who cares?
(CUEUP: “Devastator” by Blood Brothers…)
(Yet another black and white shot of Felix Red…This time he’s sitting in his office, sprawled out on his bean bag chair, staring up at the ceiling, no shirt, black dickies, only spot of color being the cherry on the black clove cigarette he’s passively taking drags off of…)
“the boy who destroyed the world”
Boy, it’s going to be awfully hard to beat a guy who can be repeatedly tazzered and not fall down….(a few beats pass. Red blows a couple of smoke rings) Oh wait. That’s right. I already did. In fact, at one point, I nearly killed just such a man.
I must be f(bleep)king superhuman.
(another few beats. Red turns his head to the side, spits a loogie on the floor, and returns to gazing at the ceiling…)
So I’ve watched Pitt’s heartbreaking struggle to be reunited with the woman he loves. I’ve watched Thirteen’s complete breakdown, as he is now at the cusp of reunification with the man he hates…..um, one of the men he hates, anyway.
And I’ve felt nothing.
Because the woman Pitt loves is an attention starved, portly harlot who drinks DNA like it’s some sort of Atkins diet supplement…Because Pitt is a mongoloid with an identity lifted from Whitewolf Role Play Games…You don’t need to show me that Pitt is obsessed with some kidnapped chick, which requires him to drive around all day listening to Dashboard Confessional. I already know.
It’s not that Pitt isn’t really a vampire. It’s just that, well…lets face it. Vampires are supposed to be immortal, but that doesn’t stop Sarah Michelle Gellar from killing them by the truckloads…
And if Freddie Prinz Jr.’s girlfriend can do it, then what’s supposed to stop me?
Meanwhile, Thirteen has ceased to be of any use to me what so ever. I don’t need you to show me what a psychopath Thirteen is. I already know about that. I don’t need to be shown what a resilient fellow he is. I already know that too.
It takes four or five cops to take most of us down when we’ve got a healthy amount of PCP in us. I am not phased by this inane posturing. I am not even interested.
What I’ve also learned about Thirteen is what a walking botched opportunity he is. A shattered horizon, incarnate. Charles Manson would be SO disapointed...That is, I’m speaking of Thirteen the man. Thirteen the human being. His consciousness, his soul…All worthless. All a waste. To everyone. The world…
None of this means anything to me.
Thirteen the man has nothing for me to take. Thirteen the flesh puppet, Thirteen the organism…It still has blood. It can still feel pain, and it can still desperately lash back at me…And it can still fall, and it can still take me closer to getting what’s mine.
My creation. The act of god, that is me. The WFW tag team titles.
(sits up, puts his cigarette out on the floor, and looks up while the camera gets a profile shot…)
Alright kiddos…I have all the information you can give me. You can stop talking now….It's time to hand over all of your your chemicals and liquids.
Show me if vampires really cry blood tears, eh?
The thing about the apocalypse is for some of us, after the world ends, all we can do is wait around for the next one.
For the Thirteen versus Felix Red feud of the delightfully eccentric high flyers, this is Armageddon. This, Thirteen, Pitt….this is judgment day. Your own personal end of everything. A pop apocalypse.
In a quick, random, excruciating crush, you get to face your oppressor and find out where you really stand. Again. For a split second, you get to know who you are. And forget. Again. Maybe that’ll be cathartic for you. Maybe it’ll just be absolutely f(bleep)king awful. Maybe it’ll be kinda anti-climatic.
As for me, I don’t care. Either way, you die. And I move onto the next thing…
But really, just you being dead is plenty enough to get me totally jazzed…