BLACK DAWN 2010: TV TITLE: Layne Winters (c) vs. Erik Black vs. Karl Brown
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EpyonMarx
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[FADE IN. “The Dragon” is sitting on the end of his hotel bed, the only source of light being the bedside lamp which casts a low orange glow on the room with a brighter spot visible going down onto the pillows. Karl’s dressed casually in black jeans and a white polo-necked T-shirt with blue hoops, and his hair is kind of mussed. We can see his gym bag at the foot of the bed, and combined with his appearance it’s clear he’s just gotten back to his room. His hands are folded on his lap and his head is lowered, but it’s not immediately clear what his mood is just by looking at him]
Karl: You know, I didn’t think I’d have to apologise to the fans. Not because I didn’t walk out with the TV title, or because Layne got the victory in the end. No. I’ve found myself having to apologise because I’d forgotten just how a huge ego can cause people to do whatever it takes to get noticed. It’s like the telephone – despite all the great things the phone does, when it rings in your office or at dinner or late night when you’re trying to watch TV, it’s as if someone’s come into the room uninvited and started banging their fists on the table.
Speak to me now! Notice me! Listen to me! Speak to me now! I’m more relevant than you!
So, fans – sorry that Stalker’s such an arsehole. I would have loved to have seen how the match Layne and I were having would have ended, but Stalker’s that little child with the high pitched squeal screaming every few seconds if you dare ignore him.
But, for right now, he’s Michael Bastard’s problem. I’ll deal with Stalker down the road and give him all the attention he wants. I doubt he’ll enjoy it, but that’s going to be his problem.
That sounded dark, didn’t it? [He chuckles to himself]
Karl: I’m just a bit pissed off. It happens. Not much point whining about it any more, though, because we’re getting to do it again. Only… with slightly different rules and fewer steel banana skins.
Erik Black and Layne Winters… you know a few weeks ago I’d’ve been a little worried. I’d maybe have had a little bit of doubt. But after Aggression, when I wrestled Layne, I found out that wasn’t anything to worry about. At twenty seven I guess I didn’t need to worry about whether I could still go at a level I’m happy at, but it was nice to prove it to myself by taking Green River Justice and surviving.
Physically and mentally, I’ve never been better. Which makes Black Dawn an interesting experience. Not a step down for me, but a huge opportunity.
You see, Erik, Layne – you two are good. You’ll be tough to beat in a triple threat. But – and this is the key – neither of you is as good as you think you are. You’re confident in your own skills, but your confidence can’t hide your weakness.
Layne, I took Green River Justice, and your reaction when it didn’t get the job done? Showed me that you didn’t know what else to try. You were doubting yourself. If your big move couldn’t beat me, what else did you have in your arsenal? And every second you took in bewilderment, arguing with the ref, gave me a chance to get my bearings back and be ready for your next assault. Now? Now that I’ve felt that move, I can work out how to stop it being a factor much more easily.
Do you have anything more to throw at me, Layne? Or are you busy trying to answer that question yourself?
Because for everything you said before Aggression, all the arrogance, you couldn’t back your words up. Now, what makes you think you’re going to be able to do it at Black Dawn? Because you’re the big bad Layne Winters? A behemoth who’s going to role straight through everybody and become World Champ because, quote, you don’t have time to wait?
Like I said before, that’d be fun to see. I’m a fan of the top guys getting beaten by the person holding what’s thought of as a lower tier title. One it humiliates those with larger egos like Sean, and two – and more importantly – it elevates the non-World title to the same level as the World Title. That makes things more interesting up and down the roster. It’d be nice to see you pull it off. But that’s the future, and it’s one that I don’t see happening. For it to happen, you’d need to retain the TV title. And I don’t see that happening. Why?
You’re not unbeatable, we found that out in Las Vegas. Moan all you want but you were the one who lost that match. You’re certainly not the “dream killer” or any other cliché you want to throw around. You’re talented in the ring and you hit hard, but I’ve taken your best shot. I know I can take it again. And I know that the next level for me is within reach.
That’s what’s going to drive me at Black Dawn, Layne. Taking everything you could dish out at Aggression showed me that I’m at my best – right now. Taking it again and beating you is going to show to me that I’ve already improved. After that you can go off and do what you want – call out the World Champ, be the squeaky wheel, get your shoulders fixed, whatever. But you’ll be doing it without the TV title.
Which begs the question – how’ll you react when you finally realise, without a shadow of doubt, that you’re not the greatest, that you’re not as good as you claim? When the statue you have in your mind is reduced to a pair of legs with a stone tablet speaking of former greatness, are you going to complain and moan? Are you going to shake yourself off and carry on, knowing you got beaten and deciding to keep going anyways? Or are you going to be one of those who breaks down in the centre of the ring in tears?
You’re going to find out at Black Dawn.
Am I being overconfident? We’ll find out.
And Erik? Well, we’ll have to wait and see if he’s feeling any ill effects. I hear those steel banana skins can be deadly.
[FADE OUT]
Karl: You know, I didn’t think I’d have to apologise to the fans. Not because I didn’t walk out with the TV title, or because Layne got the victory in the end. No. I’ve found myself having to apologise because I’d forgotten just how a huge ego can cause people to do whatever it takes to get noticed. It’s like the telephone – despite all the great things the phone does, when it rings in your office or at dinner or late night when you’re trying to watch TV, it’s as if someone’s come into the room uninvited and started banging their fists on the table.
Speak to me now! Notice me! Listen to me! Speak to me now! I’m more relevant than you!
So, fans – sorry that Stalker’s such an arsehole. I would have loved to have seen how the match Layne and I were having would have ended, but Stalker’s that little child with the high pitched squeal screaming every few seconds if you dare ignore him.
But, for right now, he’s Michael Bastard’s problem. I’ll deal with Stalker down the road and give him all the attention he wants. I doubt he’ll enjoy it, but that’s going to be his problem.
That sounded dark, didn’t it? [He chuckles to himself]
Karl: I’m just a bit pissed off. It happens. Not much point whining about it any more, though, because we’re getting to do it again. Only… with slightly different rules and fewer steel banana skins.
Erik Black and Layne Winters… you know a few weeks ago I’d’ve been a little worried. I’d maybe have had a little bit of doubt. But after Aggression, when I wrestled Layne, I found out that wasn’t anything to worry about. At twenty seven I guess I didn’t need to worry about whether I could still go at a level I’m happy at, but it was nice to prove it to myself by taking Green River Justice and surviving.
Physically and mentally, I’ve never been better. Which makes Black Dawn an interesting experience. Not a step down for me, but a huge opportunity.
You see, Erik, Layne – you two are good. You’ll be tough to beat in a triple threat. But – and this is the key – neither of you is as good as you think you are. You’re confident in your own skills, but your confidence can’t hide your weakness.
Layne, I took Green River Justice, and your reaction when it didn’t get the job done? Showed me that you didn’t know what else to try. You were doubting yourself. If your big move couldn’t beat me, what else did you have in your arsenal? And every second you took in bewilderment, arguing with the ref, gave me a chance to get my bearings back and be ready for your next assault. Now? Now that I’ve felt that move, I can work out how to stop it being a factor much more easily.
Do you have anything more to throw at me, Layne? Or are you busy trying to answer that question yourself?
Because for everything you said before Aggression, all the arrogance, you couldn’t back your words up. Now, what makes you think you’re going to be able to do it at Black Dawn? Because you’re the big bad Layne Winters? A behemoth who’s going to role straight through everybody and become World Champ because, quote, you don’t have time to wait?
Like I said before, that’d be fun to see. I’m a fan of the top guys getting beaten by the person holding what’s thought of as a lower tier title. One it humiliates those with larger egos like Sean, and two – and more importantly – it elevates the non-World title to the same level as the World Title. That makes things more interesting up and down the roster. It’d be nice to see you pull it off. But that’s the future, and it’s one that I don’t see happening. For it to happen, you’d need to retain the TV title. And I don’t see that happening. Why?
You’re not unbeatable, we found that out in Las Vegas. Moan all you want but you were the one who lost that match. You’re certainly not the “dream killer” or any other cliché you want to throw around. You’re talented in the ring and you hit hard, but I’ve taken your best shot. I know I can take it again. And I know that the next level for me is within reach.
That’s what’s going to drive me at Black Dawn, Layne. Taking everything you could dish out at Aggression showed me that I’m at my best – right now. Taking it again and beating you is going to show to me that I’ve already improved. After that you can go off and do what you want – call out the World Champ, be the squeaky wheel, get your shoulders fixed, whatever. But you’ll be doing it without the TV title.
Which begs the question – how’ll you react when you finally realise, without a shadow of doubt, that you’re not the greatest, that you’re not as good as you claim? When the statue you have in your mind is reduced to a pair of legs with a stone tablet speaking of former greatness, are you going to complain and moan? Are you going to shake yourself off and carry on, knowing you got beaten and deciding to keep going anyways? Or are you going to be one of those who breaks down in the centre of the ring in tears?
You’re going to find out at Black Dawn.
Am I being overconfident? We’ll find out.
And Erik? Well, we’ll have to wait and see if he’s feeling any ill effects. I hear those steel banana skins can be deadly.
[FADE OUT]
(CUE UP: “Dragonaut” by Sleep.)
(The alter ego of the cosmic sojourner DOPESMOKER – known better to the human race as “Erik Black” appears in front of a Black Dawn 2010 banner. He sports a basic set of jeans, his favorite aviators, and the Fallen’s new “FALL TO THE DARK SIDE OF WRESTLING” t-shirt. In his mouth hangs a fat spliff, which he absently puffs away at. Standing with him on stage are the remaining members of The Fallen – Jason “Stalker” Reeves stands just to his right, wearing the same shirt and a pair of camo pants. In his right hand, he holds the forsaken bride of OMEGA – Barb, the steel chair wrapped in barbed wire.)
(Stalker sneers down at an iPhone clenched tight between both hands. Through the use of the new EPW iPhone app, he’s presently streaming recently aired Black Dawn promos straight from the federation’s website.)
Stalker
Oh, this limey FUCKER!!
(Scoffing with disgust, he hands the device back to his fellow stablemate, who checks it briefly and drops it back into his pocket. Stalker’s clearly on the verge of going off.)
Stalker
So I’m “LITTLE CHILD” begging for attention?! What a whiny, ungrateful little BITCH!!
(The DOPESMOKER drops the aviators briefly in classic 80’s fashion to give the founder and leader of The Fallen a skeptic glance.)
DOPESMOKER
“Ungrateful?”
Stalker
Damn right! I could have just as easily BASHED HIS SKULL IN with Barb when I went out there! Hell... maybe I SHOULD HAVE! Our BROTHER IN ARMS was TAKEN from us, after all...
(DOPESMOKER taps Barb and bows slightly in a brief memorandum of the currently truant member of the Fallen... OMEGA. Stalker shakes his head in rage.)
Stalker
What THE FALLEN did at Aggression was COMPLETELY JUSTIFIED!!
There was NO WAY that arrogant little PUNK Layne Winters was going to walk out of there without feeling the WRATH of OMEGA! But big man with the TINY SACK sitting behind the desk and making all the rules just stood by and DID NOTHING when they came and took him away! So in response to his lack of action... we TOOK action!
And this scrawny JACKASS wants to give me shit for stepping on his PRECIOUS LITTLE TOES!? Boo-fucking-hoo...
DOPESMOKER
Wrong place... wrong time. It’s the Way of the Universe.
(Sighing longingly, DOPESMOKER slaps Stalker on the shoulder, breaking him from the steady concentrated rise in boiling anger practically steaming out of the Fallen’s leader. As if offering him a means to vent that anger, he hands him Barb.)
DOPESMOKER
Listen, dude... don’t get yourself too worked up over “The Dragon.” He’s for ME to take care of at Black Dawn. Why don’t you channel some of that rage into getting ready to kill that Michael Bastard guy by knocking some stuff around the parking lot...
(Stalker takes possession of Barb. Images of sadism and torment flash before his eyes as his rage finds a new subject.)
Stalker
Yeah... YEAH, I think I might do that.
(Stalker broods off the stage. DOPESMOKER waits until the exit door has opened and closed behind him before taking another hefty drag off the joint and turning his attention to the camera.)
DOPESMOKER
Take my word for it, Karl Brown... that is NOT a man that you want to “deal with.” Given his bereaved condition right now... I’d hate to think of what he’d do to someone that really got on his bad side.
Remember... Rocko Daymon didn’t go out quick. Stalker hounded him over the course of a year, slowly and painfully killing off a man that claimed he couldn’t die. He makes people suffer, plain and simple. In your case, dude? Heh... I’d give him THREE MONTHS to slay the mighty “Dragon” of Empire Pro...
(Arrogantly smirking, he takes another drag.)
DOPESMOKER
Understandably, you feel shafted, since your chance at walking away with the Television Title was completely ruined. But dude... that’s because we are ruiners. Our purpose in this federation is to destroy everything that is good, wholesome, sane, and SOBER in this sport. In good ol’ fiery vengeance, professional wrestling will Fall with the Fallen. Call it apocalyptic... one-dimensional... or CHEESY, even... but the fact is, a professional wrestling world of ORDER is not as ideal as everybody might think it is. If everybody in this sport was a clean-cut, by-the-book, no-nonsense, sober-as-a-priest boy scout like YOU, Karl... things would get BORING very quickly.
Thankfully, the Natural Order of the Universe has generated US... the BAD GUYS. The Sith Lords of professional wrestling. The darkness that defines the light. Living, breathing reminders of the many things we all fail to appreciate on this meaningless blue rock.
(He grimaces slightly when his vision catches a smudge on the right lens of his sunglasses. Using his spit and his shirt, he gives them a quick wipe down.)
DOPESMOKER
Now... I know you might be thinking, “Bad guys? I though that’s what the ANTHOLOGY are for.” Well, here’s the thing...
(He pops the aviators back onto his face – dunno why, since he’s indoors, but it’s sort of a “badass” thing when wrestlers wear sunglasses – and his eyebrows pop briefly.)
DOPESMOKER
The guys in the Anthology... are a bunch of PUSSIES.
They are manicured miniature poodles on the World Champ’s leash. We’re the bloodthirsty rottweilers he kept locked away in his basement... maddened with starvation and mean to the bone.
While the Anthology would rather waste their time bitching about the way things are run in Empire Pro rather than acting out and DOING something about it, the Fallen would sooner grab a chair and DO something about it... unrestrained and impulsive as all hell. That’s exactly what Stalker did, in response to our BRO being dragged back to the nuthouse while Dan Ryan sat by and did nothing to stop it from happening.
In the process, you were saved from the humiliation of Layne Winters picking you up, planting your ass with ANOTHER Green River Justice, and picking up the three-count and the win. Instead, you got off easy at Aggression... walking out with your health, and the claim that you went as far as you did, all of a sudden, you’re relevant enough once again in your ancient career to compete for the EPW Television Title at Black Dawn.
By the look of things, Karlos... we did more favors for you at Aggression than you could have dreamed of doing on your own. And we didn’t even have to TOUCH you...
(The smirk disappears off his face as he takes another puff off the joint... now nearly a roach in his fingers.)
DOPESMOKER
Unfortunately though... the Fallen will HAVE to touch you... because in pursuing this title, you’ve found your way onto our shitlist. My job is to bring the Fall of Layne Winters’ Television Title reign... to kill off his self-loving ego and do the the world a favor...
(With the first joint burning out, he pulls YET ANOTHER one out of his pocket and puts it right into his mouth.)
DOPESMOKER
And as long as you’re looking to beat me to the punch, then my other job is to SMOKE DOPE using the fire of “the Dragon.”
(He pulls out a pretty classy custom-made lighter, designed to look like a psychedelic dragon holding it’s head upright and emitting a butane stream of fire. The end of the spliff lights up and he holds in the fresh hit with savory delight for several long moments, before letting it out and coughing a couple times. He has to clear the air of smoke before he can continue.)
DOPESMOKER
It’s not that I, personally, WANT to be the Television Champion more than either of you... because the Fallen are not in this to win titles and earn petty accomplishments. If anything, we are here to bring an end to them. If my man Stalker running Rocko out of this company means anything, it’s that NOTHING lives forever.
All the stars in the Universe will eventually wink out and die... and all champions will inevitably Fall.
(Dragon-like in his own respects, DOPESMOKER lets the second hit off the spliff course through his nose and roll off his beard in dramatic visual display.)
DOPESMOKER
Two chances have gone by where I could have walked away the Television Champion... and both times, the Cosmos has decided that it wasn’t going to be that way. The first time, I got a little overzealous... and at Aggression, Barb – being the dear that she is – stepped in and preventing me from making the mistake from ending the Layne Winters jack-fest too soon... because honestly, he hasn’t suffered enough.
But at Black Dawn, with MILLIONS of fans watching at home... I’m going to bring the world face-to-face with the MICROCOSM that is REALITY... by busting out moves that would make even Albert ****ing Einstein blow his brains out with a revolver once he realizes he wasted his entire life’s work to proving laws of physics that I just up and BREAK on a moment’s notice!
Cosmic bodies will CHRONIC COLLIZINATE in beautiful, chaotic splendor... and regardless of who walks out of that ring as the TV Champion, I can promise ONE thing...
The both of you will leave changed men. Whether it be PHYSICALLY – by scarring the both of you beyond all comprehensible recognition – or MENTALLY – by royally fucking up your MIND in disproving everything you ever thought was real in this world – neither of you will ever again be the same.
(The bass jam outtro to “Dragonaut” fades in as DOPESMOKER takes another big hit off the doob and jives out of the frame, leaving a plume of smoke in his wake. From the smoke, we go to black.)
(The alter ego of the cosmic sojourner DOPESMOKER – known better to the human race as “Erik Black” appears in front of a Black Dawn 2010 banner. He sports a basic set of jeans, his favorite aviators, and the Fallen’s new “FALL TO THE DARK SIDE OF WRESTLING” t-shirt. In his mouth hangs a fat spliff, which he absently puffs away at. Standing with him on stage are the remaining members of The Fallen – Jason “Stalker” Reeves stands just to his right, wearing the same shirt and a pair of camo pants. In his right hand, he holds the forsaken bride of OMEGA – Barb, the steel chair wrapped in barbed wire.)
(Stalker sneers down at an iPhone clenched tight between both hands. Through the use of the new EPW iPhone app, he’s presently streaming recently aired Black Dawn promos straight from the federation’s website.)
Stalker
Oh, this limey FUCKER!!
(Scoffing with disgust, he hands the device back to his fellow stablemate, who checks it briefly and drops it back into his pocket. Stalker’s clearly on the verge of going off.)
Stalker
So I’m “LITTLE CHILD” begging for attention?! What a whiny, ungrateful little BITCH!!
(The DOPESMOKER drops the aviators briefly in classic 80’s fashion to give the founder and leader of The Fallen a skeptic glance.)
DOPESMOKER
“Ungrateful?”
Stalker
Damn right! I could have just as easily BASHED HIS SKULL IN with Barb when I went out there! Hell... maybe I SHOULD HAVE! Our BROTHER IN ARMS was TAKEN from us, after all...
(DOPESMOKER taps Barb and bows slightly in a brief memorandum of the currently truant member of the Fallen... OMEGA. Stalker shakes his head in rage.)
Stalker
What THE FALLEN did at Aggression was COMPLETELY JUSTIFIED!!
There was NO WAY that arrogant little PUNK Layne Winters was going to walk out of there without feeling the WRATH of OMEGA! But big man with the TINY SACK sitting behind the desk and making all the rules just stood by and DID NOTHING when they came and took him away! So in response to his lack of action... we TOOK action!
And this scrawny JACKASS wants to give me shit for stepping on his PRECIOUS LITTLE TOES!? Boo-fucking-hoo...
DOPESMOKER
Wrong place... wrong time. It’s the Way of the Universe.
(Sighing longingly, DOPESMOKER slaps Stalker on the shoulder, breaking him from the steady concentrated rise in boiling anger practically steaming out of the Fallen’s leader. As if offering him a means to vent that anger, he hands him Barb.)
DOPESMOKER
Listen, dude... don’t get yourself too worked up over “The Dragon.” He’s for ME to take care of at Black Dawn. Why don’t you channel some of that rage into getting ready to kill that Michael Bastard guy by knocking some stuff around the parking lot...
(Stalker takes possession of Barb. Images of sadism and torment flash before his eyes as his rage finds a new subject.)
Stalker
Yeah... YEAH, I think I might do that.
(Stalker broods off the stage. DOPESMOKER waits until the exit door has opened and closed behind him before taking another hefty drag off the joint and turning his attention to the camera.)
DOPESMOKER
Take my word for it, Karl Brown... that is NOT a man that you want to “deal with.” Given his bereaved condition right now... I’d hate to think of what he’d do to someone that really got on his bad side.
Remember... Rocko Daymon didn’t go out quick. Stalker hounded him over the course of a year, slowly and painfully killing off a man that claimed he couldn’t die. He makes people suffer, plain and simple. In your case, dude? Heh... I’d give him THREE MONTHS to slay the mighty “Dragon” of Empire Pro...
(Arrogantly smirking, he takes another drag.)
DOPESMOKER
Understandably, you feel shafted, since your chance at walking away with the Television Title was completely ruined. But dude... that’s because we are ruiners. Our purpose in this federation is to destroy everything that is good, wholesome, sane, and SOBER in this sport. In good ol’ fiery vengeance, professional wrestling will Fall with the Fallen. Call it apocalyptic... one-dimensional... or CHEESY, even... but the fact is, a professional wrestling world of ORDER is not as ideal as everybody might think it is. If everybody in this sport was a clean-cut, by-the-book, no-nonsense, sober-as-a-priest boy scout like YOU, Karl... things would get BORING very quickly.
Thankfully, the Natural Order of the Universe has generated US... the BAD GUYS. The Sith Lords of professional wrestling. The darkness that defines the light. Living, breathing reminders of the many things we all fail to appreciate on this meaningless blue rock.
(He grimaces slightly when his vision catches a smudge on the right lens of his sunglasses. Using his spit and his shirt, he gives them a quick wipe down.)
DOPESMOKER
Now... I know you might be thinking, “Bad guys? I though that’s what the ANTHOLOGY are for.” Well, here’s the thing...
(He pops the aviators back onto his face – dunno why, since he’s indoors, but it’s sort of a “badass” thing when wrestlers wear sunglasses – and his eyebrows pop briefly.)
DOPESMOKER
The guys in the Anthology... are a bunch of PUSSIES.
They are manicured miniature poodles on the World Champ’s leash. We’re the bloodthirsty rottweilers he kept locked away in his basement... maddened with starvation and mean to the bone.
While the Anthology would rather waste their time bitching about the way things are run in Empire Pro rather than acting out and DOING something about it, the Fallen would sooner grab a chair and DO something about it... unrestrained and impulsive as all hell. That’s exactly what Stalker did, in response to our BRO being dragged back to the nuthouse while Dan Ryan sat by and did nothing to stop it from happening.
In the process, you were saved from the humiliation of Layne Winters picking you up, planting your ass with ANOTHER Green River Justice, and picking up the three-count and the win. Instead, you got off easy at Aggression... walking out with your health, and the claim that you went as far as you did, all of a sudden, you’re relevant enough once again in your ancient career to compete for the EPW Television Title at Black Dawn.
By the look of things, Karlos... we did more favors for you at Aggression than you could have dreamed of doing on your own. And we didn’t even have to TOUCH you...
(The smirk disappears off his face as he takes another puff off the joint... now nearly a roach in his fingers.)
DOPESMOKER
Unfortunately though... the Fallen will HAVE to touch you... because in pursuing this title, you’ve found your way onto our shitlist. My job is to bring the Fall of Layne Winters’ Television Title reign... to kill off his self-loving ego and do the the world a favor...
(With the first joint burning out, he pulls YET ANOTHER one out of his pocket and puts it right into his mouth.)
DOPESMOKER
And as long as you’re looking to beat me to the punch, then my other job is to SMOKE DOPE using the fire of “the Dragon.”
(He pulls out a pretty classy custom-made lighter, designed to look like a psychedelic dragon holding it’s head upright and emitting a butane stream of fire. The end of the spliff lights up and he holds in the fresh hit with savory delight for several long moments, before letting it out and coughing a couple times. He has to clear the air of smoke before he can continue.)
DOPESMOKER
It’s not that I, personally, WANT to be the Television Champion more than either of you... because the Fallen are not in this to win titles and earn petty accomplishments. If anything, we are here to bring an end to them. If my man Stalker running Rocko out of this company means anything, it’s that NOTHING lives forever.
All the stars in the Universe will eventually wink out and die... and all champions will inevitably Fall.
(Dragon-like in his own respects, DOPESMOKER lets the second hit off the spliff course through his nose and roll off his beard in dramatic visual display.)
DOPESMOKER
Two chances have gone by where I could have walked away the Television Champion... and both times, the Cosmos has decided that it wasn’t going to be that way. The first time, I got a little overzealous... and at Aggression, Barb – being the dear that she is – stepped in and preventing me from making the mistake from ending the Layne Winters jack-fest too soon... because honestly, he hasn’t suffered enough.
But at Black Dawn, with MILLIONS of fans watching at home... I’m going to bring the world face-to-face with the MICROCOSM that is REALITY... by busting out moves that would make even Albert ****ing Einstein blow his brains out with a revolver once he realizes he wasted his entire life’s work to proving laws of physics that I just up and BREAK on a moment’s notice!
Cosmic bodies will CHRONIC COLLIZINATE in beautiful, chaotic splendor... and regardless of who walks out of that ring as the TV Champion, I can promise ONE thing...
The both of you will leave changed men. Whether it be PHYSICALLY – by scarring the both of you beyond all comprehensible recognition – or MENTALLY – by royally fucking up your MIND in disproving everything you ever thought was real in this world – neither of you will ever again be the same.
(The bass jam outtro to “Dragonaut” fades in as DOPESMOKER takes another big hit off the doob and jives out of the frame, leaving a plume of smoke in his wake. From the smoke, we go to black.)
EpyonMarx
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[FADE IN. “The Dragon” is standing in front of an EPW – Black Dawn backdrop. He’s dressed casually, wearing khaki trousers, a black Bill Hicks T-shirt with the quote “I don’t mean to sound bitter, cold or cruel but I am so that’s how it comes out”, and a dragon belt-buckle. His thumbs are in his pockets but he looks rather non-plus. In fact, you might even think he’s laughing on the inside]
Karl: Awww. Baby got his feelings hurt because someone doesn’t like him. Boo hoo.
Stop sounding like Layne, Stalker. It doesn’t suit him so heaven knows you can’t pull it off.
And Erik. Nice to finally meet you. Aggression must’ve been the most time we’ve spent in the same part of the building, and we were both there on the first show. As I recall, you and Ivan beat Blitz, and I beat Mike Diamond. It was a fun night back then, but you and I never got more than a “hello” in. I guess we’re just two very different people who would never mix if it weren’t for work.
Which is fine by me. No offence but I got over egos thinking they were the be all and end all of the business years ago, back before Ivan got you two fired for sexual harassment on live TV. What a night that was, everyone in the back in hysterics watching as Dan told off a monster-sized man and a comparative midget. Well, compared to Dan and Ivan.
But enough about the past. It was fun back then but it’s got nothing to do with how at Black Dawn, I’m going to have to prove three things. One, that Layne Winters isn’t as good as he thinks he is. Two, that I’m able to become better than I’ve ever been no matter the challenge in front of me. And three, repeating number one but with your name substituted for Layne’s.
What, you honestly think you can get me to think differently about the world? You think I take life or the world seriously? If you do somehow beat me and Layne at Black Dawn it’s not going to shake my foundation. Life doesn’t take anybody seriously so there’s no point in taking life seriously. No point worrying about whether you’re fulfilling your role as the second or third string bad-guys in Empire Pro Wrestling, because life – doesn’t care.
Neither do I, but for different reasons. You see, Erik – you, Stalker, Omega if he ever gets released from the place where the nuts hunt the squirrels, don’t scare me. Gangs never did. I know that most people are social animals and take pleasure from just being within a group, but that doesn’t mean I have to take a trio like you seriously. To me you’re three people who’re scared of not being seen as great, almost identical to Layne. You’re worried that if you don’t band together, Anthology or Hope are going to take all the top spots, all the titles, and the three of you will be left fighting for scraps from whatever table you can get near.
Yippee. Another group who can’t hack it on their own and are going to come back at me with some sort of statement like, “no, we’re great, we banded together because we’re great and we don’t care what anyone says, we’re going to run this town and you’re a poopy head.” So before you start ranting and raving because I don’t see you as a threat, remember that childish tantrums like the one Layne threw in Las Vegas and you and Stalker tried to pull at Aggression don’t impress me. Beating me in the ring doesn’t impress me.
Being a strong, open-minded person impresses me. Which, you don’t appear to be.
But maybe I’m wrong. After all, you two, three, are rottweilers. Big, mean, vicious, hungry beasts just waiting for a chance to strike and show their strength and power.
Unfortunately, Erik, that metaphor doesn’t really hold true. The image is good – hungry, with a strong bite that doesn’t let go. But a Rottie has a heart of gold and today is generally used to help people rather than hinder. They’re also rather aloof in the presence of strangers, like a pampered poodle. So, if you want to say you’re soft and pampered like Anthology, congratulations. If you wanted to say you’re kind and considerate and wouldn’t harm a fly, congratulations.
If you meant that you’re mean hungry and vicious and that everyone should get out of your way – I’d’ve used something like a Pit Bull, or Japanese Tosa, or one of the other dogs that’s banned in the UK under the Dangerous Dogs Act. Rottweilers just aren’t scary.
And neither are you, or Stalker. Sure he got rid of Rocko – but Rocko let him get under his skin. Stalker’s annoyed me, and I’m going to deal with him, but he’s the same sort of minor annoyance that… I don’t know if you remember Derek Stoltz or X?
[He laughs to himself remembering those two matches]
Karl: Good times. But, seriously, Erik, Black Dawn isn’t going to go the way you hope. There is no mystery or will of the cosmos, except in your head. It’s a little heaven you’ve created for yourself, where you’re better than you are. Yes, you’re athletic. Yes, you and Ivan were a top class tag team before Nathan came back into the picture and ruined you. But that’s all you are. Not a prophet, not some kind of outlet for the powers of the universe.
You’re just a man. The same as me, the same as Layne, the same as Sean Stephens or the guy wearing the Goofy costume at Disneyland Paris. And if you need reminding of that, well – I’d be more than happy to do that job. The fact I have to do the same to Layne Winters makes no difference to me.
Yes, there's a chance I'll lose. I admit that. But - the thing about dragons? Even if they never existed, the memory has lasted all around the world, because of their strength, their determination, their power and their nobility. They've come into out collective concious and stayed there. But most importantly, about Dragons?
When you think you've got one beaten, is when they're at their most dangerous.
[FADE OUT]
Karl: Awww. Baby got his feelings hurt because someone doesn’t like him. Boo hoo.
Stop sounding like Layne, Stalker. It doesn’t suit him so heaven knows you can’t pull it off.
And Erik. Nice to finally meet you. Aggression must’ve been the most time we’ve spent in the same part of the building, and we were both there on the first show. As I recall, you and Ivan beat Blitz, and I beat Mike Diamond. It was a fun night back then, but you and I never got more than a “hello” in. I guess we’re just two very different people who would never mix if it weren’t for work.
Which is fine by me. No offence but I got over egos thinking they were the be all and end all of the business years ago, back before Ivan got you two fired for sexual harassment on live TV. What a night that was, everyone in the back in hysterics watching as Dan told off a monster-sized man and a comparative midget. Well, compared to Dan and Ivan.
But enough about the past. It was fun back then but it’s got nothing to do with how at Black Dawn, I’m going to have to prove three things. One, that Layne Winters isn’t as good as he thinks he is. Two, that I’m able to become better than I’ve ever been no matter the challenge in front of me. And three, repeating number one but with your name substituted for Layne’s.
What, you honestly think you can get me to think differently about the world? You think I take life or the world seriously? If you do somehow beat me and Layne at Black Dawn it’s not going to shake my foundation. Life doesn’t take anybody seriously so there’s no point in taking life seriously. No point worrying about whether you’re fulfilling your role as the second or third string bad-guys in Empire Pro Wrestling, because life – doesn’t care.
Neither do I, but for different reasons. You see, Erik – you, Stalker, Omega if he ever gets released from the place where the nuts hunt the squirrels, don’t scare me. Gangs never did. I know that most people are social animals and take pleasure from just being within a group, but that doesn’t mean I have to take a trio like you seriously. To me you’re three people who’re scared of not being seen as great, almost identical to Layne. You’re worried that if you don’t band together, Anthology or Hope are going to take all the top spots, all the titles, and the three of you will be left fighting for scraps from whatever table you can get near.
Yippee. Another group who can’t hack it on their own and are going to come back at me with some sort of statement like, “no, we’re great, we banded together because we’re great and we don’t care what anyone says, we’re going to run this town and you’re a poopy head.” So before you start ranting and raving because I don’t see you as a threat, remember that childish tantrums like the one Layne threw in Las Vegas and you and Stalker tried to pull at Aggression don’t impress me. Beating me in the ring doesn’t impress me.
Being a strong, open-minded person impresses me. Which, you don’t appear to be.
But maybe I’m wrong. After all, you two, three, are rottweilers. Big, mean, vicious, hungry beasts just waiting for a chance to strike and show their strength and power.
Unfortunately, Erik, that metaphor doesn’t really hold true. The image is good – hungry, with a strong bite that doesn’t let go. But a Rottie has a heart of gold and today is generally used to help people rather than hinder. They’re also rather aloof in the presence of strangers, like a pampered poodle. So, if you want to say you’re soft and pampered like Anthology, congratulations. If you wanted to say you’re kind and considerate and wouldn’t harm a fly, congratulations.
If you meant that you’re mean hungry and vicious and that everyone should get out of your way – I’d’ve used something like a Pit Bull, or Japanese Tosa, or one of the other dogs that’s banned in the UK under the Dangerous Dogs Act. Rottweilers just aren’t scary.
And neither are you, or Stalker. Sure he got rid of Rocko – but Rocko let him get under his skin. Stalker’s annoyed me, and I’m going to deal with him, but he’s the same sort of minor annoyance that… I don’t know if you remember Derek Stoltz or X?
[He laughs to himself remembering those two matches]
Karl: Good times. But, seriously, Erik, Black Dawn isn’t going to go the way you hope. There is no mystery or will of the cosmos, except in your head. It’s a little heaven you’ve created for yourself, where you’re better than you are. Yes, you’re athletic. Yes, you and Ivan were a top class tag team before Nathan came back into the picture and ruined you. But that’s all you are. Not a prophet, not some kind of outlet for the powers of the universe.
You’re just a man. The same as me, the same as Layne, the same as Sean Stephens or the guy wearing the Goofy costume at Disneyland Paris. And if you need reminding of that, well – I’d be more than happy to do that job. The fact I have to do the same to Layne Winters makes no difference to me.
Yes, there's a chance I'll lose. I admit that. But - the thing about dragons? Even if they never existed, the memory has lasted all around the world, because of their strength, their determination, their power and their nobility. They've come into out collective concious and stayed there. But most importantly, about Dragons?
When you think you've got one beaten, is when they're at their most dangerous.
[FADE OUT]
EpyonMarx
New member
- Joined
- Nov 16, 2003
- Messages
- 1,004
- Points
- 0
- Location
- Nottingham, England
- Website
- www.karl-brown.co.uk
[FADE IN. A white-washed wall greets us, seconds before “The Dragon” steps into the shot. He’s wearing fairly smart attire today, grey trousers with a plain brown leather belt and a dark striped shirt, open at the neck. As he stands in front of the camera, he leans back against the wall, his arms folded across his chest]
Karl: The next few days are big. Tomorrow, Britain goes to the polls to decide whether the Tories or Lib Dems can overthrow the incumbent Labour government, or if we get another parliament with the Labour Party in control. And a few days after that, I set foot in the ring at Black Dawn, six years after the first Black Dawn. And once again, I’m challenging for a title. Six years ago I wrestled Adam Benjamin for the Intercontinental Championship, and this time it’s the Television Championship.
A step down? No. A new and different challenge. You see as great as Adam is, he’s just one man. I didn’t need to try and keep my eyes in two places at once. He’s also one of the most technically gifted wrestlers I’ve ever faced so I knew I was in for a technical match. This time? Well, it’s a high flyer and someone who hits hard and asks questions later. Either one of them would normally be a nice challenge, but both at once?
I’m almost salivating at the thought.
That might sound weird. After all, Layne’s the big bad wolf looking to chomp his way through everything in his path, and Erik’s got the powers of the Cosmos or Galactus or something. I should be shaking in my boots, shouldn’t I? I mean, to hear them speak.
But – I’ve always liked a challenge. I get bored otherwise. Things coming easily may be comfortable but when you want to push yourself to your limit, you can’t stay in your comfort zone. If I didn’t want a challenge, I’d’ve stayed here in the UK and just did the radio shows. But I wanted something more – a physical challenge. I wanted to test my limits and surpass them again, and this match is going to provide that.
Erik Black. A high flyer. Likes to use his speed to increase his power. A very experienced grappler. And Layne Winters? I know how hard he can hit. He can also grapple. Not the same as Adam, but he’s no pushover. I know I’m in for a challenge, and the fans are in for a great match.
You know… in this history of the TV title, this is one of the biggest times. Right up there with when Adam and Foxx met in the final of the tournament that crowned the first champion. Layne’s going to do everything he can to keep the title. Erik showed with Ivan what he’s capable of. He’s a championship calibre athlete. And my accomplishments are well known. It’s a turning point for the title itself – are the fans going to see Layne Winters continue his dominance and carry the title on into a World Title challenge? Or is change going to give the fans something new and unknown – Erik Black, singles champion in Empire Pro Wrestling? Or, will the title be coming home with me?
My money, obviously, is on the third one. As much as Layne and Erik want to claim that they are the absolute greatest, neither is anywhere near that level. Layne is so insistent that he’s going to win this match and use it as a springboard to winning the World Title before his shoulders finally give out on him, that he’s failed to realise one simple fact.
He’s gotten too greedy, and it’s only going to come back and hurt him ultimately.
Why do I say that, Layne?
Because you’re thinking way too short term. Let’s say, to play Devil’s advocate, that you retain at Black Dawn. Then you go on and win the World Title down the line. You retain that title, until someone stronger and hungrier comes along – and trust me, there are always people hungrier for success when money and power are concerned – and you lose the title. You want desperately to get back into the hunt, but your body is so battered, so injured, that it won’t move another step. So you rest, you get surgery – and you find that it keeps you out longer, and longer, and longer.
What’ll you do then? Humour me, Layne. Because I know that injuries can do that – pile up when you take time off. There’s a footballer over here, Matt Murray, plays for Wolves. He had a problem with his back, but stubbornly played on for another half. Forty five minutes. Since then, he’s played… maybe three full games? In five years. His back, his knee, his foot – all of it, because he didn’t take time to rest.
Not that I’m saying you should lose the belt and take time off – that’s not what I want. I want you at your absolute best, giving it everything you’ve got. But, when you lose the TV title, what’s your plan? Have you even got one?
Or am I going to see you sitting in the ring at Black Dawn wondering what your next step is, tears in your eyes, because you’ve just been proven wrong, that you’re not the best, that you’re not able to run through anybody at will?
It pays to think of the possibilities, Layne. Because at Aggression you couldn’t get the job done no matter what you threw at me. I may not have pinned you, but I know I can take everything you have, and I’m going to take it all again if I have to. And when you start making mistakes, you’ll be going home one title lighter.
And Erik – your type I’ve seen almost as often as I’ve seen Layne’s. Believe it or not, forgetting the attempts at drug-addled philosophy, what you say is almost exactly the same as what Stephen Shane said a few years back. Of course he as trying to be the saviour of Empire Pro Wrestling all on his own, but you get the idea.
You’re nothing new. Me, I’ve never claimed to be. I don’t claim to be looking to win this title to do the world a favour, because Layne’s been a fighting champion. I don’t claim to be the kind of guy who’ll do what he wants when he wants and then have somebody back me up. I stand on my own two feet, without needing people around me for when things go wrong.
You, Erik? Besides reminding me of Stephen Shane, you and the rest of the Fallen remind me of the gangs of little annoyances at school. You know the ones, the cliques who thought they were great. They’d come in and pick the scraps from the other bullies – in this case, Anthology – and claim they were going to rule the school.
The problem people like that’ve always had, Erik, is that no matter the talent they think they have, the street cred, the cajones – their actions always showed otherwise. What you and Stalker did at Aggression, sticking your noses in before Layne and I settled our differences, showed that you two are scared of an even playing field. Even with the advantage you would’ve had, that wasn’t enough.
No, Erik. It’s not unrestrained and impulsive. You showed that for all the talent you’ve got, you’re still a coward at heart. Just like when you were hiding behind Ivan when Dan Ryan fired you two. Just like when you’d come out from behind and attack people to try and prove, somehow, you were stronger and better than them.
Black Dawn, you’ve got Layne you can try to hide behind, but something tells me he’s going to turn around and try to knock your teeth down your throat for what happened at Aggression. And me, I’m always ready for a decent challenge and have always had a lot of fun showing bullies up.
But, enough for now. Black Dawn is right around the corner and we’re going to see just who’s going to walk out with the gold soon enough. Layne and Erik are going to be a challenge in an every man for himself environment, but I know I’m ready for this challenge. I know that whatever dog metaphor Erik wants to use is going to end up making him look silly again, and I know that as hard as Layne hits I can survive it.
Which means one thing.
I’m going to have a nice symbol of just what level I’ve reached, much, much sooner than I’d thought when I came back.
Oh – and for my fellow Britons – don’t forget to vote on the sixth of May.
[FADE OUT]
Karl: The next few days are big. Tomorrow, Britain goes to the polls to decide whether the Tories or Lib Dems can overthrow the incumbent Labour government, or if we get another parliament with the Labour Party in control. And a few days after that, I set foot in the ring at Black Dawn, six years after the first Black Dawn. And once again, I’m challenging for a title. Six years ago I wrestled Adam Benjamin for the Intercontinental Championship, and this time it’s the Television Championship.
A step down? No. A new and different challenge. You see as great as Adam is, he’s just one man. I didn’t need to try and keep my eyes in two places at once. He’s also one of the most technically gifted wrestlers I’ve ever faced so I knew I was in for a technical match. This time? Well, it’s a high flyer and someone who hits hard and asks questions later. Either one of them would normally be a nice challenge, but both at once?
I’m almost salivating at the thought.
That might sound weird. After all, Layne’s the big bad wolf looking to chomp his way through everything in his path, and Erik’s got the powers of the Cosmos or Galactus or something. I should be shaking in my boots, shouldn’t I? I mean, to hear them speak.
But – I’ve always liked a challenge. I get bored otherwise. Things coming easily may be comfortable but when you want to push yourself to your limit, you can’t stay in your comfort zone. If I didn’t want a challenge, I’d’ve stayed here in the UK and just did the radio shows. But I wanted something more – a physical challenge. I wanted to test my limits and surpass them again, and this match is going to provide that.
Erik Black. A high flyer. Likes to use his speed to increase his power. A very experienced grappler. And Layne Winters? I know how hard he can hit. He can also grapple. Not the same as Adam, but he’s no pushover. I know I’m in for a challenge, and the fans are in for a great match.
You know… in this history of the TV title, this is one of the biggest times. Right up there with when Adam and Foxx met in the final of the tournament that crowned the first champion. Layne’s going to do everything he can to keep the title. Erik showed with Ivan what he’s capable of. He’s a championship calibre athlete. And my accomplishments are well known. It’s a turning point for the title itself – are the fans going to see Layne Winters continue his dominance and carry the title on into a World Title challenge? Or is change going to give the fans something new and unknown – Erik Black, singles champion in Empire Pro Wrestling? Or, will the title be coming home with me?
My money, obviously, is on the third one. As much as Layne and Erik want to claim that they are the absolute greatest, neither is anywhere near that level. Layne is so insistent that he’s going to win this match and use it as a springboard to winning the World Title before his shoulders finally give out on him, that he’s failed to realise one simple fact.
He’s gotten too greedy, and it’s only going to come back and hurt him ultimately.
Why do I say that, Layne?
Because you’re thinking way too short term. Let’s say, to play Devil’s advocate, that you retain at Black Dawn. Then you go on and win the World Title down the line. You retain that title, until someone stronger and hungrier comes along – and trust me, there are always people hungrier for success when money and power are concerned – and you lose the title. You want desperately to get back into the hunt, but your body is so battered, so injured, that it won’t move another step. So you rest, you get surgery – and you find that it keeps you out longer, and longer, and longer.
What’ll you do then? Humour me, Layne. Because I know that injuries can do that – pile up when you take time off. There’s a footballer over here, Matt Murray, plays for Wolves. He had a problem with his back, but stubbornly played on for another half. Forty five minutes. Since then, he’s played… maybe three full games? In five years. His back, his knee, his foot – all of it, because he didn’t take time to rest.
Not that I’m saying you should lose the belt and take time off – that’s not what I want. I want you at your absolute best, giving it everything you’ve got. But, when you lose the TV title, what’s your plan? Have you even got one?
Or am I going to see you sitting in the ring at Black Dawn wondering what your next step is, tears in your eyes, because you’ve just been proven wrong, that you’re not the best, that you’re not able to run through anybody at will?
It pays to think of the possibilities, Layne. Because at Aggression you couldn’t get the job done no matter what you threw at me. I may not have pinned you, but I know I can take everything you have, and I’m going to take it all again if I have to. And when you start making mistakes, you’ll be going home one title lighter.
And Erik – your type I’ve seen almost as often as I’ve seen Layne’s. Believe it or not, forgetting the attempts at drug-addled philosophy, what you say is almost exactly the same as what Stephen Shane said a few years back. Of course he as trying to be the saviour of Empire Pro Wrestling all on his own, but you get the idea.
You’re nothing new. Me, I’ve never claimed to be. I don’t claim to be looking to win this title to do the world a favour, because Layne’s been a fighting champion. I don’t claim to be the kind of guy who’ll do what he wants when he wants and then have somebody back me up. I stand on my own two feet, without needing people around me for when things go wrong.
You, Erik? Besides reminding me of Stephen Shane, you and the rest of the Fallen remind me of the gangs of little annoyances at school. You know the ones, the cliques who thought they were great. They’d come in and pick the scraps from the other bullies – in this case, Anthology – and claim they were going to rule the school.
The problem people like that’ve always had, Erik, is that no matter the talent they think they have, the street cred, the cajones – their actions always showed otherwise. What you and Stalker did at Aggression, sticking your noses in before Layne and I settled our differences, showed that you two are scared of an even playing field. Even with the advantage you would’ve had, that wasn’t enough.
No, Erik. It’s not unrestrained and impulsive. You showed that for all the talent you’ve got, you’re still a coward at heart. Just like when you were hiding behind Ivan when Dan Ryan fired you two. Just like when you’d come out from behind and attack people to try and prove, somehow, you were stronger and better than them.
Black Dawn, you’ve got Layne you can try to hide behind, but something tells me he’s going to turn around and try to knock your teeth down your throat for what happened at Aggression. And me, I’m always ready for a decent challenge and have always had a lot of fun showing bullies up.
But, enough for now. Black Dawn is right around the corner and we’re going to see just who’s going to walk out with the gold soon enough. Layne and Erik are going to be a challenge in an every man for himself environment, but I know I’m ready for this challenge. I know that whatever dog metaphor Erik wants to use is going to end up making him look silly again, and I know that as hard as Layne hits I can survive it.
Which means one thing.
I’m going to have a nice symbol of just what level I’ve reached, much, much sooner than I’d thought when I came back.
Oh – and for my fellow Britons – don’t forget to vote on the sixth of May.
[FADE OUT]
(Open on black.)
DOPESMOKER
Egoistic... weak... close-minded... soft... delusional... unoriginal... cowardly...
If you were a believer the words of my opponent, then the man known as Erik Black is every one of these things.
Well, here’s the thing...
(The strike of a match cuts the silence. An orange flame briefly reveals ERIK BLACK...)
DOPESMOKER
I go by DOPESMOKER now.
(...or yeah, that too.)
(CUE UP: “Dopesmoker” by Sleep. The greatest motherfucking song of all time. The fire descends itself upon a cache of green packed into the slide of a bong. The bubbling of water resonates deeply as the opening riffs drone in with a lull. The Goat Bastard... the Escape Artist... the Sickle... the man of a thousand names takes in a massive hit and breathes it out, sending a cloud that rolls out and briefly obscures his image.)
DOPESMOKER
Through psychedelic transcendentalism, I have ascended the use of a human-given nomenclature. I’d explain what that all means to you, but... I don’t have the time, and the more outspoken of my two opponents clearly doesn’t have the patience for me to map it out without reading too much into it.
HE might be okay with a generic four-letter first name and a last name that’s a color... but I always say, if you’re going to be known by ANYTHING, it might as well be what you do... and I’ve always let my actions speak for themselves.
(The smoke clears only for a second, showing him clearing the bong, breathing another plume of smoke into the air, and setting it off to the side.)
DOPESMOKER
And anybody who has actually followed the path of the DOPESMOKER over these past few months would know that the only thing I’ve never claimed being anything more than what I am. You’d think otherwise, given my opponent’s tendency to argue points that I never made. Valhalla forbid you actually put in some research these days... but then again, he clearly admitted that he doesn’t care for what he considers to be “third-string bad guys.”
So just to clear the air... contrary to what my opponent apparently heard in my last promo, I never claimed I was better than anyone... or smarter than anyone... nor did I ever claim to be more determined, or more righteous in my cause. I never said winning the Television Title was going to do this insignificant planet any favors. I never said I had all the answers in walking the path of success and happiness. For that matter, the Fallen never claimed they united just to climb higher in the food chain.
All I ever said was that I was going to go into that ring... bust out some crazy-ass moves... put the HURT on anybody who happens to be in the way... and change the black-and-white way people think about this sport.
If that means I’m a weak, delusional coward with an ego, an old gimmick, and a closed mind in the Eyes of the Dragon, then hey... I guess that’s what I am. And I’m fine with that...
...because in the Eyes of the COSMOS... Karl Brown is not only ALL those things... but also a LIAR.
(The camera pulls back. Wearing the same clothes as in the last promo, although now also wearing his favorite ceremonial robe, the DOPESMOKER sits cross-legged on a dais in a confined chamber... possibly the back of his van. He’s got the lights and lava lamps fired up, and the smoke provides a wispy visual effect.)
DOPESMOKER
If I had to give you a name, Karl... it would be “SMOKEBLOWER.”
No, I'm not alluding to a dragon breathing smoke. You are the SMOKEBLOWER, because you talk a lot, but SAY very little. In truth, it’s because you are LISTENING very little... and you feel the need to overcompensate for your lack of understanding on the matter by figuratively blowing smoke up everyone’s asses.
It took only a SINGLE MINUTE for you to prove that your memory of places and events six years ago is more fucked up than Ozzy Osbourne’s speech pattern. Yeah, we kicked Blitz’s ass more than once... that’s common knowledge anywhere you go. But... sexual harassment? I know you don’t particularly CARE for who I am, SMOKEBLOWER... but I don’t think that should merit you going around making bogus claims about a matter that you CLEARLY weren’t involved with.
So let me bring you up to speed: It’s TWO-KAY-ECKS... six years later, we’re apparently formally meeting for the first time. “Nice” to “finally” meet you too... although for future reference, the smart thing would be to not follow up first-time salutations by accusing the other person of having an ego, only to follow it up by stroking your own over the course of two whole promos.
I mean, seriously... you talk more shit about the direction of my life than my own MOTHER while I was living at home. If you’re trying to convince the entire world how the clean-cut, by-the-book way of the SMOKEBLOWER is so much more superior to the Fallen in every conceivable way, then just do us all the favor of slapping on an Anthology shirt and join the club with all the other elitist “I’m-Better-Than-You!” pricks in this federation.
And yet, sadly for you... your efforts to make yourself look better, smarter, and BRAVER than us only make you look like a complete tool. Case in point, I give you a simple, one-sentence analogy: the Fallen are neglected, mistreated dogs, and the Anthology are show-bitches. Rather than take that comparison to heart, you get critical about the breeds that are involved.
(He rolls his eyes.)
DOPESMOKER
Well, sorry... I don’t have a degree from the University of Wikipedia in animal behavior like you do... but that dog in the Omen was damn scary, and I’ve seen plenty of stray mutts driven mad from starvation to know that animals pushed to extreme conditions generate extreme consequences.
Good try in trying to prove your intellectual superiority, but... sorry. All you’ve proven is that you read too much into things. Or maybe you just don’t read enough.
Do me a favor, and pick up Carl Sagan’s “Cosmos” and Stephen Hawking’s “A Brief History of Time.” Maybe then you’ll understand that the billions upon billions of random acts of coincidence spanning from the Big Bang to your conception is a little MORE than just a “Heaven” in my head. Heaven itself is right up there with “Dragons”, in that they are both fantasies... or more appropriately, delusions...
(He delivers the kind of “get-over-yourself” scoff he gives frat guys that mock the way he looks in public.)
DOPESMOKER
Ironically, SMOKEBLOWER... it’s because of people like YOU that the Fallen exist.
It’s because you claim to be above having an ego, but clearly exhibit one.
It’s because you you think anybody who doesn’t wrestle like you is somehow coward.
It’s because you claim to only be impressed by people who have open minds, but show a closed mind in believing that you can only be impressed by people who think the exact same way you do.
It’s because you think we got together because we’re too “weak” to cut it on our own... as if we were even TRYING to cut ANYTHING.
It’s because you think that EVERYTHING in this sport comes down to wins and losses... and putting meaningless BELTS around your waist to fulfill your meager sense of accomplishment.
Well... I apologize that we’re not all so FUCKING PERFECT like you, SMOKEBLOWER.
(He gives the camera that kind of look... you know the one. It’s that look that cross your face while you’re cruising down a highway, smoking a joint and enjoying the ride at your own leisurely pace... when out of nowhere, some obnoxious redneck in a big off-road gas-guzzling tank pops up behind you, rides your ass for five miles, then rudely swerves over and cuts you off... just so HE can be ahead of you on the road. Well, fine, man... take the fucking road... but is it worth being such an asshole?)
DOPESMOKER
We don’t hide anything. The Fallen realize very much that we are LOSERS. You only need to look at the mounting losses we’ve incurred since our brotherhood’s inception for proof of that. You call us playground scavengers... but had you actually seen the promo where I went to Empire High School, you’d know that we’re simply lost youth.
But... we’re not bothered by that. We’re bothered by the fact that we’re known as “losers” because that's what people like you CALL US. All our lives, people like YOU have singled us out for our shortcomings... for no good reason other than to be a complete elitist douchebag “WINNER” who has too much fun riding his high horse.
Truth be told, none of us have actually been all that serious about “WINNING”... because we KNOW that regardless of who wins or loses... the other guy is going to end up getting HURT. The way we see it, putting a man’s shoulders to a mat for three seconds proves nothing. Hitting him so hard that he doesn’t get up for FIVE MINUTES... now you’re talking.
Not all of us were put on this world to be success stories... so we pick our battles. We KNOW we’re inferior products of wrestling – thanks for the REMINDER, you fucking wanker – but we compensate for that by thinking outside of the box. We didn’t unite in order to gain any measure of “success”... but to prove that we don’t need to win matches to make people bleed and beg for mercy.
We don’t expect you to be scared, SMOKEBLOWER. After all, since we’ve only just met, you have no reason to be. Once that bell rings, though... it will be a different story.
You’ll come to find out that what makes us unique... is our ability to do things that NOBODY ELSE in this federation is willing to do. In my case... I go a little psychoactive... expand my train of thought... and put my mind in a place where no other conscious entity would willingly go. In that place... I find answers to questions that nobody would dare ask.
(The grin of a Narcomancer forms on his bearded face as he takes another bong hit. “What’s a Narcomancer?” you ask? It’s like a Necromancer, only instead of dealing in the resurrection of the dead, the “narco” prefix would imply that it’s a magician of sleep. So... a sleep wizard. I wrote a song about it one time.)
DOPESMOKER
You don’t really strike me as the type that dabbles in psychedelics... and I don’t blame you. You’re so buttoned-down, I’m sure any attempt at prying open your third eye and expanding your conscious would only turn into a horribly uncomfortable, introspective, and self-critical nightmare... what we “druggies” like to call a BAD ACID TRIP.
As a wrestler... I try to recreate that experience in the ring for my opponent. I do things that, quite literally... FUCK with your mind.
There is a forbidden knowledge I carry that you don’t have the mind or the intellect to grasp. I will do things that you aren’t WILLING to do... because at this point, SMOKEBLOWER, I’m no longer thinking about success. As I’ve said before... I could care less if I walk out the TV Champion. My only concern now is to leave you MENTALLY SCARRED for life.
You can doubt my ability to do that if you must... but you haven’t been in the ring with me yet. Think back to Aggression, and what I did to Layne Winters. I fucked him up so bad, they had to wire his mouth shut. I did what nobody else in this federation could do – I finally SHUT THAT ASS-HAT UP – and I didn’t even need to take the TV Title off of him.
But YOU think that in doing that, I’ve proven myself to be some kind of a coward...
(That there causes DOPESMOKER to pause briefly. He looks longingly off into the furthest passages of time and space as he lights the bong again and takes in a deep hit, holding it in for a moment while his words are choked out just above a whisper.)
DOPESMOKER
...a “coward”, huh?
You know, that’s a hard notion for me to swallow... especially when I thinking back to all the times I’ve jumped off something high in my life... putting my body, my mind, and my LIFE at risk, all for... hell, for whatever reason struck me at the time. Were those the actions of a COWARD?
(He lets it out and coughs for a few moments. It takes a sec before he can recompose himself. His eyes are daringly red as they find the camera again through the prismatic mist floating in the foreground.)
DOPESMOKER
I didn’t ask to be what I am; I’m simply dealing with it. Even so... I’ve never run from a fight in my life... and there hasn’t been a dare that I haven’t turned down.
I also didn’t ask to be in Layne Winters’ special ego-stroking gauntlet challenge horseshit. What do I have to gain in usurping the TV Champion after YOU did the bulk of the work? I’d be called a coward by someone... either way. So I DEALT WITH IT. I walked into that match on my OWN terms... and based on Layne Winters silence, I’d say it was mission-fuckin’-accomplished, broseph.
But now, thinking back... I honestly feel that the only cowardly act I did at Aggression was consciously neglecting to crack you over the skull with Barb. Listening to your hypocritical bullshit is making me think that maybe I gave the lesson the wrong person...
(He sets the bong aside for a moment and crosses his arms on his chest, looking very sternly into the camera.)
DOPESMOKER
The truth in this is, SMOKEBLOWER... that YOU are the coward.
My associate – the man that allegedly RUINED your chance at becoming the EPW Television Champion – laid out an OPEN CHALLENGE to anybody willing to step into a Stalker’s Rules match and beat the master at his own game... and nobody answered the call.
You had your chance then to step up and get your payback... but instead, for whatever reason, you thought that putting a few pounds of gold and leather around your waist was more important that upholding the supposed honor and nobility of this sport. YOU are the COWARD, SMOKEBLOWER... because for as much as you harp over ethics in this sport, your petty desires for fame and fortune precede upholding them.
The fact is, a part of you IS afraid of us... afraid for all the time and progress in your career that will be WASTED in your efforts to “deal with” what you consider to be nothing more than common pests. In the end, you MIGHT win... but it will come at a price that will leave pieces of your soul in debt for years to come.
(Lost deep in thought, he runs a finger through his unkempt beard.)
DOPESMOKER
Time will tell what you’ll have to sacrifice to walk out of that ring at Black Dawn as the Television Champion, SMOKEBLOWER. I can’t say I won’t make it hard for you. Like I said, I could give a damn whether I win or lose... as long as you walk away with fresh scars, bruises, and memories of pain and torment that will never be shaken from your psyche.
I can tell you right now, I have no intentions of pinning either you or Layne. Pinning is TOO EASY. There’s no point in me walking out of that match the winner and new TV Champ if I don’t do it making one of you SCREAM FOR MERCY and TAP until you beat your hand raw.
Because honestly, I don’t have much to gain from being the TV Champion... nor is there anything in being a champ that I’d want. I’d be missing out on nothing other than the opportunity to put up with more generic, ignorant jack-off challengers like you who want to overlook my chops to talk shit about my lifestyle.
You on the other hand... as a man whose PAST very much outdoes his present... you pretty much HAVE to win this if you want to have a hope in this world of giving your career a jumpstart. Cause if you lose to a “LOSER”... then man, I don’t know WHAT to call YOU...
(With “Dopesmoker” continuing to drone on through it’s sixty-three minute run-time in the background, DOPESMOKER retrieves Geezer for another hit. This one is so big it completely blots out the camera, leaving us with only a swirling cloud of colors and the sound of coughing.)
DOPESMOKER
Egoistic... weak... close-minded... soft... delusional... unoriginal... cowardly...
If you were a believer the words of my opponent, then the man known as Erik Black is every one of these things.
Well, here’s the thing...
(The strike of a match cuts the silence. An orange flame briefly reveals ERIK BLACK...)
DOPESMOKER
I go by DOPESMOKER now.
(...or yeah, that too.)
(CUE UP: “Dopesmoker” by Sleep. The greatest motherfucking song of all time. The fire descends itself upon a cache of green packed into the slide of a bong. The bubbling of water resonates deeply as the opening riffs drone in with a lull. The Goat Bastard... the Escape Artist... the Sickle... the man of a thousand names takes in a massive hit and breathes it out, sending a cloud that rolls out and briefly obscures his image.)
DOPESMOKER
Through psychedelic transcendentalism, I have ascended the use of a human-given nomenclature. I’d explain what that all means to you, but... I don’t have the time, and the more outspoken of my two opponents clearly doesn’t have the patience for me to map it out without reading too much into it.
HE might be okay with a generic four-letter first name and a last name that’s a color... but I always say, if you’re going to be known by ANYTHING, it might as well be what you do... and I’ve always let my actions speak for themselves.
(The smoke clears only for a second, showing him clearing the bong, breathing another plume of smoke into the air, and setting it off to the side.)
DOPESMOKER
And anybody who has actually followed the path of the DOPESMOKER over these past few months would know that the only thing I’ve never claimed being anything more than what I am. You’d think otherwise, given my opponent’s tendency to argue points that I never made. Valhalla forbid you actually put in some research these days... but then again, he clearly admitted that he doesn’t care for what he considers to be “third-string bad guys.”
So just to clear the air... contrary to what my opponent apparently heard in my last promo, I never claimed I was better than anyone... or smarter than anyone... nor did I ever claim to be more determined, or more righteous in my cause. I never said winning the Television Title was going to do this insignificant planet any favors. I never said I had all the answers in walking the path of success and happiness. For that matter, the Fallen never claimed they united just to climb higher in the food chain.
All I ever said was that I was going to go into that ring... bust out some crazy-ass moves... put the HURT on anybody who happens to be in the way... and change the black-and-white way people think about this sport.
If that means I’m a weak, delusional coward with an ego, an old gimmick, and a closed mind in the Eyes of the Dragon, then hey... I guess that’s what I am. And I’m fine with that...
...because in the Eyes of the COSMOS... Karl Brown is not only ALL those things... but also a LIAR.
(The camera pulls back. Wearing the same clothes as in the last promo, although now also wearing his favorite ceremonial robe, the DOPESMOKER sits cross-legged on a dais in a confined chamber... possibly the back of his van. He’s got the lights and lava lamps fired up, and the smoke provides a wispy visual effect.)
DOPESMOKER
If I had to give you a name, Karl... it would be “SMOKEBLOWER.”
No, I'm not alluding to a dragon breathing smoke. You are the SMOKEBLOWER, because you talk a lot, but SAY very little. In truth, it’s because you are LISTENING very little... and you feel the need to overcompensate for your lack of understanding on the matter by figuratively blowing smoke up everyone’s asses.
It took only a SINGLE MINUTE for you to prove that your memory of places and events six years ago is more fucked up than Ozzy Osbourne’s speech pattern. Yeah, we kicked Blitz’s ass more than once... that’s common knowledge anywhere you go. But... sexual harassment? I know you don’t particularly CARE for who I am, SMOKEBLOWER... but I don’t think that should merit you going around making bogus claims about a matter that you CLEARLY weren’t involved with.
So let me bring you up to speed: It’s TWO-KAY-ECKS... six years later, we’re apparently formally meeting for the first time. “Nice” to “finally” meet you too... although for future reference, the smart thing would be to not follow up first-time salutations by accusing the other person of having an ego, only to follow it up by stroking your own over the course of two whole promos.
I mean, seriously... you talk more shit about the direction of my life than my own MOTHER while I was living at home. If you’re trying to convince the entire world how the clean-cut, by-the-book way of the SMOKEBLOWER is so much more superior to the Fallen in every conceivable way, then just do us all the favor of slapping on an Anthology shirt and join the club with all the other elitist “I’m-Better-Than-You!” pricks in this federation.
And yet, sadly for you... your efforts to make yourself look better, smarter, and BRAVER than us only make you look like a complete tool. Case in point, I give you a simple, one-sentence analogy: the Fallen are neglected, mistreated dogs, and the Anthology are show-bitches. Rather than take that comparison to heart, you get critical about the breeds that are involved.
(He rolls his eyes.)
DOPESMOKER
Well, sorry... I don’t have a degree from the University of Wikipedia in animal behavior like you do... but that dog in the Omen was damn scary, and I’ve seen plenty of stray mutts driven mad from starvation to know that animals pushed to extreme conditions generate extreme consequences.
Good try in trying to prove your intellectual superiority, but... sorry. All you’ve proven is that you read too much into things. Or maybe you just don’t read enough.
Do me a favor, and pick up Carl Sagan’s “Cosmos” and Stephen Hawking’s “A Brief History of Time.” Maybe then you’ll understand that the billions upon billions of random acts of coincidence spanning from the Big Bang to your conception is a little MORE than just a “Heaven” in my head. Heaven itself is right up there with “Dragons”, in that they are both fantasies... or more appropriately, delusions...
(He delivers the kind of “get-over-yourself” scoff he gives frat guys that mock the way he looks in public.)
DOPESMOKER
Ironically, SMOKEBLOWER... it’s because of people like YOU that the Fallen exist.
It’s because you claim to be above having an ego, but clearly exhibit one.
It’s because you you think anybody who doesn’t wrestle like you is somehow coward.
It’s because you claim to only be impressed by people who have open minds, but show a closed mind in believing that you can only be impressed by people who think the exact same way you do.
It’s because you think we got together because we’re too “weak” to cut it on our own... as if we were even TRYING to cut ANYTHING.
It’s because you think that EVERYTHING in this sport comes down to wins and losses... and putting meaningless BELTS around your waist to fulfill your meager sense of accomplishment.
Well... I apologize that we’re not all so FUCKING PERFECT like you, SMOKEBLOWER.
(He gives the camera that kind of look... you know the one. It’s that look that cross your face while you’re cruising down a highway, smoking a joint and enjoying the ride at your own leisurely pace... when out of nowhere, some obnoxious redneck in a big off-road gas-guzzling tank pops up behind you, rides your ass for five miles, then rudely swerves over and cuts you off... just so HE can be ahead of you on the road. Well, fine, man... take the fucking road... but is it worth being such an asshole?)
DOPESMOKER
We don’t hide anything. The Fallen realize very much that we are LOSERS. You only need to look at the mounting losses we’ve incurred since our brotherhood’s inception for proof of that. You call us playground scavengers... but had you actually seen the promo where I went to Empire High School, you’d know that we’re simply lost youth.
But... we’re not bothered by that. We’re bothered by the fact that we’re known as “losers” because that's what people like you CALL US. All our lives, people like YOU have singled us out for our shortcomings... for no good reason other than to be a complete elitist douchebag “WINNER” who has too much fun riding his high horse.
Truth be told, none of us have actually been all that serious about “WINNING”... because we KNOW that regardless of who wins or loses... the other guy is going to end up getting HURT. The way we see it, putting a man’s shoulders to a mat for three seconds proves nothing. Hitting him so hard that he doesn’t get up for FIVE MINUTES... now you’re talking.
Not all of us were put on this world to be success stories... so we pick our battles. We KNOW we’re inferior products of wrestling – thanks for the REMINDER, you fucking wanker – but we compensate for that by thinking outside of the box. We didn’t unite in order to gain any measure of “success”... but to prove that we don’t need to win matches to make people bleed and beg for mercy.
We don’t expect you to be scared, SMOKEBLOWER. After all, since we’ve only just met, you have no reason to be. Once that bell rings, though... it will be a different story.
You’ll come to find out that what makes us unique... is our ability to do things that NOBODY ELSE in this federation is willing to do. In my case... I go a little psychoactive... expand my train of thought... and put my mind in a place where no other conscious entity would willingly go. In that place... I find answers to questions that nobody would dare ask.
(The grin of a Narcomancer forms on his bearded face as he takes another bong hit. “What’s a Narcomancer?” you ask? It’s like a Necromancer, only instead of dealing in the resurrection of the dead, the “narco” prefix would imply that it’s a magician of sleep. So... a sleep wizard. I wrote a song about it one time.)
DOPESMOKER
You don’t really strike me as the type that dabbles in psychedelics... and I don’t blame you. You’re so buttoned-down, I’m sure any attempt at prying open your third eye and expanding your conscious would only turn into a horribly uncomfortable, introspective, and self-critical nightmare... what we “druggies” like to call a BAD ACID TRIP.
As a wrestler... I try to recreate that experience in the ring for my opponent. I do things that, quite literally... FUCK with your mind.
There is a forbidden knowledge I carry that you don’t have the mind or the intellect to grasp. I will do things that you aren’t WILLING to do... because at this point, SMOKEBLOWER, I’m no longer thinking about success. As I’ve said before... I could care less if I walk out the TV Champion. My only concern now is to leave you MENTALLY SCARRED for life.
You can doubt my ability to do that if you must... but you haven’t been in the ring with me yet. Think back to Aggression, and what I did to Layne Winters. I fucked him up so bad, they had to wire his mouth shut. I did what nobody else in this federation could do – I finally SHUT THAT ASS-HAT UP – and I didn’t even need to take the TV Title off of him.
But YOU think that in doing that, I’ve proven myself to be some kind of a coward...
(That there causes DOPESMOKER to pause briefly. He looks longingly off into the furthest passages of time and space as he lights the bong again and takes in a deep hit, holding it in for a moment while his words are choked out just above a whisper.)
DOPESMOKER
...a “coward”, huh?
You know, that’s a hard notion for me to swallow... especially when I thinking back to all the times I’ve jumped off something high in my life... putting my body, my mind, and my LIFE at risk, all for... hell, for whatever reason struck me at the time. Were those the actions of a COWARD?
(He lets it out and coughs for a few moments. It takes a sec before he can recompose himself. His eyes are daringly red as they find the camera again through the prismatic mist floating in the foreground.)
DOPESMOKER
I didn’t ask to be what I am; I’m simply dealing with it. Even so... I’ve never run from a fight in my life... and there hasn’t been a dare that I haven’t turned down.
I also didn’t ask to be in Layne Winters’ special ego-stroking gauntlet challenge horseshit. What do I have to gain in usurping the TV Champion after YOU did the bulk of the work? I’d be called a coward by someone... either way. So I DEALT WITH IT. I walked into that match on my OWN terms... and based on Layne Winters silence, I’d say it was mission-fuckin’-accomplished, broseph.
But now, thinking back... I honestly feel that the only cowardly act I did at Aggression was consciously neglecting to crack you over the skull with Barb. Listening to your hypocritical bullshit is making me think that maybe I gave the lesson the wrong person...
(He sets the bong aside for a moment and crosses his arms on his chest, looking very sternly into the camera.)
DOPESMOKER
The truth in this is, SMOKEBLOWER... that YOU are the coward.
My associate – the man that allegedly RUINED your chance at becoming the EPW Television Champion – laid out an OPEN CHALLENGE to anybody willing to step into a Stalker’s Rules match and beat the master at his own game... and nobody answered the call.
You had your chance then to step up and get your payback... but instead, for whatever reason, you thought that putting a few pounds of gold and leather around your waist was more important that upholding the supposed honor and nobility of this sport. YOU are the COWARD, SMOKEBLOWER... because for as much as you harp over ethics in this sport, your petty desires for fame and fortune precede upholding them.
The fact is, a part of you IS afraid of us... afraid for all the time and progress in your career that will be WASTED in your efforts to “deal with” what you consider to be nothing more than common pests. In the end, you MIGHT win... but it will come at a price that will leave pieces of your soul in debt for years to come.
(Lost deep in thought, he runs a finger through his unkempt beard.)
DOPESMOKER
Time will tell what you’ll have to sacrifice to walk out of that ring at Black Dawn as the Television Champion, SMOKEBLOWER. I can’t say I won’t make it hard for you. Like I said, I could give a damn whether I win or lose... as long as you walk away with fresh scars, bruises, and memories of pain and torment that will never be shaken from your psyche.
I can tell you right now, I have no intentions of pinning either you or Layne. Pinning is TOO EASY. There’s no point in me walking out of that match the winner and new TV Champ if I don’t do it making one of you SCREAM FOR MERCY and TAP until you beat your hand raw.
Because honestly, I don’t have much to gain from being the TV Champion... nor is there anything in being a champ that I’d want. I’d be missing out on nothing other than the opportunity to put up with more generic, ignorant jack-off challengers like you who want to overlook my chops to talk shit about my lifestyle.
You on the other hand... as a man whose PAST very much outdoes his present... you pretty much HAVE to win this if you want to have a hope in this world of giving your career a jumpstart. Cause if you lose to a “LOSER”... then man, I don’t know WHAT to call YOU...
(With “Dopesmoker” continuing to drone on through it’s sixty-three minute run-time in the background, DOPESMOKER retrieves Geezer for another hit. This one is so big it completely blots out the camera, leaving us with only a swirling cloud of colors and the sound of coughing.)
LQJT86C
Where's my money, Chad?
(FADEIN: SEATTLE, WA- Nighttime. Standing in front of an abandoned parking lot is the "DREAMKILLER" LAYNE WINTERS wearing a Seahawks ball cap and leather jacket over a red shirt. The EPW TELEVISION TITLE hangs from one of his hands as he walks slowly toward the camera)
WINTERS: When I talk, they want more action. When I'm all-action, they want more talk. But this belt right here says it all: near TEN MONTHS of successful defenses, against men who accused me of being everything from overrated, to overconfident, and just plain over. I haven't lost a singles match in over a YEAR, a streak of victories built on the backs of men which include the BOTH of you. The Television Title? By the time Black Dawn gets here, I will have held it longer than any individual in the history of this company. You shut ME UP Erik Black? F*ck you, I shut this entire DIVISION up when I cleaned it the F*CK OUT.
Now I hear Karl Brown talking about he "took my best and still got up." Well I sincerely congratulate you, Karl- maybe next time you can TAKE MY BELT. Getting your leg on the rope after taking a Green River Justice don't win you sh*t but a one-way ticket to getting two of them the next time I see you. And if you kick out of that, you get three. Hell, I ain't proud- I'll just keep givin' em to ya, and givin' em to ya, and given' em to ya until you QUIT. And if that don't work...I'll just straight kill you, simple as that. There's only so much punishment the body can take until it goes into cardiac arrest, and BELIEVE ME, if that's what it takes to put out a little motherf*cker like you that thinks he's a hero, then so be it.
The two of you are like little mutts circling beneath my dinner table, waiting for the food to drop out my mouth or off my plate so you can kill each other trying to get at it. See, what you need to do is go drag your asses back across that rug and get THE F*CK out of my kitchen altogether, 'cause I ain't afraid to beat a couple bastard dogs down until they get off my ankles. You smell the food, don't you? You got a whiff of my title the last time, and now you want a bite. Except I stuck razors in the apples and staples in the meat. Come near my plate, I'll cut your f*ckin' hands off, and that IS a promise I'll make good on.
Karl Brown wants to know what I'll do when I win the World Title- and I WILL win the World Title- and eventually lose it to some guy who's bigger and badder than I am. Well sh*t, I never really thought about that til now. I guess I'd sit back on my couch, put my feet up, have a beer, and say out loud "It's been a great career- I did the opposite of Karl Brown and actually WENT to the top!" What a stupid f*cking thing to ask somebody. Why don't you go ask David Beckham what position he's gonna f*ck Posh Spice in when he's done playing soccer? HEY I wonder what Drew Brees is gonna do when he's through winning Super Bowls?
Now you're probably chomping at the bit to say, "BUT LAYNE! You think you're the Drew Brees of EPW?" Nah, I'm better than whoever the f*cking Drew Brees of EPW is. And really, that's the difference between guys that MAKE IT...and guys that don't. They don't start believing in their destiny AFTER they achieve it. They knew the whole time, when everybody else didn't. But my days of explaining this sh*t to you people, like I just walked through the g*ddamn door, are OVER. I've BEEN HERE, I've MADE GOOD on my promises...and that's a whole hell of a lot more than the three useless tools of HOPE can say.
The ONLY mistake I made at Aggression was assuming they'd have my back if Stalker pulled his usual "HEY LOOK AT ME!" crap. Don't mistake me for gullible- we have this sh*t IN WRITING. HOPE ain't the f*ckin' Super Friends or the League of Justice; it's a coalition of conveniency that see us through to the end game, which is going after the...(laughs)...FUTURE World Heavyweight Champ, THE FIRST!
What a f*cking joke. He goes into Black Dawn thinking the table is set, and all of a sudden Dan Ryan wipes his big fat dick all over The First's precious dream. Well I'll tell you what- me and Shawn Hart have business now, cause if he thinks he's walking out of that match as Champ WITHOUT giving his old buddy Layne the first shot, he's SADLY, SADLY mistaken. Not only will I break both of First's arms for f*cking up in the first place, but I'll make Hart's life a living hell. He won't be able to take a piss without me popping out of the urinal to cave his nuts in. Felicia will be walking around for 9 months with a belly so big, Hart'll think she's the next Octomom. He'll be in the hospital when she's due, waiting anxiously for their litter of octuplet incest children.
He's got the video camera in hand, "COME ON HUNNY, YOU CAN DO IT! PUSH THOSE EIGHT KIDS THROUGH!" Sh*t, she's gonna need a C-Section! This is a big haul! Nurse, hand me the scalpel, we're cuttin' her open. No thanks Doc, brought my own- and there I am, LAYNE WINTERS, CUTTIN' MY WAY OUT OF FELICIA HART, POPPING OUT OF HER STOMACH, JUST TO SLAP SHAWN HART IN HIS STUPID F*CKING FACE TO REMIND HIM WHAT HE DID TO ME! YOU HEAR ME HART? DO-NOT-DENY-ME! (calming down) ...or I WILL plague you.
I've got enough to deal with at Black Dawn without having to hear about how Stalker's gonna cut me up with barb wire, like I never felt the sh*t across my face before. THE FALLEN- what an appropriate name, 'cause that's exactly what your win percentage did the last time we met, Erik. Just like the attendance did at every show Stalker ever headlined. Here's a guy who actually WON this title from Fusenshoff, then gave it back...effectively killing it's name. It wasn't until EYE won this belt and took it for a little run that it's full credibility was restored.
That's what a true champion does, something Stalker would know nothing about it. He's another one of these "belts and accomplishments don't matter, I just wanna hurt people" types. Now I understand why he followed Fusenshoff around for so long- they're the SAME F*CKING GUY.
Look man, you wanna hurt and manipulate people? Fly yourself out to New York City and work the dominatrix circuit. Me? I'm not here to pull people around on leashes or shove ballgags in their mouth. Hurting people is a means to an end for me. You could walk down any street in America and f*ck up pedestrians Grand Theft Auto style. What does that have to do with THIS RING, THIS SPORT? Nothing. It's an embarrassment, an affront to everything I've worked my entire career for. You think this sport is your own personal circus, and so you MOCK IT. Unfortunately, no matter how hard I try, I can't mock you back. You don't care about titles, you don't even care about winning...so what the f*ck can I say?
Nothing. You can't be mocked, bargained with, bought off, or intimidated. I can't SHAME YOU, because you just don't give a sh*t, and that's too bad. But I ASSURE YOU, Stalker, nihilism won't save you from getting your head caved in if you ever try getting one-up on me again. I'll have you drinking through a f*cking straw, which, I'm pretty sure will be an inconvenience at the very least. You can hit me with barb-wire bats, with an Evenflow DDT, call out the rest of Fallen, Stalker's Nest, whatever the f*ck you call it...hand a steel chair to Dr. Erik, or Omega McGillicutty who's pregnant with Dr. Erik's baby...it won't matter. I'll find a way to pay it back to you, and pay it back worse.
F*cking Fallen...OH YEAH I'm shaking in my boots at the prospect of dealing with a group comprised of my easiest, most effortless win thus far in EPW...that'd be you, Erik...and a guy who I b*tch slapped backstage before he b*tched out of my open challenge. Yeah, f*ck The Fallen. Stalker had one too many pine-combs shoved up his ass by the High School football team, then joined EPW so he could recruit other pine-comb victims, and now they're f*cking with my matches when all I'm trying to do is win some more g*ddamn gold. You guys are like The League of Extraordinary Gentleman without the Extraordinary. You're the league of Ordinary Assholes...now take my advice and HIT THE BRICKS!
Back to Karl Brown for a second. You know, I actually wanted to ask you...what happen in the British Parliamentary Elections yesterd-WHO THE F*CK CARES! Sitting there talking about the size, strength, and willpower of Dragons. You're right, Karl, Dragons DON'T exist, and neither does a Karl Brown title reign in 2010. I don't give a G*DDAMN if you're the Dragon, the Hobbit, the Unicorn, the Liger; you ain't nothin' but the British Cameron Cruise far as I can tell.
(Holds the TV belt up by straps, crossways so the camera can read it)
See that name? LAYNE WINTERS. That's what it said last month, last quarter, most of last year, and that's what it'll CONTINUE TO SAY after Black Dawn. And there's not a g*ddamn thing you can do about it... Talk all you want, boys, 'cause I'm THE CHAMP, and I don't have to say a G*D-DAMN WORD.
After all, what'd you think this was? One of those "Troy Douglas Free Title Giveaways"?
(FADEOUT)
WINTERS: When I talk, they want more action. When I'm all-action, they want more talk. But this belt right here says it all: near TEN MONTHS of successful defenses, against men who accused me of being everything from overrated, to overconfident, and just plain over. I haven't lost a singles match in over a YEAR, a streak of victories built on the backs of men which include the BOTH of you. The Television Title? By the time Black Dawn gets here, I will have held it longer than any individual in the history of this company. You shut ME UP Erik Black? F*ck you, I shut this entire DIVISION up when I cleaned it the F*CK OUT.
Now I hear Karl Brown talking about he "took my best and still got up." Well I sincerely congratulate you, Karl- maybe next time you can TAKE MY BELT. Getting your leg on the rope after taking a Green River Justice don't win you sh*t but a one-way ticket to getting two of them the next time I see you. And if you kick out of that, you get three. Hell, I ain't proud- I'll just keep givin' em to ya, and givin' em to ya, and given' em to ya until you QUIT. And if that don't work...I'll just straight kill you, simple as that. There's only so much punishment the body can take until it goes into cardiac arrest, and BELIEVE ME, if that's what it takes to put out a little motherf*cker like you that thinks he's a hero, then so be it.
The two of you are like little mutts circling beneath my dinner table, waiting for the food to drop out my mouth or off my plate so you can kill each other trying to get at it. See, what you need to do is go drag your asses back across that rug and get THE F*CK out of my kitchen altogether, 'cause I ain't afraid to beat a couple bastard dogs down until they get off my ankles. You smell the food, don't you? You got a whiff of my title the last time, and now you want a bite. Except I stuck razors in the apples and staples in the meat. Come near my plate, I'll cut your f*ckin' hands off, and that IS a promise I'll make good on.
Karl Brown wants to know what I'll do when I win the World Title- and I WILL win the World Title- and eventually lose it to some guy who's bigger and badder than I am. Well sh*t, I never really thought about that til now. I guess I'd sit back on my couch, put my feet up, have a beer, and say out loud "It's been a great career- I did the opposite of Karl Brown and actually WENT to the top!" What a stupid f*cking thing to ask somebody. Why don't you go ask David Beckham what position he's gonna f*ck Posh Spice in when he's done playing soccer? HEY I wonder what Drew Brees is gonna do when he's through winning Super Bowls?
Now you're probably chomping at the bit to say, "BUT LAYNE! You think you're the Drew Brees of EPW?" Nah, I'm better than whoever the f*cking Drew Brees of EPW is. And really, that's the difference between guys that MAKE IT...and guys that don't. They don't start believing in their destiny AFTER they achieve it. They knew the whole time, when everybody else didn't. But my days of explaining this sh*t to you people, like I just walked through the g*ddamn door, are OVER. I've BEEN HERE, I've MADE GOOD on my promises...and that's a whole hell of a lot more than the three useless tools of HOPE can say.
The ONLY mistake I made at Aggression was assuming they'd have my back if Stalker pulled his usual "HEY LOOK AT ME!" crap. Don't mistake me for gullible- we have this sh*t IN WRITING. HOPE ain't the f*ckin' Super Friends or the League of Justice; it's a coalition of conveniency that see us through to the end game, which is going after the...(laughs)...FUTURE World Heavyweight Champ, THE FIRST!
What a f*cking joke. He goes into Black Dawn thinking the table is set, and all of a sudden Dan Ryan wipes his big fat dick all over The First's precious dream. Well I'll tell you what- me and Shawn Hart have business now, cause if he thinks he's walking out of that match as Champ WITHOUT giving his old buddy Layne the first shot, he's SADLY, SADLY mistaken. Not only will I break both of First's arms for f*cking up in the first place, but I'll make Hart's life a living hell. He won't be able to take a piss without me popping out of the urinal to cave his nuts in. Felicia will be walking around for 9 months with a belly so big, Hart'll think she's the next Octomom. He'll be in the hospital when she's due, waiting anxiously for their litter of octuplet incest children.
He's got the video camera in hand, "COME ON HUNNY, YOU CAN DO IT! PUSH THOSE EIGHT KIDS THROUGH!" Sh*t, she's gonna need a C-Section! This is a big haul! Nurse, hand me the scalpel, we're cuttin' her open. No thanks Doc, brought my own- and there I am, LAYNE WINTERS, CUTTIN' MY WAY OUT OF FELICIA HART, POPPING OUT OF HER STOMACH, JUST TO SLAP SHAWN HART IN HIS STUPID F*CKING FACE TO REMIND HIM WHAT HE DID TO ME! YOU HEAR ME HART? DO-NOT-DENY-ME! (calming down) ...or I WILL plague you.
I've got enough to deal with at Black Dawn without having to hear about how Stalker's gonna cut me up with barb wire, like I never felt the sh*t across my face before. THE FALLEN- what an appropriate name, 'cause that's exactly what your win percentage did the last time we met, Erik. Just like the attendance did at every show Stalker ever headlined. Here's a guy who actually WON this title from Fusenshoff, then gave it back...effectively killing it's name. It wasn't until EYE won this belt and took it for a little run that it's full credibility was restored.
That's what a true champion does, something Stalker would know nothing about it. He's another one of these "belts and accomplishments don't matter, I just wanna hurt people" types. Now I understand why he followed Fusenshoff around for so long- they're the SAME F*CKING GUY.
Look man, you wanna hurt and manipulate people? Fly yourself out to New York City and work the dominatrix circuit. Me? I'm not here to pull people around on leashes or shove ballgags in their mouth. Hurting people is a means to an end for me. You could walk down any street in America and f*ck up pedestrians Grand Theft Auto style. What does that have to do with THIS RING, THIS SPORT? Nothing. It's an embarrassment, an affront to everything I've worked my entire career for. You think this sport is your own personal circus, and so you MOCK IT. Unfortunately, no matter how hard I try, I can't mock you back. You don't care about titles, you don't even care about winning...so what the f*ck can I say?
Nothing. You can't be mocked, bargained with, bought off, or intimidated. I can't SHAME YOU, because you just don't give a sh*t, and that's too bad. But I ASSURE YOU, Stalker, nihilism won't save you from getting your head caved in if you ever try getting one-up on me again. I'll have you drinking through a f*cking straw, which, I'm pretty sure will be an inconvenience at the very least. You can hit me with barb-wire bats, with an Evenflow DDT, call out the rest of Fallen, Stalker's Nest, whatever the f*ck you call it...hand a steel chair to Dr. Erik, or Omega McGillicutty who's pregnant with Dr. Erik's baby...it won't matter. I'll find a way to pay it back to you, and pay it back worse.
F*cking Fallen...OH YEAH I'm shaking in my boots at the prospect of dealing with a group comprised of my easiest, most effortless win thus far in EPW...that'd be you, Erik...and a guy who I b*tch slapped backstage before he b*tched out of my open challenge. Yeah, f*ck The Fallen. Stalker had one too many pine-combs shoved up his ass by the High School football team, then joined EPW so he could recruit other pine-comb victims, and now they're f*cking with my matches when all I'm trying to do is win some more g*ddamn gold. You guys are like The League of Extraordinary Gentleman without the Extraordinary. You're the league of Ordinary Assholes...now take my advice and HIT THE BRICKS!
Back to Karl Brown for a second. You know, I actually wanted to ask you...what happen in the British Parliamentary Elections yesterd-WHO THE F*CK CARES! Sitting there talking about the size, strength, and willpower of Dragons. You're right, Karl, Dragons DON'T exist, and neither does a Karl Brown title reign in 2010. I don't give a G*DDAMN if you're the Dragon, the Hobbit, the Unicorn, the Liger; you ain't nothin' but the British Cameron Cruise far as I can tell.
(Holds the TV belt up by straps, crossways so the camera can read it)
See that name? LAYNE WINTERS. That's what it said last month, last quarter, most of last year, and that's what it'll CONTINUE TO SAY after Black Dawn. And there's not a g*ddamn thing you can do about it... Talk all you want, boys, 'cause I'm THE CHAMP, and I don't have to say a G*D-DAMN WORD.
After all, what'd you think this was? One of those "Troy Douglas Free Title Giveaways"?
(FADEOUT)
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