[MIDWEST 1st] 4. Impulse vs. 5. D.C. Stark

[CuseTroy]

Match to be held at Assembly Hall in Bloomington, Ind.

RP Deadline: Tuesday, April 28 at 11:59:59 p.m. EST

 

[suddenimpact]

The Nature of TEAM

(FADEIN:

Ellis Island. The Statue of Liberty. How someone could have lived here for twenty one years without at least doing a drive by on one of the tour boats is beyond me. Just wish we'd picked a better day for it.

Enjoy the ride, Rosie... this won't take long.

And count it down, four... three... two...)

"A lot has happened in the world of Professional Wrestling since the last time the Team Invitational Tournament went and happened. Craig Miles is out of New Frontier Wrestling, the Fans Wrestling Organization has revived itself, there's been news and information leaking from the CSWA, and Tom Holzerman has handed the TEAM reins to another."

"Incredibly, life goes on pretty much as it did, only, this time out I had the guts to see what I can do in one of these things."

Taking off a mask will do that, it seems. Or winning a major title.

Stop, I'm both right.

"This is different from PRIME's Dual Halo event, even when you discount the obvious nature of the two. PRIME's event was sponsored by a specific promotion, featured contracted wrestlers for that promotion, and threw the rest of us to the wolves."

No, I didn't expect to win regardless, but lasting over an hour was good enough for me for now.

"TEAM is Ellis Island. Nobody lives here, but everybody is passing through to try and get to the promised land."

I wonder if that makes Mike Randalls the Statue of Liberty. He's the only person, to my knowledge, to ever compete in TEAM who specifically referred to TEAM as his home, and he ended up winning the tournament. Not a bad precedent to attempt to follow.

"There's thirty two of us, which is five rounds by my math. I've watched the first half of the field with interest - heck, I've watched a few of the first half of the field for the past decade as a wrestling fan in and of itself. And, while I can't claim to have the same obsessive CSI skills as some of the other competitors in this tournament, I'm also nowhere near arrogant enough to say I'm so flippin' awesome that it doesn't matter who my opponent is, I'm going to win and do so without breaking a sweat."

Even if I believed it.

"Still, I like to know who I'm wrestling, so I looked up DC Stark, but there was precious little that I could find. I'm glad to see he's about the same size as me, which means that a smaller wrestler is guaranteed to make it to at least the second round, if not farther."

"Not that I couldn't beat Dan Ryan, that is - but he'd be a heck of a lot harder to move around than DC Stark, who is two hundred pounds lighter."

And yes, I just said that I could beat Dan Ryan. Think it, see it, know it, do it. The chance to do that is part of the reason I'm even here.

"So I'll help you out a bit, DC. My name is Randall Knox, I wrestle under the name Impulse for both New Frontier Wrestling and the Fans Wrestling Organization. I can fly, but I prefer to mat wrestle, and over the course of my wrestling career, my current highlights are lasting one hundred and eighteen minutes in the JTP Invitational at NFW Wrestlestock II, making it to the finals of the NFW Grand Prix tournament last summer, lasting more than sixty minutes in the 2009 PRIME Dual Halo, and becoming NFW Television Champion by virtue of winning the first ever Sears Tower match."

"Cameron Cruise congratulated me somewhat backhandedly, reminding me that I didn't pin anyone to win the belt. Well, no, but the rules of the match stated the first person to pull the thing off the wire won. But, of course, Cameron wanted to win too, so I don't begrudge that."

"Also, according to SARS the Clown, I sucked and couldn't wrestle my way out of a pile of musty leaves."

Also, also, SARS suffered his first official loss in the NFW against me and hasn't been seen since, so you might want to take that with a grain of salt.

"Also, cubed, since I don't travel through time selling snow, and I don't have guest stars from the 1980s in my taped promos, I'm overrated and boring. That's per Busey, the *cough* end-all, be-all of this industry."

Of course he is. Just ask him.

"I don't believe in making big shows of what I do in professional wrestling, DC. All the pyro and strobelights, all the work of the very talented NFW CGI team doesn't mean anything if you can't bring the goods in the ring, and I bring the goods in the ring. I don't have guest stars in my promos because I don't know that many celebrities, and the ones I do know, I wouldn't presume on our friendship. Plus, the minute you start using that as your 'gimmick,' people stop paying attention to what you're saying and every promo you ever film becomes an elbow in the ribs and your buddy saying 'Hey, remember when that stuff was relevant?'"

What fun is that?

"I've got my digital video camera and a few locations that I prefer, DC. I jam econo, as the phrase is known. When you get right down to it, everything else is superfluous. As South Park once taught us, special effects do not equal cohesive storytelling."

"So, good luck to you, DC Stark, because you're going to need it."

No, I'm not that arrogant, either. Everyone involved in this tournament is going to need a certain amount of luck if they want to win.

We thirty two, none of us are Mike Randalls, after all.

FADE

 

[Kongo]

The Lab. It's an unpretty place, but then, this is a place of science. The only lights in the room are glowing test-tubes that froth over with dry ice-levels of chemical smoke. D.C. Stark, in his knee-length custom white labcoat, reads A Whole Lotta ****in' Science by the light of a yellow test tube.

When he lowers his book, he shows everybody the big honkin' smile he's wearing.

"TEAM... and D.C. Stark," he says. "D.C. Stark... and TEAM. This is what people have been waitin for, baby. The Neo-Nigga in real competition, comin into the TEAM Invitational Tournament, golden invite in hand. When I saw this **** was going down I got pumped, I gotta say."

Stark lays down his book and stands up, rolling his shoulders, cracking his neck.

"A chance to ****in show everybody what I got. To bring my Applied Wrestling Science to the big time, prove hypotheses and all that scientific method ****. But then I got to lookin what people were sayin about this match with Impulse, man..."

D.C.'s eyes close for just a second. He grits his teeth and nods, calming himself. He opens his eyes again.

"You know when I was in Spinebuster Wrestling, they came to me and they said 'You know, man? You're doin good stuff, man. I like your style.' And someone else would say 'Keep on goin, baby, cause you're makin it happen. You're climbin up.' And someone else would say 'HEY! Hey, D.C. ****IN STARK! YOU, MAN! YOU'RE IT, MAN! THE NEW HOTNESS! THE GREATEST!'"

D.C. shakes his head.

"Then I come over here and I see them talkin' like"

D.C. turns his head, sneering a bit as he puts on a mocking affect: "'Look at that cat Impulse, man! He's ****in great! He's makin it happen! He's puttin it together! He's a contender, man! He could really have this!'"

D.C. slams his hands down on a table in front of him, rattling a collection of volatile-looking chemicals and devices.

"But what about me!? What about D.C.!? What about the Capital's Finest, the Second-Rope Sultan, Ebony Magazine's Man of the Year for 2006!? What about D.C.!?"

D.C. summons that mocking sneer again: "'You gotta earn it back, baby, you gotta work at it, you gotta show us, man, you gotta earn it back.'"

All his facial features, eyebrows to chin, nose to ears, light up with rage.

"So I say **** YOU, I say you wanna see me earn it? You wanna see me, the Good Doctor D.C., step into the ring with a man named Freudian Slip!? A man named Tourette's!? A man named Impulse!? You wanna see me step into the ring with a man seeded higher than me, the favorite, my Goliath, you wanna see that ****ing match!?

You want to see me sully my degree, every ****ing shred of decency I got in my body, to prove that I'm better than this mother!?

All I got to say is bring that no-account asshole to the ring. Bring him to me! Let me ****in' tear him apart in that ring, let me run him around, let him feel the dog's jaws on his mailman ass. I'ma show you what I think of ****in seeds."

D.C. jabs his finger at the camera: "And Impulse, you ****in Carly Simon why-ain't-he-talkin-to-me-yet son of a seventh son, now this is comin to you, live and di-rect. You think you're better than me cause a what? What, man!? You think you trained in this ****, man, trained to go up against a man who has ****in studied this sport, tested this **** by trial and mother****in error, distilled his technique to perfection through science? Is that what you think? Go on, then. Walk yourself down to the ring. If you manage walk out it's cause I let you walk your just-shamed self up the aisle, cause I didn't bend you over my knee like your daddy shoulda. But whether you walkin or not I'm gon teach you some damn manners. You step on my toes, man, and I'm gonna stomp the hell outta yours."

D.C. snorts in disbelief. "You believe this? People actin like I can't win this cause-a what? Seeds. ****in seeds."

He spits venomously into a beaker full of blue liquid. D.C. turns his back to the camera just as the beaker begins to shudder, froth over, and explode in a nova of burning blue light.

 

[suddenimpact]

Some Kind of Disconnect

(FADEIN: on a pitcher of beer.

Perfectly golden, just enough head on top. I'd name the brand but I don't shill for anything but New Frontier wrestling.

Back up the zoom a bit, and you can see we're sitting in a comfortably dim pub, at a round table.

Yes - we. There's a half full (optimist!) mug in front of me, to my left you can see a nearly empty mug and a hand and wrist that belongs to my roommate, Lou, and to my right you can see a mostly full mug, hand, wrist, arm, shoulder, and face (when she leans in) of my girlfriend Rose.

No, not quite as elaborate a setup as DC Stark, but when inspiration hits I just need to go.

And we're going in three... two... one...)

"You'll have to forgive me for the locale. I saw DC Stark's promo and was ridiculously confused, so I needed a few hours to clear my head."

And there's no better way to do that than to drink some beer. Right?

"I said, let's go to the pub and get a pitcher, some wings, maybe some shots, and think about this. I mean, after DC's shot, the only thing I can think of is that he's either paranoid delusional on a level I can't fathom, or, somewhere along the way I cut another promo where I laid into you about how I'm better than you for... any reason?"

"Giving you the benefit of the doubt, I spent the afternoon retracing my steps, but we always seem to end up at TC's."

(No, said Rose, off camera, you said you wanted to have a drink to clear your head, then a drink to clear the drink, before you said something else.

Quiet you, I said to Rose, I'm workin'.)

"Let me be as direct as I can, DC. Seeds are meaningless.Doubly so when they're one number apart. You could say they they gave me 4 instead of 5 because my last name, Knox, comes first in the alphabet before yours, Stark. Can I beat you? Yes. Can you beat me? If you couldn't you wouldn't be here, I just don't know you well enough to say for sure."

I took a drink. Nectar of the gods.

"I can't say I'm familiar with Spinebuster Wrestling, DC, but if the people running the joint told you that you had the goods, and you believed them, then what's the problem? Did you work like you had the goods? Did your style fall apart when under pressure? Were you only good when you were against an opponent who could make you look good?"

"I swear to you I'm not trying to be flippant. I'm just trying to understand what would cause you to react so harshly. You're mad because people are saying I could take this tournament? That I'm a contender?"

It's like I'm back in highschool.

"First off, where are these people, DC? I'd really like to know who's actually giving me a chance, considering the company we're in. Second, why do you care?"

"If you're as good as you say you are, and as good as you say the Spinebuster Wrestling people said you are, this shouldn't be a problem. You smile and nod, and listen to people talking about how your first round opponent has got this thing locked up and then you go out to the ring and do your thing as effectively and efficiently as you can."

Of course, I'll be fighting you every step of the way, but that's the nature of the tournament.

"Your problem, DC, is that the moment you let other peoples' opinions bother you, you've effectively lost the match. Did I listen to the people who told me I should quit when my wrestling career started with a three month losing spree?"

Like Rollins said, if I'd listened to everything that they said to me, I wouldn't be here, and if I took the time to bleed from all the little arrows shot my way, I wouldn't be here.

"And did I hear you right, you're actually angry about your seed? It's one through eight, DC, and from what I can tell they assigned the number one seeds and filled the rest in at random. And even if that's not the case, that's how I'm looking at it."

Did Nova complain two years ago, when he was the number ten seed in the NFW West Ultratitle playoffs? No, he didn't - he just went on and became the Season 2 Ultratitle winner.

"Besides, what you've done in Spinebuster Wrestling, what I've done in New Frontier Wrestling, is ultimately unimportant. While it's good to have perspective and history on your opponent in order to know what he or she is capable of and what kind of offense you need to be able to counter, there's one thing that a lot of people forget."

"This isn't Spinebuster Wrestling, and this isn't New Frontier Wrestling. Heck, this isn't even TEAM, in the historical sense. Everyone involved has a zero-zero record. Everyone is on equal footing."

Seeds are a number. Nobody has an advantage on anybody.

"And if you can't understand that, DC... if you won't understand it, then all I can do is what I do best."

"But I really don't think you'll like the outcome."

FADE

 

[Kongo]

Fade in on a glass of beer. It is a perfect glass of beer, as if poured by the entire assembly of Olympian deities together with the nymphs and the demigods, with a frothy white head like the clouds over Ibiza in summer when there is no portent of rain, the beer itself having the color of the purest honey of the most kingly of bees carried to earth by a contigent of Valkyries for whom there is no higher honor.

Slowly, the camera pans out, still seeming to obsess over the beer, but comes to also reveal the man who the beer belongs to: D.C. Stark, a perfect specimen of wrestling acumen, dark-skinned and beautiful in his own masculine manner. Sitting around him is a girl he's known for twenty years named Brenda, his brother Mike, his mom, his friends Jamey and Kelayne, the chess team from Henderson Valley High School, the Louisiana State University marching band, and all the members of the United States House of Representatives. Everyone is having a beer.

You should be impressed at how natural all of this is.

"My name is D.C. Stark, but you can call me Hyperaction. I'm very fair and even-handed in my opinions. I see that you are a wrestler and you might have some good qualities in the ring. Let me assure you that I also have good qualities."

D.C. Stark smacks his lips noisily and then takes a drink of that godly beer, the drink seeming to sing like a chorus of seraphs at the slightest motion, the barest slip past his lips.

He sets the glass down and smacks his lips again. And then again. Smack. Smack smack.

Smack.

Sigh.

"Over the years, my experience has shown me that those people who think bad things usually don't win. So why are you thinking bad things? Does this have to do with your mother? Your father? I don't understand you. But it's okay. Whatever happened to you in your past, please take solace in the fact that it doesn't matter what other people say as long as you have the inner strength to deal with it. This is a new place and nothing that ever happened before matters."

D.C. puts two fingers into the beer and takes them out. He sticks his fingers into his mouth and crosses his eyes as he sllluuuuuurrrrps. He does a little finger-puppet show with his wet fingers before remembering there is a camera about. He grins warmly.

"Simply take no heed of their insults and doubts. That's all. Take a cue from me, because some stuff happened to me a while back that I didn't like and people called me names for it and tied my shoelacess together and gave me swirlies. Did I let that stop me? Heck no! I had the power of positivity on my side. I live in the now! Did you notice, perhaps, that I have a beer? Evidence of how little things have gotten me down, friend."

Brenda stands up and leans over to tell D.C. that she's leaving. D.C. gives her a big hug and everybody says goodbye to her. When she's gone, D.C. turns back to the camera.

"And what about presidential candidate John McCain? When people said that he was not doing so hot in the polls, did he quit? Heck no! Power of positivity, my friends! He survived all the thumb-tacks and wet willies of his naysayers and look at him now! He's a United States Senator!"

John McCain, who has been hanging out unnoticed, turns around and shows off his big U.S. SENATOR pin. He grins and gives the camera a thumbs-up. D.C. nods, looking into the camera.

"Now, I don't know you very well, so I will make no judgments about you because I am so fair and unbiased in my opinions. Suffice to say that this will indeed be a match. You and I will step into the ring and our qualities will be matched up against each other. I--"

PAUSE.

The camera pans out from that scene, which is revealed to be only on a TV screen, to include a standing D.C. Stark. D.C. is still facing the camera as it pulls back through the aisles of desks, showing that this is a classroom with yellow-ish walls and bland, tiled floor. On the blackboard are the words "Lesson 14: Don't Be a Boring Schmuck."

There are several students already nodding off when D.C. slams his fist against a desk to wake them up.

"Now, you're lucky that you're not in this match against Impulse, class. The fact that I parodied Impulse is for your benefit. This might shock you, but Impulse is even more boring than that."

Shrieks rip up from the class, the sounds confused but their fear unified. There's a gunshot and a kid in a black t-shirt topples onto the ground, the gun in his hand. D.C. raises his hands and manages to settle the class's nerves.

"Thing about wrestling, class, is that there are two groups of people: winners and losers. Winners are like me. Someone says you're better than me, I say **** you and I prove I'm better. I don't truck with this nonsense that we've all got the same ability, we're in the same position, I didn't let this stop me and neither should you. Let that **** stop you, Impulse. Better for you if you just forfeit, accept that you're no good, and it's better for me cause I can sleep instead of dealin with some mental midget in the middle of the squared circle."

D.C. begins to pace back and forth, gesturing wildly.

"Losers are guys like Impulse. Wishy-washy mother****ers. Take the pains to seem as dull and mild-mannered as possible. Don't even talk about the future cause 'they don't know for sure.' Well lemme tell you all something.

D.C. turns to the front again, slamming his fist into his palm: "After that last piece by Impulse, I know for sure. I'm gonna win this. Nobody ****in hides behind this whole even-handed bullflipit unless they got somethin to hide. I dunno what Impulse is hidin now, but I can tell you what he'll be hidin afterwards. Scars, deep ****in scars. Bruises. Wounded pride that just got wounded even more."

D.C. points to the class.

"You wanna be a success story in wrestling? Be like me. Be like the future winner of the TIT. You wanna eat canvas and see ceiling night in and night out? Be like Impulse. Be a ****in talentless hack, a Rumsfeld-caiber bore, a level 60 on-the-rag *****."

A student raises his hand: "They go to level 80 now."

D.C. grunts.

"Class dismissed."

 

[suddenimpact]

Waiting for Real Life to Begin

(FADEIN:

I did say that I don't know when the mood strikes me, didn't I? That time, it struck me while we were having some drinks.

But I'll help you out this time, DC - I won't even be in my own promo.

We're faded in on a replica of the Eddie Mayfield Heavyweight Championship title. Go check out Crash TV if you're confused. I'll wait.

And count it down...)

"I don't know whether it's your grasp of psychology or parody that's most in need of rehab, DC. If I was more cynical I'd hire Dr. Silver's personal assistant to write up a book of Cynical Impulse Replies, because you're starting to get into a vicious cycle, and I've only got fifteen months of history to fall back on."

Who am I kidding, this only stretches back three, four months, max.

"I'm sorry one of your students committed suicide at the sight of your attempt at mimicking real life. Is the investigation ongoing, or was it a pretty open-shut case of desperation and loneliness? Are you being brought up on charges of accessory to manslaughter, or suicide, or something like that? I'm not a lawyer, I'm really not sure where the legal ramifications of your role lie."

"That's assuming this was a real class, after all. If not, that means you hired a bunch of actors to simulate a real life class watching a video of you simulating real life."

How many layers removed from reality do you have to be before you're labeled a basketcase?

"Riveting television, there."

"Here's the thing, DC. I'm coming at you, and I'm just me. My opinions on wrestling are that anyone can beat anyone at any time, and my opinions on my own abilities are that I'm a far superior wrestler that most of my contemporaries."

"Does that mean I'm going to win every time? Of course not. But I can only control what I do in the ring and out of the ring. I can't affect your performance, or anyone else's performance any farther than what I directly do during our matches, so I don't bother trying."

"Will anything I say - could anything I say ever alter your perceptions that you're being unjustly screwed in this tournament by being seeded at number five, or that I'm somehow getting a greased path to the finals because the voices in your head have decided that I'm a contender? No."

"So why bother trying? I can't change your mind, so I'm going to do what I'm going to do and expose your psychosis at every turn."

Think about it. Really sit down and think about it.

"What have you done so far in this round? You've responded with vim and vigor to a promo that I never cut, and created a fan parody to prove to a roomful of actors and/or suicidal youth that a poor remake of real life makes for better television."

And you got to third base with a glass of beer. There's alcoholism, and then there's alcoholism. And there's programs out there that can help.

"But I'm still trying to figure out where the words wishy-washy come in. Do you know what that term even means? It means 'Lacking in strength of character, or purpose.' My purpose is to win the Team Invitational Tournament, and my strength of character is the only tool I'll need to accomplish this goal. By acknowledging that any combination of skill and luck by any of my real or potential opponents could stop my purpose, all I'm doing is being a realist."

"If I lose, it won't destroy me. If I lose, it won't depress me. If I lose, I'll get up the next day, just a little bit smarter, and wrestle my next opponent in the next town."

Now, let's get back to you.

"You might want to study up on that definition, though, DC, because it might ring a little too close to home. Lacking in strength of character."

Exhibit A: DC Stark's physical relationship with hops and barley.

"I act, you react. I innovate, you duplicate."

As much as cutting a promo while sitting in a pub with your friends is innovating, the facts remain on the table.

"What you should tell your classroom full of paid extras, DC, is that if they want to be a success story in wrestling, they should be themselves. They should develop their own voice and their own point of view, and take their careers in their own hands, and not listen to someone else whose current claim to fame appears to be trying to Single White Female their opponent."

By the by, DC - I know they sell replicas of the New Frontier Wrestling belts, but buying a copy of the TV Title and attempting to recreate the Sears Tower match in your backyard is probably not going to be a good rebuttal.

Food for thought, and all.

FADE

 

[Kongo]

We jet back to the Lab. A huge machine is set up, about twenty-five feet tall, and a series of blue cylindrical chambers are whirling with dizzying speed. The contraption starts to slow down and D.C. Stark, who has until now been dutifully taking notes on the machine, puts down his clipboard and pulls his goggles off of his face.

D.C. glances over his shoulder at the camera, but he walks towards a nearby counter to pick up his glasses. After putting them on, he looks at the camera. He frowns and then takes a seat, pulls a thin book to him and opens it, and then picks up a sandwich.

He looks up at the camera every so often as he eats, as if distracted by the camera.

It's a BLT and yes, it is good. D.C. Stark isn't particularly fond of the tomatoes in the mix, but nobody will just make a BL and he's not gonna get his hands all covered in mayo just to take the tomatoes off.

The book is Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut. He appears to be halfway into the book. He finishes his sandwich and continues reading, still looking up once in a while, becoming more agitated by the camera's continued presence.

Finally he sighs and puts the book down. He's got to deal with this. He looks up at the camera, his face drawn into itself.

"You ain't the beginning and ending of everything, Impulse. Other people ****in talk. They say ****, talk ****, are ****. You talk a lot about what's wrong with me cause I'm harpin on seeds and ****, but what's wrong with you that you can't recognize what's up? You think you exist in some kinda bubble outside history, nobody ever said **** about this match before it started, no backstage talk, none-a that? I didn't respond to a promo you didn't cut. I responded to the feelin in the air, the ****in chatter. If you wanna dig into me, open your ****in eyes an ears."

D.C. shakes his head and rubs his hands on his thighs.

"You keep flappin your ****in gums. You a realist." D.C. snorts. "What is that? Cause you think you look at things at face value, you gonna clap yourself on the back for it. That's what it is. Your own opinion that nobody else shares is realist, cause-a what? Who said that's real? You? You don't know dick about what's real. But since you wanna know, since you already talkin bout it, lemme tell you."

D.C. licks his lips and slides off the high stool. He takes a step towards the camera, gesturing abstractly with his hands.

"Winnin and losin, that's real. Livin from night to night, hopin you get that paycheck, strivin for it, that's real. Walkin down to the ring pumped cause you know that if you win you might be lookin at a bigger paycheck but if you lose you might be takin a walk, that's real. Unnerstand me, Impulse?" D.C. lifts an eyebrow. "You get what I'm sayin?

"So all this chance, all this what-I-can-account-for bull****, that ain't real. Cause I can account for you. I'm lookin right at you. I see what you've done, what you do. I can tell you ain't worth **** just from how you talk."

D.C. rubs his mouth with his hand and looks around at the array of chemicals laid out on the counters in front of him. He exhales through his nostrils. Nodding, he looks back at the camera.

"You ever notice how not once have you said you're gonna kick my ass? Not once! Why? Lemme tell you why." D.C. jabs his finger at the camera: "It's cause you won't. You don't have it in you. You don't talk like a man who doesn't give a ****, Impulse, you talk like a man who just don't know. You don't even have any ****in idea! You're pullin insults out of your ass to keep yourself afloat but you ain't even committin to this ****. You always pullin your punches."

D.C. shakes his head. "That's gon translate to the ring, boy, lemme tell you. You gon walk in there and you're gonna flub it, you're gonna let me walk all over you.

"It ain't cause you don't want to win, you do. You just don't got the **** in you to make it happen."

D.C. snickers, approaching a counter and laying his fingers onto it. He adopts a puffy, mocking voice: "'Impulse gon go down to the ring, do what he do, and whether he wins or loses, no matter what happens, he's gon be the same person. He ain't gon be depressed or dejected or none-a that.'"

Now he laughs outright, shaking his head again. "You hear that ****? That doesn't sound like a 'realist.' That doesn't even sound like a ****in human being. A man loses and he feels bad about it, that's how people are. But naw, not Impulse. He a ****in superman. He don't feel nothin."

His face drains of mirth in an instant.

"But since you made sure I wasn't gon shed no tears over your wellbeing cause-a this match, I'ma extend the same thing to you. No matter what happens in that ring between you and me, Impulse, I want you to know that I was twice the man you were before I even heard your stupid name floatin to my ears and when I walk out I'm gon be three times the man you are. It don't matter what happens in the ring. I'll be okay."

D.C. lifts a scolding finger up to the camera.

"But I didn't say I don't know. Cause I do know what's gon happen. What's gon happen is I'm gon kick your ridiculous thought-macho ass from here to kingdom come. Cause I see what you're doin and for a guy who gon lose anyway, it's good. It's a good strategy. You wanna make sure that even if you lose, nobody can come back and say 'Didn't you say you were gon win? But you lost!' You wanna be infallible.

"But me? I say **** everybody else. People wanna bring up **** I did in the past? While they got their heads turned history-wise, I'm gon knock em the **** out. You can pull out all that overdone 'I'm an innovator' **** you want. That's fine. You can be on the cutting edge for all I care. I can see it now: '100 Brand New Ways to Lose and Then Cry Like a ***** by Impulse.' You think you're the first person to call himself an innovator, you ****in hack?

"That's the difference between me and you. You talk around the problem, you talk about how you can only control what you do and maybe this and maybe that, maybe if the stars align and all that bull****. I don't mince my ****in words. I don't talk about luck. I talk about how when we meet in the ring, only one thing gon happen. That's how I roll, Impulse.

"And make no mistake: no matter what I say or you say, there is only one result. Cause while you're busy innovatin, I'm gon be busy applyin science to your face. This ain't gon be what they call a close match. This ain't gon come down to the wire. This match, if you boil it down, get down to the really real core of the matter, is gon consist of me beatin you so bad they'll reject you from nursin homes."

D.C. laughs again, the sound almost rueful.

"You gon get a damn sight uglier after I'm done with you, boy."

D.C. smirks confidently into the camera.

"But it ain't gon depress you now, is it? That would just be unfortunate for a realist such as yourself."

 

[suddenimpact]

Slaughterhouse Team

(FADEIN:

DC Stark has become unstuck in time.

Don't blame me, DC - you brought it up.

I've been sitting in my living room for the past hour, watching your three promos back to back to back, trying to figure out what your definition of real is. I can't figure it out. My roommate can't figure it out, his girlfriend Sally got bored really quickly and Rose kept asking me who you were.

Even my mom called me this morning and asked why I was wasting my time with you. Don't blame her, though - she doesn't understand how things like this work and I'm sure she didn't mean any offense.

So let's do this thing. Three, two, one...)

"What's real, DC? You actually started this sequence in your lab, moved on to a classroom filled with people who may or may not have been paid actors, before returning to your lab with a cameraman in tow whose presence bothers you, and you're lecturing me on what's real?"

Dude, stones that big are usually rolling after Indiana Jones in some Brazilian cave somewhere in the 1930s.

"But I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Reality appears to be an alien concept to you. Case in point, this continued obsession with seeds and scuttlebut. Apparently, because you've overheard some people somewhere talk about the fact that I'm one of the guys to beat in this tournament, I've got a swelled head and believe in my own hype."

That's the feeling in the air, if you're wondering.

"Point of order, I'm still looking for a single person to say that out of the context of Man, this kid is really showing how much he wants this. Because, in my opinion, we're both showing how much we want this by the fact that we just keep chewing on each other. But let me ask you, if this supposed chatter was reversed, and people were saying that DC Stark was the man to beat in this tournament, would you remind them that it's a long way to go from Round One to Round Final, or would you bask in the adulation and thank them all for being perceptive about your overreaching greatness?"

Double standards really can sneak up on you, can't they?

"Because, if there was a feeling in the air that you were the man to beat, if there were people somewhere telling me that I shouldn't even bother to show up, because you're just so flippin' great, you know what I'd be doing?"

"Exactly what I've been."

I have this thing called a strong sense of self. It keeps me focused when my opponents find themselves all over the map, trying to find an angle that they can use to get inside my head. It's infuriating, I've heard.

"But I'll play your game for a few minutes, DC. Winning and losing, yeah, that's real. Living from paycheck to paycheck is pretty darn real, too. I managed a partial scholarship to Syracuse back in '03, but if I didn't get a job I wouldn't have made it. And, coming home without finishing what I went there to do would've been unacceptable to me."

Besides, living north of Harlem, as soon as I found out that I had a natural feel for the wrestling business, I knew this was my way out.

"Walking to the ring, worried that my job is on the line? That's something I really can't relate to, though, so you might have me, there. Y'see, I've got confidence in my wrestling ability, and I know that it's good enough so that one match isn't going to make or break my career. Heck, when I signed my first actual contract with New Frontier Wrestling, I wrestled my first match on March 11th, 2008, and, despite wrestling at every event, did not get my hand raised for the first time until May 24th of the same year."

Did I suck? Some of my peers and opponents certainly thought so, but I didn't listen, and I didn't care what any of them thought. And loss after loss after loss didn't change Craig Miles' opinion of my wrestling ability.

"You see, DC, those of us in the real world aren't on the bubble of being unemployed every time we step into the ring. This business is a marathon, not a sprint, and none of us - none of us - win, every time out. One of the guys who had a hand in training me told me once, that wins and losses only matter when the fans care about whether you win or lose. By the time my hand was raised for the first time, the fans were clamoring to see me get a check in my 'W' column, and I knew I'd make it, no matter where my career went from that point."

Although, I do have to be honest - having that shiny gold TV Title belt on my desk right now is a pretty sweet deal.

"I also feel it's only right to let you know that, while I haven't once said that I'm gonna kick your ass, I've also never said that to any of my other opponents, and it's worked out well for me so far. It's simple, DC - if I tell you I'm gonna kick your ass, then I go out to the ring and don't, then I look like an idiot. By the same token, you've been telling me from the start, essentially, that I've never had a snowball's chance in Florida of beating you, so what's your exit strategy gonna be?"

Also, sir - and this is just some constructive advice - watch your language. Swearing is the crutch of the mentally deficient.

And, yes - compared to the two of us, I am an innovator. Thank you for noticing.

"If you really meant it when you said 'Forget everyone else' (paraphrased, of course), you wouldn't continually bring up what everyone else has been supposedly saying. I don't care what other people say about this match, and - surprise! I really don't. Sure, I'll be disappointed if I lose, but it's going to be far from the end of my world. I'll go home, have a drink at the pub, and head back out on the road for my next shot, wherever it is. And when TEAM comes calling again, I'll most definitely show up."

That's the biggest difference between you and me, DC. That, and I'm starting to believe that you seriously can't comprehend how someone could be this laid back about something that you clearly view as a life and death tournament.

The rest of TEAM would do well to get used to it, though.

"Don't kid yourself, though, DC. The difference between you and I is that you have exactly one speed. You see your opponents and listen to their words, kind of, and then go off on a tangent about Superman while fingering your pint. I listen to my opponents, respect their strengths while tailoring a ring strategy against their weaknesses, and never assume I've got something so far won that I can just kick up my feet on easy street."

"But let's say you do take an early exit from this tournament. Accentuate the positive, sir. You can use that time to go back to your lab and try to figure out just what kind of scientist you are. And if you could please let us know what institute of higher learning lets you fill a classroom with paid extras to attempt to prove a point, I think we'd all appreciate the heads up on where not to send our kids."

So it goes.

FADE

 

[Kongo]

D.C. Stark. In the Lab. Standing in front of the camera. Go.

"I'm gonna talk slow here so you understand everything, Impulse, because things that everybody else gets completely escape you for some reason. But my basic point today is that you are a stupid *****.

"You're stupid because you don't seem to understand anything. You aren't arguing against my points, you're just making up stuff as you go along. Remember when I said what you thought was real wasn't real? Then I went ahead and laid out what is real in my definition. That's how you argue a point. You don't say that I "treat this as a life-or-death tournament" when I never said anything like that. Because I'm not so baked out of my mind that I don't care about anything doesn't make it life or death. You're stupid.

"You showed this video to everybody you know and nobody could figure it out, then you pretend to run down my points one-by-one. Seems like you'd need to get some comprehension of it to talk about it, yeah? So basically you're lying. But you didn't even think of that because you're stupid.

"You said it's a double standard to dislike when people talk against me but like it when people support me. Of course it's a double standard, you idiot. It's me. Why would I not favor myself? You're stupid.

"Why would you knock me on being in a lab? I'm a scientist. That's what I do. And this is wrestling. For someone who doesn't understand that most wrestlers have ****ty 9-to-5s and do depend on what they can get from wrestling and, for that matter, have careers that can ride on a single match, I don't understand why you even opened your mouth. Ah! I forgot! You're stupid.

"Who cares if I talk to a class full of kids? Why would you break the fourth wall by calling them extras? You wrestle in NFW, the craziest place a lot of people have seen in a long time, but you are calling me out on this? You are so stupid.

"And while we're talking about breaking the fourth wall, why would you trot out the most overdone, useless, and unimaginative trick there is? Oh, your parents don't know who I am and everybody got bored. And you're the one telling it. Are you serious? Could you be more trite, more boring? More stupid?

"You don't understand what innovation is. Innovation would be saying something other than what everybody says when they're scared of losing. It would also be understanding that everybody calls themselves an innovator and so calling yousrelf that, by definition, would make you not an innovator. But you're stupid, so I'll let it slide.

"You're a ***** because nobody has any business being such a boy scout. "Swearing is the crutch of the mentally deficient." Hurrr hurrr hurrr. Where the **** did you grow up, a convent? Nobody cares, except for you because you can't handle me saying the ****-word.

"You think people care about your record in NFW? Nobody cares. Nobody has ever cared. You keep talking about it, though, because you aren't confident. You can't just contain yourself to bringing it up once, which would be okay cause I don't know you yet. It's an introduction. What does telling me about how you didn't win for a long time, over and over again, have to do with anything? Am I supposed to pity you? Are you hoping that someone will do a documentary on you? No, it's just that you are too much of a ***** to put yourself out there.

"You're a ***** because you'd rather look like a coward than a hypocrite. Let me break it down for you: we are going to fight. That's what's going to happen. Why would you look like a coward beforehand? Because you're scared that people can bring it up later? I don't need an exit strategy because it doesn't matter. I would be more concerned about getting ready to fight than looking like a hypocrite afterwards. But you're such a ***** that something like this actually bothers you.

"No one has ever gotten anywhere by being too hesitant to simply say 'I am going to win.' If you can't say that, you aren't confident because if you were confident than it wouldn't matter since you believe you are going to win anyway. Do you see how this works? If you go ahead and accept that other things might happen, then you are really accepting that they will happen.

"I have only brought up other people to point out that whenever they are against me, they will be proven wrong. You have only brought them up to illustrate how they might hurt you after the match by calling you out if you say "I'll win" and then lose. But suddenly I'm the one who cares so much? You are a colossal *****.

"But at least I do care. I signed up for this to win it all. I didn't sign up for a succession of maybes like you have. And that's the real difference between you and I. You got into this with the will to do your best, and then you'll just hope that it brings you through.

"Hope doesn't ****ing exist, son. It's all will.

"Do you have the will to do it? To beat me? No. Because you think there's such a thing as chance. Because you are only going to do the best you can.

"Do I have the will? Of course I do. Because I have passion, something you can only conceive of as me thinking a situation is life or death. Do you know why that is? It's cause you don't have any.

"Tell me something: do you tell your girl 'I'll do my best to make you cum' or do you tell her 'I'm gonna make you cum'?

"Yeah, exactly."

Fin.

 

[suddenimpact]

New Frontiers

(FADEIN: I'm stupid.

It must be true. DC Stark believed it so much he said it eight times. It's like that old Disney cartoon with Mickey as the tailor. 'Have you ever killed a giant?' 'I just killed eight in one blow!'

RK, I asked myself, have you ever been stupid?

And DC Stark replied 'Yes - eight times in one blow!'

Only, DC Stark isn't an animated rodent. Or is he?

This is where - if I operated with a budget - the dramatic music would go.

And so we begin...)

"You really need to calm down, DC - you keep going in this direction and you're gonna have a heart attack. Sit down, have a glass of seltzer water and listen to some jazz, and try to relax."

"It's just wrestling, man - it's not worth dying over before you even get to the ring. I mean, I'm only twenty three, but if I got that angry every time out I'd say forget about wrestling, let me take a year off and work in my lab and try to decide if it's really worth all this aggravation."

But that's for you to decide, sir. I don't lose my temper.

"Pose, tone, and inflection rule all, DC. No, you've never said this tournament was life or death, but you don't need to tell me the sky is blue to make it so."

"Your reaction to everything I say and do tell me how you view - not just this tournament, but this specific match. Your anger at the way I've spoken to you has turned your lab coat transparent and it's evident that the emperor wears no clothes."

"You have something to prove in this tournament, DC - it's obvious by everything you've said and done, and that's the biggest difference between us."

Likewise, I don't have to say I'm going to beat you for it to happen. Will it, won't it? That's up to me.

"Again, let's take a look at the dictionary. I didn't pretend to argue any of your points, DC - I did argue them. To pretend means to not do something for real."

And we're back on this What Is Real kick. Lovely.

"Like your classroom of warm bodies. That's pretend."

Or is it?

"No, that's obviously a sore spot for you, DC - so I'll give you a pass and acknowledge that yes, that was a real classroom filled with real students that you were teaching something to. You are a scientist, after all, so it's very likely that part of your job is classroom work."

"But I'm curious, what kind of science class studies the promos of your in - ring opponents as part of the coursework?"

I'm serious - I would've loved to take that kind of class when I was in school.

"And if it's true, how would you get funding for that kind of research? And if it's not, do the department heads know how you're using your classtime?"

This isn't School of Rock, DC - this isn't a movie.

"And, looking at the tale of the tape, with that student in the black shirt that had the gun in his hand, how are you not under some kind of investigation? These are real questions I have, DC - because as someone whose name I've unfortunately forgotten once said, Wrestling is my only religion - and if I show up in Bloomington, only to find that you've been arrested on some kind of accessory charge, I'm going to be upset."

Yes - that is what would upset me. Not having a match at all.

"Who cares about your lab, DC? Who cares about a bunch of people without designation sitting in a classroom trying to help you come up with an appropriate rebuttal?"

"I'll tell you who - you do. Why else would you have brought them into the mix? Like you said, they have nothing to do with wrestling. And, since everyone in Spinebuster Wrestling was telling you that you're makin' it happen, you're climbin' up, and you're it, man - the new hotness, and the greatest - are you in a position where one match will make or break you?"

Yes? I'm sorry to hear that, and - while I will not throw a match, I'd be happy to make sure we have a solid one that keeps you on the payroll of wherever you're currently calling home.

No? Then why are you bringing it up? Or is it just another angle of attack that you're going to abandon when it doesn't work?

"Whenever people are against you, they will be proven wrong. That's why you bring them up? But you don't care what they say. Sounds like you precisely do care what other people say."

You can't have it both ways, sir.

"Also, my mom has nothing to do with professional wrestling. Neither does my roommate, or his girl, or my girl. Just like a classroom full of people have nothing to do with professional wrestling."

That's parody, sir.

Fade

 

[Kongo]

D.C. Stark's legs. No, they're not bare; he's wearing his pleather imitation slacks. Dressed for wrestling. Why? Cause this is a promo for wrestling.

Hushed voices.

"We can do this." This one isn't Stark.

"We're wastin a lot of film here." This one is.

"The smoke from the chemicals is getting in your way, that's all."

"Right, right, you said that. But it's the whole science thing, you know?"

"I dunno, at this point..."

"Yeah, maybe we a little too far for the science ****."

"This time we could give it a rest, yeah."

"Aight, let's go to this one since there ain't no chemicals on it."

The camera shifts over, following Stark's legs. It catches a bit of a black countertop that has obviously been burned, likely by spilled chemicals. The camera raises up to Stark's face. Someone shakes the camera.

"****, I've been rolling this whole time."

"**** it, **** it," Stark says. He gestures the camera downward and the camera swings down to show his legs again. "Aight, I got my game face on. Swing it back up."

Camera back up, focused on D.C. Stark. He's glaring right into the camera, specs and beard and all. He shakes his head.

"No, Impulse, your girl doesn't have anything to do with anything. The question wasn't about your girl. The question was about you. It was about your mentality. A guy like me just says 'I'm gonna make you cum.' That's what she wants to hear. She wants to hear confidence. The question ain't about what your girl is like, it's about what you're like. Somehow that escaped you. And that's your entire problem.

"You just don't ****in get it. You don't get anything."

D.C. lifts one hand and ticks off his index finger.

"The students in the class was set-pieces. I thought 'Huh, I'll change it up a bit, go indirect. Make things a little more interestin. There won't be no problem with this cause everybody gon understand what I'm doin.' But not you. You ignored that the class was a device cause you didn't get it."

He ticks off his middle finger, showing two digits now.

"Me sayin I don't care about what people say? Other people, reasonable people, would ****in see the nuance there. Obviously, since I'm talkin about it, I don't literally mean 'I don't care.' Closer to 'It don't matter.' Closer to 'I'm gon beat Impulse anyway, so you can say whatever you want cause it won't change nothin.' See how that works? No. You don't."

And now a third.

"This match will make me or break me. I did a tiny stint in NFW and now I'm here. TMA fell out from under me. Spinebuster's long gone. This is it for me right now. But more than that, every match counts. Always. You don't go into a match with the mentality that you can lose and it'll be okay. Of course it'll be okay. Nobody's ****in sayin I'm gonna die if I lose. But I shut that **** out of my mind, I focus. I'm gonna win at any cost. Do you understand that? No. The nuance, the subtext, completely ****in escapes you."

D.C. puts both hands flat on the counter and leans into the camera.

"Not everybody who wrestles is a borin asshole like you, Impulse. Not everybody wakes up, exercises, watches TV, and goes to sleep. There are things called gimmicks that are pretty accepted in wrestling. I don't know how long you been doing this, so maybe this is actually new to you.

Did I say 'Impulse can't be a real person's name! You weren't born with that name! You're a ****in fake!' No, I didn't. I ****in understood that it was part of your character. But maybe another part of your character is being a dick who don't understand how wrestlin works."

D.C. settles back now and rubs his chin thoughtfully. "Now I'm wonderin... which arguments did you put up? I wanna hear about them. The ones where you didn't purposely misconstrue what I said so that you would have something to say."

D.C. chuckles. "Truth is that you have nothin to say, ain't it? Everything you said to me so far just been dancin around the point, twistin words, hittin semantics rather than content. Because you don't have nothin.

"You wanna talk about how I wear glasses next? 'Why would a wrestler wear glasses, he can't wear them in the ring, your poor vision would make you lose!'" He whips his glasses off. "Surprise, mother****er, I don't actually need glasses! It's part of my gimmick!"

D.C. tosses the glasses aside nonchalantly. "You wanna talk about my grammar, maybe? ****, maybe I mispronounced a word! Please, pick up some more tangential **** and talk about it, you ****in loser.

"Cause that's what you are. This ain't a lame insult. This is a description. You are a loser, a person whose lot in life is to lose. Put you against a guy like me? You don't stand a ****in chance."

D.C. points at the camera. "You're everything I hate in people, Impulse. You got no ambition. You got no drive. Not even a bit of ****in common sense. That's why you're gonna lose.

"Wrestlin's your religion, but you ain't a wrestler. You a fan. You stumbled this far in your career an now it's fallen on me to kick the **** out of you, show you some sense. Wrestlin's your religion because you don't know what the **** it's about but you gon bleed for it anyway."

D.C. laughs boisterously.

"Do you know how ****in childish you sound, boy? How out-a touch? No, you don't. You don't ****in get it. And a guy like you? You never will. You always gon be on the outside.

"And when you step into that ring I'm gon slap the taste out of your mouth and keep kickin the **** out of you until all this, all this frustration over how a near-sighted ***** like you will not just shut his ****in mouth, all this has ****in draaaaiiiined away."

D.C. slams his fist on the table, glaring intently into the camera.

"Cause right now, more than provin myself to everybody else, more than climbin higher in the TIT, I just want to shut your ****in face. This gon be some Ass-Kickin Therapy, son, an I'm gon be walkin on air after I'm done shreddin you. An after I'm done with you I hope you wind up in traction. I hope you ain't got a wrestlin bone left in your body.

"This ain't personal like 'You killed my mama, I'm gon kill you.' This ain't personal like 'You slept with my girl, now I'ma **** you up.' You could never even hope to hurt me that bad, not even if you wanted to, not even if you gave it your all.

"This is personal like 'I'm gon be glad to personally wipe the arena clean with your ****in face.'"

Fin.

 

[suddenimpact]

Ring Superstar

(FADEIN:

Looking Glass, the CD single by The Birthday Massacre.

No, there's no hidden subtext. I'm simply running out of backdrops and wouldn't want to appear personally in another one of these, lest I cause another of DC's drama students to off themselves.

What was his name, DC? I'd like to make a donation to the foundation his parents have undoubtedly set up.

Plus, Rosie and I are going to the gig tonight.)

"Oh, no, DC - I got the classroom completely. Very clever. But did you get the irony in using your classroom as a set piece to try to make a point about reality? Somehow, I doubt it."

"But you've now pulled back the curtain and showed us all how you do your tricks. Why? Because I questioned it? Is that all it takes, one skeptic with a pad and pen documenting the paradox of your hype machine, and it's all over? Should we have simply paid no attention to the man behind the curtain?"

It's like I said - the lab coat is translucent and the emperor wears no clothes.

"You're right - finally - it doesn't matter what other people say. Which, spun around, means it doesn't matter what you say. Which is what - essentially - I've been trying to tell you since the first time you opened your mouth."

Not totally, your ego can rest assured that you do matter, it's just what you say that doesn't.

"I'm not the same as any other wrestler in this tournament, as far as I can tell, DC."

"I don't believe that you have to be a tough talking, full - of - piss - and - vinegar kinda guy to succeed in this business. That's trite, overplayed, and seven different flavors of boring. No, I never said I was going to kick your ass all over the place - partly because, as I said, neither of us will know the answer to that question until we actually wrestle, but also, partly because that's what everyone else is saying."

"I fly from the path."

"For the entirety of my career now, DC, I've never done what's been expected of me. I wore a mask to cover my face, even though it was a face only the hardest core of wrestling fans would have even known. I've wrestled for what you called the craziest place a lot of people have seen in a long time, and have thrived without resorting to a single foreign object or thrown punch."

The Messenger Is Not Important.

"Why would I suddenly switch up and come at you with the same thing you've undoubtedly seen, time and time again? For that matter, why would you appear to lament this fact? It's as if you've spent the past few days doing your best to bait me into losing my temper and hitting you with the same ol' threats that are practically quaint in this business in 2009."

"Deconstruct yourself in front of us all, DC - what's real and what's fake is immaterial when you lecture me on reality, only to turn around and expose yourself as one gigantic set - piece, all because you think I'm boring, or lazy, or - and this is my favorite - not a wrestler."

"What you mean to say, DC, is that I'm not like any wrestler you've seen so far, right? I haven't degraded or insulted your wrestling skills because I honestly haven't seen any of your matches and - as I've said - I don't like to comment on things I have no firsthand knowledge of. I haven't said a word about you being woefully overmatched and preparing futilely for a match you haven't a hope of winning. And I've certainly never insulted you and then immediately clarified that it wasn't an insult, it was an accurate - true to life description."

I must be a loser, because DC Stark told me so. I'm glad I ran into him so I could get the proper perspective on my life. The last twenty three years of existence were just prelude to this one shining moment. I'm glad I started wrestling, started winning, and won a title, because it gave me the confidence to try my hand at the Team Invitational, where I found out the truth about myself.

Cough. Backslash - sarcasm.

"But let's look at it another way, DC. You're calling me boring, you're calling me lazy, and you're calling me a fan who's been lucky for the past year. Consider the fact that, according to you, these are the sorts of things I should've been saying to you in order to justify my prowess to you, one could make the case that you're lazy. That you're the one without ambition. That you're the one who goes through the motions, doing what everyone expects you to do and what everyone else has been doing."

"I, on the other hand, have essentially said and done nothing you've expected, ultimately justifying to yourself that I must be stupid. Whos' the lazy one, DC? Dime - a - dozen, or something different?"

I never said it, DC - you did. I just reversed the needle. Don't blame me.

FADE

 

[Kongo]

D.C. Stark is sitting in a pleasant setting: a cozy little library with the walls lined with books, a plush carpet covering the ground, a high-backed chair supporting him. He smiles at the camera.

"Dear viewers," he begins, "in the interest of not rambling like an idiot a la Impulse, feverishly trying to respond to everything that happened in my promos because he has no ammunition, this message will precede the scheduled D.C. Stark promo. I remind my viewers that this step is only being taken because any failure to respond to Impulse will make him think that he's actually gotten something over me rather than me finding the point too immaterial to take time out to address it."

D.C. clears his throat.

"The point of the classroom sketch--officially titled 'Teach Me, D.C.!' and produced by ABC, BBC, CBC, NBC, XFC, XFL, UFC, Ford, Honda, Virgin Mobile, Virgin Immobile, and the Virgin Mary--was not about reality or unreality. In point of fact, the word real does not appear once in that promo. It only deals with the topic of reality in the way that every promo ever does, that is to say, it asserts that the opinions of the protagonist are fact (which they are), and that the opinions of his adversary are pure fiction (again, the truth).

"To reiterate, Impulse, reality was not a primary point of that promo. It was a primary point of the next promo, 'Innovate This!'. That might be the source of your confusion."

D.C. chuckles. "Of course, you will now come back at me by saying that all my promos are so indistinguishable from each other that you just couldn't tell. Please do. It will only reinforce my opinions that you are stupid, because you couldn't tell two promo pieces that are set in radically different places apart, and that you can only talk about things that don't actually matter.

"Thank you. Now on with our scheduled promo."

+++++
​

The Lab. D.C. Stark stands next to a giant red X painted on the black floor. A humongous ray gun has been constructed next to him, aiming right down at the X. D.C. Stark is ignoring the ray gun in favor of staring at the camera with a quizzical expression on his face.

"You really think you're special, don't you, Impulse?" he accuses. "But you continue to not get it, continue to twist my words so you can make up a response. You ain't changed a bit."

D.C. snorts. "Everybody seen you before. The ****in chivalrous man, respects everybody at the expense of nobody respectin him, thinks he's somethin new, somethin nobody's ever seen before. Everybody knows you. That's what you don't ****in understand. You think nobody's seen your kind before but everybody sees right through you. No substance. You think people just missin the point, but they just not payin attention to you, boy. You ain't worth it."

D.C. sighs, shaking his head and walking slowly towards the camera. "I don't care what you say to me."

He lifts his eyes and fixes them on the camera.

"I just want you to grow a pair of ****in balls. Be a man.

"I ain't sayin this for you, either, this is for me. When I get into the ring and I sweat to get a victory, when I put out that effort, I wanna feel like I was doin somethin. I wanna feel like I accomplished somethin. Like it meant somethin for me to go fight somebody.

"But when I get into the ring with you, when I wring you dry, strip you of whatever dignity you got left, I won't have accomplished ****. When I beat you, it's gonna be routine. Busywork. I'm gonna beat you cause I can, cause if I didn't beat you it would just be laziness on my part. But it won't feel like **** and that's the problem."

D.C. turns back to the ray gun and walks towards it slowly, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Look at Nova. When you look at that guy, you get a certain feelin, a Nova feelin. You don't feel like Nova's backin down from a fight. Or Shawn Hart. Phantom Republican. These are names you know, yeah? At least Nova you respect enough to bring up yourself. See, they all doin it differently. They all provin that they want to win, that they got the drive, they pushin themselves ahead."

He shakes his head to emphasize his point now: "They ain't borin. They ****in wrong if they think that they gon win this all when everybody know that D.C. Stark is gon be the champ, but they at least man enough to get the notion in they heads."

Suddenly, D.C. whirls around and aims his finger at the camera. "But you... you don't know how to play the game an you think that's a good thing. You think you doin somethin different but that ain't it.

"You just don't know how to do what it takes to win. You ain't the same as any other wrestler cause you the only one whose got it in his head this early that he could lose. Everybody else got their eyes on the prize, and where you got yours? Everywhere else, on unimportant ****."

Slow, steady footfalls as D.C. Stark approaches the camera again, leaning forward slightly.

"You wanna know why I made sure you understood all that stuff I was doin? You think I'm weak cause you have no imagination, cause you didn't get it in the first place. You backtrackin after the point and, once again, puttin words in my mouf.

"I deconstructed everythin cause I can't help it. You call yourself a skeptic with a sketchpad, but you ain't a skeptic. A skeptic has some point, somethin to offer. What you got to offer me an the world? Yourself. You an your lack-a courage, your minuscule ****in talent, your stubborn idiocy. You showin everybody an empty cup-a water. You think that's enough to be a skeptic?"

D.C. tugs at his beard in frustration. "I can't help it, boy, an it's cause you're too ****in thick. I can't take that: it just riles me. How does a school system churn out somebody so ****in stupid? This is 2009 and we still got somebody like you walkin around, pretendin like anybody ****in cares about Impulse.

"Why!? Why should we care, why should anybody give a **** about Impulse? We don't know. You cut so many promos and nobody ****in knows. You don't have a ******* identity. You wore a mask in your past when nobody was gonna ****in recognize you anyway and I'm supposed to ****in praise that? You're the most whitebread, milquetoast piece of **** that ever stained the TEAM logo and we're supposed to get behind you cause you don't wanna say whether you'll win or not?"

D.C.'s face bears a sly smirk.

"Carrot Top is different, boy, but he still ****in sucks."

He laughs. "But since you need an identity, lemme help you out. See, my identity is the Good Doctor D.C., the Capital's Finest, the Scientific Sultan of the Second-Rope, but more than that, I'm the man to watch in the TEAM Invitational Tournament. I'm the breakout star of this mother****er. I'm gon be the champion, I'm gon take home the prize."

D.C. is close to the camera now and he jabs his finger at it, so close he almost pokes the lens.

"And you? People gon know you as a stepping stone, Impulse. You're the man I beat first in my quest to be crowned the best. Nobody gon remember a ****in thing about you. Ain't gon remember where you wrestled, ain't gon remember what you finished with, not even what you looked like.

"But they are gon remember that in your life-defining moment you lost to D.C. Stark."

D.C. paces back and forth now as he speaks: "An years later we gon meet somewhere by chance, after the world's ****in come down around your head, you out of a job cause people finally wised up to what a mealymouthed dickblister you are, an you gon put your hand out and say 'D.C., man, that was a helluva match we had, wasn't it?'"

Again, D.C. turns to the camera, now wearing a sardonic smile.

"But it ain't gon be a helluva match, Impulse. It's gon be the most one-sided contest TEAM has ever seen. It's gon be me taking advantage of every doubt you got in your mind, every hesitation, every weakness that you think is accountin for chance when all you gotta try to account for is me.

"Turn off the camera, Impulse. Quit sayin ****. Just sit down, twiddle your thumbs, and wait for this match. It ain't gon matter either way. You ain't gon win, you can't win. You already ****in terrified of people callin you out about this, so don't embarrass yourself no more."

D.C. grins broadly, a devious grin, wicked.

"At least you drew me first round. Can you imagine if you had to dance with Nova or Mike Randalls? Nobody'd even remember you'd been booked."

Fin.

 

[suddenimpact]

A river in Egypt

(FADEIN:

DC Stark's most recent promo. Muted.

Well, I can't have him talking over me, can I? I know he'd love nothing more than to hear the melodious sound of his voice, especially over mine - I'm boring, remember - but that'd be way too distracting.

Three... two... one...)

"Thanks for the explanation, DC, but it's too little, too late. You put yourself out there and tried to be clever, and it backfired on you. I know, I know, 'I was only jokin' and all, but that's not what I see."

"What I see is denial, akin to Slobodan Milošević getting voted out of office, like thirty million votes to one, or whatever it was, and him saying 'Well, I don't want to be dictator anymore anyways.'"

On a much, much, much smaller scale, that is.

"And you're right, you never mentioned reality in that promo. I mentioned it, because the skeptic in me didn't have the ability to suspend that much disbelief. But I'll leave that alone."

"No, you've never seen me before, DC, and it shows, because you don't know what you're doing with me. It shows, because you keep repeating the same things over and over again. I'm going to beat you, I'm going to crush you, it's not going to be a close match or a hard fought match."

And over, and over, and over.

"Is that what a man is supposed to do, DC? Maybe that's what you feel you need to do to be a man. Your definitions don't apply to me."

And your bizarre absolutes don't hold water, either.

"So, which is it? The feel in the air is that I'm one of the favorites to win, or everybody sees right through me as lacking in substance? Which is it, or does it go back and forth depending on what role you want to play in this tournament?"

Or are you flipping a coin? Is it a two-headed silver dollar?

"Here comes the wishy-washy again, DC. Those people you apparently heard talking about how awesome I am when you wanted to be the underdog - did they see what I do and decide I sucked after that? You'd have to assume anyone who thought I was awesome knew what I did and how I did it, so that can't be right."

"And if they decide I suck after the fact, they must've been seeing me for the first time in this go-round, which means any kind of buzz was completely arbitrary."

"And, and - their opinions, whoever they are, mean less than nothing to me because they have nothing to do with what I do."

You've got a nice setup there, DC - but one errant breeze and your house of cards comes tumbling down. Different can mean better or worse. Once again, you're trying to justify yourself with a bizarre absolute.

"This is my identity, DC - I don't pretend to be anything I'm not. And I know, in the opinion of yourself and everyone else in the known universe-"

- because one person equals the entire universe when you agree with yourself -

"- that's hardly worth showing up for. And maybe you are the guy to beat in this tournament. And at the moment, as far as I'm concerned, you are the guy to beat. Because you're my next opponent."

That's as far as I ever look.

"You've got a strange way about you, DC. You spent several days trying one thing, dropping it, trying something else, dropping it, and now it looks like you've settled on broadcasting from your lab about how talentless and boring I am."

Congratulations, you've managed to uncover the one thing more boring than my promos allegedly are: when you're saying the exact same thing, over and over, for four straight days, you take the prize, sir.

"If I was that boring, DC, you'd have declared victory and walked away. If I was that talentless, you'd've taken these past few days to relax and actually show us that you were looking for this to be a cakewalk."

"You haven't. Every time I've said something, you've reacted. If I'm as boring as you, and the rest of the known universe claim, why have you continued to pound that home?"

Or are you just hoping if you say something often enough, it'll come true?

"I don't address certain things, DC, because it's the easiest way to end up trapped in a vicious cycle of he said/she said, and nobody wins that way."

"Am I really boring and talentless? You seem to jump every time I say a word, therefore I predict your bravado is covering up crippling insecurity. You see me, you see how I speak and act and carry myself, and it doesn't compute with you. It doesn't make sense how someone who doesn't follow the rules as you believe in them has had the amount of success I've had in the time I've been a wrestler."

And no, nobody is that lucky for that long without something backin' it up.

"Let me put you at ease, DC - you and I can coexist in this business, and I won't even need to beat you in a vicious, one - sided exhibition of a match."

"A real man, DC, doesn't have to be the loudest guy in the room or the winner of the biggest codpiece contest in order to be a man. In my neighborhood, a real man takes care of his business with a minimum of fuss and commentary. And the ones who talked the biggest game was usually compensating for something."

Think about it.

FADE