of the galaxy... a true cosmic miracle. It thrives and evolves... surviving numerous setbacks, ranging from climate changes to senseless conflicts and wars amongst its own kind. It triumphs over these obstacles, modernizing itself into languages, cultures, and civilizations. It builds a unified EMPIRE meant to last forever. Then it all comes crashing down under the weight of it’s own hubris... and the desire for immortality and power. The life dies... the planet dies... and the sun dies. An entire cosmic anomaly, born, alive, and dead in the eyes of God.
That life is humanity... and that planet is Earth.
(The line of hobos chuckle in unison... maybe not necessarily at his “joke”, but maybe because he sounds funny going into such a diatribe... or maybe just because their brains are so scrambled and their lives are so ruined, they’d laugh at anything at this point.)
Rezin
...seriously, what better punch line is there?
Wrestling is a joke... LIFE is a joke... READ WATCHMEN and WATCH THE DARK KNIGHT, you dumb muthafuggers.
(He takes another hit off his one-hitter to finish it off, and manages to hold it in without going into a fit coughing this time. He brazenly does this in broad daylight, in front of Friday rush hour traffic. And if somebody narcs on him, then so what? There ain’t a cop on the West Coast that can stay standing after a Damascus Heel to the face.)
Rezin
I find the humor in the dark things in life. Likewise, I find the ugly things in all that’s good. But because that runs counter to what the majority of good ol’ Jesus-lovin’ ‘MERICANZ believe in, people have this tendency to drop all of these names on me. I guess it’s the hip thing to put down the people who are already out on their asses.
Back me up here, guys, am I right?
(He gets some supportive grunts from the other homeless people, although they could also be confused mumblings.)
Rezin
They call me things like COWARD... LIAR... QUITTER...
But how am I a coward? I was the ONLY MAN to step up and challenge the Hall of Famer, “Triple X” Sean Stevens, when he came back to Empire Pro. Where was Cameron Cruise that whole time? How about Impulse? Was there something more important going on at the time that kept them from the opportunity of wrestling and possibly defeating one of the most imposing figures in this industry? I really can’t say... but I can say plenty for myself. Even knowing the odds were stacked against me, and I was guaranteed at least ONE epic superkick to the face... I FEARLESSLY walked into the lion’s den with my hair and pride on the line... sacrificing all that I had left just to have a chance to prove that I can fight the “elite” even without having to BE “elite”.
And how am I liar? I’m the only man in this federation with the balls to say things like they are! Yes, I admit I have weaknesses... I confess that there’s always that unseen risk while swimming through the ether of chaos... I concede that I am a human being, with skin that can tear, blood that can spill, and bones that can break... and by saying this, I’m only trying to be honest. Anybody else who denies these things or pretends that they don’t exist are flat-out LYING to you people. Consequently, that can be said about the majority of the Empire Pro locker room. So many people here are diseased with a self-absorbed God complex, you might as well call this federation Mount Olympus. But there are no gods in that ring... just people acting like gods... and I’m the one person trying to show this world the truth.
As for being a quitter? I think I touched upon that already. The fact that I’m still here pretty much proves what a load of bullshit that statement is.
But despite the fact that it’s nothing even close to the truth, the haters out there have dumped these names on me... and sadly, for years, I would believe them.
(The homeless entourage audibly give their sympathies. The crack-head gives an obligatory “That is WHACK, yo!”)
Rezin
As I’ve explained many times, I didn’t have an easy upbringing. It’s hard for a shrimpy kid with no father figure and no love in his life to grow up with positive self-esteem. And every time I had the chance to prove all those haters wrong, I fell short. Either I didn’t have it in me, or I couldn’t be there in the right place at the right time.
And really, THAT is what makes you “elite”... being there, in right place, at right time, and KNOWING all the right things that need to be done. Being LUCKY, in other words. The truth is, most people do the right thing, but get nowhere for it... because it wasn’t their time or place to move on up. We call these people FAILURES... which doesn’t really justify all the years of hard work, effort, and commitment they put into doing what they love.
For example, I look at my career of eight years, my modest accomplishments, and my under-appreciated matches, and the black core of my heart, there’s a satisfaction knowing that at all times, I was giving it my best, regardless of where it got me. At the same time, balancing that satisfaction is a hunger... a desire to keep going out there and doing the things I do in the ring. Because regardless of what people think about the things I’ve done, I’m much more interested in the things I WILL do.
But personal success, evidently, is inferior to PERCEIVED success. It’s all about how you twist things around. Realities can change, and all you have to do is alter the way you’re looking at it. “Triple X” Sean Stevens can call himself the greatest professional wrestler in the sport, and back it up with his results in the ring... but can you call a man “the greatest” if he doesn’t invest every spare moment of his life to the thing he represents?
(A car honks as it breezes past behind the camera. Rezin briefly holds up his sign, but his grimace shows that he’s no closer to getting a ride. He drops the sign to reveal another one being held behind it. This one reads “GIVE A BUM A RIDE AND I WON’T KICK YOU IN THE FACE -- CTHULHU BLESS!!”)
Rezin
You want another example? Okay, try this on for size...
Many years ago, I was just a kid growing up in a cornfield, back-flipping off my momma’s garage through every object I could find that would -- and in some unfortunate cases, would NOT -- break in half. Wrestling was my passion... and the wrestler I always adored and looked up to was none other than...
...you guessed it... BOOGIE SMALLZ.
Yeah, I know... BIG surprise, right? Who would’ve thought that the kid who would one day grow up to call himself “Dopesmoker” could be a fan of the guy who took bong hits before every one of his matches?
But what can I say... I was young, impressionable... most of the time STONED... and not to mention, the sport was very different back in those days. It was a time when you could smoke dope in this business and be considered cool and rebellious in the eyes fans. Smoking weed before you stepped through the ropes made you the James Dean of professional wrestling.
It was a time when Global Xtreme Wrestling reigned supreme, and you couldn’t finish a match without hitting somebody with a chair, or at the very least putting him through a table. In fact, you didn’t need any wrestling ability whatsoever to win matches and get ahead... all you needed was enough size and strength to toss the other guy around for a bit, finish him off with a generic powerbomb, and holy shit, you’re a wrestling LEGEND.
It was also a time when you didn’t really need to make any logical points in a wrestling promo. All you had to do to impress people was talk a bunch of shit, stroke your ego, and make a bunch of shots at your opponent’s sexual preference. And whoever did the most shit-talking, ego-stroking, and gay-bashing on the stick, people would just assume he won the “argument”.
The young, purist wrestlers of today’s era of wrestling turn their nose up to these extreme years, passing it off as a circus of “garbage wrestling”. I don’t know if they understand that at the time, this is what people were PAYING to see. It wasn’t our fault that the fanbase that this business depended upon had a thirst for blood... but many good men gave theirs, and would have given more... just for a chance to be immortal.
Immortality that many would never find, sadly...
(He sighs. The veteran with one arm next to him notices that he fades out for a few moments, and knows the feeling right away. When you see a man pause like that, you know he’s reliving those own moments of his life... moments that will never leave him... moments that will haunt him until his dying day.)
Rezin
I’m not proud to say it, but Erik Black the wrestler was born in this era of wrestling. But as the industry changed, so too did he evolve... eventually becoming the dastardly and dangerous figure you see before you today. All the skills of a technical wrestling Escape Artist... all the grit and guts of a daredevil Goat Bastard.
Needless to say, as those years passed, and that transformation went by, my favor of the great Boogie Smallz waned when I realized just how NOT great he really was. The only reason he was considered great back then? He was in the right time, in the right place... doing all the right things. Global Xtreme Wrestling... the early two-thousands... throwing things around, talking a bunch of shit, and hitting a lot of bongs.
But Boogie Smallz did not evolve with this industry. He was apparently frozen in time, and with his return, brings with him everything that was once great ten years ago... but not so great anymore. Boogie Smallz has walked right into the WRONG time and WRONG place... and worst of all, he’s doing all the WRONG things.
Newslfash, Boogie: It’s 2012... you’re in Empire Pro... and while you’ve put the bong down, you’re still sitting there, talking a big game with nothing to show for it, ignoring the valid threats we’ve made to maintain a frail image of badassedry, and all the while stroking your fattened ego to the point where it’s practically cumming in your face.
...but there’s jizz on MY stache, right?
(He shakes his head.)
Rezin
Take a long look in the mirror, you rehabilitated relic...
You think I’m pathetic and weak... just like everybody else in this company... but to be honest, I’m thinking the exact same thing about YOU every time I see you in front of the camera, pulling the same shit you used to pull ten years ago and thinking you’re still going to have the same level of success.
“Uhhh, you ain’t SHIT, Rezin! I don’t care about who you’ve beaten OR what you’re done in the ring!”
That’s too bad, Boogie... because being a guy who’s only professional wrestling win in the past eight or so years is over an equally washed up relic from the past, the people I’ve beaten and the things I’ve done in that ring are the only frame of reference you have to who I am as a wrestler. You should be studying those things you don’t care about in order to understand who I am... as a competitor, and as a man who is willing to go to any lengths to HURT anybody who stands in the way of his path of destruction.
You’re not focusing on the wrestler that I am. All you’re focused on is the mentality... the image... the words... the philosophy... the things, these DISTRACTIONS that everybody else who got their faces kicked in by this heel couldn’t look past. Agents of chaos like myself just LOVE distractions... because it keeps people from understanding our capabilities in the ring... and you’ve bought into it, hook, line, and sinker.
I’ll admit that I live in my own little world... but honestly, who doesn’t? You’re beyond fucking retarded if you don’t think you’re living in your own. In Smallz world, people are distinguished as “bitches” and, I would presume, real “men.” Apparently, because I decide that it wouldn’t only be a waste of time to flaunt my own ego and give some much needed verbal praise to man who hasn’t received even HALF the attention he should have had by now, I fall into this latter category.
Is that what makes me a “bitch”? If so, what would I have to do in order to get the Boogie Smallz Stamp of Approval to become an all-out “man”?
If I came out and said that nothing could stop me, you’d call me out on being overconfident. If I gave you praise, you’d accuse me of trying to kiss your ass. If I said I was the undisputed BEST wrestler in Empire Pro, you’d point to my lackluster resume as proof of otherwise. Regardless of what I say, I’m pretty sure it will all draw the same conclusion in your head. Apparently, the only way not to be a bitch in the eyes of Boogie Smallz is to simply not get involved in a match with him.
(He rolls his eyes at this logic.)
Rezin
You know, Boogie, the reason why I come out and show you my humility and lack of any pride or ego whatsoever is not because I’m weak. It’s to show you that I live free from the shackles of physical and mental boundaries.
I don’t believe in maintaining the “elite” image, because I don’t believe it exists. There’s no point in coming out here and lying to you by saying I can’t be beaten. Anything can happen once that bell rings. That’s the entire basis of CHAOS. When you leave your fate in the blind hands of the Cosmos, you can’t complain about where you end up.
Yet, you still bitch and moan about having Oreo Atari, or whatever his name is, for a tag partner. But hey man, you had the same chance as everybody else to find somebody reliable in your corner, but you were evidently too busy convincing yourself that you were just simply too BADASS to have to rely on somebody else. You can’t blame Dan Ryan for your own arrogance. Maybe finding somebody to buddy up with would have been considered gay, or maybe that would have made you a “bitch” by Boogie Smallz definition. Honestly though, you’re bitch in any case... because bitches tend to bitch, and along with a lot of pissing and moaning about how much people are holding you down, you’ve done quite a bit of that since you came back.
Speaking of your partner... OH JOY... here comes ANOTHER guy with a “I’m gonna kick you in the head” angle. First Teddy Alexander, now this guy. Bossman must be getting desperate fishing all of these guys from outside leagues. I mean, I thought it was pretty clear that I was already established as THAT guy ‘round these parts, but hey... when it comes to thinning the herd, I’ve had a tendency to outlast the wannabes. Stalker and Mr. Sunshine are gone, after all.
I always wondered what it would be like to get in a fight with one of the guys from Goodfellas... and now, I guess I’ll have the chance to realize that life-long fantasy.
Anyway... just when I didn’t think I’d ever find somebody shorter than me this far north of the border... in walks this gremlin-lookin’ dude from a place called Defiance. Never heard of it, personally... I don’t see much outside of the federation while I’m living life in the gutter... but hey, just because I don’t know it doesn’t mean I’ll underestimate that lingering unknown factor. That’s living a life of CHAOS... never knowing what might come at you, and being ready to take whatever it may bring.
The unknown, you can’t control... but it never hurts to dive in with a degree of preparation.
Will YOU be prepared, Boogie? Can you say in all confidence that choosing to go with a random partner was the best choice you could possibly make?
I made the mistake in last year’s tournament of putting my name into the hat and seeing where it got me. My partner ended up being Impulse. You’d think with a guy like that on my side, we couldn’t possibly fail... but alas, he was yet another victim of his own ego. Impulse didn’t wanted to take the cue from the Escape Artist and escape the cage when the opportunity to win the match and move on was right there and staring at us in the faces. He had to go back into the ring and try to win it the “true” way. He had to maintain his false image of elitism... and for that reason, my path in last year’s tournament was cut short, when he subsequently got his ass double-teamed and kicked to the canvas.
Before that tournament, Dopesmoker was on the fast-track to the top of this company... then along comes this asshole Marathon Man who struts his shit out, throws his own partner under the bus by telling the fans he doesn’t do things the “easy” way, rides the whole martyr angle after the dumb fucker LOST, uses all of my hard-fought momentum and marijuana moxie as a stepping stone, and cruises his way into a title match that was all but a guaranteed win for him. The stone was already teetering on the edge, but it was this catastrophe that gave it good solid kick and sent it on its way. Eventually, that stone would burn all the green out of Dopesmoker... leaving the hideous lump of REZIN that the world sees before it today.
(He grins, and mothers shriek, covering the eyes of their children.)
Rezin
Not that any of that matters any more. This year, I’m walking into the King of the Cage with a partner I KNOW I can trust... a partner that won’t put me down just to make himself look more appealing to the fans. A partner with a track record for SUCCESS... especially in the cage, of which he is ALSO a king. The only “king” I would willingly kneel to, and ironically, he rejects the crown.
Yeah, I speak highly of my partner, ANARKY... because he rocks a cause that I support. No pompous claims... no ego... just one match after the next, and a growing trail of bodies behind him. I’m not saying that makes him ideal, or “elite”, or better than anybody else by any stretch... after all, this is just the opinion of a lowly Goat Bastard... but the results are there on the tape.
You can watch it yourself, Boogie, if you still have your doubts. Fuck whether or not you’re “impressed” by any of it... you haven’t BEEN HERE the past couple years, so you don’t have room to talk. All you need to do is compare it to any other stooge back in that locker room, and you’ll see for yourself that while the elite image and mentality were never there, he proved that they were never important. Without any selfish interest in being the pinnacle of this federation whatsoever, he represented this Empire as its World Heavyweight Champion... and held onto it so hard, it took a masked man and his equally masked wife to pry it away.
Why would he want to bank in on the rematch clause on his contract? The debacle at Russian Roulette only proved that the EPW World Heavyweight Title is NOT the symbol of professional wrestling excellence everybody thinks it is... it’s simply a token to be desired by every self-infatuated jackass out there who is desperate to be acknowledged as special... superior... “elite”.
Vain little attention whores, all of them... when will they learn? A belt doesn’t make you... YOU make the BELT.
And that’s exactly what Anarky is doing with the Television ANTI-Championship, and what I hope to do with his help in taking the Tag Team Soon-to-be-ANTI-Titles. We will PROVE to the millions across this doomed planet where the “true” superiority is in this federation. You don’t become an ANTI-Champion by simply calling yourself the best. You just go into the right and PROVE that you’re the sickest muthafugger to crawl out of the back.
If I gotta kick my childhood icon’s face right through the back of his head in order to fulfill that vision of doom... then hey man, sucks to be you. Same goes for Your Cousin Vinnie.
I couldn’t kill the King on my own. No shame in that... especially considering the HUNDREDS that came and failed before me. But this tournament is the last shot I have left... and Anarky is the Ace in my hand to trump that goddamn King. And should ‘Nark fall, well... that’s where I come in. I’m the JOKER stuffed into that deck... the wild card that trumps all.
You think I’m just tagging up with him because I’m motivated by FEAR?
(Rezin giggles like a madman. A normal person would be feeling fear right now, just seeing someone so twisted taken up in sickening delight. The Goat Bastard pulls out an orb surrounded in tin foil, the great ball of black hash he earlier purchased from the medical marijuana dispensary. As he pulls away the layer of foil, the black mass underneath almost seems to cast a shadow on his weathered face, as if the very substance was diminishing the light of the day. He stuffs his one-hitter into the mound to pack it up, and puts his stash away as he lights up once more. No coughing this time... not even a clear of the throat. The smoke clears, and Rezin is still grinning on the other side.)
Rezin
You don’t know what FEAR is, Boogie. But believe me... I do. For fuck’s sake, I was MANAGED by FEAR!!
(True story.)
Rezin
What the fuck do I have to be afraid of, Boogie? What do I have left to lose?
I fight in every match like it’s the last match of my career, and live every day like it’s my last. I take the risks that you and so many others are unwilling to do, because you’ve always got the thought on your mind... “What if I seriously fuck this up? Am I going to bounce back?”
You can mock me all week if you want to turn it into an extended gay joke, but the fact is, I don’t care whether I bounce back or not. All I care about is whether or not the impact leaves a black STAIN that you just can’t wash off, no matter how hard you scrub.
(He holds up his hand, the stands tips of his middle and ring fingers clenched together in a manner that suggests he’s about to clamp on the Cottonmouth.)
Rezin
I’ll SHOW YOU Fear, Boogie... once these nasty-ass fingers find their way into your mouth. FEAR lies in the world of revulsion and pain I will put you in. Fear lies in the CHAOS... and it’s in that dark cloud where I forever live.
When the cage is surrounding us... when the bell rings... you’ll see for yourself what the Boogie Smallz generation has devolved into after ten years of watching a passion degenerate into a pissing contest. If I don’t outright KILL YOU, Boogie, then I’ll at the very least bring you to the brink of death.
When the darkness overcomes you in that moment... hope to see a light... but don’t be surprised if you find nothing but the VOID...
(Signalling the end of his speech, his homeless audience breaks into light applause. It’s perhaps the best ovation he’s had since crossing over to the dark side.)
Rezin
Thank you, San Francisco... it’s been a blast. Now can you fellas do me a favor and tell me if there’s actually a camera in front of me, or if I’m just hallucinating, and have been talking to myself for the past hour or however long it’s been. Come on, can I see a show of hands here?
(He gets two out of three votes.)
Rezin
There you have it! Majority rules, and the ol’ Escape Artist is once again the SANEST person in Empire Pro!
(Two bursts of a car horn catch his attention, and we can hear a car skid to a halt up the road. Rezin looks legitimately surprised.)
Rezin
HOLY SHIT! FINALLY!!
(Tossing his cardboard sign aside, Rezin quickly marches down the line and shakes every person’s hand one by one.)
Rezin
So long, Tyrone! I sincerely hope you pursue your dream of a full recovery and publishing a children’s book!
And goodbye, Butch! Don’t worry about that bitch of an ex-wife... I’m sure she’ll get run over in traffic someday!
And farewell to you, Sarge! You are a true American patriot, and don’t let a single one of those red Commie muthafuggers tell you otherwise!
(Rezin hurries over to the vehicle, an ordinary yellow cab. As the rear window pulls down, we can see somebody already in the backseat. It’s the face of EPW reporter KENNY LOMBARDO, on his way to San Diego, and his expression immediately deteriorates into dread as soon as he sees who just ran up.)
Rezin
KENNY!! Bro! Cthulhu PRAISED!!
Kenny Lombardo
Oh God... GOD IN HEAVEN... IT’S HIM!! DRIVE!! DRIVE!!!
(The cab driver slams on the gas. Rezin, with one arm on the door handle and another reaching in through the narrow opening above the window, is swept off his feet and dragged.)
Rezin
GODDAMNIT, KENNY, YOU FUCKING TRAITOR!!
(The vehicle picks up speed, and Rezin is shaken free, with the momentum causing him to tumble across the asphalt in a whirlwind of yellow dust, black threads, and a barrage of obscenities and pained groans. The taxi disappears in the distance as Rezin pulls himself back to his feet in a mess of pain and rage. Blood on his forehead, he shambles to the cameraman.)
Rezin
Okay, fuck it... we’re getting to San Diego! Where’s your van?
(Before the cameraman can react, Rezin’s hands shoot past our view, and the shot abruptly cuts to static.)
JLevinson
Diva Tree
- Joined
- Jan 1, 2000
- Messages
- 707
- Points
- 0
- Age
- 43
(FADEIN to the local pub we have seen many, many times before. Sitting at the bar is Anarky, in street clothes. He’s wearing a new Yellow & Green Baroness t-shirt and drinking a Hooker Pale Ale and watching college football on television in a corner by himself. Most of the bar is empty.)
ANARKY: “Wrestlers are a funny bunch, aren’t they? There was a time when they were showmen... perhaps ringleaders... athletes... brutal gladiators.
“Now? Politicians with muscles. Staying on message. Repeat repeat repeat. Constantly selling their ideology to the masses.
“Do you support Boogie Smallz? Do you throw your vote behind Dentari?
“Of course, it’s the nature of this business to talk, isn’t it, Boogie. I know this. I am not quite as ignorant as my facepaint may have you believe.
“But do you truly believe that what I have done is... brag? Am I truly the hypocrite you sell me as?
“By merely implying that you are not the first to threaten to break me, am I really talking about how wonderful and great I am? Because I simply haven’t been utterly destroyed yet?
“I guess the standards are pretty low, aren’t they, Boogie. Well, I am sorry I spoke so glowingly of myself and my ability not to be killed by gangs of roving thugs. Heck, I don’t even remember saying I actually won any matches, but hey, you’re the expert, Smallz. You tell me.
“I mean, you’ve obviously got me all figured out, right? I’m afraid of this cold, dark world. I need Rezin. I’m afraid... so very afraid... to be by myself. You’ve really been paying a lot of attention to my career, I can tell, Boogie. You’ve watched a lot of tape.
“Because if there’s one thing the analysts always say about me, it’s that I really rely heavily on other people.”
(He smirks and raises his bottle, taking a sip and chuckles.)
ANARKY: “You keep putting words in my mouth, Boogie. You keep spreading your lies. I don’t blame you. As you said, all we can do is talk. But that doesn’t mean you need to just repeat any drive that enters into your shallow little mind.
“It’s okay, my friend, to keep a few things to yourself.
“I am not redefining Empire Pro. I am showing you what’s possible. I am showing you that you don’t need to endlessly jerk yourself off on camera and threaten to break people you know nothing about.
“There is another way. My way. The truth.
“The truth is that we have become so consumed, so obsessed, so endlessly f*cking concerned with how we look and what our image looks like that we have forgotten ourselves.
“At Black Dawn, it wasn’t about Anarky. It wasn’t even really about the Empire Pro Anti-Television Title.
“It was about the madness of seven distinct men... clawing desperately.. doing anything they can... defining themselves, not by what the crowd imagines they are, but who they truly are.
“It was f*cking beautiful.
“And I helped create it.
“But you cannot understand, Boogie. You are not an artist. You are a politician like the rest.
“You just keep staying on message. You just keep repeating the same tired cliches about how mediocre I am, about how my career doesn’t matter anymore, about how the whole world has passed me by. Maybe if you keep saying it, somebody will care.
“But it won’t be me.
“I have something beautiful to create... to destroy... to redefine.
“Art can be painful, Boogie. But it is always worth it.”
(He contemplates this a moment and then speaks again, addressing nobody in particular.)
ANARKY: “And now we have Alceo Dentari, who apparently decided that the best way to make his vocal debut in the Empire would be to take a sh*t all over it.
“Nice.
“Well, Aleco, I will forgive you your ignorance because you wear it so shamelessly that it’s difficult for me to feel angered or offended. After all, while I may be one of the Empire’s most stalwart members... one of its defining champions...
“... it is not, in fact, my Empire.
“Not yet, anyway.
“You know nothing of the war you have entered, my friend. And you should probably keep it that way.
“Because this is not the time for false bravado. This is the time to wait and learn. To understand the situation you find yourself in. To learn and adapt.
“But instead you wave your flag of ignorant and pride and you expect it to... protect you? Impress us?
“There is only one way to impress us, my friend, and it is not by insulting our names. Heck, if I could go back, do you think I’d name myself the thing I did 16 years ago? I suspect not.
“But I am what I am. My name defines me... represents me... and my vision.
“My beauty and tragedy and truth.
“The blood I paint the canvas with. The delicate dance we weave as the crowd screams for our misery.
“I am all of these things and more and less and some things in between.
“You may not understand my partner, Rezin... because you have never heard truths before.
“But Rezin is a man simply tired of watching the lies... the non-stop shoveling of sh*t by politicians like you, glad-handing your fake agenda and your bullsh*t to every greedy marketing f*ck who can sell a catch phrase on your back...
“He sees all I have done for the Empire. all the beauty I have created. All I have sacrificed and destroyed and recreated in my image.
“And he wonders why nobody can see. He wonders why people still worry about false idols like Impulse and liars like First.
“He wonders... why it isn’t fair.
“But great artists are never understood in their era. And nobody really understands the truth when they first hear it.
“Only decades from now will they understand this moment in time... this evolution in our sport.
“And they will look at us and know...
“... that even surrounded by the fake and the weak... the sad and the petty... the talkers and fakers...
“... we stood for something.
“We were the Empire all along.”
(FADEOUT.)
ANARKY: “Wrestlers are a funny bunch, aren’t they? There was a time when they were showmen... perhaps ringleaders... athletes... brutal gladiators.
“Now? Politicians with muscles. Staying on message. Repeat repeat repeat. Constantly selling their ideology to the masses.
“Do you support Boogie Smallz? Do you throw your vote behind Dentari?
“Of course, it’s the nature of this business to talk, isn’t it, Boogie. I know this. I am not quite as ignorant as my facepaint may have you believe.
“But do you truly believe that what I have done is... brag? Am I truly the hypocrite you sell me as?
“By merely implying that you are not the first to threaten to break me, am I really talking about how wonderful and great I am? Because I simply haven’t been utterly destroyed yet?
“I guess the standards are pretty low, aren’t they, Boogie. Well, I am sorry I spoke so glowingly of myself and my ability not to be killed by gangs of roving thugs. Heck, I don’t even remember saying I actually won any matches, but hey, you’re the expert, Smallz. You tell me.
“I mean, you’ve obviously got me all figured out, right? I’m afraid of this cold, dark world. I need Rezin. I’m afraid... so very afraid... to be by myself. You’ve really been paying a lot of attention to my career, I can tell, Boogie. You’ve watched a lot of tape.
“Because if there’s one thing the analysts always say about me, it’s that I really rely heavily on other people.”
(He smirks and raises his bottle, taking a sip and chuckles.)
ANARKY: “You keep putting words in my mouth, Boogie. You keep spreading your lies. I don’t blame you. As you said, all we can do is talk. But that doesn’t mean you need to just repeat any drive that enters into your shallow little mind.
“It’s okay, my friend, to keep a few things to yourself.
“I am not redefining Empire Pro. I am showing you what’s possible. I am showing you that you don’t need to endlessly jerk yourself off on camera and threaten to break people you know nothing about.
“There is another way. My way. The truth.
“The truth is that we have become so consumed, so obsessed, so endlessly f*cking concerned with how we look and what our image looks like that we have forgotten ourselves.
“At Black Dawn, it wasn’t about Anarky. It wasn’t even really about the Empire Pro Anti-Television Title.
“It was about the madness of seven distinct men... clawing desperately.. doing anything they can... defining themselves, not by what the crowd imagines they are, but who they truly are.
“It was f*cking beautiful.
“And I helped create it.
“But you cannot understand, Boogie. You are not an artist. You are a politician like the rest.
“You just keep staying on message. You just keep repeating the same tired cliches about how mediocre I am, about how my career doesn’t matter anymore, about how the whole world has passed me by. Maybe if you keep saying it, somebody will care.
“But it won’t be me.
“I have something beautiful to create... to destroy... to redefine.
“Art can be painful, Boogie. But it is always worth it.”
(He contemplates this a moment and then speaks again, addressing nobody in particular.)
ANARKY: “And now we have Alceo Dentari, who apparently decided that the best way to make his vocal debut in the Empire would be to take a sh*t all over it.
“Nice.
“Well, Aleco, I will forgive you your ignorance because you wear it so shamelessly that it’s difficult for me to feel angered or offended. After all, while I may be one of the Empire’s most stalwart members... one of its defining champions...
“... it is not, in fact, my Empire.
“Not yet, anyway.
“You know nothing of the war you have entered, my friend. And you should probably keep it that way.
“Because this is not the time for false bravado. This is the time to wait and learn. To understand the situation you find yourself in. To learn and adapt.
“But instead you wave your flag of ignorant and pride and you expect it to... protect you? Impress us?
“There is only one way to impress us, my friend, and it is not by insulting our names. Heck, if I could go back, do you think I’d name myself the thing I did 16 years ago? I suspect not.
“But I am what I am. My name defines me... represents me... and my vision.
“My beauty and tragedy and truth.
“The blood I paint the canvas with. The delicate dance we weave as the crowd screams for our misery.
“I am all of these things and more and less and some things in between.
“You may not understand my partner, Rezin... because you have never heard truths before.
“But Rezin is a man simply tired of watching the lies... the non-stop shoveling of sh*t by politicians like you, glad-handing your fake agenda and your bullsh*t to every greedy marketing f*ck who can sell a catch phrase on your back...
“He sees all I have done for the Empire. all the beauty I have created. All I have sacrificed and destroyed and recreated in my image.
“And he wonders why nobody can see. He wonders why people still worry about false idols like Impulse and liars like First.
“He wonders... why it isn’t fair.
“But great artists are never understood in their era. And nobody really understands the truth when they first hear it.
“Only decades from now will they understand this moment in time... this evolution in our sport.
“And they will look at us and know...
“... that even surrounded by the fake and the weak... the sad and the petty... the talkers and fakers...
“... we stood for something.
“We were the Empire all along.”
(FADEOUT.)
(FADEIN to Boogie Smallz standing in front of an EPW backdrop, mic in hand, with a monitor beside him playing the end of Rezin’s latest promo.)
BOOGIE SMALLZ: My life hasn’t always been peaches and cream. I didn’t have the luxuries that most other folks did. I came from the gutter and built myself up to the man that I am today. From hustlin’ on the streets sellin’ dove sacks and raisin’ myself after my parents died. To becomin’ a professional wrestler and reachin’ the pinnacle of the sport by capturing the World heavyweight championship. Nothin’ was ever handed to me. I had to scratch and claw my way to reach my goals. No one thought that I’d live to see the age of 21. If I wasn’t dead, they figured I would be locked up in prison for first-degree murder or armed robbery. But despite all that, I got myself off the streets. I found a better life. A way to harness my energies into doin’ what I was always good at…kickin’ somebody’s ass.
Granted, I haven’t been happy with all the steps I made. I started off in the business as a comedy act. A “joker” if you will. But I parlayed that into success. Sure, I would be dressed up in a leisure suit and dancin’ to Earth, Wind, and Fire in the center of the ring with a disco ball hangin’ overhead and managed by a midget. But regardless of what was thrown at me, I ALWAYS made the best out of the situation. And when I was fed up with management, when I couldn’t take any more mental abuse that was bein’ dished out by bein’ degraded by shystie promoters and folks usin’ my efforts in a way to load up their bank accounts…I decided to take my life in my own hands and be the true person I am instead of a clown that was bein’ made a fool of.
I could’ve been blackballed from the industry. Set out to pasture and never heard of again, but I always had that one intangible that very few have in this business. CHARISMA. It’s not somethin’ you can learn, it’s not somethin’ you can cultivate over time. You are either born with it or you’re not. And apart from bein’ paired with a wacky sidekick and a vertically challenged manager…the true talent rose above it. I outshined anyone I was in the ring against.
At a time when tag wrestling was dyin’…I was the one man that kept the blood pumpin’ through it so that it would live on. And after the Hip Hop Express ran its course, I wanted my time in the limelight to prove to myself and all the doubters that I could be a singles performer and rise to heights that I couldn’t reach in the tag team division. The CSWA saw things differently. They had no faith. They were too busy pushin’ the next flash in the pan or outdated over-aged superstar at the top of the bill. It was like a revolving door of World champions, there one minute…gone the next. And Uncle Chad didn’t want his tag division to die. We were the cornerstone of the tag division.
The last straw, the one that broke the camel’s back, was when he started to book his singles stars into tag teams because the top spot was overcrowded. I had had enough. I wanted to go out on my own and prove him wrong. I wanted to show the world that I offered much more than bein’ one-half of the greatest tag team to ever hit the squared circle. That I was a diamond in the ruff and if given the opportunity, could be the face of the organization and lead it to heights it had never seen.
And I did that. But not with the CSWA. I knew I needed to sever ties with them and branch out on my own. And GX-Dub was the place that allowed me to be me. People said I was crazy, that I would never amount to anything. People like Cameron Cruise. He laughed at me. (Pauses.) Him…laugh at me? (Shakes his head.) And I set out to show the naysayers wrong. And when I hit GXW…it was a breath of fresh air. It was the surge they needed to take them to the top and prove to the world that they were the single greatest company on the face of the earth. And as I rose to prominence, I surpassed those people that laughed at me…that thought I could never do it. And every step of the way, match after match, opponent after opponent, I beat them all and took myself to a level that no one could ever reach. I was untouchable.
But let me stop with the history lesson, because no matter how I explain it…until you’ve walked in my shoes and taken the path I did…you will never truly understand the sacrifices that I made to get where I am.
Maybe I could explain this to a group of homeless vagrants and gather them around like I’m a disciple…but that’s about as good as tellin’ my story to a deaf person. What’s the point of wastin’ your breath, Rezin?
All I saw was you standin’ on your soapbox tryin’ to rally the scum of the earth to believe in the words you were spittin’. But at least you didn’t cut your promo on an empty football field at some shitty school. Anarky just mailed it in…he didn’t put any effort towards this match because he doesn’t give a shit about your “cause”. And if he didn’t realize then, he realizes it now when that ish came to him back in his mailbox marked “return to sender” because the idiot didn’t even bother to put on a stamp when he dropped it in the box.
This is the man you put all your faith in? This is the man that brought you on as a disciple? A man that doesn’t give two squirts of piss about himself or you. Half-assin’ his attempt to shut me up and providin’ a weak-ass retort to the bombs I’ve been droppin’? You two are obviously in enough “chaos” because you lack initiative. You have no game plan. Your pathetic attempts to try and put me in my place fell to the wayside and what that reveals to everyone watchin’ is that your threats are hollow. They have nothin’ backin’ them up.
You obviously hold this man a pedestal. But let me remind you, you can rename a title all you want…it still doesn’t mean shit. In the peckin’ order of titles…that’s at the bottom rung. You two might as well be pimpin’ the defunct Women’s championship and tryin’ to add weight to your claims. You are so blinded by your undivided love for this man, that you fail to see that he no longer matters in this industry. He practically said it himself. And you follow him around like a lost puppy hopin’ he will take you home and take care of you because you’ve got daddy issues stemmin’ from your lack of attention when you were growin’ up. Save it for your group therapy session…none of us give a damn about your sob story. (In a mockingly whiny voice, imitating Rezin.) “Boo hoo…no one loves me…but Anarky does. He will take me under his wing and we will ruin Empire Pro together.”
The thing is…you are ruinin’ the company without even tryin’. Just your mere existence of empty threats and the piss-poor attempt of rebranding the TV title are proof of this. If you wanted to truly make waves, you start with the title that gets people’s attention. The one held by The First. And even with a rematch for the belt whenever he wants it…your “fearless” leader is too much of a pussy to cash it in. I guess he knows the outcome before he even goes that route…so why even bother. He is basically admitting defeat.
So if you aren’t in this to win the World title, what the hell are you even here for? Don’t give me that lame ass ish about “you just want to cause chaos and inflict pain on others” autofill answer you give everything. It’s old and tired, like Anarky. It doesn’t hold any weight. What chaos have you imposed on EPW? What great feat of turmoil have you accomplished since teamin’ up with Anarky? That answer is real simple…you ain’t done JACK SHIT!
You asked me about the definition of a man and what makes someone NOT a bitch. A quick answer to that would be look at yourself in the mirror and do the exact opposite of what you have done thus far. But because you may say that’s the cheap way out…let me break it down for you.
A real man doesn’t need to have a partner in crime to do his bidding. He doesn’t need to be a sheep obeying the orders of someone and be made to look weak because of it. A man goes out on his own and proves his worth day in and day out…conquerin’ whatever obstacles stand in his way to the best of his abilities. He doesn’t FOLLOW anyone…he stands on his own two and does ish his way. If you had ANY of these qualities, I might have some respect for you, But the simple fact that you are subservient to Anarky further proves my point of you bein’ nothin’ more than a bitch!
And as much as you hate to hear it and all the talk you made about things being "perceived". I got a newsflash for you, douchebag. PERCEPTION IS REALITY!
But perception is sometimes seen as transparent…when you don’t have the track record to back up your claims. You tellin’ the world that you had the balls to face Sean Stevens when no ones else did…it just doesn’t really have a lot of weight to it because you didn’t do anything. He whipped your ass and went about his business. You were nothin’ more than a flea circling around his head that he swatted at a few times before givin’ you the deathblow to put you out of your misery. A nuisance that got dealt with. You were never considered by anyone to be a threat. And as long as your saddle up with Anarky, that’s all you will EVER be considered as being.
You think you have me figured out. You obviously haven’t done your research. My last match in the past 8 years was against Poe? Wrong again, dumbass. Because if you paid any attention to the Ultratitle tournament, you would’ve known that I was fuckin’ fools up in there and lasted way longer than over half the chumps in Empire Pro! But I guess you lost interest in it after you got SQUASHED by Deacon in record time. He might as well had been facin’ Space God or some other jobber they dug up for card filler. Which is all that you truly are…just card filler. Someone to enhance the other talent and take up a spot on the show and the only reason they keep you around is because you have SKILL.
No…I didn’t just mispronounce the word because of my Ebonics. You have one skill, singular, and it’s all you talk about. The Dumb-ass-kiss Heel. And apparently, you don’t even do that all too well if Dan Ryan keeps bringin’ in peeps that can throw kicks too. To be honest with you…the first time I heard you talk about it…I thought they were some designer high heels you put on when you cross-dress.
Oh yeah…and how could I forget. You like to finger dudes too. And you can defend that and say (In a whiny voice, imitating Rezin.) “No…you got it all wrong…I like to put my fingers in their mouth.” Look, just because you have some sick oral fixation…doesn’t mean the rest of us do. You like long things in your mouth, believe me…I think we all realize this. But don’t project your fetish onto others. You sick bastard.
Oh…I’m sorry. You sick Goat Bastard. Isn’t that from Chronicles of Narnia? You steal socks, do you? I fail to see the relevance of you callin’ yourself that and what it has to do with any form whatsoever of intimidation. Its childish…grow the fuck up. Stop watchin’ your fairy tales and tryin’ to bring fantasy into the real world.
(Boogie watches the latest promo from Anarky and shakes his head.)
Anarky, I never said I was a politician, but there you go sayin’ ish and twistin’ words like you accuse me of doin’. How adorable. You seem to have really put me in my place by spreadin’ your own propaganda and politicking the same that you say of me. You and Rezin contradict yourselves every step of the way. You are hypocrites. You may not like it, but listen to the words you speak.
From Rezin no-sellin’ the business by sayin’ all it is is “nonviolent combat” and then goes on to say that he will sacrifice himself in the ring. To Anarky claimin’ to have turned a seven man match into at Black Dawn into some work of art that was beautiful…when in reality all it was was a match that he barely escaped from by the skin of his teeth.
You think its art? Some dude in a beret can shit on a plate and call it art too, but it doesn’t mean it is. It’s just shit on a plate. And if it’s a case of beauty bein’ in the eye of the beholder…the eyes of that beholder will be swollen shut by my fists! I got some art for you, I will display it for the world to see inside that cage…when I paint the ring canvas with your blood like a ma’phukin’ Picasso!
Do you think you have me shook from your attempt at intimidation? I could be teamed up with anyone…it doesn’t matter. Alpha Centauri…the tooth fairy…the Easter Bunny, I really don’t give a damn who it is. They know, just like the rest of the world does…that I am the golden ticket to greatness. I will lead whoever to the promise land because I am that confident in my abilities. No need to go in the locker room and find a partner of my choosing because it’s pointless. I’m not a gutless coward like you two. I don’t need to invest my time or waste my energy in doing that…because the outcome will always be the same. I will win…that’s all I know…that’s what I do.
And Rezin…since you are such a mark for me. A big fan from back in the day, how about I sign a glossy 8x10 with your blood after the match you can have a keepsake for the night your idol slapped you silly and beat you and your partner to a bloody pulp? It’s the least I could do for eliminatin’ your punk ass from King of the Cage and sendin’ you back home with nothin’ to show for it. All the false promises of unleashin’ chaos and bein’ responsible for my demise…you deserve at least a small token of appreciation for helpin’ me advance on to Round Two and leavin’ you fools in a state of comatose.
Enjoy these last few days you have before we get locked up in the cage. These precious moments should be remembered and looked back on with fondness while you lay in ICU thinkin’ about the time before you crossed paths with me. When you had perfect vision, when you didn’t walk with a limp, when you didn’t have to see a neurologist for your uncontrollable bowel movements and excruciating migraine headaches.
I’m not gonna kill you, like Rezin wants to do to me. No tattooed tears on my cheek, I left that lifestyle behind many years ago. I would rather you suffer and wallow in your own pity. I would rather inflict permanent injury to you that can’t be fixed. That will remind you every day of your miserable life not to open your mouth and talk shit to someone that will cause irreversible damage to your body. I don’t need to evolve my wrestling style to do that…I’ve been doin’ it to people since the day I was born.
Doubt it all you want, swear up and down it won’t happen…but in the end ya best…BELIEVE ‘DAT!
(Smallz mean mugs the camera and grits his teeth.)
Boog…out.
(Smallz drops the mic and steps away. FADE TO BLACK)
BOOGIE SMALLZ: My life hasn’t always been peaches and cream. I didn’t have the luxuries that most other folks did. I came from the gutter and built myself up to the man that I am today. From hustlin’ on the streets sellin’ dove sacks and raisin’ myself after my parents died. To becomin’ a professional wrestler and reachin’ the pinnacle of the sport by capturing the World heavyweight championship. Nothin’ was ever handed to me. I had to scratch and claw my way to reach my goals. No one thought that I’d live to see the age of 21. If I wasn’t dead, they figured I would be locked up in prison for first-degree murder or armed robbery. But despite all that, I got myself off the streets. I found a better life. A way to harness my energies into doin’ what I was always good at…kickin’ somebody’s ass.
Granted, I haven’t been happy with all the steps I made. I started off in the business as a comedy act. A “joker” if you will. But I parlayed that into success. Sure, I would be dressed up in a leisure suit and dancin’ to Earth, Wind, and Fire in the center of the ring with a disco ball hangin’ overhead and managed by a midget. But regardless of what was thrown at me, I ALWAYS made the best out of the situation. And when I was fed up with management, when I couldn’t take any more mental abuse that was bein’ dished out by bein’ degraded by shystie promoters and folks usin’ my efforts in a way to load up their bank accounts…I decided to take my life in my own hands and be the true person I am instead of a clown that was bein’ made a fool of.
I could’ve been blackballed from the industry. Set out to pasture and never heard of again, but I always had that one intangible that very few have in this business. CHARISMA. It’s not somethin’ you can learn, it’s not somethin’ you can cultivate over time. You are either born with it or you’re not. And apart from bein’ paired with a wacky sidekick and a vertically challenged manager…the true talent rose above it. I outshined anyone I was in the ring against.
At a time when tag wrestling was dyin’…I was the one man that kept the blood pumpin’ through it so that it would live on. And after the Hip Hop Express ran its course, I wanted my time in the limelight to prove to myself and all the doubters that I could be a singles performer and rise to heights that I couldn’t reach in the tag team division. The CSWA saw things differently. They had no faith. They were too busy pushin’ the next flash in the pan or outdated over-aged superstar at the top of the bill. It was like a revolving door of World champions, there one minute…gone the next. And Uncle Chad didn’t want his tag division to die. We were the cornerstone of the tag division.
The last straw, the one that broke the camel’s back, was when he started to book his singles stars into tag teams because the top spot was overcrowded. I had had enough. I wanted to go out on my own and prove him wrong. I wanted to show the world that I offered much more than bein’ one-half of the greatest tag team to ever hit the squared circle. That I was a diamond in the ruff and if given the opportunity, could be the face of the organization and lead it to heights it had never seen.
And I did that. But not with the CSWA. I knew I needed to sever ties with them and branch out on my own. And GX-Dub was the place that allowed me to be me. People said I was crazy, that I would never amount to anything. People like Cameron Cruise. He laughed at me. (Pauses.) Him…laugh at me? (Shakes his head.) And I set out to show the naysayers wrong. And when I hit GXW…it was a breath of fresh air. It was the surge they needed to take them to the top and prove to the world that they were the single greatest company on the face of the earth. And as I rose to prominence, I surpassed those people that laughed at me…that thought I could never do it. And every step of the way, match after match, opponent after opponent, I beat them all and took myself to a level that no one could ever reach. I was untouchable.
But let me stop with the history lesson, because no matter how I explain it…until you’ve walked in my shoes and taken the path I did…you will never truly understand the sacrifices that I made to get where I am.
Maybe I could explain this to a group of homeless vagrants and gather them around like I’m a disciple…but that’s about as good as tellin’ my story to a deaf person. What’s the point of wastin’ your breath, Rezin?
All I saw was you standin’ on your soapbox tryin’ to rally the scum of the earth to believe in the words you were spittin’. But at least you didn’t cut your promo on an empty football field at some shitty school. Anarky just mailed it in…he didn’t put any effort towards this match because he doesn’t give a shit about your “cause”. And if he didn’t realize then, he realizes it now when that ish came to him back in his mailbox marked “return to sender” because the idiot didn’t even bother to put on a stamp when he dropped it in the box.
This is the man you put all your faith in? This is the man that brought you on as a disciple? A man that doesn’t give two squirts of piss about himself or you. Half-assin’ his attempt to shut me up and providin’ a weak-ass retort to the bombs I’ve been droppin’? You two are obviously in enough “chaos” because you lack initiative. You have no game plan. Your pathetic attempts to try and put me in my place fell to the wayside and what that reveals to everyone watchin’ is that your threats are hollow. They have nothin’ backin’ them up.
You obviously hold this man a pedestal. But let me remind you, you can rename a title all you want…it still doesn’t mean shit. In the peckin’ order of titles…that’s at the bottom rung. You two might as well be pimpin’ the defunct Women’s championship and tryin’ to add weight to your claims. You are so blinded by your undivided love for this man, that you fail to see that he no longer matters in this industry. He practically said it himself. And you follow him around like a lost puppy hopin’ he will take you home and take care of you because you’ve got daddy issues stemmin’ from your lack of attention when you were growin’ up. Save it for your group therapy session…none of us give a damn about your sob story. (In a mockingly whiny voice, imitating Rezin.) “Boo hoo…no one loves me…but Anarky does. He will take me under his wing and we will ruin Empire Pro together.”
The thing is…you are ruinin’ the company without even tryin’. Just your mere existence of empty threats and the piss-poor attempt of rebranding the TV title are proof of this. If you wanted to truly make waves, you start with the title that gets people’s attention. The one held by The First. And even with a rematch for the belt whenever he wants it…your “fearless” leader is too much of a pussy to cash it in. I guess he knows the outcome before he even goes that route…so why even bother. He is basically admitting defeat.
So if you aren’t in this to win the World title, what the hell are you even here for? Don’t give me that lame ass ish about “you just want to cause chaos and inflict pain on others” autofill answer you give everything. It’s old and tired, like Anarky. It doesn’t hold any weight. What chaos have you imposed on EPW? What great feat of turmoil have you accomplished since teamin’ up with Anarky? That answer is real simple…you ain’t done JACK SHIT!
You asked me about the definition of a man and what makes someone NOT a bitch. A quick answer to that would be look at yourself in the mirror and do the exact opposite of what you have done thus far. But because you may say that’s the cheap way out…let me break it down for you.
A real man doesn’t need to have a partner in crime to do his bidding. He doesn’t need to be a sheep obeying the orders of someone and be made to look weak because of it. A man goes out on his own and proves his worth day in and day out…conquerin’ whatever obstacles stand in his way to the best of his abilities. He doesn’t FOLLOW anyone…he stands on his own two and does ish his way. If you had ANY of these qualities, I might have some respect for you, But the simple fact that you are subservient to Anarky further proves my point of you bein’ nothin’ more than a bitch!
And as much as you hate to hear it and all the talk you made about things being "perceived". I got a newsflash for you, douchebag. PERCEPTION IS REALITY!
But perception is sometimes seen as transparent…when you don’t have the track record to back up your claims. You tellin’ the world that you had the balls to face Sean Stevens when no ones else did…it just doesn’t really have a lot of weight to it because you didn’t do anything. He whipped your ass and went about his business. You were nothin’ more than a flea circling around his head that he swatted at a few times before givin’ you the deathblow to put you out of your misery. A nuisance that got dealt with. You were never considered by anyone to be a threat. And as long as your saddle up with Anarky, that’s all you will EVER be considered as being.
You think you have me figured out. You obviously haven’t done your research. My last match in the past 8 years was against Poe? Wrong again, dumbass. Because if you paid any attention to the Ultratitle tournament, you would’ve known that I was fuckin’ fools up in there and lasted way longer than over half the chumps in Empire Pro! But I guess you lost interest in it after you got SQUASHED by Deacon in record time. He might as well had been facin’ Space God or some other jobber they dug up for card filler. Which is all that you truly are…just card filler. Someone to enhance the other talent and take up a spot on the show and the only reason they keep you around is because you have SKILL.
No…I didn’t just mispronounce the word because of my Ebonics. You have one skill, singular, and it’s all you talk about. The Dumb-ass-kiss Heel. And apparently, you don’t even do that all too well if Dan Ryan keeps bringin’ in peeps that can throw kicks too. To be honest with you…the first time I heard you talk about it…I thought they were some designer high heels you put on when you cross-dress.
Oh yeah…and how could I forget. You like to finger dudes too. And you can defend that and say (In a whiny voice, imitating Rezin.) “No…you got it all wrong…I like to put my fingers in their mouth.” Look, just because you have some sick oral fixation…doesn’t mean the rest of us do. You like long things in your mouth, believe me…I think we all realize this. But don’t project your fetish onto others. You sick bastard.
Oh…I’m sorry. You sick Goat Bastard. Isn’t that from Chronicles of Narnia? You steal socks, do you? I fail to see the relevance of you callin’ yourself that and what it has to do with any form whatsoever of intimidation. Its childish…grow the fuck up. Stop watchin’ your fairy tales and tryin’ to bring fantasy into the real world.
(Boogie watches the latest promo from Anarky and shakes his head.)
Anarky, I never said I was a politician, but there you go sayin’ ish and twistin’ words like you accuse me of doin’. How adorable. You seem to have really put me in my place by spreadin’ your own propaganda and politicking the same that you say of me. You and Rezin contradict yourselves every step of the way. You are hypocrites. You may not like it, but listen to the words you speak.
From Rezin no-sellin’ the business by sayin’ all it is is “nonviolent combat” and then goes on to say that he will sacrifice himself in the ring. To Anarky claimin’ to have turned a seven man match into at Black Dawn into some work of art that was beautiful…when in reality all it was was a match that he barely escaped from by the skin of his teeth.
You think its art? Some dude in a beret can shit on a plate and call it art too, but it doesn’t mean it is. It’s just shit on a plate. And if it’s a case of beauty bein’ in the eye of the beholder…the eyes of that beholder will be swollen shut by my fists! I got some art for you, I will display it for the world to see inside that cage…when I paint the ring canvas with your blood like a ma’phukin’ Picasso!
Do you think you have me shook from your attempt at intimidation? I could be teamed up with anyone…it doesn’t matter. Alpha Centauri…the tooth fairy…the Easter Bunny, I really don’t give a damn who it is. They know, just like the rest of the world does…that I am the golden ticket to greatness. I will lead whoever to the promise land because I am that confident in my abilities. No need to go in the locker room and find a partner of my choosing because it’s pointless. I’m not a gutless coward like you two. I don’t need to invest my time or waste my energy in doing that…because the outcome will always be the same. I will win…that’s all I know…that’s what I do.
And Rezin…since you are such a mark for me. A big fan from back in the day, how about I sign a glossy 8x10 with your blood after the match you can have a keepsake for the night your idol slapped you silly and beat you and your partner to a bloody pulp? It’s the least I could do for eliminatin’ your punk ass from King of the Cage and sendin’ you back home with nothin’ to show for it. All the false promises of unleashin’ chaos and bein’ responsible for my demise…you deserve at least a small token of appreciation for helpin’ me advance on to Round Two and leavin’ you fools in a state of comatose.
Enjoy these last few days you have before we get locked up in the cage. These precious moments should be remembered and looked back on with fondness while you lay in ICU thinkin’ about the time before you crossed paths with me. When you had perfect vision, when you didn’t walk with a limp, when you didn’t have to see a neurologist for your uncontrollable bowel movements and excruciating migraine headaches.
I’m not gonna kill you, like Rezin wants to do to me. No tattooed tears on my cheek, I left that lifestyle behind many years ago. I would rather you suffer and wallow in your own pity. I would rather inflict permanent injury to you that can’t be fixed. That will remind you every day of your miserable life not to open your mouth and talk shit to someone that will cause irreversible damage to your body. I don’t need to evolve my wrestling style to do that…I’ve been doin’ it to people since the day I was born.
Doubt it all you want, swear up and down it won’t happen…but in the end ya best…BELIEVE ‘DAT!
(Smallz mean mugs the camera and grits his teeth.)
Boog…out.
(Smallz drops the mic and steps away. FADE TO BLACK)