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DIRTY AMERICAN DREAM Dare, Brick, and Shane fell. They fell for a long time. When they landed, they landed in a mine cart. Brick lands first with Dare and then Shane after him. All three re adjust and Brick immediately grabs for the break release. “Cool, check me out, I’m an engineer!” Brick laughs. “Don’t!” Shane and Dare say in stereo. The mine cart starts moving. Up ahead it’s too dark to even tell where it’s going. Brick looks forward with a big dumb grin on his face. The speed blows his hair back. Soon the cart is building up to ridiculous speed. “Woooooo!’ Brick screams “You fucking idiot!” Shane hollers. “Where does this thing lead?” Dare asks. They pass a sign marked dead end. There’s a rail switch up ahead. Brick produces a miner’s helmet from the cart and slaps it onto his head. He flips the light on and throws his arms up in the air. Shane reaches out, ready to hit the track switch! “This is Rad!” Brick yells, turning to look at Dare and Shane! The light blinds Shane and he misses the track switch. The cart veers sharply to the left and damn near dives straight down! All three men scream as they hold on for dear life! “I hate you Briiiiiick!” Shane yells, slapping Brick in the head several times. Dare pulls a candy necklace from his pocket and tries to strangle Brick with it. Brick flips it up into his mouth. “Mmmm.” Suddenly they hit a curve in the track that takes them straight up and the cart spits them out! Once again they’re flying through the air. “Ohhhh shiiiittttt!” Shane screams. They all disappear into the darkness. Shane closes his eyes, giving up any hope that he had left of ever getting the hell out of the problem. BAM! Brick, Dare, and Shane all land in the back seat of a car. Once they collect themselves they realize they’re in the back of a car. In the front seat is Calvin Peirce and Adam Moore. The Gentleman’s Club. Shane takes it all in and looks all around. “Who are these guys?” Dare asks. “Dapper debonair Gentlemen types!” Brick says, emphasizing their suits. “Of course Brick.” Shane smirks, “They smell of precious oils.” Calvin Peirce looks at his teeth in the rearview mirror, “Have you ever considered teeth whitening?” “Why, there’s nothing wrong with your teeth.” Moore says, watching the city go past. “Too white and it looks fake, but a touch here and there wouldn’t hurt.” Calvin says, licking his teeth and looking into the mirror. “I don’t know about teeth whitening but you certainly might look into touch of grey hair coloring.” Adam offers up a plan, “It’d give you just enough grey to look professional but enough color to say you’re still a playboy.” “Hmm. I’d never really considered a change with the hair.” Calvin sniffs the air, “Do you feel like we’re being followed?” Moore adjusts the mirror, “I don’t see anyone.” “Hmm. Must be nothing.” Calvin mutters. “So have we decided where to go to dinner?” Moore asks. “I was in the mood for Prime Rib.” Moore nods, “I know a quaint little place that serves great steaks.” Shane slams his head repeatedly on the back of the seat as he screams, “This is an alternative to hell?!” “Mmmm. Steak.” Brick adds. Dare reaches for the handle but Shane slaps his hand away, “No Lady Thirteen for us again. Sheesh.” “Oh, yeah, right.” Dare mopes. Shane pulls the door handle and they all fall out together. They hit the ground rolling painfully to a stop. Brick lays on his back, counting stars. Shane looks up and realizes they’re in an office. Shane sits up and sees a psychiatrist. He blinks and shakes his head. “Huh?” Shane asks. Dare peeks over the back of the big couch and snickers as he points down. Shane looks up over the wing chair and sees a man resembling Shawn Walsh laying back in the couch. “Oh.” Shane stands up. “Hah, yeah, I always wanted to be a fly on this wall.” “Why can’t they see us?” Brick asks. Dare shoves Brick, “Damnit Brick, we’re dead. He can’t see us.” “But what about that boy from the Bruce Willis movie?” Brick makes a dumb face (dumb even for him), “I see dead people.” He laughs, “I love that shit.” “Shhh.” Shane says, sitting down on the end of the couch. “I don’t feel like anyone really likes me.” The patient mopes, “They treat me like an indentured servant.” “How does that make you feel?” Asks the Psychiatrist… “Bad.” He mutters. “How bad?” “Really really bad. Seth Dryden used the term “butt-hurt” and that’s how I feel. I have so much anger in me. I feel as though I’ve been raped.” he sniffles, “Raped in the FACE.” “Butt-hurt. How do you mean?” Up comes the eyebrow on the psychiatrist. “I mean that there are things in this world I deserve because I’m who I am.” The patient dabs his eye and sniffs, “I watched Brokeback Mountain TWICE and I don’t think it makes you gay.” The psychiatrist smiles, “Of course it doesn’t.” “I am superior.” The patient sighs, “Say it.” “I won’t say that.” The patient points, “SAY IT!” “No.” “What do I pay you for?! Fucking SAY IT!!!” The patient commands. “You are superior.” “I know.” He coos. “Holy tits.” Brick says, shaking his head in disbelief, “How does he get his hair to look so good?!” “Conditioner and protein packs.” Dare’s eyes meet Shane’s, “I like my hair to be soft. What?” “Huh?” Shane looks on at the patient who looks like it’s either Walsh or his twin with a smile, “All he really needs is a hug. He’s good. I kinda feel bad for talking so much shit on him.” “His hair is amazing.” Brick says, mashing it with his fingers. “It really is.” Dare admits, his arms folded across his chest, “Smells like Mangos, smell it, I’m serious.” “Fuck no I’m not smelling his hair, what the fuck are you two guys on?” Shane stands up, “I really need to find the right door.” Shane steps to the door to the office. Dare comes up beside him and Brick slaps his mask back on. “Please, let this be the right door.” Shane closes his eye and opens the door. Without another word, he steps through. Before he goes, the man on the couch mutters, “Say I’m superior… SAY IT!”
DIRTY MANIFESTO The Time Is Now. You're serious Shawn? The Time is Now. Perhaps you're referring to the right time for some soap opera dramatics? Oh, somebody shot Shawn Walsh's girlfriend, oh no! Now not only that but Shawn Walsh has found himself a rotund version of Lady Thirteen to apply to himself. The Time is Now, huh? Time to do what everyone else has been doing, say what everyone else is saying. No, I've figured it out. The Time Is Now, time to disrespect The Universal Champion by ignoring the truth. You're more concerned with your contrived little existence than you are the Universal Title or the Pay Per View. You're huddled around that bitch like you think someone didn't see that coming. You're riding with her in the ambulance. You're saying all the right things. "Oh Emmanuel, please don't die, yada yada, I have feelings for you yada yada, oh there's your assassin, let's punch her in the face." The time is now, indeed, you fuckstick, the time has come for you to put up or shut up. It's time for you to hang up. Thank god you didn't say "My time is now." Although you are really starting this "bad actor" thing pretty serious, so I shouldn't be surprised. You know what offends me about the entire thing? We use to be friends. There was a time when Shane Clemmens and Shawn Walsh would have gone back to back and fought off all the haters together. We'd a thrown down hardcore and made bitches out of anyone who decided it was a good idea to fuck with us. I guess that was then and this is now. That's how things use to be before Shawn Walsh started feeling sorry for himself. Before he needed to surround himself in a dozen servants and assorted other helpers in an entourage. Yeah. This was before Shawn Walsh needed an entourage and before he decided I was just too stupid to understand his "talent." Nah you little punk, I use to full well know your talent and I appreciated where you were coming from. That was back before you became a one trick pony that damn near kills off his stolen girlfriend all for the hopes of some silly assed ratings. This is back before Shawn Walsh stopped coming up with his own ideas. That's right. Way before he tried to be Shane Clemmens. I guess it doesn't matter though right? I am better than you--you're just too stupid to see it. You really ought to take a look at your own words space-cadet. You want to talk about who has the brains and who has the will to win the match? Yeah. Let's talk about that. See, going into this thing I knew one thing for sure. Shawn Walsh needs to be put out of the title picture now before he gets a big head. You don't belong in this match Walsh, the more and more I think about it, the more it pisses me off. Not only do you not deserve to be in the match but you haven't even really earned this. You've lucked your way into it and all you wanna do is luck your way through it. I don't know if you've noticed or not, your luck hasn't been what I'd call "Outstanding" as of late. No, you need out of the title picture so some more deserving people can get a crack at it. Don't get me wrong, there was a time when Shawn Walsh had his place. Circa two thousand seven. Look at you now, all you can do is rip other people's ideas and be just about as socially acceptable as farting on a fucking elevator full of people.
DIRTY AMERICAN DREAM Shane, Dare, and DEATHMACHINE walk along--lost in a fog bank. There is a glorious glow to everything about them--it's clouds as far as the eyes can see. "This is a bit cliché." Shane mutters, looking for signs of life. "That's the right word. Then again." Dare notices movement out of the corner of his eye. Our brave heroes turn as two glorious gates open revealing divine light. Shane throws an arm up to shield his eyes from the light. Angels roam the sky--each one more beautiful than the next. DEATHMACHINE holds his gut and complains. "My stomach aches. I think that tasteless food is about to come back to haunt me." DEATHMACHINE moans. "Shh!" Shane hushes him, "Don't say that word!" "Food?" DEATHMACHINE asks. "Look." Dare points. A man surrounded in glorious white approaches them. He is in shiney wrestling gear. He's also striking and looks rather like Nathan Gust. All three men stop as their eyes all bulge as they look on at the man...or is it a man? "Gust?" Shane blinks. The man smiles, light wraps all around him, "God. But I could see you confusing the two." "But you look..." "The end result of an over active imagination Shane. That's what you're going to tell yourself in the morning." He says, he turns to Brick, "And Brick, you can tell them you went to France." "You're sending us back?" Shane smiles. "This is already one big mess. The last thing I need are unmapped deaths. Kind of skews the 'infalibility' thing. Know what I mean?" He smiles, his teeth even shine. The Universal Title materializes over his shoulder. Shane points and squints his eyes. "That's MY Title." Shane growls. "I know, and I have it over MY shoulder, Suck on it." Gust, er, God, laughs and tosses the Universal Title to Shane. "Now you'd better get a move on, not only to you have a brutish exhibition of vanity to compete in but you've also got a gal in trouble. I figure she's got about a minute to go. Just a guess. "Let's go!" DEATHMACHINE whips his arm over his head, pointing the direction, "I know the way!" All three men head for the gates but God Gust stops them. "Hold up." He shakes his head, "Only the two of you. Dare's gotta stay." Shane spins around, "What?!" "Dare can't go back with you." "Why?" "He has to stay Shane. Say goodbye." Shane turns to Dare and reaches out, "Dare!" "Go."
God
Gust snaps his fingers and everything goes black.
To
be continued
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