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never run out of drugs

NotorisSTD

League Member
Joined
Jan 1, 2000
Messages
397
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Age
38
Location
Boston and other places.
(CUEUP: “Holy Tears” by Isis….)
(CUTTO: Black and white footage of Felix Red, standing in front of a concrete wall, again with black body paint smeared all over, denim jacket w/spikes, no shirt, dickies, wrap around sunglasses, sneering like a big mean jerk…)

RED: It just goes on…

The end continues to be the beginning born knowing. We never really outgrow anything, and everything that will happen is nothing but what has already happened.

We’re not going to let this Lindsay Lohan thing go, are we?

I might be the world champion, I might be able to do a standing 450 splash, I might be able to hit two consecutive spinning heel kicks without touching the ground, I might be one of the most dangerous athletes alive…But because Lindsay Lohan said nice things about me before I orchestrated her death, I must be worthless…

Well, fine then. If the great fates will it that I am to dogged by seemingly inconsequential matters…I present you, NFW fans, and opponents…My new manager. Zombie Lindsay Lohan.

(RYOKO MIKOTO pushes a cart of several sewn together sacks of chunky vomit, kinda resembling a humanoid form with big floppy tits, with a heavily made up happy face and a wig on the sack passing for Lindsay’s head into the shot…)

RYOKO MIKOTO: Uh, Felix? We gotta talk.

FELIX: Hush. Not now.

RYOKO: Yeah, sure. (storms off in a huff)

FELIX: So Lindsay, tell the people about my master strategy to screw Dan Ryan out of his grand anointment as Ultratitle champion.

VOMIT SCARECROW:…………

FELIX: Fascinating! Have you and Paris made nice yet? Your endless squabbling has become so very tiresome…

VOMIT SCARECROW:……

FELIX: Ah, I see. You’ve grown exhausted, once more. Well then, take yourself a refreshing power nap, eh? (kicks the pile of sacks out of the shot)

Oh, the repetition, and how it pains me. Once again, my Danny, you’ve taken to talking in circles. You’ve supposedly neglected to do nothing, but if that were true, then why would fate need to step in and erase your mistakes? If you’re supposed to be where I am, then why aren’t you? And what makes you think fate cares whether or not you choke to death on an eggshell?

Would you like to know why what I’ve done matters? I’d prefer to make that case by calling attention to the lives I’ve ruined, but maybe, for a fresh perspective, we should look to the lives I’ve improved. If you really question my overall value, ask yourself this…

Would Yori Yakamoto Jr. have a job if it wasn’t for me?

No…No he wouldn’t.

Because before me, it wasn’t cool to be a drug addict. It wasn’t cool to say things most of the audience didn’t understand. It wasn’t cool to explore uncharted regions of the dream realm during matches and interview segments…I changed all that. Now, that’s all you have to do to be a star in this company…You don’t have to be me, you just have to want to be…

There’s Yori, Maggot, Kin, a giant talking Cat for christsake, guys on other shows, and yeah, probably Jean Rabesque, wherever he is….

(CUTTO: MAD HATTER, in his bathrobe, sitting on the couch drinking Sparks…)

MAD HATTER: F(bleep) you, I don’t wanna explain who Jean Rabesque is…

(CUTTO: Felix…)

FELIX: In the ever-consequential actualized present tense, everyone is dropping acid and flying around in time machines and getting advice from dead celebrities. Before, it was just me. Can you sincerely convince yourself this is all just a coincidence? Do you really believe only in what you want to?

And why am I so special? Why was I able to alter everyone’s entire moral barometer and notion of corporeality? Why are there so few remaining, Dan the man…Who want to be you?

I’m not just a drug addict with delusions of grandeur and divinity. And I’m not just a sadistic, sociopathic glory monger with a black heart and no soul…I’m the best wrestler in the world. I’m the standard bearer for wrestling excellence. It’s not you, Dan Ryan, it’s me.

My pop-apocalypse, my neon-genesis, my one man lies, oppression, and violence experiment…when wrestling and conventional logic as we know them are obliterated, atomized, leaving not so much as a trace to remember them by….and from the nuclear winter, an entirely new way of combat and thought arises to fill the void…It’s not starting. It’s already happened. And you, Dan the man…Are in the way of progress. This is my time. This is my world. My reality. My f(bleep)king show…And you don’t have a place here.

Your problem is you’re so used to people telling you how wonderful you are, it never dawns on you that those people are clueless tag alongs who only assume you’re great because you’re supposed to be. I already know how disposable all my sucklings are. They happen to be right about how great I am, but that’s just happenstance…They don’t fully appreciate what’s happening here. Yori and Maggot and the others scratch the surface. But they aren’t men of vision. And while no one’s come right out and said it yet, popular odds are whichever one of us advances is a lock for the Conference Championship. Yori, for all his…shall we say…sazz…is no match for either of us….Well, except that one time (winks)…and I’m honestly not sure how Maggot got as far as he has…But it doesn’t matter, because what this means is, I am a lock for the Conference Championship.

Perhaps…destiny has a sense of humor, or irony, or tragedy, depending on how badly your eyes are bleeding…You, Dan the man…Despite the many, many negative things I have to say about you, are a man of vision. In a different world, in some alternate reality, you could walk with me through fields of psychic ataxia. We could play fiddles as wrestlingrome burned…And you could be free like I am…

Or free like I was….True anarchy, that’s with a cee ahch, only happens when everyone looks and acts completely differently. Convince an entire population to do enough drugs, and pretty soon you’ll be able to tell each and every one of them apart. As long as you don’t let them run out of drugs.

Think of it. No more clones of me. No more clones of you. No more goth monsters. No more bland, forgettable, purist types, no more young cocky womanizing upstart archetype, no more archetypes at all…Wrestling could become art. It’d be f(bleep)king magick. But engineering all that is a lot of responsibility. And if I’m going to actualize this lofty goal of mine….More importantly, if I’m going to acquire more drugs, sex, and money….and most importantly, if I am to prove that I am exactly what I say I am, that I am the most revolutionary athlete in existence, that this belt is the only one that means dick because it’s mine, and I that am the worlds finest wrestler…Dan, the man, you’re going to have to be hospitalized.

I had a destiny once, and I saw it all unfold before me. Now I am destiny. You three aspire to forge your own, and make me yours, but that’s going to be hard to do with a fractured skull.
 

DBrunkGXW

Consigliere
Joined
Sep 11, 1997
Messages
4,815
Points
36
Age
47
Location
Katy, TX
FADE IN....

Dan Ryan standing on a dark balcony sometime after midnight in the Tokyo Prefecture, looking down on the lights of the city. Ryan is finishing a long laugh, a good guffawing laugh that finishes just after the camera starts rolling. Ryan wipes tears from his eyes, smiles and leans over to look down again as the bustle of the city goes on seemingly forever.


Ryan: "Felix started a joke....."

"Hey Felix. Something just occurred to me. I really blame myself for missing the obvious. And it brings to my attention the depths to which you're trying really really hard to cover all possible parts of your ass in what you keep saying all week. I love it, and it's finally amused me to the point of just letting go and laughing as loud as I can."

"God Felix, how you need me."

"I love...and I mean I absolutely absolutely love how much time you spend propping yourself up as God only to tell me at the end that to achieve your goals...."

"Well, you have to beat me don't you? And not only beat me, but put me in the hospital. It all rests on that, and everything you've been saying all year long and every drug hazed alternate reality you've portrayed, and every rant and everything about everything rolled up into a little ball all rest on that."

"Because if you don't - it's bulls**t. And it's warming to the soul to hear you say it."

"So the question begs, are you saying this on purpose in order to tempt me to walk away from you, to laugh as I leave and refuse you the chance to prove yourself worthy? Or is that the point? Stay and give you your chance or else walk and hand you the Ultratitle. I like your nonsensical catch-22 argument and it's a wonder how a man so insistent that I'm talking in circles would even waste his breath putting that kind of s**t out there."

"Oh Felix, do you make this up as you go along? Do you throw it against the wall, wait for a reaction and then brainstorm over how to make it look like it was a part of the plan from the get-go?"

"Once again, they aren't imitating you all over the world, chief. You don't have that pull everywhere. You have that pull here, all because it's the world you've created for yourself. You've pulled on your little imaginary strings and made a conference into your love child - and hey, that's fine, Felix. You want to hold onto that with all your might and label the entire wrestling landscape in the same vein as this pet project of yours and your inability to see the obvious contrary nature of the real world keeps me smiling every time you open your mouth."

"Like I said before, it's hard for you to change the wrestling landscape and make the world a mirror of your drug induced consciousness when you can't even assure me that anyone outside of this current project of yours ever knows who you are."

"Yours is an ambition of change. You want the world to stop being like me, and start being like you - and if I cared about creating clones of myself then it might mean something to me. I might get upset when Kin Hiroshi starts popping pills and taking psychadelic road trips in his head instead of moving to a ranch in Texas and opening a wrestling company."

"But Felix, to put that argument to rest once and for all: Clearly, I don't think what you've done or what you're doing matters in the slightest when it comes to the bigger picture, at least not what you've done so far. Obviously, you do. You seem to think that if you explain it in a different way, I'll change my mind. I won't."

"The easiest way to put it, Felix - is that you really really really need to cripple me to validate any of this nonsense even to yourself. But...and this is the important part, Felix...."

"You won't ever be able to validate it to me. So please, stop bothering to try."

"That way, we can both step out of the circles we're talking in and go on with our lives."

"You taking credit for making being a drug user cool is like Vanilla Ice taking credit for making the bass line in Ice Ice Baby cool. Or like me taking credit for making the powerbomb cool. Or Craig Miles taking credit for making cigarettes cool. Him and James Dean and a thousand guys since the invention of the damn things. Good job with that innovation, Felix. You're the Puff Daddy of wrestling. Taking a well known offset of the human condition and then taking credit for making it interesting in our lovely sport. I'm absolutely positive that there have been drug users in the sport before you, and I can think of several just off the top of my head. And like you, the novelty of that crap made them 'big stars' in the companies they worked for. And you know what? Nobody cares now. It got old, just like it's getting old with you. But there's nothing original about it, and again that's perfectly fine with me. Just don't preach to me about it, because like you I know better. Remember who you're talking to when you try and pull that double talk bulls**t, because I'm not now nor will I ever be buying it."

"And once and for all, as if saying it two times isn't enough - the fact that you convinced a bunch of lemmings to do likewise doesn't make you anything special either, Felix. It makes them idiots. And it makes you King Idiot. For reference: please see the first two or three promotion pieces I already taped. Congratulations getting Kin, Yori and Maggot to do drugs. Nice work. Throw them some trenchcoats and see me again when they shoot up a school. Then let me know where I can find some 'give a f*ck' on sale, because I'm fresh out."

"It's not that I'm used to people telling me how great I am, Felix. It's that I know how great I am. I don't need to beat you to convince myself. Beating you is the real happenstance here in that it stands between me winning the Ultratitle and not. You could be Felix Unger for all the f*ck I care. But I'm the mother f*cking golden goose to you. You know it, and you've said it. And that's the one piece of conversation that hasn't been full on bulls**t outta you."

"Destiny can be many things, it can want me here, it can want me gone, it could want you winning and standing lord and king over all of the NFW for a day or for a lifetime. It could be whatever it is meant to be and no one would ever know if it was set off it's path or simply done the way it was meant to be all along. The bottom line though Felix is that I need to beat you only to move forward toward the Ultratitle, and that's the only motivation I need. You need to beat me to prove the worth of your very existence."

"And that speaks more volumes than any sermon you, the Hatter, a dead or alive Lindsay Lohan or any other created concoction you can conjure up could ever say."

"Congratulations leading your pack and in your pursuit of your art. Everything of yours only means anything because you say it does, and to everyone else it's as meaningless as the ramblings of a homeless man with urine stains on his pants, the leader of his own band of doppelgangers ready to take over the world and make defecation and sleeping in cardboard boxes cool. It's truly cool too, and I can't wait to see Kin Hiroshi with a tin cup and a harmonica playing bad jazz for leftover cheese."

"Your threats of a fractured skull - they wound me, Felix. They wound me. Come and crack it. Feel free to try. You won't be the first, and I guaran-f**king-tee it, Felix....you absolutely will not be the last."

"Beat me...just once - and make your life worthwhile. Beat me just once...and make me give a s**t."

"Best wrestler in the world, my ass."

FADE OUT....
 

DizzaHizza

Official Unofficial FW Party Pimp
Joined
Jan 1, 2000
Messages
788
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0
Age
41
Location
Drury Lane.
* Hiroshi shrugs his shoulders as he walks down the street sporting a brand new NFW East Referee Shirt... *

KIN HIROSHI: "You know, both of you talk a whole lot about s**t you can't change, and even more about s**t you don't know. I mean, Dan, you seem to think that Felix forced the drugs into my mouth, up my nose, in my eye, in my arm, in my ass, up my ass, and in between my toes.

"That's where you are talking about s**t you don't know. Dan, how long have we known each other? 5 years? 10 years? You know, for a professional relationship lasting that long, you'd think you would have known something about my personal life: I was popping pills before I even stepped foot back into NFW for Season Two. Do you know why, Dan? Because of guys like you who keep guys like me at the bottom. I try, and I slave, and I work as hard as I can, and I wrestle main events, and you show up to curtain jerk against Felix, and I'm suddenly a footnote on the season.

"What the f**k have you done here? Wait. Don't answer that, see, then I would be talking about s**t I can't change. Which is a point that segways perfectly into Felix Red. See, Felix, Kin Hiroshi is knocking on the gates of Hell again, begging for you to let him in. I am the newly reborn Archangel Gabriel come to serve justice to all those who do not accept the natural order.

"Felix, I'm not sitting by and waiting for that NFW World Title to drop into my lap, because it WILL be around my waist. No, instead, I'm waiting for you to finish what you started all those weeks ago. I WANT you to kill me, Felix.

"Make me the Martyr that is needed by those who hate you, Felix. I don't hate you Felix, you did what you thought you had to do, but what you HAD to do wasn't what you THOUGHT to do. What you THOUGHT of was to attack me week in and week out: make me disabled and weak and vulnerable. It didn't work though, Felix, because the only thing standing between you and the NFW World Title at the end of the season is me.

"The Muffin Man.

"What you SHOULD have done, Felix, is ignored me. Instead, you gave me a channel for all that rage, and undead power that flows from Gaia into my fists now. You are my conduit for pain, and the breakers are about to blow.

"Yet, I find myself at an impass. I find myself standing between a rock, Dan, and a hard place, Felix. So much so, that I get to decide who wins and who loses this match:

"On one hand we have a man who's shadow I have had to live in for years, never able to break free of his gravitational pull. Oh, and that WAS a fat joke, Danno. On the other hand we have the man who's defeat has been on my mind all season, and who, no matter how he tries can't keep me down.

"Dan, I'm not Felix Red, Jr. I leave that title for Hatter. Felix, I'm not dead. I leave that title for your title reign in the weeks to come.

"I guess the only thing left for me to say right now is, 'Let's get it on!'"
 

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