NotorisSTD
League Member
(CUEUP: “Negative Thinking” by TheDeathSet…)
(CUTTO: Felix Red, wearing a tattered wool trench coat and black jeans, sitting in his dressing room backstage at the last Aggression, using a razor blade to break apart a gram of white powder placed on his EPW tag team title, which is laid across one of those breakaway tables always found everywhere at wrestling shows….)
FELIX: This is where I remind you….that I told you so….That’s the problem with faith, optimism, pessimism, anything you think you believe, anything you think you can see. There’s always the lingering possibility that you are, in fact, completely insane, and the reality you’ve imagined for yourself if an elaborate defense mechanism so you don’t have to confront your inner anguish about mommy hitting you or daddy making your friends touch his wee wee or aliens abducting you or, whatever…
There’s also the possibility that you’re just really, really stupid.
(pulls a rolled up $100 bill out of his dreadlocks, and spins it around like a drumstick between his fingers…)
Of course we’ll be tag champions until we decide we don’t want to be anymore, and there’s nothing anyone, really, can do about it….I can think of a few fictional characters that could take us out, and maybe one or two avatars I’ve spoken with while dreaming, but there’s nobody in EPW who compares to any of those…
(does a few lines off the tag belt, one up each nostril…)
We shouldn’t have called ourselves, “the Forsaken,” just “Forsaken,” like how Dead Kennedys weren’t “The” Dead Kennedys. Makes more sense that way.
See, it’s not so much that me and the First are Forsaken ourselves. But the tag belts are. Anyone who cares to annoy us, or anyone we decide to target, becomes damaged goods, and therefore, Forsaken. As becomes EPW itself, perpetually so…..As in….What you've thought, how you've lived, the things you own, the people you know...These things are not for you....any of you....Not anymore.
(does another line as we FTB)
(CUTTO: Felix Red, wearing a tattered wool trench coat and black jeans, sitting in his dressing room backstage at the last Aggression, using a razor blade to break apart a gram of white powder placed on his EPW tag team title, which is laid across one of those breakaway tables always found everywhere at wrestling shows….)
FELIX: This is where I remind you….that I told you so….That’s the problem with faith, optimism, pessimism, anything you think you believe, anything you think you can see. There’s always the lingering possibility that you are, in fact, completely insane, and the reality you’ve imagined for yourself if an elaborate defense mechanism so you don’t have to confront your inner anguish about mommy hitting you or daddy making your friends touch his wee wee or aliens abducting you or, whatever…
There’s also the possibility that you’re just really, really stupid.
(pulls a rolled up $100 bill out of his dreadlocks, and spins it around like a drumstick between his fingers…)
Of course we’ll be tag champions until we decide we don’t want to be anymore, and there’s nothing anyone, really, can do about it….I can think of a few fictional characters that could take us out, and maybe one or two avatars I’ve spoken with while dreaming, but there’s nobody in EPW who compares to any of those…
(does a few lines off the tag belt, one up each nostril…)
We shouldn’t have called ourselves, “the Forsaken,” just “Forsaken,” like how Dead Kennedys weren’t “The” Dead Kennedys. Makes more sense that way.
See, it’s not so much that me and the First are Forsaken ourselves. But the tag belts are. Anyone who cares to annoy us, or anyone we decide to target, becomes damaged goods, and therefore, Forsaken. As becomes EPW itself, perpetually so…..As in….What you've thought, how you've lived, the things you own, the people you know...These things are not for you....any of you....Not anymore.
(does another line as we FTB)