AGGRESSION 70: KOTC Rd. 2 - Aaron Jones/Malcolm Joseph-Jones v. Rezin & Anarky
- Thread starter DBrunkGXW
- Start date
brusch
Main Event Caliber
Re: AGGRESSION 70: KOTC Rd. 2 - Aaron Jones/Malcolm Joseph-Jones v. Rezin & Anarky
“I told ya.”
(In the locker room after Aggression 69. Malcolm Joseph-Jones has changed out of his wrestling trunks into plain gray slacks, a black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, electric purple suspenders, and his browline glasses. He is packing a white gym bag emblazoned with a purple M and a saber – the logo of Millsaps College. He does not appear winded or tired after his quick match earlier in the evening.)
MJ2: “I told ya what would happen if you did what I said, Little Aaron. Follow my lead and you will succeed!” (thinking for a moment) “...maybe I should put that on a shirt.”
(Malcolm zips up his gym bag and begins to depart. Other more beat-up and exhausted wrestlers are recovering on benches around him as he chuckles to himself.)
MJ2: “Look at ‘em. Battles, wars, they had to actually work to get the job done in the cage. What happened when you followed my lead? I cut through Mojo Massey and Akita like Jackie Chan through wooden boards. HIYA!” (Malcolm chops hard at the camera lens, stopping just short of striking the machine; its sudden nature causes the camera to almost drop to the ground before it is stabilized.)
MJ2: “So how does that winnin’ feel, Little Aaron? It felt good, didn’t it? I know you’re not used to it just yet, but just keep doing what you did in San Diego: stay the hell out of my way and don’t fuck up.
I hope you watched the Boogie/Dentari vs. Rezin/Anarky match like I did. Fact is, there are a lot of things we can learn from that mess.”
(Malcolm exits the arena and walks down the nighttime streets of San Diego, embracing the perpetually-pleasant weather with a deep breath, sigh, and a wad of spit he aims at a scattering bug he sees on the ground. He doesn’t seem to have a destination in mind; soon, he begins going down streets that men with more proper upbringings would avoid)
MJ2: “First thing we can learn: Rezin and Anarky can be dominated by a dynamic ass-kicker. That’s me. Did you see what Boogie was doing to those fools? He bulldozed ‘em. Ran ‘em over. Beat them down in any number of colorfully worded phrases you can come up with. That’s where I come in. Folks may not have seen it on their TV screen, but the people in the arena know just what kind of athletic freak I am. More importantly, they know just what kind of pain I can inflict. Hell, YOU know these things better than anyone, Aaron…you had the best seat in the house for the MJ2 Ass Kickin’ Exhibition.
Second thing: The only reason they lost was because Boogie’s partner was a damn fool. You saw it – Boogie had things under control. When he wasn’t kickin’ ass, he was takin’ names; and yet, despite the fact that Boogie had a man PINNED, they didn’t get the W. Why? Because his scrawny, weak-ass partner tried to show the man up and soak in glory he didn’t earn or deserve. When Boogie had Anarky’s shoulders on the mat, that shrimp Dentari was busy flailing around as badly as Akita. What a jackass.”
(Malcolm smiles and winks at a small group of women who may or may not be working the streets; the camera doesn’t catch their reaction, but Malcolm seems pleased as he continues wearing a Prom King douchebag grin.)
MJ2: “I’m not concerned about falling into that trap. Even if my partner looks like, can’t bench press, and can hide behind a Slim Jim, he’s got a better head on him than Dentari did. He knows his place, and he knows to let the superstar shine.”
(More short skirts walk by. A hodgepodge of silicon, fake tanner and 4-inch heels.)
MJ2: “Tell you what, Aaron, I just had an idea for your second homework assignment. There are some skanky ass bitches in this part of town. You’ve got a little time before we gotta get to Phoenix – I want you to pick one up. The more sloppy, the more cake makeup and fake eyelashes, the better. And I want you to spend a night with her. Get all nasty and shit. Hell, I’ll even throw in the rubber.” (A woman with fluorescent pink lipstick who is missing three teeth smiles at the camera when she sees it.) “…trust me, you’ll need it.
Get stanky. Get all gross. Get uncomfortable. Make sure you get plenty intimate with that stank – especially what gets left on your hands.
We’ll call it Cottonmouth Training.
I know, it ain’t the same as whatever bong shit Rezin’s got on there, but it’ll be vile enough for your needs. I need you to get so powerfully grossed out that you won’t tap like a bitch when that scumsucka tries to steal my win by pickin’ on you.
As for you Anarky…well, well. I get the chance to smack someone around who’s got a strap. Let this be your warning: I’m coming for you. See, I look at the fact that you’re holding gold as a personal affront to me. It’s a token you get to hold in my face so you can try tellin’ me “MJ2, you ain’t done shit, because I’m holdin’ this and you ain’t”; the fact is, Anarky, there’s a big difference between talent and opportunity. Not to say you’re lacking talent – your boy Rezin sure seems to think you do, and the rumor is you used to hold more important gold than that TV Title. In reality, you’ve gotten chances. I’ve only dominated one match – but as soon as I lay waste to this field, carrying a piece of beef jerky named Aaron Jones on my back through the supposed Bracket of Death…those chances will cascade down upon me.
And I won’t need to be asked twice.”
(The camera stops following Malcolm as he continues walking, his destination unclear, as the camera fades to black.)
“I told ya.”
(In the locker room after Aggression 69. Malcolm Joseph-Jones has changed out of his wrestling trunks into plain gray slacks, a black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, electric purple suspenders, and his browline glasses. He is packing a white gym bag emblazoned with a purple M and a saber – the logo of Millsaps College. He does not appear winded or tired after his quick match earlier in the evening.)
MJ2: “I told ya what would happen if you did what I said, Little Aaron. Follow my lead and you will succeed!” (thinking for a moment) “...maybe I should put that on a shirt.”
(Malcolm zips up his gym bag and begins to depart. Other more beat-up and exhausted wrestlers are recovering on benches around him as he chuckles to himself.)
MJ2: “Look at ‘em. Battles, wars, they had to actually work to get the job done in the cage. What happened when you followed my lead? I cut through Mojo Massey and Akita like Jackie Chan through wooden boards. HIYA!” (Malcolm chops hard at the camera lens, stopping just short of striking the machine; its sudden nature causes the camera to almost drop to the ground before it is stabilized.)
MJ2: “So how does that winnin’ feel, Little Aaron? It felt good, didn’t it? I know you’re not used to it just yet, but just keep doing what you did in San Diego: stay the hell out of my way and don’t fuck up.
I hope you watched the Boogie/Dentari vs. Rezin/Anarky match like I did. Fact is, there are a lot of things we can learn from that mess.”
(Malcolm exits the arena and walks down the nighttime streets of San Diego, embracing the perpetually-pleasant weather with a deep breath, sigh, and a wad of spit he aims at a scattering bug he sees on the ground. He doesn’t seem to have a destination in mind; soon, he begins going down streets that men with more proper upbringings would avoid)
MJ2: “First thing we can learn: Rezin and Anarky can be dominated by a dynamic ass-kicker. That’s me. Did you see what Boogie was doing to those fools? He bulldozed ‘em. Ran ‘em over. Beat them down in any number of colorfully worded phrases you can come up with. That’s where I come in. Folks may not have seen it on their TV screen, but the people in the arena know just what kind of athletic freak I am. More importantly, they know just what kind of pain I can inflict. Hell, YOU know these things better than anyone, Aaron…you had the best seat in the house for the MJ2 Ass Kickin’ Exhibition.
Second thing: The only reason they lost was because Boogie’s partner was a damn fool. You saw it – Boogie had things under control. When he wasn’t kickin’ ass, he was takin’ names; and yet, despite the fact that Boogie had a man PINNED, they didn’t get the W. Why? Because his scrawny, weak-ass partner tried to show the man up and soak in glory he didn’t earn or deserve. When Boogie had Anarky’s shoulders on the mat, that shrimp Dentari was busy flailing around as badly as Akita. What a jackass.”
(Malcolm smiles and winks at a small group of women who may or may not be working the streets; the camera doesn’t catch their reaction, but Malcolm seems pleased as he continues wearing a Prom King douchebag grin.)
MJ2: “I’m not concerned about falling into that trap. Even if my partner looks like, can’t bench press, and can hide behind a Slim Jim, he’s got a better head on him than Dentari did. He knows his place, and he knows to let the superstar shine.”
(More short skirts walk by. A hodgepodge of silicon, fake tanner and 4-inch heels.)
MJ2: “Tell you what, Aaron, I just had an idea for your second homework assignment. There are some skanky ass bitches in this part of town. You’ve got a little time before we gotta get to Phoenix – I want you to pick one up. The more sloppy, the more cake makeup and fake eyelashes, the better. And I want you to spend a night with her. Get all nasty and shit. Hell, I’ll even throw in the rubber.” (A woman with fluorescent pink lipstick who is missing three teeth smiles at the camera when she sees it.) “…trust me, you’ll need it.
Get stanky. Get all gross. Get uncomfortable. Make sure you get plenty intimate with that stank – especially what gets left on your hands.
We’ll call it Cottonmouth Training.
I know, it ain’t the same as whatever bong shit Rezin’s got on there, but it’ll be vile enough for your needs. I need you to get so powerfully grossed out that you won’t tap like a bitch when that scumsucka tries to steal my win by pickin’ on you.
As for you Anarky…well, well. I get the chance to smack someone around who’s got a strap. Let this be your warning: I’m coming for you. See, I look at the fact that you’re holding gold as a personal affront to me. It’s a token you get to hold in my face so you can try tellin’ me “MJ2, you ain’t done shit, because I’m holdin’ this and you ain’t”; the fact is, Anarky, there’s a big difference between talent and opportunity. Not to say you’re lacking talent – your boy Rezin sure seems to think you do, and the rumor is you used to hold more important gold than that TV Title. In reality, you’ve gotten chances. I’ve only dominated one match – but as soon as I lay waste to this field, carrying a piece of beef jerky named Aaron Jones on my back through the supposed Bracket of Death…those chances will cascade down upon me.
And I won’t need to be asked twice.”
(The camera stops following Malcolm as he continues walking, his destination unclear, as the camera fades to black.)
Re: AGGRESSION 70: KOTC Rd. 2 - Aaron Jones/Malcolm Joseph-Jones v. Rezin & Anarky
(CUE UP: “No Hope On Earth” by Beast in the Field.)
(Our shot opens on a stretch of desert landscape, somewhere in that long barren stretch of land in the Southwestern portion of America. The camera pans by slowly to the forlorn sounds of blowing winds and doom-sowing sludge pounding over the soundtrack, catching a quick glimpse of a stolen EPW camera crew van hastily parked somewhere in the distance, caked from head to toe in beige dust. The shot comes to a rest on a lone, disheveled figure. The bare back facing the camera depicts an elaborate and somewhat blasphemous goat-head tattoo can only indicate that we are looking upon Empire Pro’s Goat Bastard himself, the nefarious REZIN.)
Rezin
An interesting way for Bossman to take this little tour of his... through the most desolate and depressing patch of this dying and accursed land we call America. Take a close look, my little lambs... because this is what becomes of everything in the end. We all become dust. We all become NOTHING.
Standing here now, as far as the eye can see... there is nothing. No life... no joy... no comfort... just a big, fat nothing. I can close my eyes and pretend I’m looking at something else... but it doesn’t change the image, because along with seeing nothing, I can hear nothing as well.
Such is the way it’s been every moment of my life since this tournament began. I see big men with big attitudes, and they speak big words and talk about big results. But no matter how big and bad they try to portray themselves, I see nothing to give me worry... and I hear nothing of absolutely no worth.
(Rezin turns to face the camera, showing he’s still wearing his shades. Sometimes, you almost wonder if he’s just wearing them to hide the madness twinkling down in his eyes. Under the shades and lining the devilish grin on his face is the goat-like beard that still looks crooked in the place where Boogie Smallz’ giant fingers took ahold of it back at Aggression 69.)
Rezin
Now, ask yourselves... who do you think I’m talking about here? Boogie Smallz or Malcolm Joseph-Jones?
Can anybody explain the difference between these two?
Here we have two muscular mongoloids, whose entire philosophy is “bigger is better”, so they feel entitled to brainlessly bulldozing their way through life. Because being big and being a badass doesn’t require much thought, they’re expectedly not very good at THINKING. But, if you just so happen to disagree with that mentality, or even if you’re just remotely smaller in stature, they tag you with the “bitch” label and disregard you in pretty much every way.
But behind the big image... the big words... the big attitude...
(He drops the shades from his face, and THERE is the crazed glimmer that makes us cringe.)
Rezin
...all that the Goat Bastard can see or hear is a big, fat NOTHING...
(His chuckle is drier than the desert scene behind him.)
Rezin
You know something, Jo-Jo... all my life, I’ve had to deal with people like you, putting me under their feet and calling me worthless... all because I was lacking in a few inches in height and a few pounds in muscle. For years, guys like you would use me like than a stepping stone to greater heights... and with every step, I’d sink lower and lower into the mud and the murk. But no matter how far I sank... no matter how black my heart got with every soul-crushing step on my back... I never found the bottom of the tar pit.
Then one day, I finally woke up and realized the obvious: A man’s foot is a LOT easier to break than a stepping stone.
...do you think the main event of Aggression 69 was some sort of proof that ol’ ‘Nark and I can be dominated in the ring?
(He unleashes a wet and sloppy scoff.)
Rezin
Give me a break, Jo-Jo... we never once said otherwise. In fact, ANYBODY can be dominated under the right circumstances. Yes, even a stupid muthafugga like you...
I mean, sure, I probably won’t be doing that any time soon in a physical aspect... but MENTAL dominance has always been my forte.
You’ve probably gone through your entire life thinking that physical dominance is everything. So far, it’s gotten you past a telepathic ventriloquist and retired backstage reporter. If your freakishly huge arms can still manage, reach around and pat yourself on the back for THAT amazing feat in human strength. But the reason why guys like Anarky and I have survived guys like you as long as we have is because we both know there’s more to winning matches than just being bigger, stronger, and tougher than the other guy.
Obviously, power is not my game. But as I see it, power is overrated. I don’t need size and strength to bring you to your knees, begging for your life. I’m a master of deception, and an artist of escapery. I have speed. I have cunning. I have madness. I can get into your head, Jo-Jo... I can make you angry and blind... I can make you afraid for your life, if need be...
I tried to tell Boogie before he stepped into the cage just what he was getting into... but he didn’t heed the warning. Like a dumb lummox, he walked brazenly into the chaos. You could look at the tape, and assume he was just steamrolling us from bell to bell... but if only you could look into his eyes, Jo-Jo, and see the DOUBT and the FRUSTRATION spreading through his mind like a slow poison.
He threw everything he had as us, but no matter what wrath we incurred... he just couldn’t keep either of us down. We kept fighting... kept kicking... kept SCRAPING the bottom of the bowl. We made him realize that for all of his “dominance”, he couldn’t break us. And when the insecurities began setting in, he turned his frustrations on his partner. If he really wanted to win, he could have pulled a Teddy Alexander and carried him out himself. But Boogie realized he COULDN’T win... not against the likes of us.
(He takes a step closer to the camera. Maybe a little TOO close, but thankfully, we can’t smell through our television sets.)
Rezin
What that match back at Aggression 69 REALLY proved is that even dominance does NOT translate to guaranteed victory. There will always be great and gifted men in this world... but talent is only as valuable as the man who wields it. It wasn’t Boogie’s partner holding him back from the victory... it was his own self-centered ego. Boogie thought he was worth more than everybody in the ring... worth more than the entire company... so he just WALKED OUT like the whiny bitch he is, because in his own head, he thought he deserved more.
So, fuck him... and fuck you too, Jo-Jo, if you think you can just stand there after a LAUGHABLY EASY win, talk all tough and mighty like you just single-handedly won the goddamb Superbowl, and expect me -- an EPW Tag Team Wrestling LEGEND -- to kow-tow to your empty words.
Your size and strength doesn’t matter to me... because it’s already obvious to me that there is neither size nor strength in your head. Just like Boogie before you. Only difference is the guy at your side.
And really, I’m not sure what’s worse... a strange midget from Defiance, or the senior official’s kid. What’s his name again? Adam? Alan? Ah well, who cares...
Believe me, Jo-Jo... I’m well aware of the possibility that I’m going to get my scrawny ass tossed around a cage for what would be the THIRD event in a row. But I get tossed around a lot, and I always bounce back to my feet. Being dominant is one thing... but being RESILIENT is another.
And Anarky and myself are the two most resilient men in this company. For as much as I’ve gotten my ass kicked in this league, it’s a wonder I haven’t quit yet. But I haven’t, and I never will... because the prospect of failure doesn’t outweigh my desire to CRUSH your every hope and dream. And as for ‘Nark? I have no idea what makes the Anti-Champion push himself the way he does... it’s something neither of us will ever fathom... but it scares the piss out of me, and I’m sure you’ll know that fear once we’re together in the cage.
Anything can happen as the four of us swim in that ocean of chaos. I could escape the cage when you aren’t looking. I could strike you down from the skies when you least expect it. You could get pissed and powerbomb your partner, like the last guy did. We can’t predict where the destructive will of the cosmos leads us once that bell rings...
(A sinister and insane smirk crosses his face.)
Rezin
...but I’ll take delight in watching whatever ruin may follow.
(Turning his back to the camera, Rezin begins walking further into the desert... or maybe back to the van, whatever. Our shot shimmers out like a mirage, and fades to black.)
(CUE UP: “No Hope On Earth” by Beast in the Field.)
(Our shot opens on a stretch of desert landscape, somewhere in that long barren stretch of land in the Southwestern portion of America. The camera pans by slowly to the forlorn sounds of blowing winds and doom-sowing sludge pounding over the soundtrack, catching a quick glimpse of a stolen EPW camera crew van hastily parked somewhere in the distance, caked from head to toe in beige dust. The shot comes to a rest on a lone, disheveled figure. The bare back facing the camera depicts an elaborate and somewhat blasphemous goat-head tattoo can only indicate that we are looking upon Empire Pro’s Goat Bastard himself, the nefarious REZIN.)
Rezin
An interesting way for Bossman to take this little tour of his... through the most desolate and depressing patch of this dying and accursed land we call America. Take a close look, my little lambs... because this is what becomes of everything in the end. We all become dust. We all become NOTHING.
Standing here now, as far as the eye can see... there is nothing. No life... no joy... no comfort... just a big, fat nothing. I can close my eyes and pretend I’m looking at something else... but it doesn’t change the image, because along with seeing nothing, I can hear nothing as well.
Such is the way it’s been every moment of my life since this tournament began. I see big men with big attitudes, and they speak big words and talk about big results. But no matter how big and bad they try to portray themselves, I see nothing to give me worry... and I hear nothing of absolutely no worth.
(Rezin turns to face the camera, showing he’s still wearing his shades. Sometimes, you almost wonder if he’s just wearing them to hide the madness twinkling down in his eyes. Under the shades and lining the devilish grin on his face is the goat-like beard that still looks crooked in the place where Boogie Smallz’ giant fingers took ahold of it back at Aggression 69.)
Rezin
Now, ask yourselves... who do you think I’m talking about here? Boogie Smallz or Malcolm Joseph-Jones?
Can anybody explain the difference between these two?
Here we have two muscular mongoloids, whose entire philosophy is “bigger is better”, so they feel entitled to brainlessly bulldozing their way through life. Because being big and being a badass doesn’t require much thought, they’re expectedly not very good at THINKING. But, if you just so happen to disagree with that mentality, or even if you’re just remotely smaller in stature, they tag you with the “bitch” label and disregard you in pretty much every way.
But behind the big image... the big words... the big attitude...
(He drops the shades from his face, and THERE is the crazed glimmer that makes us cringe.)
Rezin
...all that the Goat Bastard can see or hear is a big, fat NOTHING...
(His chuckle is drier than the desert scene behind him.)
Rezin
You know something, Jo-Jo... all my life, I’ve had to deal with people like you, putting me under their feet and calling me worthless... all because I was lacking in a few inches in height and a few pounds in muscle. For years, guys like you would use me like than a stepping stone to greater heights... and with every step, I’d sink lower and lower into the mud and the murk. But no matter how far I sank... no matter how black my heart got with every soul-crushing step on my back... I never found the bottom of the tar pit.
Then one day, I finally woke up and realized the obvious: A man’s foot is a LOT easier to break than a stepping stone.
...do you think the main event of Aggression 69 was some sort of proof that ol’ ‘Nark and I can be dominated in the ring?
(He unleashes a wet and sloppy scoff.)
Rezin
Give me a break, Jo-Jo... we never once said otherwise. In fact, ANYBODY can be dominated under the right circumstances. Yes, even a stupid muthafugga like you...
I mean, sure, I probably won’t be doing that any time soon in a physical aspect... but MENTAL dominance has always been my forte.
You’ve probably gone through your entire life thinking that physical dominance is everything. So far, it’s gotten you past a telepathic ventriloquist and retired backstage reporter. If your freakishly huge arms can still manage, reach around and pat yourself on the back for THAT amazing feat in human strength. But the reason why guys like Anarky and I have survived guys like you as long as we have is because we both know there’s more to winning matches than just being bigger, stronger, and tougher than the other guy.
Obviously, power is not my game. But as I see it, power is overrated. I don’t need size and strength to bring you to your knees, begging for your life. I’m a master of deception, and an artist of escapery. I have speed. I have cunning. I have madness. I can get into your head, Jo-Jo... I can make you angry and blind... I can make you afraid for your life, if need be...
I tried to tell Boogie before he stepped into the cage just what he was getting into... but he didn’t heed the warning. Like a dumb lummox, he walked brazenly into the chaos. You could look at the tape, and assume he was just steamrolling us from bell to bell... but if only you could look into his eyes, Jo-Jo, and see the DOUBT and the FRUSTRATION spreading through his mind like a slow poison.
He threw everything he had as us, but no matter what wrath we incurred... he just couldn’t keep either of us down. We kept fighting... kept kicking... kept SCRAPING the bottom of the bowl. We made him realize that for all of his “dominance”, he couldn’t break us. And when the insecurities began setting in, he turned his frustrations on his partner. If he really wanted to win, he could have pulled a Teddy Alexander and carried him out himself. But Boogie realized he COULDN’T win... not against the likes of us.
(He takes a step closer to the camera. Maybe a little TOO close, but thankfully, we can’t smell through our television sets.)
Rezin
What that match back at Aggression 69 REALLY proved is that even dominance does NOT translate to guaranteed victory. There will always be great and gifted men in this world... but talent is only as valuable as the man who wields it. It wasn’t Boogie’s partner holding him back from the victory... it was his own self-centered ego. Boogie thought he was worth more than everybody in the ring... worth more than the entire company... so he just WALKED OUT like the whiny bitch he is, because in his own head, he thought he deserved more.
So, fuck him... and fuck you too, Jo-Jo, if you think you can just stand there after a LAUGHABLY EASY win, talk all tough and mighty like you just single-handedly won the goddamb Superbowl, and expect me -- an EPW Tag Team Wrestling LEGEND -- to kow-tow to your empty words.
Your size and strength doesn’t matter to me... because it’s already obvious to me that there is neither size nor strength in your head. Just like Boogie before you. Only difference is the guy at your side.
And really, I’m not sure what’s worse... a strange midget from Defiance, or the senior official’s kid. What’s his name again? Adam? Alan? Ah well, who cares...
Believe me, Jo-Jo... I’m well aware of the possibility that I’m going to get my scrawny ass tossed around a cage for what would be the THIRD event in a row. But I get tossed around a lot, and I always bounce back to my feet. Being dominant is one thing... but being RESILIENT is another.
And Anarky and myself are the two most resilient men in this company. For as much as I’ve gotten my ass kicked in this league, it’s a wonder I haven’t quit yet. But I haven’t, and I never will... because the prospect of failure doesn’t outweigh my desire to CRUSH your every hope and dream. And as for ‘Nark? I have no idea what makes the Anti-Champion push himself the way he does... it’s something neither of us will ever fathom... but it scares the piss out of me, and I’m sure you’ll know that fear once we’re together in the cage.
Anything can happen as the four of us swim in that ocean of chaos. I could escape the cage when you aren’t looking. I could strike you down from the skies when you least expect it. You could get pissed and powerbomb your partner, like the last guy did. We can’t predict where the destructive will of the cosmos leads us once that bell rings...
(A sinister and insane smirk crosses his face.)
Rezin
...but I’ll take delight in watching whatever ruin may follow.
(Turning his back to the camera, Rezin begins walking further into the desert... or maybe back to the van, whatever. Our shot shimmers out like a mirage, and fades to black.)
GARTHIsTheLaw
League Member
Re: AGGRESSION 70: KOTC Rd. 2 - Aaron Jones/Malcolm Joseph-Jones v. Rezin & Anarky
<i>(We fade in on a table situated in the corner of a room – presumably the gym where so very, very many of Aaron Jones’ promos take place. A few chairs surround the table, but only one is occupied, and that by Jones himself, who sits looking into the camera. Though no other regalia is visible, Jones, for some reason, wears on his head a cheap cardboard party hat)</i>
<b>Aaron Jones:</b> They told me they were going to do something for me to celebrate my first official win. What you see before you is the extent of that celebration.
<i>(He gestures toward the party hat)</i>
<b>Jones:</b> I’ve been promised more, but I’m not sure I believe those promises.
Of course, in the grand scheme of things, the real prize I get for my first official win is a second-round match against the team of Anarky and Rezin. I’m not sure <i>prize</i> is the right word to use here, but it’s the only one I can come up with.
I suppose I shouldn’t refer to “my” first official win too many times without acknowledging that yes, it was assisted greatly by my tag team partner, who did most of the – pardon the pun – heavy lifting. And yes, he did score the deciding pinfall, and yes, he pretty much directed traffic in there.
I wouldn’t want it to seem like I’m not grateful. With another tag team partner, who knows whether I would have stood a chance, even against such … colorful opposition.
Sorry, though, Malcolm – I’m not quite grateful enough to follow your match preparation advice to the letter.
Victories come and go, but herpes is forever.
Not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment.
I’ll tell you what’s really got me interested, though: Rezin’s response to my tag team partner’s words of dominance.
Really, Rezin, I don’t disagree with you that it’s folly to overlook a smaller opponent. My career to this point hasn’t exactly been a string of upset victories, but given the limitations I’ve got to work with, you’d best believe I’ve been watching a lot of matches that end in upset victories for the little guy.
In this business, maybe more than any other, they happen all the time.
So would it be wrong to say my tag team partner has a distinct advantage over you and Anarky sheerly because of his size? Of course.
Here’s the thing, though. Maybe you didn’t listen especially carefully to Malcolm.
But I did. Listening carefully is kind of my thing nowadays. It’s one of the few areas in which I’m not at a distinct disadvantage right out of the gate.
And he wasn’t saying size is all that matters.
He was talking about dominance. Sure, being the biggest guy in the ring is the quickest path to dominance. But Malcolm brings more to the table than just size.
Athleticism, confidence and determination, we’ve seen. Resilience – an area where you claim you and Anarky are unmatched – we’ve yet to see. Our opponents didn’t give Malcolm much of an opportunity to show it off.
But if you’re assuming you have the edge there, without ever seeing for yourself whether it’s the case, then the folly here is yours.
And even if your alliance with Anarky is known for its resilience, as you claim it is, your team is only as strong as its weakest link. You saw that principle in living color in the first round of King of the Cage, thanks to Alceo Dentari’s underwhelming performance.
When it comes down to it, Rezin, the question you need to ask yourself is this:
Am I as resilient as Anarky?
You’ve been around a long time, sure. But Anarky’s got a track record that leaves yours in the dust.
He and I would fundamentally disagree on a lot of things, but there is absolutely no denying Anarky is one of the toughest men in the wrestling business. Heck, in wrestling history.
He might be able to go punch for punch with Malcolm. Can you?
You might say that’s unnecessary. But is it?
Let me tell you something. I know very, very well that Anarky, for all his toughness and aggression, can be brought down by a weaker tag team partner. I know this because I <i>was</i> that tag team partner, in the first round of the last King of the Cage tournament.
Now, granted, our opponents in that match were Stalker and Steven Shane, both of whom had a great deal more experience and renown than I do now. In terms of sheer wrestling ability, we both know I can’t keep up with you or Anarky.
You might wonder what I can hope to bring to the table in this match. So here it is.
You say your specialty is mental dominance.
And that’s a whole different ballgame from the physical kind.
<i>(Jones pulls off the party hat and sets it down on the table as he stares into the camera)</i>
<b>Jones:</b> If you remember nothing else about me going into our match at Aggression 70, remember this.
I have been the victim of mental dominance before. I followed around for almost two years a man who manipulated me into becoming his disciple, used me as a human shield, convinced me that his every word was gospel and finally abandoned me when I no longer suited his purposes.
I know all about the act of getting in someone’s head. I got an extensive education in it.
And I <i>will not</i> let it happen again. Not ever.
There is precious little I can say to you or Anarky in the way of threats. We all know my limitations.
But I can promise you this. You try to get in my head at or before Aggression 70, and I will shut. You. Down.
That is what I bring to the table.
<i>(Jones stares into the camera for another second before getting up out of his seat and walking toward it. Jones shuts off the camera, and we cut abruptly to black)</i>
<i>(We fade in on a table situated in the corner of a room – presumably the gym where so very, very many of Aaron Jones’ promos take place. A few chairs surround the table, but only one is occupied, and that by Jones himself, who sits looking into the camera. Though no other regalia is visible, Jones, for some reason, wears on his head a cheap cardboard party hat)</i>
<b>Aaron Jones:</b> They told me they were going to do something for me to celebrate my first official win. What you see before you is the extent of that celebration.
<i>(He gestures toward the party hat)</i>
<b>Jones:</b> I’ve been promised more, but I’m not sure I believe those promises.
Of course, in the grand scheme of things, the real prize I get for my first official win is a second-round match against the team of Anarky and Rezin. I’m not sure <i>prize</i> is the right word to use here, but it’s the only one I can come up with.
I suppose I shouldn’t refer to “my” first official win too many times without acknowledging that yes, it was assisted greatly by my tag team partner, who did most of the – pardon the pun – heavy lifting. And yes, he did score the deciding pinfall, and yes, he pretty much directed traffic in there.
I wouldn’t want it to seem like I’m not grateful. With another tag team partner, who knows whether I would have stood a chance, even against such … colorful opposition.
Sorry, though, Malcolm – I’m not quite grateful enough to follow your match preparation advice to the letter.
Victories come and go, but herpes is forever.
Not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment.
I’ll tell you what’s really got me interested, though: Rezin’s response to my tag team partner’s words of dominance.
Really, Rezin, I don’t disagree with you that it’s folly to overlook a smaller opponent. My career to this point hasn’t exactly been a string of upset victories, but given the limitations I’ve got to work with, you’d best believe I’ve been watching a lot of matches that end in upset victories for the little guy.
In this business, maybe more than any other, they happen all the time.
So would it be wrong to say my tag team partner has a distinct advantage over you and Anarky sheerly because of his size? Of course.
Here’s the thing, though. Maybe you didn’t listen especially carefully to Malcolm.
But I did. Listening carefully is kind of my thing nowadays. It’s one of the few areas in which I’m not at a distinct disadvantage right out of the gate.
And he wasn’t saying size is all that matters.
He was talking about dominance. Sure, being the biggest guy in the ring is the quickest path to dominance. But Malcolm brings more to the table than just size.
Athleticism, confidence and determination, we’ve seen. Resilience – an area where you claim you and Anarky are unmatched – we’ve yet to see. Our opponents didn’t give Malcolm much of an opportunity to show it off.
But if you’re assuming you have the edge there, without ever seeing for yourself whether it’s the case, then the folly here is yours.
And even if your alliance with Anarky is known for its resilience, as you claim it is, your team is only as strong as its weakest link. You saw that principle in living color in the first round of King of the Cage, thanks to Alceo Dentari’s underwhelming performance.
When it comes down to it, Rezin, the question you need to ask yourself is this:
Am I as resilient as Anarky?
You’ve been around a long time, sure. But Anarky’s got a track record that leaves yours in the dust.
He and I would fundamentally disagree on a lot of things, but there is absolutely no denying Anarky is one of the toughest men in the wrestling business. Heck, in wrestling history.
He might be able to go punch for punch with Malcolm. Can you?
You might say that’s unnecessary. But is it?
Let me tell you something. I know very, very well that Anarky, for all his toughness and aggression, can be brought down by a weaker tag team partner. I know this because I <i>was</i> that tag team partner, in the first round of the last King of the Cage tournament.
Now, granted, our opponents in that match were Stalker and Steven Shane, both of whom had a great deal more experience and renown than I do now. In terms of sheer wrestling ability, we both know I can’t keep up with you or Anarky.
You might wonder what I can hope to bring to the table in this match. So here it is.
You say your specialty is mental dominance.
And that’s a whole different ballgame from the physical kind.
<i>(Jones pulls off the party hat and sets it down on the table as he stares into the camera)</i>
<b>Jones:</b> If you remember nothing else about me going into our match at Aggression 70, remember this.
I have been the victim of mental dominance before. I followed around for almost two years a man who manipulated me into becoming his disciple, used me as a human shield, convinced me that his every word was gospel and finally abandoned me when I no longer suited his purposes.
I know all about the act of getting in someone’s head. I got an extensive education in it.
And I <i>will not</i> let it happen again. Not ever.
There is precious little I can say to you or Anarky in the way of threats. We all know my limitations.
But I can promise you this. You try to get in my head at or before Aggression 70, and I will shut. You. Down.
That is what I bring to the table.
<i>(Jones stares into the camera for another second before getting up out of his seat and walking toward it. Jones shuts off the camera, and we cut abruptly to black)</i>
JLevinson
Diva Tree
- Joined
- Jan 1, 2000
- Messages
- 707
- Points
- 0
- Age
- 43
Re: AGGRESSION 70: KOTC Rd. 2 - Aaron Jones/Malcolm Joseph-Jones v. Rezin & Anarky
(FADEIN to an old, classic-style gym. The equipment is mostly boxing-related heavy and speed bags, rather than new, shiny equipment. An old wrestling ring sits in the center of the room. Sitting on a bench off to the side is Anarky, taping up his hands. He seems almost mesmerized by the taping process.)
ANARKY: “Humans are ritualistic creatures. Day in and day out... we cling to our routines and habits. Our traditions. Passed down before us... and on to our children.
“All of our values... our dreams and hopes... our visions of the future... our legacies... nothing more than the culmination of the culture passed down to us. Chosen for us. We are never free.
“Just automatons... endlessly playing our the things we were programmed to do.
“I am not free. I am just what I was born to be. What the streets taught me about survival. What my parents never taught me about love and closeness. What a foster home can teach you about what you are worth.
“Nothing.
“The universe... the universe doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter who is right or wrong. It is just cold and unflinching. Whatever truths you hold are worth nothing.”
(At this he looks up towards the camera, his eyes giving no indication about his mood or feelings.)
ANARKY: “Your truths, Malcolm and Aaron... matter not. Your opinions on what kind of men we are. On what we deserve. On who is weak. On excuses.
“If you want to believe that the only reason we escaped the first round was an angry Italian man, then so be it. It is hardly my concern what you believe, Malcolm. It’s just a drop in the bucket.
“Nor is it my concern what you believe about me or the title I currently possess or what it means. Though if you believe I am going to lord it over to you as proof of my exceptional talent and power... well... you will be waiting quite some time.
“I am not the man you believe I am, Malcolm. I am not the gaudy showstopper, nor the braggart, nor the hero of this story.
“I am the something else entirely.
“See, I was once a True Champion. I held their precious gold. The one they sign the utmost importance to. The one they worship as their False Idol.
“Their precious.”
(He smiles at this, contemplating it a moment before speaking again.)
ANARKY: “But the truth is... the gold... the power... it is everything wrong... everything disgraceful and disgusting. It is a lie. It is the greatest lie of all.
“Gold is not the measure of a man’s worth. Nor are cheap victories. Or technicalities. Or his ability to brag about his own self-worth.
“No. A man’s worth is proven in the ring in between his lies. There doesn’t need to be any gold. Truths are found in desperate times.
“Look at our Champion. We know what man he is now. He is a man who would do anything to retain his precious title. He could betray his friends. He would betray his principles. He would sell out anything and everything as long as he could validate himself. As long as he could hold up the title and use it as proof of his greatness.
“Is this what we should seek to be? Desperate men who would grasp at straws to to prove themselves because their Mommies never loved them? Because they fear failure? Because they cannot face who they are in the mirrors?
“I am not that kind of man. I am the Anti-Champion. And I will define myself. Gold or no gold.
“The cage will be our truth, Malcolm. You need not worry about Boogie. Or what he could’ve done.
“Because the only thing that matters is right now. Now what could have been. Or should have been. But what will be. What we will find.
“What will we find in you, Malcolm? Violence? Destruction? Hate? Skill? Talent? Determination? Protectiveness? Honor? Glory?
“Time will tell, Malcolm. But if you think that this is going to be easy... that you merely need to brush Aaron aside and this will be a walk in the park for you.. then we will both learn valuable lessons. We will both find our own truths.”
(He stops for a moment and goes back to taping his wrists and then looks up and speaks again.)
ANARKY: “You know, Aaron... I can’t say I am particularly fond of the way you speak to my partner. Your continued dismissal of him.
“In fact, I’m quite tired of the way everybody treats this like Anarky and Sidekick. Rezin is not a sidekick. He’s not just a rodeo clown.
“He’s a man who has put himself on the line, night after night after night, and continues to be dismissed by men like you. By everybody. He’s an afterthought.
“He may be the single hardest working man in this entire f*cking company and I’m sick and f*cking tired of everybody acting like he’s just a bong-wielding maniac. Though... he is also that.”
(Smirks.)
ANARKY: “The truth is... Rezin and I are of one mind. There are no weak links because there are no links. No beginning and end. Where my madness ends his begins... where I falter he picks me up...
“We are stronger than the sum of our parts because we have something you don’t.
“We believe in something greater than ourselves. The need to destroy the self... to destroy the reckless worship of ego... to destroy the frauds and liars...
“... and to replace it with something beautiful and real. Something worth it.
“And like many who have come before us... like many who have fought for something passionate... for something real... we have doubters... naysayers... non-believers.
“We have bumps in the road. Failures. Mistakes. We are human. We are flawed.
“But we accept this. We do not sugarcoat it. We do not pretend to be infallible.
“And this is what makes us true. This is what makes our art so important. So beautiful.
“Because when we paint the canvas in your blood... and we show the world that you bleed the same as us... that we... we are just men...
“... we find a truth, no matter how insignificant, no matter how absurd, no matter how seemingly irrelevant.
“We are all the same. From the greatest King to the saddest pauper. We all bleed. We all fail. We all falter.
“In the Cage... you will know my mission... my dream...
“You, too, will come to know what I have known.
“You are just the next step. The next ego to be crucified and sacrificed. And you will not be the last.
“We will not reset or relent or stop until all have suffered and known our truths.
“No one must escape.”
(FADEOUT.)
(FADEIN to an old, classic-style gym. The equipment is mostly boxing-related heavy and speed bags, rather than new, shiny equipment. An old wrestling ring sits in the center of the room. Sitting on a bench off to the side is Anarky, taping up his hands. He seems almost mesmerized by the taping process.)
ANARKY: “Humans are ritualistic creatures. Day in and day out... we cling to our routines and habits. Our traditions. Passed down before us... and on to our children.
“All of our values... our dreams and hopes... our visions of the future... our legacies... nothing more than the culmination of the culture passed down to us. Chosen for us. We are never free.
“Just automatons... endlessly playing our the things we were programmed to do.
“I am not free. I am just what I was born to be. What the streets taught me about survival. What my parents never taught me about love and closeness. What a foster home can teach you about what you are worth.
“Nothing.
“The universe... the universe doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter who is right or wrong. It is just cold and unflinching. Whatever truths you hold are worth nothing.”
(At this he looks up towards the camera, his eyes giving no indication about his mood or feelings.)
ANARKY: “Your truths, Malcolm and Aaron... matter not. Your opinions on what kind of men we are. On what we deserve. On who is weak. On excuses.
“If you want to believe that the only reason we escaped the first round was an angry Italian man, then so be it. It is hardly my concern what you believe, Malcolm. It’s just a drop in the bucket.
“Nor is it my concern what you believe about me or the title I currently possess or what it means. Though if you believe I am going to lord it over to you as proof of my exceptional talent and power... well... you will be waiting quite some time.
“I am not the man you believe I am, Malcolm. I am not the gaudy showstopper, nor the braggart, nor the hero of this story.
“I am the something else entirely.
“See, I was once a True Champion. I held their precious gold. The one they sign the utmost importance to. The one they worship as their False Idol.
“Their precious.”
(He smiles at this, contemplating it a moment before speaking again.)
ANARKY: “But the truth is... the gold... the power... it is everything wrong... everything disgraceful and disgusting. It is a lie. It is the greatest lie of all.
“Gold is not the measure of a man’s worth. Nor are cheap victories. Or technicalities. Or his ability to brag about his own self-worth.
“No. A man’s worth is proven in the ring in between his lies. There doesn’t need to be any gold. Truths are found in desperate times.
“Look at our Champion. We know what man he is now. He is a man who would do anything to retain his precious title. He could betray his friends. He would betray his principles. He would sell out anything and everything as long as he could validate himself. As long as he could hold up the title and use it as proof of his greatness.
“Is this what we should seek to be? Desperate men who would grasp at straws to to prove themselves because their Mommies never loved them? Because they fear failure? Because they cannot face who they are in the mirrors?
“I am not that kind of man. I am the Anti-Champion. And I will define myself. Gold or no gold.
“The cage will be our truth, Malcolm. You need not worry about Boogie. Or what he could’ve done.
“Because the only thing that matters is right now. Now what could have been. Or should have been. But what will be. What we will find.
“What will we find in you, Malcolm? Violence? Destruction? Hate? Skill? Talent? Determination? Protectiveness? Honor? Glory?
“Time will tell, Malcolm. But if you think that this is going to be easy... that you merely need to brush Aaron aside and this will be a walk in the park for you.. then we will both learn valuable lessons. We will both find our own truths.”
(He stops for a moment and goes back to taping his wrists and then looks up and speaks again.)
ANARKY: “You know, Aaron... I can’t say I am particularly fond of the way you speak to my partner. Your continued dismissal of him.
“In fact, I’m quite tired of the way everybody treats this like Anarky and Sidekick. Rezin is not a sidekick. He’s not just a rodeo clown.
“He’s a man who has put himself on the line, night after night after night, and continues to be dismissed by men like you. By everybody. He’s an afterthought.
“He may be the single hardest working man in this entire f*cking company and I’m sick and f*cking tired of everybody acting like he’s just a bong-wielding maniac. Though... he is also that.”
(Smirks.)
ANARKY: “The truth is... Rezin and I are of one mind. There are no weak links because there are no links. No beginning and end. Where my madness ends his begins... where I falter he picks me up...
“We are stronger than the sum of our parts because we have something you don’t.
“We believe in something greater than ourselves. The need to destroy the self... to destroy the reckless worship of ego... to destroy the frauds and liars...
“... and to replace it with something beautiful and real. Something worth it.
“And like many who have come before us... like many who have fought for something passionate... for something real... we have doubters... naysayers... non-believers.
“We have bumps in the road. Failures. Mistakes. We are human. We are flawed.
“But we accept this. We do not sugarcoat it. We do not pretend to be infallible.
“And this is what makes us true. This is what makes our art so important. So beautiful.
“Because when we paint the canvas in your blood... and we show the world that you bleed the same as us... that we... we are just men...
“... we find a truth, no matter how insignificant, no matter how absurd, no matter how seemingly irrelevant.
“We are all the same. From the greatest King to the saddest pauper. We all bleed. We all fail. We all falter.
“In the Cage... you will know my mission... my dream...
“You, too, will come to know what I have known.
“You are just the next step. The next ego to be crucified and sacrificed. And you will not be the last.
“We will not reset or relent or stop until all have suffered and known our truths.
“No one must escape.”
(FADEOUT.)
brusch
Main Event Caliber
Re: AGGRESSION 70: KOTC Rd. 2 - Aaron Jones/Malcolm Joseph-Jones v. Rezin & Anarky
"You're artists, huh? Well...ain't that cute."
(The camera opens to Malcolm Joseph-Jones sitting upon a stool surrounded by a vast library of books. Before him sits an easel with a canvas whose back is turned to the camera. Malcolm wears a beret, his trademark browline glasses pushed down towards his nose, and a light purple dress shirt with black suspenders and simple black slacks, possibly painter's pants. He holds in his hands a palette and brush as he makes strokes upon the canvas, comical expressions crossing is face; muscles pouring out of him, causing brush strokes to violently shake the easel as he makes them.)
MJ2: "I'd been thinking about getting in touch with my artistic side myself. Chicks love that shit, am I right? The fellas who are 'so deep, so...complicated'. It's a fucking fabulous scam, and I gotta admit, I'm a little rusty on it. But what you said really inspired me to get back into this shit, Anarky. Thank you for that."
(Malcolm continues to paint, seemingly using random colors and absolutely no delicate strokes upon the canvas.)
MJ2: "You two are a unit. You're...CHAOS! Maybe that's true, but eh...I'm not so sure. I like my 'chaos' to be a little more...I dunno, chaotic. I'm not feelin' it, fellas.
God, you're such depressing motherfuckers for guys named after pot smokin' and runnin' wild.
You talk about changing the world, you're everything and you're nothing at the same time, you're freedom and you're chained down, you're two people but you're one person, you're blah blah blah blah BLAH BLAH BLAH.
Talk to someone who gives a fuck."
(Malcolm puts down the brush and easel and pushes his glasses up to normal level as he turns directly towards the camera. His expression is stern.)
MJ2: "No, seriously, I beg you - keep trying to think you're deep. Keep trying to be a pair of transcendental bullshitters who think they're artists. While you guys are busy messin' around like fools, I'm going to take care of business. You may be artists, but I'm a god damn wrecking ball.
Rezin, you tossed a line out there that may be the smartest damn idea you've ever had. Escape that cage. Get the hell out of the way. It'll give me all the time in the world to take Anarky and slam him in to the mat so hard he'll lose his breath. And then I'll slam him again. And again. And again.
...And again.
.........And again.
I'll break his back and I'll rupture his internal organs and I'll keep fucking slamming him to the mat until I feel like getting that three count. Fact is, I don't got nowhere else to be, fellas. I will beat the ever-loving shit out of both of y'all for as long as I have to. Whether that's five minutes, 20, 60, 500, I give exactly no fucks."
(Malcolm turns the canvas around. It was originally a print of the Mona Lisa; it has been ruined with large, multicolored X's over the entire canvas. He tosses it across the room in disgust and throws his beret to the ground.)
MJ2: "Art don't look so good when someone else doesn't play by the artist's rules, does it, fellas? I don't think you realize the threat you're facing in the middle of that ring.
You think you're the only ones who can cause chaos? You're the only ones who can make someone fear for their life?
We all bleed - and I guarantee that you will. How much you bleed is really just up to me - and how much violence I feel like inflicting upon you. I'll pin you when I say you've had enough.
Go ahead, brush me off. Say it's just another big man with big threats and no follow through.
I dare you."
(Fade to black.)
"You're artists, huh? Well...ain't that cute."
(The camera opens to Malcolm Joseph-Jones sitting upon a stool surrounded by a vast library of books. Before him sits an easel with a canvas whose back is turned to the camera. Malcolm wears a beret, his trademark browline glasses pushed down towards his nose, and a light purple dress shirt with black suspenders and simple black slacks, possibly painter's pants. He holds in his hands a palette and brush as he makes strokes upon the canvas, comical expressions crossing is face; muscles pouring out of him, causing brush strokes to violently shake the easel as he makes them.)
MJ2: "I'd been thinking about getting in touch with my artistic side myself. Chicks love that shit, am I right? The fellas who are 'so deep, so...complicated'. It's a fucking fabulous scam, and I gotta admit, I'm a little rusty on it. But what you said really inspired me to get back into this shit, Anarky. Thank you for that."
(Malcolm continues to paint, seemingly using random colors and absolutely no delicate strokes upon the canvas.)
MJ2: "You two are a unit. You're...CHAOS! Maybe that's true, but eh...I'm not so sure. I like my 'chaos' to be a little more...I dunno, chaotic. I'm not feelin' it, fellas.
God, you're such depressing motherfuckers for guys named after pot smokin' and runnin' wild.
You talk about changing the world, you're everything and you're nothing at the same time, you're freedom and you're chained down, you're two people but you're one person, you're blah blah blah blah BLAH BLAH BLAH.
Talk to someone who gives a fuck."
(Malcolm puts down the brush and easel and pushes his glasses up to normal level as he turns directly towards the camera. His expression is stern.)
MJ2: "No, seriously, I beg you - keep trying to think you're deep. Keep trying to be a pair of transcendental bullshitters who think they're artists. While you guys are busy messin' around like fools, I'm going to take care of business. You may be artists, but I'm a god damn wrecking ball.
Rezin, you tossed a line out there that may be the smartest damn idea you've ever had. Escape that cage. Get the hell out of the way. It'll give me all the time in the world to take Anarky and slam him in to the mat so hard he'll lose his breath. And then I'll slam him again. And again. And again.
...And again.
.........And again.
I'll break his back and I'll rupture his internal organs and I'll keep fucking slamming him to the mat until I feel like getting that three count. Fact is, I don't got nowhere else to be, fellas. I will beat the ever-loving shit out of both of y'all for as long as I have to. Whether that's five minutes, 20, 60, 500, I give exactly no fucks."
(Malcolm turns the canvas around. It was originally a print of the Mona Lisa; it has been ruined with large, multicolored X's over the entire canvas. He tosses it across the room in disgust and throws his beret to the ground.)
MJ2: "Art don't look so good when someone else doesn't play by the artist's rules, does it, fellas? I don't think you realize the threat you're facing in the middle of that ring.
You think you're the only ones who can cause chaos? You're the only ones who can make someone fear for their life?
We all bleed - and I guarantee that you will. How much you bleed is really just up to me - and how much violence I feel like inflicting upon you. I'll pin you when I say you've had enough.
Go ahead, brush me off. Say it's just another big man with big threats and no follow through.
I dare you."
(Fade to black.)
Re: AGGRESSION 70: KOTC Rd. 2 - Aaron Jones/Malcolm Joseph-Jones v. Rezin & Anarky
(CUE UP: “Mind Collapse” by Cough.)
(Our scene fades in on a slow, panning shot of one of Arizona’s many ghost towns. The dilapidated buildings, long abandoned but still somehow standing after a century and a half of neglect, pass by like grey tombstones bearing the names of the forgotten.)
(After another moment of exposition, the shot comes to rest on the saloon along the main drag of the city. The swinging doors part as the nefarious REZIN steps out into the sun, wearing his coat, his shades, and the words “FUCK U.T.” written across his bare chest in black pitch, with what could be assumed to be his new “100% Rezin” t-shirt.)
Rezin
See for yourself where a man’s pursuit for gold gets him...
(He holds his arms out as he steps down from the saloon’s entry-way and enters the dirt-tracked road, slowly approaching the camera.)
Rezin
It’s hard to believe that once, generations ago, this place was a thriving and industrious community of miners and merchants. A foundation was made here... something that was meant to last forever... a LEGACY if you will.
But you look at it now, and you realize the depressing truth: NOTHING lasts forever. This town was just one of many trying to find its place in a fleeting era of oversaturation and hollow promises. The gold rush ended... and the hopes and dreams that the founders of this forsaken place slowly died and decayed into dust.
I see it all the time, over all these years I’ve travelled the world, from sold-out arenas to empty bingo parlors. Professional wrestling doesn’t have ghost towns... just ghost wrestlers. Men who chased for gold, but in the end, did nothing more than waste their time and resources just to end up being forgotten. Guys like Donovan Astros... Michael Bastard... Layne Winters... barely anything more than memories now, but once, not too long ago, people were calling them the future top stars of Empire Pro.
(He comes to a stop a few paces in front of the camera, mouth stretched into his typically sloppy and sideways smirk of dark delights.)
Rezin
Empire Pro has a gold rush of its own on its hands now, in the form of the King of the Cage tournament. Some seek the gold of a crown, to be proclaimed King of the steel cell and the entire company with it. Others just want the gold hanging on the EPW Tag Team Titles, and a chance to give its a division a shot in the arm. Then, you got guys like Anarky and me... guys who could take or leave gold, but really, all we want is a front row seat to the fiery apocalypse that awaits us all.
Nobody else in this tournament will gain anything by succeeding this tournament. Gold does not give one validity or worth. Gold is simply material... a fleeting feeling of pride. People think that when they take it, they’ve gained something to give them credibility... to make them think and feel important. But the feeling is only temporary, because in a couple years, nobody will remember who won this tournament...
...just like nobody remembers who won the King of the Cage two years ago.
Most people in this sport have short attention spans, so you can’t really hold it past them for forgetting times and places that are no longer relevant... but I’m not one of them. Rezin remembers what others have forgotten.
(He walks to his left, out of the frame. The camera follows as he walks into the weed-choked churchyard nearby, and ambles through the rows of graves, looking over some of the names.)
Rezin
And while I may originally have had trouble in remembering your name, Aaron Jones... please don’t take that as evidence that I’ve forgotten who you are. The weakest link of your team? Seems to be the popular opinion... but there’s not really much to study on, considering your match didn’t see any air time.
On the other hand, you can sit back and study my moves... “listen”, as you seem to think you do so well. I wish I had that kind of luxury, but then again, I’m one of few who understands that the only way to know anything is to acknowledge that you know nothing. Hence, I’m one of few that can walk into the ring with no knowledge of his opponent or his abilities and still roll with the punches.
And unlike you, I HAVE examples I can point to. Maybe you should listen less, and do more watching... of tape. See that resilience for yourself. See what happens when I walk into the ring and throw it all on the line regardless of expectations or ambitions.
Forget whatever conclusions you might draw from my win-loss ratio. I haven’t been wrestling ventriloquists and reporters. I’ve been going at with guys like Smallz... Stevens... PROVEN talents that have been in this sport for a long time. This is to say nothing of the fact that I hold wins over the last two men to carry the EPW World Heavyweight Title.
Believe me, Aaron... the world wants to look at you as this kid who is completely in under his own head every time he’s in the ring. But I know what’s up... I see the signs, every time you get in the ring. I saw you myself back at Black Dawn, where even though you ate the canvas, you still took a significant step up as a competitor.
Despite not knowing a lot, if there’s one thing I DO know, it’s that you’re getting better, one show after the next. Now you’ve got your first win under your belt... with the assistance of a huge Vale Tudo giant, but a win, nevertheless. When you went into the ring the first time, you were a scared child... and now, you’re feeling the stubble growing in on your balls. Where will you be a year from now, Aaron? Knocking on the doors of a championship?
(He draws a hand across the graveyard.)
Rezin
All of these men had dreams of gold themselves, Aaron. And maybe some of them found it... but they didn’t find enough to escape this land of decay and desolation.
Do YOU want gold, Aaron? Is that why you signed up in this tournament? Heaven forbid you find it... because if there’s one thing that history has shown us over the years, it’s that the Empire’s gold is cursed to bring its carrier to a miserable end. Win a title, Aaron... and you’d just be another of the forgotten.
Either way, through success or failure, the destination remains the same for you... heartbreak... crushed hopes... destroyed dreams of grandeur. I’m going to do you a favor, bring the noxious cloud of hopelessness over you. I’m going to erase all those boyish notions of fame and glory... before you ever have the chance of facing the fate of being ruined by your own success.
Call it a favor, from one Hoosier to another.
(He drops and takes a seat, leaning his back against one of the many dust-covered gravestones occupying the cemetery. From here, he looks over the ghost town, smiling curiously as he perhaps relives the possible triumphs and tragedies that occurred in this place, many moons ago.)
Rezin
Malcolm Joseph-Jones... forgive me if it seems like I’m passing you off as nothing... but it’s kind of hard to take you seriously when you pretty much opened this week by giving us the exact same treatment.
Not only that... but the more I look at this world, the more I understand that nothing is the end all, be all of everything. That includes you and me alike. The only difference is, I know what I am in the grand scheme of things. But you? You got it in your head that you’re a special little snowflake, a one-of-a-kind and if you can talk and walk bigger and badder than everybody else, that the world will one day take a knee to the future “King Jo-Jo”.
Your words are nothing... your THREATS are nothing... because even though you and I have yet to get acquainted in that cage, these are things that I’ve heard before from every other meat-head who just spouts their own flavor ego-stroking drivel.
And in spite of all the guys that said they’d crush me, or break me, or cripple me... I’m still here, Malcolm.
I don’t doubt your ability to hurt me... but pain is fleeting. There’s no amount of pain you can put me through that I haven’t already put myself through after ten years of scraping my way through this sport. If you don’t think I haven’’t suffered or spilled some of my own blood just to get to this point... then you have no idea what you’re in for.
Like I said... resiliency is my greatest strength. You can pick me up and slam me into the mat a bajillion times, but it’s nothing I haven’t withstood before, and nothing I won’t withstand a thousand times more until this Empire finally falls. I don’t need to dominate you every minute of the match to come out with the win. All I really need to do is to keep kicking and keep scraping... until you get tired, and frustrated, and you make that one mistake that ends up costing you and your partner everything.
All I need is one move... just ONCE CHANCE to put this foot into your face... or jam these fingers down your throat... and your hopes of being a King of the Cage will be just as dead and depressing as this town we’re sitting in.
(The chuckle he lets out is as dry as his surroundings... it sounds painful to hear him express his amusement. Getting to his feet, he dusts off his pants and looks up the camera a final time.)
Rezin
We can sit here and measure strengths and weaknesses all week, and try to justify what puts us over... but figuring out who the “favored” team would be on paper is not going to guarantee anything in the final moments of the match. Despite weapons and defenses, Anarky and I are the ONLY two men in this tournament who understand that when that cage door closes, ANYTHING can happen...
When plans go awry, as they typically do, ‘Nark and I do our best work. It’s not to say we expect the unexpected... but we roll with the punches, adapt to situations, and spread the seeds of discord when the opportunities present themselves.
(He drops the shades to reveal his bloodshot eyes to the camera. Suddenly, it doesn’t seem like he was smirking this entire time... but maybe sneering with contempt.)
Rezin
In that cage... NOTHING is known. NOTHING is true. Confidence can crumble... determination can wilt. The strong can be made feeble, and the invisible can cast shadows that stretch on for miles, encompassing all of life.
THAT is the theory of CHAOS, gentlemen... see you next time in class.
(He walks out of the frame as we go to black.)
(CUE UP: “Mind Collapse” by Cough.)
(Our scene fades in on a slow, panning shot of one of Arizona’s many ghost towns. The dilapidated buildings, long abandoned but still somehow standing after a century and a half of neglect, pass by like grey tombstones bearing the names of the forgotten.)
(After another moment of exposition, the shot comes to rest on the saloon along the main drag of the city. The swinging doors part as the nefarious REZIN steps out into the sun, wearing his coat, his shades, and the words “FUCK U.T.” written across his bare chest in black pitch, with what could be assumed to be his new “100% Rezin” t-shirt.)
Rezin
See for yourself where a man’s pursuit for gold gets him...
(He holds his arms out as he steps down from the saloon’s entry-way and enters the dirt-tracked road, slowly approaching the camera.)
Rezin
It’s hard to believe that once, generations ago, this place was a thriving and industrious community of miners and merchants. A foundation was made here... something that was meant to last forever... a LEGACY if you will.
But you look at it now, and you realize the depressing truth: NOTHING lasts forever. This town was just one of many trying to find its place in a fleeting era of oversaturation and hollow promises. The gold rush ended... and the hopes and dreams that the founders of this forsaken place slowly died and decayed into dust.
I see it all the time, over all these years I’ve travelled the world, from sold-out arenas to empty bingo parlors. Professional wrestling doesn’t have ghost towns... just ghost wrestlers. Men who chased for gold, but in the end, did nothing more than waste their time and resources just to end up being forgotten. Guys like Donovan Astros... Michael Bastard... Layne Winters... barely anything more than memories now, but once, not too long ago, people were calling them the future top stars of Empire Pro.
(He comes to a stop a few paces in front of the camera, mouth stretched into his typically sloppy and sideways smirk of dark delights.)
Rezin
Empire Pro has a gold rush of its own on its hands now, in the form of the King of the Cage tournament. Some seek the gold of a crown, to be proclaimed King of the steel cell and the entire company with it. Others just want the gold hanging on the EPW Tag Team Titles, and a chance to give its a division a shot in the arm. Then, you got guys like Anarky and me... guys who could take or leave gold, but really, all we want is a front row seat to the fiery apocalypse that awaits us all.
Nobody else in this tournament will gain anything by succeeding this tournament. Gold does not give one validity or worth. Gold is simply material... a fleeting feeling of pride. People think that when they take it, they’ve gained something to give them credibility... to make them think and feel important. But the feeling is only temporary, because in a couple years, nobody will remember who won this tournament...
...just like nobody remembers who won the King of the Cage two years ago.
Most people in this sport have short attention spans, so you can’t really hold it past them for forgetting times and places that are no longer relevant... but I’m not one of them. Rezin remembers what others have forgotten.
(He walks to his left, out of the frame. The camera follows as he walks into the weed-choked churchyard nearby, and ambles through the rows of graves, looking over some of the names.)
Rezin
And while I may originally have had trouble in remembering your name, Aaron Jones... please don’t take that as evidence that I’ve forgotten who you are. The weakest link of your team? Seems to be the popular opinion... but there’s not really much to study on, considering your match didn’t see any air time.
On the other hand, you can sit back and study my moves... “listen”, as you seem to think you do so well. I wish I had that kind of luxury, but then again, I’m one of few who understands that the only way to know anything is to acknowledge that you know nothing. Hence, I’m one of few that can walk into the ring with no knowledge of his opponent or his abilities and still roll with the punches.
And unlike you, I HAVE examples I can point to. Maybe you should listen less, and do more watching... of tape. See that resilience for yourself. See what happens when I walk into the ring and throw it all on the line regardless of expectations or ambitions.
Forget whatever conclusions you might draw from my win-loss ratio. I haven’t been wrestling ventriloquists and reporters. I’ve been going at with guys like Smallz... Stevens... PROVEN talents that have been in this sport for a long time. This is to say nothing of the fact that I hold wins over the last two men to carry the EPW World Heavyweight Title.
Believe me, Aaron... the world wants to look at you as this kid who is completely in under his own head every time he’s in the ring. But I know what’s up... I see the signs, every time you get in the ring. I saw you myself back at Black Dawn, where even though you ate the canvas, you still took a significant step up as a competitor.
Despite not knowing a lot, if there’s one thing I DO know, it’s that you’re getting better, one show after the next. Now you’ve got your first win under your belt... with the assistance of a huge Vale Tudo giant, but a win, nevertheless. When you went into the ring the first time, you were a scared child... and now, you’re feeling the stubble growing in on your balls. Where will you be a year from now, Aaron? Knocking on the doors of a championship?
(He draws a hand across the graveyard.)
Rezin
All of these men had dreams of gold themselves, Aaron. And maybe some of them found it... but they didn’t find enough to escape this land of decay and desolation.
Do YOU want gold, Aaron? Is that why you signed up in this tournament? Heaven forbid you find it... because if there’s one thing that history has shown us over the years, it’s that the Empire’s gold is cursed to bring its carrier to a miserable end. Win a title, Aaron... and you’d just be another of the forgotten.
Either way, through success or failure, the destination remains the same for you... heartbreak... crushed hopes... destroyed dreams of grandeur. I’m going to do you a favor, bring the noxious cloud of hopelessness over you. I’m going to erase all those boyish notions of fame and glory... before you ever have the chance of facing the fate of being ruined by your own success.
Call it a favor, from one Hoosier to another.
(He drops and takes a seat, leaning his back against one of the many dust-covered gravestones occupying the cemetery. From here, he looks over the ghost town, smiling curiously as he perhaps relives the possible triumphs and tragedies that occurred in this place, many moons ago.)
Rezin
Malcolm Joseph-Jones... forgive me if it seems like I’m passing you off as nothing... but it’s kind of hard to take you seriously when you pretty much opened this week by giving us the exact same treatment.
Not only that... but the more I look at this world, the more I understand that nothing is the end all, be all of everything. That includes you and me alike. The only difference is, I know what I am in the grand scheme of things. But you? You got it in your head that you’re a special little snowflake, a one-of-a-kind and if you can talk and walk bigger and badder than everybody else, that the world will one day take a knee to the future “King Jo-Jo”.
Your words are nothing... your THREATS are nothing... because even though you and I have yet to get acquainted in that cage, these are things that I’ve heard before from every other meat-head who just spouts their own flavor ego-stroking drivel.
And in spite of all the guys that said they’d crush me, or break me, or cripple me... I’m still here, Malcolm.
I don’t doubt your ability to hurt me... but pain is fleeting. There’s no amount of pain you can put me through that I haven’t already put myself through after ten years of scraping my way through this sport. If you don’t think I haven’’t suffered or spilled some of my own blood just to get to this point... then you have no idea what you’re in for.
Like I said... resiliency is my greatest strength. You can pick me up and slam me into the mat a bajillion times, but it’s nothing I haven’t withstood before, and nothing I won’t withstand a thousand times more until this Empire finally falls. I don’t need to dominate you every minute of the match to come out with the win. All I really need to do is to keep kicking and keep scraping... until you get tired, and frustrated, and you make that one mistake that ends up costing you and your partner everything.
All I need is one move... just ONCE CHANCE to put this foot into your face... or jam these fingers down your throat... and your hopes of being a King of the Cage will be just as dead and depressing as this town we’re sitting in.
(The chuckle he lets out is as dry as his surroundings... it sounds painful to hear him express his amusement. Getting to his feet, he dusts off his pants and looks up the camera a final time.)
Rezin
We can sit here and measure strengths and weaknesses all week, and try to justify what puts us over... but figuring out who the “favored” team would be on paper is not going to guarantee anything in the final moments of the match. Despite weapons and defenses, Anarky and I are the ONLY two men in this tournament who understand that when that cage door closes, ANYTHING can happen...
When plans go awry, as they typically do, ‘Nark and I do our best work. It’s not to say we expect the unexpected... but we roll with the punches, adapt to situations, and spread the seeds of discord when the opportunities present themselves.
(He drops the shades to reveal his bloodshot eyes to the camera. Suddenly, it doesn’t seem like he was smirking this entire time... but maybe sneering with contempt.)
Rezin
In that cage... NOTHING is known. NOTHING is true. Confidence can crumble... determination can wilt. The strong can be made feeble, and the invisible can cast shadows that stretch on for miles, encompassing all of life.
THAT is the theory of CHAOS, gentlemen... see you next time in class.
(He walks out of the frame as we go to black.)
brusch
Main Event Caliber
Re: AGGRESSION 70: KOTC Rd. 2 - Aaron Jones/Malcolm Joseph-Jones v. Rezin & Anarky
“Rezin, no jokes today. It’s time you understood a few things.”
(The camera opens to a pitch black room. A spotlight pops on from behind the camera, forming a bright circle of light around a standing Malcolm Joseph-Jones in full ring gear. He appears to be standing indoors in front of a concrete wall, covered in multicolored graffiti.)
MJ2: “Greatness.
It’s a word we throw around so much that it’s lost some of its real luster, but the fact is, it doesn’t matter if you’re a wrestler, boxer, writer, banker – if you’re a professional, greatness is the most important brass ring you reach for. Greatness flows in the veins, it speaks of passion.
In our business, you’re right that greatness isn’t ‘just’ titles. There’s more to it too – for example, beating the people you’re SUPPOSED to beat. You’re talkin’ shit about our win over Mojo Massey and Akita, but when you’re great, you’re supposed to dominate the weak ones who shouldn’t even be in the building. We did that. It’s not my problem that you want to bitch about the first round draw.
However, you’re a god damn FOOL if you think titles ain’t important. Gold equals status. Gold tells the boys in the back, it tells Dan Ryan, it tells the crowd of people in that arena, it tells the WORLD that you have accomplished something real in this business and that you have the goods to prove it.
I’ve got a theory about why you’re sayin’ EPW gold isn’t important. It’s because you haven’t won any since what – 2004? You’re a self-proclaimed tag team legend – but you haven’t sniffed the straps since before I could legally buy a beer. And it's funny - you say gold’s not important to you, then brag about beating people who hold the supposedly-unimportant EPW world title.
See, I’ve been involved with competitive sports all my life. In my experience, there’s only two types of people in the world who don’t care about gold: people who play just for fun, or people who don’t got what it TAKES to get that gold. The second type makes excuses; titles are meaningless, title’s don’t define you, titles are for lucky people. The fact is, that kind of person NEVER had what it took to be great.
And like I said before – you’re too goddamn depressing to convince me you’re having fun out there.
So what’ve you been doin’ instead, huh? Wastin’ your time, gettin’ high as fuck, maybe sniffing your nose AROUND greatness – but never takin’ that real step forward.
It’s why you are who you are; a good, maybe even a VERY good wrestler. But you’ll never be a great wrestler.”
(Malcolm cracks his neck and spits on the ground. He gives a fired-up gaze to the camera, takes a deep breath, and continues.)
MJ2: “You shouldn’t be offended if you think I don't take you seriously…truth is, you offend me.
You’re a man who COULD have all the tools in the world to be the man at the top. You’re the ‘Escape Artist’, and you got a head on your shoulders; but you’re lettin’ it waste away. Instead of being great, you’re a damn fool who spends his time smoking shitty weed instead of taking care of his body. A man who tries riding the coattails of more powerful and more talented men around him, like Anarky, instead of showing your own force.
It is offensive to me, because I have been held down all my life by lazy fucks like you. By lazy fucks who don’t have my intensity, who don’t have my drive, and who CERTAINLY don’t have my physical tools. See, people don’t like it when I point out their flaws. People don’t like it when I get in their faces when they don’t have my hustle or my talent.
They call it shit like ‘bullying’.
You’re damn right I’m a bully. I’m a bully because if you don’t hold yourself to the kind of standard I hold myself to, you ARE a worthless piece of trash who needs to get out of my fucking way.
And I’ve had e-god-damn-nough of it. You want to waste your life? You want to fuck around and try to tell me you’ve earned the right to smoke the worst shit you can find and coast your way to second-place finishes against REAL beasts? Not at my expense, you haven’t.
I’ve got the hunger for greatness. I’ve got the exceptional personal pride and every club in the bag to get there. And I will NOT stand here and let another man with less talent than me toss me aside like I’m nothin’.”
(Malcolm walks towards the camera; the cameraman nervously begins backing away, bringing the camera with him. The pace begins slowly; over time the speed and intensity of the walk grows.)
MJ2: “Aaron, this is what I’m here for. This is what I’m building. This is why I am holding you accountable if things fall apart. I expect anyone who wants to follow my lead to have my fire, and I refuse to allow ANY living soul in EPW to get in my way from achieving greatness.
And that’s the difference between Rezin and I. Rezin wants the reputation, he wants to try and define spotlight under some CHAOS bullshit, but he's too scared to take that shot to be great on his own without that security blanket Anarky nearby.
When Aaron and I get the win over you fellas, some people are gonna be surprised – but then, they’ll take a step back and say, ‘Oh, well, Rezin was on that team. We should have seen this coming.’ That’s your legacy in this business – an entertaining, amusing, dope smoking ‘almost-was’ who has the skills to put on great matches but who will always fall short in the end because he doesn't have what it takes.
And it’s also why I had my eye on Anarky from the start. Anarky has proven himself a HELL of a lot more than you have, Rezin. He’s the leader of your team, whether you two admit that or not, and even if he pretends like he hates holdin’ that gold, he HAS some, and is usin’ it as his own marker for greatness. And it’s why he’s someone who will be on my mind after Aaron and I get to the semis.”
(Malcolm’s speed has caught up to the cameraman, and he violently grabs the camera. Holding it close to his face, you can hear Malcolm’s deep, powerful breaths.)
MJ2: “I dared you. I dared you to blow me off, and you did.
Big. Mistake.”
(The camera smashes to the ground as the video cuts abruptly to black.)
“Rezin, no jokes today. It’s time you understood a few things.”
(The camera opens to a pitch black room. A spotlight pops on from behind the camera, forming a bright circle of light around a standing Malcolm Joseph-Jones in full ring gear. He appears to be standing indoors in front of a concrete wall, covered in multicolored graffiti.)
MJ2: “Greatness.
It’s a word we throw around so much that it’s lost some of its real luster, but the fact is, it doesn’t matter if you’re a wrestler, boxer, writer, banker – if you’re a professional, greatness is the most important brass ring you reach for. Greatness flows in the veins, it speaks of passion.
In our business, you’re right that greatness isn’t ‘just’ titles. There’s more to it too – for example, beating the people you’re SUPPOSED to beat. You’re talkin’ shit about our win over Mojo Massey and Akita, but when you’re great, you’re supposed to dominate the weak ones who shouldn’t even be in the building. We did that. It’s not my problem that you want to bitch about the first round draw.
However, you’re a god damn FOOL if you think titles ain’t important. Gold equals status. Gold tells the boys in the back, it tells Dan Ryan, it tells the crowd of people in that arena, it tells the WORLD that you have accomplished something real in this business and that you have the goods to prove it.
I’ve got a theory about why you’re sayin’ EPW gold isn’t important. It’s because you haven’t won any since what – 2004? You’re a self-proclaimed tag team legend – but you haven’t sniffed the straps since before I could legally buy a beer. And it's funny - you say gold’s not important to you, then brag about beating people who hold the supposedly-unimportant EPW world title.
See, I’ve been involved with competitive sports all my life. In my experience, there’s only two types of people in the world who don’t care about gold: people who play just for fun, or people who don’t got what it TAKES to get that gold. The second type makes excuses; titles are meaningless, title’s don’t define you, titles are for lucky people. The fact is, that kind of person NEVER had what it took to be great.
And like I said before – you’re too goddamn depressing to convince me you’re having fun out there.
So what’ve you been doin’ instead, huh? Wastin’ your time, gettin’ high as fuck, maybe sniffing your nose AROUND greatness – but never takin’ that real step forward.
It’s why you are who you are; a good, maybe even a VERY good wrestler. But you’ll never be a great wrestler.”
(Malcolm cracks his neck and spits on the ground. He gives a fired-up gaze to the camera, takes a deep breath, and continues.)
MJ2: “You shouldn’t be offended if you think I don't take you seriously…truth is, you offend me.
You’re a man who COULD have all the tools in the world to be the man at the top. You’re the ‘Escape Artist’, and you got a head on your shoulders; but you’re lettin’ it waste away. Instead of being great, you’re a damn fool who spends his time smoking shitty weed instead of taking care of his body. A man who tries riding the coattails of more powerful and more talented men around him, like Anarky, instead of showing your own force.
It is offensive to me, because I have been held down all my life by lazy fucks like you. By lazy fucks who don’t have my intensity, who don’t have my drive, and who CERTAINLY don’t have my physical tools. See, people don’t like it when I point out their flaws. People don’t like it when I get in their faces when they don’t have my hustle or my talent.
They call it shit like ‘bullying’.
You’re damn right I’m a bully. I’m a bully because if you don’t hold yourself to the kind of standard I hold myself to, you ARE a worthless piece of trash who needs to get out of my fucking way.
And I’ve had e-god-damn-nough of it. You want to waste your life? You want to fuck around and try to tell me you’ve earned the right to smoke the worst shit you can find and coast your way to second-place finishes against REAL beasts? Not at my expense, you haven’t.
I’ve got the hunger for greatness. I’ve got the exceptional personal pride and every club in the bag to get there. And I will NOT stand here and let another man with less talent than me toss me aside like I’m nothin’.”
(Malcolm walks towards the camera; the cameraman nervously begins backing away, bringing the camera with him. The pace begins slowly; over time the speed and intensity of the walk grows.)
MJ2: “Aaron, this is what I’m here for. This is what I’m building. This is why I am holding you accountable if things fall apart. I expect anyone who wants to follow my lead to have my fire, and I refuse to allow ANY living soul in EPW to get in my way from achieving greatness.
And that’s the difference between Rezin and I. Rezin wants the reputation, he wants to try and define spotlight under some CHAOS bullshit, but he's too scared to take that shot to be great on his own without that security blanket Anarky nearby.
When Aaron and I get the win over you fellas, some people are gonna be surprised – but then, they’ll take a step back and say, ‘Oh, well, Rezin was on that team. We should have seen this coming.’ That’s your legacy in this business – an entertaining, amusing, dope smoking ‘almost-was’ who has the skills to put on great matches but who will always fall short in the end because he doesn't have what it takes.
And it’s also why I had my eye on Anarky from the start. Anarky has proven himself a HELL of a lot more than you have, Rezin. He’s the leader of your team, whether you two admit that or not, and even if he pretends like he hates holdin’ that gold, he HAS some, and is usin’ it as his own marker for greatness. And it’s why he’s someone who will be on my mind after Aaron and I get to the semis.”
(Malcolm’s speed has caught up to the cameraman, and he violently grabs the camera. Holding it close to his face, you can hear Malcolm’s deep, powerful breaths.)
MJ2: “I dared you. I dared you to blow me off, and you did.
Big. Mistake.”
(The camera smashes to the ground as the video cuts abruptly to black.)
Re: AGGRESSION 70: KOTC Rd. 2 - Aaron Jones/Malcolm Joseph-Jones v. Rezin & Anarky
(CUE UP: “Trilobite” by Mastodon. Yes, hard to imagine, I know, but they actually were a sludge metal band at one point.)
(Our scene opens up in the evening. We’re out in the middle of the painted desert again, sometime near sunset. REZIN sits on top of the production van serving as his wheels to the next Aggression taking place in Arizona. The setting sun can be seen prominently in the reflection of his sunglasses, until he turns his attention over to the camera.)
Rezin
“Big mistake?”
Do you think you just dealt me some heavy emotional blow by saying all that? Am I supposed to curl up into a ball and cry like a baby, unable to come to face with some soul-crushing truth delvered by your verbal beat-down?
(Rezin checks himself and looks around... seemingly confused at the complete lack of a pay-off. Shrugging, he shakes his head to the camera.)
Rezin
Sorry, Jo-Jo... but if that’s your idea of following through on your threats, then I’m not sure I have much to worry about when you say you’re going to just slam me down like Lebron and move on without a second thought.
No pun intended here, but what’s with all the aggression? I mean, first you dare me not to look past you... so I double dared you, and asked you to just give me one fucking reason NOT to look past you. Because let’s face it... you aren’t telling me anything I haven’t heard before. I don’t understand how you can be THAT fucking stupid that you just can’t grasp that concept.
You think you’re the first person who’s come out and called me a waste of potential? My own mother had you beat in that honor over twenty years ago...
And then I’ve heard it from Boogie... I’ve heard it from Trip... and I’ve heard it from so many others before them. Guys you’ve probably never heard of... guys who probably had similar ideas of “greatness” as you do. Guys who won titles... lost titles... and LEFT.
Some of those guys found ways to beat me in the ring. Others weren’t so lucky. So which one are you, Malcolm? Because if you’re going to sit there and rehash things I’ve been hearing from my opponents over the better part of the past couple years, then you’re not really accomplishing anything other than wasting my time until that bell rings.
Bottom line... while a lot of what you and everybody else tells me may just as well be true... it doesn’t really matter to me. I understand that once that bell rings, Jo-Jo, all bets are off. I have nothing to lose and everything to prove once that cage door is locked shut behind us. If you want to see me as lazy... weak... cowardly... then go ahead. I dare you to go that route. Go ahead, and willingly underestimate one of the most dangerous and dastardly men in this sport... the goat bastard that pisses on every parade.
Because I’ll tell you right now, Jo-Jo... if it turns out that all your pomp and prick-measuring isn’t enough to handle the cunning and craftiness of the Escape Artist, then YOU’D be the only one making a big mistake.
(He sits up and pulls himself off of the roof of the van, dropping down to the sandy ground below him. He starts walking west, chasing the sunset, which is now a glowing orb sinking slowly into the horizon. On his bared chest, the words “REZINSTRONG” are scrawled in black, over what looks to be a blasphemous depiction of a ribbon and an upside down cross.)
Rezin
Honestly, I’ve been in this conversation too many times before... and I’m exhausted, trying to explain it to morons like you time and time again, just so you can say I’m making excuses to hide the fact that I’m not a “great” wrestler.
I KNOW I’m not a “great” wrestler... and I’ve always been pretty upfront about that, so I don’t understand why guys like you think you’re dealing me some heavy realization every time you come out say that I “never had what it takes”, or some macho crap like that.
I also don’t understand why “greatness” has to be the end-all, be-all of existence for a professional wrestler. Fuck “greatness”, Malcolm. It’s overrated. It’s fleeting. It always has been. You think I’m bitter because I haven’t accomplished anything of worth in my career? No... the truth is, unlike you, I actually have the luxury of having been in one of the greatest professional wrestling companies on the planet for a long while.
And when I say that winning titles isn’t important to me, it’s because I understand that even champions can be forgotten. I’ve seen plenty of them come and go... some even put these shoulders to the mat... but even if I started listing off names right now, there would be few you would recognize as your idea of “great” wrestlers... because the TRUE great wrestlers in this sport stick around longer than a few months.
In MY experience in competitive sports, there are two types of people who actually DO care about gold. Some of them want to define that gold by being exemplary athletes and making an impact. My partner is of this kind of champion.
The other kind of gold-digger, however, expect the gold to define THEM... as if the only possible way they could validate their miserable existence is by proving they can beat a guy who’s one real claim to fame is that he beat some other guy before him.
This is where I see YOU as weak, Malcolm. You HAVE to be a champion... because otherwise, you are a failure by your own logic.
(He drops his shades, turning his attention from the setting sun to the camera to give the viewer a good look at the unhinged vice deep in his bloodshot eyes.)
Rezin
But if “gold equals status” is your thing, Jo-Jo, then fine... live by it, and see where it takes you. But don’t sit there and feed me this bullshit about how I “insult” you just because I was satisfied just getting a paycheck over these past eight years since my stint as this company’s first Tag Team Champion.
Excuse my ass to pieces if the fact that my low self-standards offend you, or whatever...but you seem to forget that not everybody in the world can be born with “great” genes... they can’t be trained in “great” facilities by “great” mentors. Poor little guys like me had to scrape by through this business for years just to makes ends meet. Sure, Malcolm... I’m not great. But it’s a great job, and I always show up and do my fucking job. And despite the fact that I often look like a bitch week in and week out, I keep going out there... and trying.
I keep trying... just to prove arrogant assholes like you wrong.
You can call me lazy... but if that were really true, then I would have just quit this shit years ago, and spent the rest of my years working in a lousy taco shop off an interstate exit.
(He looks off into the distance again as the sun sinks the rest of the way, and darkness sets in. For whatever reason, he puts the shades back on, before kneeling lower to the earth. He picks up a handful of dust and lets it drift out of his fingers as the wind breezes by. Its passage brings an amused smile on his face.)
Rezin
I don’t want greatness, Malcolm. There’s nothing for me to gain from it. The only thing I really want... is the destruction...
The destruction of your PRIDE... your EGO... your sickeningly over-inflated sense of value to this sport...
I take delight in watching the paper-thin confidence of weaker-minded men collapse when they encounter something they could never account for. Plainly speaking, I want to derail the Malcolm Joseph-Jones train before it ever leaves the station. I want you to choke on your own words. I want to HAUNT YOUR DREAMS for weeks on end following this match.
Believe me, Jo-Jo... once you’ve tasted the Cottonmouth, it’ll be a MONTH before you can live a day without that nagging urge to look over your back and make sure I’m not there, ready to drag you down into a sludge-soaked doom.
And why? Because like I said in the beginning... people like you have been putting me under their feet my entire life. And I’m tired of being walked on.
You can call me a coward... but the fact of the matter is, I boldly challenged one of this company’s Hall of Famers and undisputed legends... TWICE. I did it to prove that your entire macho idea of “greatness” is nothing but a myth... and I would have done it, by letting the fans see the Empire’s self-proclaimed King being taken down by the lowly goat bastard.
I tried... but I didn’t have enough. I don’t have any explanations or excuses for it, Malcolm... it just wasn’t my time and place. Next time, I’ll just have to try HARDER, I suppose.
(His attention turns up to the camera again.)
Rezin
Eight years ago, I willingly let go of the EPW Tag Team Titles... and ever since that moment, you could say my entire life has been cursed. But maybe that’s the penance I have to pay, for the walking away from the first great opportunity of my professional career.
And that’s where I am right now... in the King of the Cage tournament. All those title opportunities I’ve supposedly squandered in all the years prior to this moment... none of those matter any more. All of those lost chances were simply building blocks to THIS time and THIS place...
In winning this tournament, I’m going to break that curse, Malcolm... I’m going to retake those Tag Titles... and when I do, you can bet your ass I won’t be walking away. But in order to do that, I realize that ‘Nark and I have to get through you and the Jones kid first.
You think that kid is the weak link of your team... but you’re actually wrong about that. YOU are the weak link. If Jones goes down, you can still carry your team on your own. You seem to think you do, anyway. But if you go down? Well... I’d hate to be that kid, on his own against the two of us.
Nobody can predict who will move on to the next round in the Bracket of Death... but when we finally come face to face in the cage, Malcolm... but if there’s one thing I can promise you, it’s that things are NOT going to go the way you expect them to.
(The light continues to wane... we’re slowly fading to black, but we can still see Rezin’s evil smile through the shadows.)
Rezin
In order to survive this tournament, you’re going to have to get the taste of sludge in your mouth at some point... and when the black clouds of doubt, dread, and CHAOS overwhelms your mind... we’ll see how well you manage at swallowing the swollen rot of your own ego.
(With his dry chuckle echoing in the background, or shot goes to complete black.)
(CUE UP: “Trilobite” by Mastodon. Yes, hard to imagine, I know, but they actually were a sludge metal band at one point.)
(Our scene opens up in the evening. We’re out in the middle of the painted desert again, sometime near sunset. REZIN sits on top of the production van serving as his wheels to the next Aggression taking place in Arizona. The setting sun can be seen prominently in the reflection of his sunglasses, until he turns his attention over to the camera.)
Rezin
“Big mistake?”
Do you think you just dealt me some heavy emotional blow by saying all that? Am I supposed to curl up into a ball and cry like a baby, unable to come to face with some soul-crushing truth delvered by your verbal beat-down?
(Rezin checks himself and looks around... seemingly confused at the complete lack of a pay-off. Shrugging, he shakes his head to the camera.)
Rezin
Sorry, Jo-Jo... but if that’s your idea of following through on your threats, then I’m not sure I have much to worry about when you say you’re going to just slam me down like Lebron and move on without a second thought.
No pun intended here, but what’s with all the aggression? I mean, first you dare me not to look past you... so I double dared you, and asked you to just give me one fucking reason NOT to look past you. Because let’s face it... you aren’t telling me anything I haven’t heard before. I don’t understand how you can be THAT fucking stupid that you just can’t grasp that concept.
You think you’re the first person who’s come out and called me a waste of potential? My own mother had you beat in that honor over twenty years ago...
And then I’ve heard it from Boogie... I’ve heard it from Trip... and I’ve heard it from so many others before them. Guys you’ve probably never heard of... guys who probably had similar ideas of “greatness” as you do. Guys who won titles... lost titles... and LEFT.
Some of those guys found ways to beat me in the ring. Others weren’t so lucky. So which one are you, Malcolm? Because if you’re going to sit there and rehash things I’ve been hearing from my opponents over the better part of the past couple years, then you’re not really accomplishing anything other than wasting my time until that bell rings.
Bottom line... while a lot of what you and everybody else tells me may just as well be true... it doesn’t really matter to me. I understand that once that bell rings, Jo-Jo, all bets are off. I have nothing to lose and everything to prove once that cage door is locked shut behind us. If you want to see me as lazy... weak... cowardly... then go ahead. I dare you to go that route. Go ahead, and willingly underestimate one of the most dangerous and dastardly men in this sport... the goat bastard that pisses on every parade.
Because I’ll tell you right now, Jo-Jo... if it turns out that all your pomp and prick-measuring isn’t enough to handle the cunning and craftiness of the Escape Artist, then YOU’D be the only one making a big mistake.
(He sits up and pulls himself off of the roof of the van, dropping down to the sandy ground below him. He starts walking west, chasing the sunset, which is now a glowing orb sinking slowly into the horizon. On his bared chest, the words “REZINSTRONG” are scrawled in black, over what looks to be a blasphemous depiction of a ribbon and an upside down cross.)
Rezin
Honestly, I’ve been in this conversation too many times before... and I’m exhausted, trying to explain it to morons like you time and time again, just so you can say I’m making excuses to hide the fact that I’m not a “great” wrestler.
I KNOW I’m not a “great” wrestler... and I’ve always been pretty upfront about that, so I don’t understand why guys like you think you’re dealing me some heavy realization every time you come out say that I “never had what it takes”, or some macho crap like that.
I also don’t understand why “greatness” has to be the end-all, be-all of existence for a professional wrestler. Fuck “greatness”, Malcolm. It’s overrated. It’s fleeting. It always has been. You think I’m bitter because I haven’t accomplished anything of worth in my career? No... the truth is, unlike you, I actually have the luxury of having been in one of the greatest professional wrestling companies on the planet for a long while.
And when I say that winning titles isn’t important to me, it’s because I understand that even champions can be forgotten. I’ve seen plenty of them come and go... some even put these shoulders to the mat... but even if I started listing off names right now, there would be few you would recognize as your idea of “great” wrestlers... because the TRUE great wrestlers in this sport stick around longer than a few months.
In MY experience in competitive sports, there are two types of people who actually DO care about gold. Some of them want to define that gold by being exemplary athletes and making an impact. My partner is of this kind of champion.
The other kind of gold-digger, however, expect the gold to define THEM... as if the only possible way they could validate their miserable existence is by proving they can beat a guy who’s one real claim to fame is that he beat some other guy before him.
This is where I see YOU as weak, Malcolm. You HAVE to be a champion... because otherwise, you are a failure by your own logic.
(He drops his shades, turning his attention from the setting sun to the camera to give the viewer a good look at the unhinged vice deep in his bloodshot eyes.)
Rezin
But if “gold equals status” is your thing, Jo-Jo, then fine... live by it, and see where it takes you. But don’t sit there and feed me this bullshit about how I “insult” you just because I was satisfied just getting a paycheck over these past eight years since my stint as this company’s first Tag Team Champion.
Excuse my ass to pieces if the fact that my low self-standards offend you, or whatever...but you seem to forget that not everybody in the world can be born with “great” genes... they can’t be trained in “great” facilities by “great” mentors. Poor little guys like me had to scrape by through this business for years just to makes ends meet. Sure, Malcolm... I’m not great. But it’s a great job, and I always show up and do my fucking job. And despite the fact that I often look like a bitch week in and week out, I keep going out there... and trying.
I keep trying... just to prove arrogant assholes like you wrong.
You can call me lazy... but if that were really true, then I would have just quit this shit years ago, and spent the rest of my years working in a lousy taco shop off an interstate exit.
(He looks off into the distance again as the sun sinks the rest of the way, and darkness sets in. For whatever reason, he puts the shades back on, before kneeling lower to the earth. He picks up a handful of dust and lets it drift out of his fingers as the wind breezes by. Its passage brings an amused smile on his face.)
Rezin
I don’t want greatness, Malcolm. There’s nothing for me to gain from it. The only thing I really want... is the destruction...
The destruction of your PRIDE... your EGO... your sickeningly over-inflated sense of value to this sport...
I take delight in watching the paper-thin confidence of weaker-minded men collapse when they encounter something they could never account for. Plainly speaking, I want to derail the Malcolm Joseph-Jones train before it ever leaves the station. I want you to choke on your own words. I want to HAUNT YOUR DREAMS for weeks on end following this match.
Believe me, Jo-Jo... once you’ve tasted the Cottonmouth, it’ll be a MONTH before you can live a day without that nagging urge to look over your back and make sure I’m not there, ready to drag you down into a sludge-soaked doom.
And why? Because like I said in the beginning... people like you have been putting me under their feet my entire life. And I’m tired of being walked on.
You can call me a coward... but the fact of the matter is, I boldly challenged one of this company’s Hall of Famers and undisputed legends... TWICE. I did it to prove that your entire macho idea of “greatness” is nothing but a myth... and I would have done it, by letting the fans see the Empire’s self-proclaimed King being taken down by the lowly goat bastard.
I tried... but I didn’t have enough. I don’t have any explanations or excuses for it, Malcolm... it just wasn’t my time and place. Next time, I’ll just have to try HARDER, I suppose.
(His attention turns up to the camera again.)
Rezin
Eight years ago, I willingly let go of the EPW Tag Team Titles... and ever since that moment, you could say my entire life has been cursed. But maybe that’s the penance I have to pay, for the walking away from the first great opportunity of my professional career.
And that’s where I am right now... in the King of the Cage tournament. All those title opportunities I’ve supposedly squandered in all the years prior to this moment... none of those matter any more. All of those lost chances were simply building blocks to THIS time and THIS place...
In winning this tournament, I’m going to break that curse, Malcolm... I’m going to retake those Tag Titles... and when I do, you can bet your ass I won’t be walking away. But in order to do that, I realize that ‘Nark and I have to get through you and the Jones kid first.
You think that kid is the weak link of your team... but you’re actually wrong about that. YOU are the weak link. If Jones goes down, you can still carry your team on your own. You seem to think you do, anyway. But if you go down? Well... I’d hate to be that kid, on his own against the two of us.
Nobody can predict who will move on to the next round in the Bracket of Death... but when we finally come face to face in the cage, Malcolm... but if there’s one thing I can promise you, it’s that things are NOT going to go the way you expect them to.
(The light continues to wane... we’re slowly fading to black, but we can still see Rezin’s evil smile through the shadows.)
Rezin
In order to survive this tournament, you’re going to have to get the taste of sludge in your mouth at some point... and when the black clouds of doubt, dread, and CHAOS overwhelms your mind... we’ll see how well you manage at swallowing the swollen rot of your own ego.
(With his dry chuckle echoing in the background, or shot goes to complete black.)
JLevinson
Diva Tree
- Joined
- Jan 1, 2000
- Messages
- 707
- Points
- 0
- Age
- 43
Re: AGGRESSION 70: KOTC Rd. 2 - Aaron Jones/Malcolm Joseph-Jones v. Rezin & Anarky
(FADEIN to a simple room. Anarky sits on a throne. The all-black EPW Television Anti-Title is slung over his shoulder. A small crown of sticks sits upon his head. His skull facepaint is newly on and almost glows in the light. He smiles.)
ANARKY: “The Empire is a funny place. Full of people who want to explain to me the importance of accomplishments. The importance of titles. Of respect and hard work and dedication and kicking ass.
“The irony, of course, lost on them.
“After all, if their truths carried any weight at all... of all their incessant blathering actually meant something... they’d surely muster up some common f*cking courtesy and respect for someone like me, right?”
(He holds his hands up and makes a “zero” with it.)
ANARKY: “And how many of these men... these fellow gentlemen who would only respect me if only I’d accomplished something worth respecting... how many of them could match my accomplishments? How many could match the things I’ve actually done with my career?”
(He hold his hands up and makes another zero. And smirks.)
ANARKY: “That’s f*cking right, Malcolm. Before you went explaining your little theory about being a big shot with big titles, you were busy explaining to me how you were going to crush my ribs and destroy me and leave me as a broken heap in the ring.
“A threat that isn’t lost on me. They never are, Malcolm. You see, I am not a naive babe in the woods.
“The sad f*cking fact is that I have done more in one year than most of these men will accomplish in their entire lives. I have seen legends come and go. And I have outlasted them.
“I have won World Titles in seemingly every possible place a person could possibly do so. I have retired more belts than most have won. And of course, I’ve lost more than my fair share of them. Because nothing lasts forever.
“And you know what the one, universal truth is?
“It doesn’t matter what you’ve done. It doesn’t matter who you are or what you’ve accomplished. Because this sport is full of exactly one type of person: self-centered primadonnas too busy patting themselves on the back and explaining away everybody else’s accomplishments and beliefs to give a f*ck what you’ve done.
“That’s it.
“Oh, sure. Some of them are classy and some of them are dirty and some of them are pretty and some of them wear ties and some of them follow the rules sort of and some of them mostly just talk about themselves.
“But in the end, they’re all sniveling little children who seek only validation. Their frail, misplaced egos built on the shimmering promise of gold and fame.
“And it’s all a lie.”
(He stops and contemplates this for a moment. He pulls out a cigarette, lights it up, and takes a long drag, exhaling slowly and letting the smoke drift up into the air, a small look of satisfaction on his face.)
ANARKY: “I am not a naive man. I do not expect people to bow down and respect me simply because of my name or history that they don’t know from a hole in the wall.
“I know trash talking is part of the game. It’s what they pay us to do. I get it.
“But does it have to be so f*cking childish and idiotic?
“All I see around me are glad-handing politicians selling their message. Selling their brand.
“They can’t admit fault. They can’t admit weakness. They just keep repeating the same thing over and over again until it becomes the truth.
“And I’m supposed to be impressed? I should pat First on the back for his ability to keep telling the same lie consistently? I should thank Impulse for taking a sh*t on my title reign because it isn’t exactly what he would’ve done? Congratulate Stevens for being Stevens’ biggest fan ever?
“This... this is what we work so hard for? To just have the next primadonna sh*t on it? And that’s it?
“Well f*ck that. I’m sick of the status quo. Sick and tired of listening to every punk kid tell me I haven’t done sh*t or my sh*t doesn’t count because it’s not their sh*t and their sh*t is clearly the only sh*t worth doing. Exhausted with defending myself to hypocritical pr*ckf*cks who would betray their own principles and everything they believed in if it meant looking clever for one more minute.
“This is what we are? This is what it means to be a Champion? This is Greatness”
(He stops and puts out his cigarette on the ground, then holds the EPW Television Anti-Title up.)
ANARKY: “No. This will be ours. The thing we truly bleed for. Our truth. Our title.
“I won’t let them ruin this one. I won’t let it turn into the farce the EPW World Heavyweight Title has become. The running joke... something to be used as a pawn by First to prove to First that First is the very best First he can be.
“No.
“We will reinvent the truth from the ground up. One broken body at a time. One usurped title at a time.
“You are welcome to try to break me, Malcolm. I urge you to do so.
“I know I bore you. My plight bores you. You can’t be bothered. You just want to get back to beating the living sh*t out of people. I get it.
“I welcome it, friend. I want you to take all that personal pride and desire for greatness and something more and I want you to bring it onto the motherf*cking cage. I want you to leave nothing behind.
“Because I want to feel you, Malcolm. I want to know you. From the inside out.
“The way you suffocate a man. The way you beat him into unconsciousness. The way you bleed. The way you beg for mercy even though you swore you never would.
“We will make something beautiful, Malcolm and Aaron... whether you understand it or believe it or not...
“It is our destiny. Our journey.
“I have already surpassed every accomplishment I have ever hoped to achieve. I have conquered and ravaged. I have laid waste to the ground beneath me.
“But only now... only now will I do something that matters.
“I will crucify the ego. I will show you something real. Something worth fighting.
“Not a monster. Not a beast. Not a unstoppable killing machine.
“But a man. With flaws. With weakness. With fear. And loss. And doubt.
“You won’t need a World Title shot to achieve greatness, Malcolm and Aaron.
“It’s right there. In that cage.
“All you have to do is take it.”
(FADEOUT.)
(FADEIN to a simple room. Anarky sits on a throne. The all-black EPW Television Anti-Title is slung over his shoulder. A small crown of sticks sits upon his head. His skull facepaint is newly on and almost glows in the light. He smiles.)
ANARKY: “The Empire is a funny place. Full of people who want to explain to me the importance of accomplishments. The importance of titles. Of respect and hard work and dedication and kicking ass.
“The irony, of course, lost on them.
“After all, if their truths carried any weight at all... of all their incessant blathering actually meant something... they’d surely muster up some common f*cking courtesy and respect for someone like me, right?”
(He holds his hands up and makes a “zero” with it.)
ANARKY: “And how many of these men... these fellow gentlemen who would only respect me if only I’d accomplished something worth respecting... how many of them could match my accomplishments? How many could match the things I’ve actually done with my career?”
(He hold his hands up and makes another zero. And smirks.)
ANARKY: “That’s f*cking right, Malcolm. Before you went explaining your little theory about being a big shot with big titles, you were busy explaining to me how you were going to crush my ribs and destroy me and leave me as a broken heap in the ring.
“A threat that isn’t lost on me. They never are, Malcolm. You see, I am not a naive babe in the woods.
“The sad f*cking fact is that I have done more in one year than most of these men will accomplish in their entire lives. I have seen legends come and go. And I have outlasted them.
“I have won World Titles in seemingly every possible place a person could possibly do so. I have retired more belts than most have won. And of course, I’ve lost more than my fair share of them. Because nothing lasts forever.
“And you know what the one, universal truth is?
“It doesn’t matter what you’ve done. It doesn’t matter who you are or what you’ve accomplished. Because this sport is full of exactly one type of person: self-centered primadonnas too busy patting themselves on the back and explaining away everybody else’s accomplishments and beliefs to give a f*ck what you’ve done.
“That’s it.
“Oh, sure. Some of them are classy and some of them are dirty and some of them are pretty and some of them wear ties and some of them follow the rules sort of and some of them mostly just talk about themselves.
“But in the end, they’re all sniveling little children who seek only validation. Their frail, misplaced egos built on the shimmering promise of gold and fame.
“And it’s all a lie.”
(He stops and contemplates this for a moment. He pulls out a cigarette, lights it up, and takes a long drag, exhaling slowly and letting the smoke drift up into the air, a small look of satisfaction on his face.)
ANARKY: “I am not a naive man. I do not expect people to bow down and respect me simply because of my name or history that they don’t know from a hole in the wall.
“I know trash talking is part of the game. It’s what they pay us to do. I get it.
“But does it have to be so f*cking childish and idiotic?
“All I see around me are glad-handing politicians selling their message. Selling their brand.
“They can’t admit fault. They can’t admit weakness. They just keep repeating the same thing over and over again until it becomes the truth.
“And I’m supposed to be impressed? I should pat First on the back for his ability to keep telling the same lie consistently? I should thank Impulse for taking a sh*t on my title reign because it isn’t exactly what he would’ve done? Congratulate Stevens for being Stevens’ biggest fan ever?
“This... this is what we work so hard for? To just have the next primadonna sh*t on it? And that’s it?
“Well f*ck that. I’m sick of the status quo. Sick and tired of listening to every punk kid tell me I haven’t done sh*t or my sh*t doesn’t count because it’s not their sh*t and their sh*t is clearly the only sh*t worth doing. Exhausted with defending myself to hypocritical pr*ckf*cks who would betray their own principles and everything they believed in if it meant looking clever for one more minute.
“This is what we are? This is what it means to be a Champion? This is Greatness”
(He stops and puts out his cigarette on the ground, then holds the EPW Television Anti-Title up.)
ANARKY: “No. This will be ours. The thing we truly bleed for. Our truth. Our title.
“I won’t let them ruin this one. I won’t let it turn into the farce the EPW World Heavyweight Title has become. The running joke... something to be used as a pawn by First to prove to First that First is the very best First he can be.
“No.
“We will reinvent the truth from the ground up. One broken body at a time. One usurped title at a time.
“You are welcome to try to break me, Malcolm. I urge you to do so.
“I know I bore you. My plight bores you. You can’t be bothered. You just want to get back to beating the living sh*t out of people. I get it.
“I welcome it, friend. I want you to take all that personal pride and desire for greatness and something more and I want you to bring it onto the motherf*cking cage. I want you to leave nothing behind.
“Because I want to feel you, Malcolm. I want to know you. From the inside out.
“The way you suffocate a man. The way you beat him into unconsciousness. The way you bleed. The way you beg for mercy even though you swore you never would.
“We will make something beautiful, Malcolm and Aaron... whether you understand it or believe it or not...
“It is our destiny. Our journey.
“I have already surpassed every accomplishment I have ever hoped to achieve. I have conquered and ravaged. I have laid waste to the ground beneath me.
“But only now... only now will I do something that matters.
“I will crucify the ego. I will show you something real. Something worth fighting.
“Not a monster. Not a beast. Not a unstoppable killing machine.
“But a man. With flaws. With weakness. With fear. And loss. And doubt.
“You won’t need a World Title shot to achieve greatness, Malcolm and Aaron.
“It’s right there. In that cage.
“All you have to do is take it.”
(FADEOUT.)
GARTHIsTheLaw
League Member
Re: AGGRESSION 70: KOTC Rd. 2 - Aaron Jones/Malcolm Joseph-Jones v. Rezin & Anarky
<i>(We fade in on the interior of what’s either a cheap hotel room or a cheap apartment. Poor-quality lighting makes it difficult to differentiate; all we can really see is a crappy bad and some really horrible wallpaper, as well as a desk that’s seen better days. A laptop computer is open on the desk, with what looks like a YouTube window open on the screen, though it’s too far away to really see any specific details. Aaron Jones sits in a chair in front of the desk, facing away from it and toward the camera)</i>
<b>Aaron Jones:</b> I sure am getting a lot of homework assignments from my more experienced colleagues. First, Malcolm gave me an assignment that I’m going to get an “Incomplete” on, and then Rezin gave me a different one.
He told me to watch the tapes, get a better idea of just what kind of a competitor he is.
Turns out, Rezin, your assignment was a lot easier. And not just because it didn’t require me to roll the dice on getting some sort of alien super-STD. All you asked me to do is something I’ve already done.
Believe me, I’ve already studied you in-depth. Anarky, too. And I didn’t just start when it became clear Malcolm and I would be facing the two of you in King of the Cage.
I’ve been getting an accelerated education in EPW history ever since I joined its roster as a wrestler. Heck, ever since I decided I was going to ask Dan Ryan to put me on the roster.
Every advantage I can get, remember?
I’ve watched matches and promos going back years, and I’ve learned plenty. I’ve learned the individual quirks of roster members. And seeing as you’ve been around for so long, Rezin, I’ve had plenty of opportunity to learn about you.
I’ve seen the mind games. I’ve seen the resilience. I’ve seen cheap victories and tough losses, inspiring comebacks and disappointing surrenders.
You tell me to look at these things and see if they change my opinion of you. And they won’t, not really; I’d already looked at those things before I formed my opinion of you.
But for just a minute, let’s set aside discussions about mental dominance, about resilience.
You complain that people aren’t taking you seriously enough, and you think you can change their minds both in and out of the ring.
The thing is, your win-loss record isn’t the problem. Nor is your size.
The problem is that you stand for nothing.
I know, I know; you say you stand for chaos. But that’s just an excuse.
That’s what you and Anarky figured you were good at, and you restructured your attitudes around that concept, but it’s meaningless.
Don’t get me wrong; I’m not saying wrestlers can’t be driven by causes. Malcolm is trying to prove he’s as good as he says he is. I’m trying to redeem myself for the awful things I’ve been party to. We all have self-assigned missions.
You and Anarky treat this chaos mission like some kind of holy crusade, though. And Rezin, I know all about holy crusades. I was part of one for two years.
What I’ve learned about holy crusades is this: They always end with the person at the center of it all admitting the whole thing was BS. In the end, all he wanted was the world championship.
Or, in some limited cases, to pad his acting resume.
Now, here’s the really insidious part: Anarky knows this.
He said it over and over and over again to Copycat when they were fighting over the world championship. He said that men who preach about holy crusades are inevitably selfish and care only about titles and glory.
He told the world that no matter what Copycat did and said, he didn’t really care about saving the wrestling business; he was only out for himself.
And Anarky was 100 percent right.
So that begs the question: How much does Anarky really care about causing chaos? And how much of it is just cynical self-interest?
I mean, for criminy’s sake, here you are talking about how belts aren’t important to you and Anarky, and he’s the damn Television Champion.
You’ve thrown yourself full-tilt into a cause your own closest ally doesn’t really believe in.
If it were someone else in your position, would you take that person seriously?
I bet you wouldn’t.
I’d know. Not so long ago, I was in your position. And I’m struggling, even harder than you are, to get people to take me seriously.
Let me assure you, I’m not trying to play mind games with you. That’s your domain.
I’m certainly not trotting out the old “How do you know your partner won’t betray you?” chestnut. Anarky won’t betray you at Aggression 70.
But he’s going to eventually, in one way or another.
And when he does, everyone around you is going to say, “I told you so.”
Again: I would know.
Now, look: You and Anarky and my own partner have spent the last few days making a lot of pronouncements. And unfortunately, I don’t have much to add in that department; I know my limitations well enough to know pronouncements are not my friends.
I’ll go out there at Aggression 70 and do what I’ve been doing since my first match here in EPW: try to keep up.
Rezin, you want me to take you seriously, and I most certainly will. I stand by my theories as to why you aren’t taken more seriously than you are, but none of your failings can cancel out the fact that you are a capable in-ring competitor with a great deal more experience than I have.
Anarky, you seek chaos, or at least you claim to. I’ll provide as much of that as a 170-pound man whose only saving grace is his speed can provide.
Malcolm, you want a tag team partner with the same fire for greatness you have. And although you and I likely have different definitions of “greatness,” fire is something I’d like to think I have plenty of.
It’s that determination that keeps me moving toward my goal of redemption, even if I spend more time than not getting beaten.
For all Rezin’s talk about his spot as the perpetual underdog, I think everybody in the world bracketed his team into the semifinals, at least. You and me, an EPW rookie and a super-lightweight with a great big goose egg in his “wins” column? I imagine a lot of people didn’t bracket us out of the first round.
But here we are.
I can’t make promises of victory.
But I know an opportunity when I see one – and this match with Rezin and Anarky is an opportunity if ever there was one.
I’ve been afforded very few real opportunities. So what I can promise is this:
Once I’ve got one, I will not squander it.
That’s what you’ve got to work with.
And that’s what Rezin and Anarky have got to face.
<i>(Jones swivels around in his chair and faces the computer screen again. He pushes a button on the computer and whatever video he’s watching resumes. A second later, he slides his chair back and, still facing the screen, switches off the camera, cutting things abruptly to black)</i>
<i>(We fade in on the interior of what’s either a cheap hotel room or a cheap apartment. Poor-quality lighting makes it difficult to differentiate; all we can really see is a crappy bad and some really horrible wallpaper, as well as a desk that’s seen better days. A laptop computer is open on the desk, with what looks like a YouTube window open on the screen, though it’s too far away to really see any specific details. Aaron Jones sits in a chair in front of the desk, facing away from it and toward the camera)</i>
<b>Aaron Jones:</b> I sure am getting a lot of homework assignments from my more experienced colleagues. First, Malcolm gave me an assignment that I’m going to get an “Incomplete” on, and then Rezin gave me a different one.
He told me to watch the tapes, get a better idea of just what kind of a competitor he is.
Turns out, Rezin, your assignment was a lot easier. And not just because it didn’t require me to roll the dice on getting some sort of alien super-STD. All you asked me to do is something I’ve already done.
Believe me, I’ve already studied you in-depth. Anarky, too. And I didn’t just start when it became clear Malcolm and I would be facing the two of you in King of the Cage.
I’ve been getting an accelerated education in EPW history ever since I joined its roster as a wrestler. Heck, ever since I decided I was going to ask Dan Ryan to put me on the roster.
Every advantage I can get, remember?
I’ve watched matches and promos going back years, and I’ve learned plenty. I’ve learned the individual quirks of roster members. And seeing as you’ve been around for so long, Rezin, I’ve had plenty of opportunity to learn about you.
I’ve seen the mind games. I’ve seen the resilience. I’ve seen cheap victories and tough losses, inspiring comebacks and disappointing surrenders.
You tell me to look at these things and see if they change my opinion of you. And they won’t, not really; I’d already looked at those things before I formed my opinion of you.
But for just a minute, let’s set aside discussions about mental dominance, about resilience.
You complain that people aren’t taking you seriously enough, and you think you can change their minds both in and out of the ring.
The thing is, your win-loss record isn’t the problem. Nor is your size.
The problem is that you stand for nothing.
I know, I know; you say you stand for chaos. But that’s just an excuse.
That’s what you and Anarky figured you were good at, and you restructured your attitudes around that concept, but it’s meaningless.
Don’t get me wrong; I’m not saying wrestlers can’t be driven by causes. Malcolm is trying to prove he’s as good as he says he is. I’m trying to redeem myself for the awful things I’ve been party to. We all have self-assigned missions.
You and Anarky treat this chaos mission like some kind of holy crusade, though. And Rezin, I know all about holy crusades. I was part of one for two years.
What I’ve learned about holy crusades is this: They always end with the person at the center of it all admitting the whole thing was BS. In the end, all he wanted was the world championship.
Or, in some limited cases, to pad his acting resume.
Now, here’s the really insidious part: Anarky knows this.
He said it over and over and over again to Copycat when they were fighting over the world championship. He said that men who preach about holy crusades are inevitably selfish and care only about titles and glory.
He told the world that no matter what Copycat did and said, he didn’t really care about saving the wrestling business; he was only out for himself.
And Anarky was 100 percent right.
So that begs the question: How much does Anarky really care about causing chaos? And how much of it is just cynical self-interest?
I mean, for criminy’s sake, here you are talking about how belts aren’t important to you and Anarky, and he’s the damn Television Champion.
You’ve thrown yourself full-tilt into a cause your own closest ally doesn’t really believe in.
If it were someone else in your position, would you take that person seriously?
I bet you wouldn’t.
I’d know. Not so long ago, I was in your position. And I’m struggling, even harder than you are, to get people to take me seriously.
Let me assure you, I’m not trying to play mind games with you. That’s your domain.
I’m certainly not trotting out the old “How do you know your partner won’t betray you?” chestnut. Anarky won’t betray you at Aggression 70.
But he’s going to eventually, in one way or another.
And when he does, everyone around you is going to say, “I told you so.”
Again: I would know.
Now, look: You and Anarky and my own partner have spent the last few days making a lot of pronouncements. And unfortunately, I don’t have much to add in that department; I know my limitations well enough to know pronouncements are not my friends.
I’ll go out there at Aggression 70 and do what I’ve been doing since my first match here in EPW: try to keep up.
Rezin, you want me to take you seriously, and I most certainly will. I stand by my theories as to why you aren’t taken more seriously than you are, but none of your failings can cancel out the fact that you are a capable in-ring competitor with a great deal more experience than I have.
Anarky, you seek chaos, or at least you claim to. I’ll provide as much of that as a 170-pound man whose only saving grace is his speed can provide.
Malcolm, you want a tag team partner with the same fire for greatness you have. And although you and I likely have different definitions of “greatness,” fire is something I’d like to think I have plenty of.
It’s that determination that keeps me moving toward my goal of redemption, even if I spend more time than not getting beaten.
For all Rezin’s talk about his spot as the perpetual underdog, I think everybody in the world bracketed his team into the semifinals, at least. You and me, an EPW rookie and a super-lightweight with a great big goose egg in his “wins” column? I imagine a lot of people didn’t bracket us out of the first round.
But here we are.
I can’t make promises of victory.
But I know an opportunity when I see one – and this match with Rezin and Anarky is an opportunity if ever there was one.
I’ve been afforded very few real opportunities. So what I can promise is this:
Once I’ve got one, I will not squander it.
That’s what you’ve got to work with.
And that’s what Rezin and Anarky have got to face.
<i>(Jones swivels around in his chair and faces the computer screen again. He pushes a button on the computer and whatever video he’s watching resumes. A second later, he slides his chair back and, still facing the screen, switches off the camera, cutting things abruptly to black)</i>