(FADEIN to a small office area. It’s almost entirely empty except for an enormous oak desk sitting in the middle of it. Leaning back on a leather office chair is Anarky, his legs propped up on the desk. He’s without the facepaint and wears a black Baroness t-shirt and blue jeans, along with some cowboy boots.
His face is covered in cuts and bruises. A couple of his fingers are wrapped together. He’s holding a lit cigarette. He takes a drag and exhales it slowly, letting the smoke drift up towards a hanging light.)
ANARKY: “You know… in a way… I almost pity Larry Tact… who was so close to victory… he could probably taste it on the tip of his tongue… lingering there…
“In his mind, it’d probably already happened, like a flash. Champagne, and women, and glory.
“In another moment, it was all lost. In the ring. Like always.
“And now? Now, Larry… poor Larry… playing with people he shouldn’t be, and now he’s doing who only knows what to someone’s kid out on the streets…
“Well y’know what? F*ck Larry Tact, and f*ck you too, Heirs of Wrestling.
“Don’t waste my f*cking time with your story and who you were before you came here. That sh*t don’t matter now.
“This is EPW, and I guess that makes me your welcoming committee. Sorry if I’m not as good-looking as you’d hoped.
“And my tag partner, who, hopefully, can sober up long enough to at least call a cab to the venue… well… hey, f*ck him too, right? I don’t really care what happens to him… cripple him… maybe we can sell his organs…
“Just don’t pin him, cause it’d make me look bad, eh?”
(He stops and laughs. He takes a final drag on the cigarette and puts it out. He peers into the camera with dark patches under his eyes, a smirk rising from his lips. He hasn’t shaved in a few days.)
ANARKY: “ I’m just messin’ with ya guys… I’m happy to have you here in EPW. And I wish you the best of luck against Anthology.
“But your first match in EPW… gosh, y’know… the thing is guys… I’m not that good at what you’d say… taking it easy.
“See, I have this problem. It goes something like this.
“Someone, like, say, you… is gonna come out here… and tell me… about how f*cking wonderful and sh*t they are… and how.. y’know… I can probably cure kids of cancer with their tears…
“And I just… can’t… listen.. without wanting to just… punch them in the mouth.. over and over… again… and, uhhh… the thing is… there’s… really… y’know, no other way for me to… really… deal… with… them… talking… to me. Out loud.
“But hey, maybe you’re different. Maybe you’ll be fun. I like fun. Do you like fun? Larry Tact was fun, wasn’t he? Stevens was fun. Real fun.
“Are you fun, guys? Do you want to have a good time? I think we’re gonna be good friends, really…
“… because me… well… I don’t like to toot my own horn, y’know, but… in that ring… after the bell sounds… and you stand there before me… mouth finally closed… words finally ceased… a glimmer of possibility among a million more…
“It won’t matter how drunk my partner is, or how much he’s worried about the Dragon to concern himself with our affairs.
“Because you and I… we’re going to make something together… and then…
“Then I’m going to punch you in the f*cking mouth and I’m going to like it. Welcome to EPW, gentlemen. And whether you like it or not, this is the land that HOPE sprang from, so…
“I’ll do my best to make you feel warm and fuzzy inside. Don’t worry. I know I will.”
(FADE IN: Ryan Gallway and Mack Brody standing in front of a silver "EPW" backdrop. Both men are wearing the brand new "Heirs of Wrestling: Rulin’ and Schoolin’" t-shirt, now available at… okay, not at EPWShop.com, just yet. They’ve been with the company a short two weeks, but they DO plan on marketing them sum*****es eventually. Ryan wears his IPhone [as he would call it, his Pipboy] with blue jeans while Mack Brody’s wearing a pair of corduroys. Both men are gazing directly into the lens… for very long periods of time.
Several more moments pass by before Mack Brody looks into another far-off screen backstage, making sure that his prized golden blonde faux hawk is just right. Ryan just keeps staring off into space for random moments of time. From off-camera, their manager, Alexandria Malone can be heard.)
ALEXANDRIA MALONE: Okay, guys, any day now.
RYAN GALLWAY: (nervously)…Um… Mack? Dude, did that camera just say something?
MACK BRODY: I dunno… can you ask it if my face looks TOO tanned? The chick swore it was only a number two, but I think she did a three.
ALEXANDRIA MALONE: Frank? Help?
(Walking calmly on camera, rocking the same Heirs t-shirt with a pair of black jeans, a Seattle Mariners ball cap, sunglasses and eating a slice of pepperoni pizza. After letting out a low belch, he nods to his cohorts.)
FRANK PIERCE: Yo, Joes. S’up?
RYAN GALLWAY: Dude, the camera’s lookin’ right at us… plottin’ some ****.
FRANK PIERCE: (sighing, looking at Mack) ****. Mack, did he drop some acid before coming out here… again?
MACK BRODY: No, I never took him out of my sight… except for when I went to the tanning salon. He didn’t meet anybody strange.
FRANK PIERCE: (sigh of relief) Good.
MACK BRODY: …OH! But that guy who sold him some E on the way back home was really nice.
(From off-camera, we can hear Alexandria Malone groaning in frustration. A set of high-heeled footsteps can be heard storming off the set, but not before she gives them one helpful piece of advice.)
ALEXANDRIA MALONE: Okay, that’s it. You three can do this Onslaught promo yourselves!
(As a door violently slams shut on the stage, Frank Pierce’s eyes light up like a kid on Christmas morning.)
FRANK PIERCE: Dudes… WHAT. THE. ****. You ****ing idiots didn’t tell me that was for Onslaught!
MACK BRODY: Onslaught? That dude from Marvel comics?
FRANK PIERCE: Hardy-har, dickface. No… Onslaught, the House Show. One of those ****ers, Anarky, fired the opening salvo already, so we gotta get our point across, fast! (pointing off-camera) You, tech monkey playing pocket hockey! Yeah, you the same guy now hide his face behind the cue card out of embarrassment of what a douche you are! Get this **** ready.
(All three Heirs can be seen glancing at the camera yet again. It only takes Frank Pierce two seconds to ready himself for the masses. Ryan Gallway maintains the same monotone state while Mack Brody is seemingly lost in space.)
FRANK PIERCE: You guys, this is ****ing huge! We've got Anarky and Fusenhoff and we… wait, Mack, you're not stoned! Wake up!
MACK BRODY: (Out of his trance) Oh, sorry dude. I was just thinking… after our promo we put out yesterday, seemed a lot of people were a fan of the Mack Brody Titty Mambo. I’m thinking of taking my shirt off for this promo. Figure you and Ryan can talk some smack and I’ll wiggle my pecs in tune with the **** talk. We can run with the theme that my man-muscles kick more ass than Anarky and Fusenhoff combined.
FRANK PIERCE: Hey, Mack… see that guy in the chair? The director?
MACK BRODY: Yeah?
FRANK PIERCE: Let HIM do that! I dunno, sit back there and look menacing… and keep Ryan’s mouth shut.
MACK BRODY: Can do.
FRANK PIERCE: And do NOT take your ****ing shirt off or I’m gonna cut your pecs off and beat you with them.
MACK BRODY: (disappointed) Fine.
(Mack holds Ryan Gallway back, who appears to really be in too much of a daze to contribute to the proceedings. Entertaining himself with his Lightsaber app, he swings his arms around and makes Lightsaber noises in the background while Frank Pierce’s gaze. The ringleader thinks about smiling, but opts against it as he narrows his focus.)
FRANK PIERCE: Anarky… Fusenhoff… despite the fact that I think you idiots got your names from some dumb**** pretending to wrestler other dumb****s over the internet in a game to see whose pretend e-dick is bigger… Trust me when I say, gents, this is a very big deal to us.
Now, before we engage in this verbal sparring session started, let’s make one thing clear. You two, very simply, very matter-of-factly… you are NOT people that we wanted inside that ring. You two… you’re not BFFs exchanging Christmas cards, you aren’t stablemates "fighting the good fight" against Anthology and the Fallen, in fact. Seems that Fusenhoff amounts exactly to a bead of sweat off your balls.
But most importantly, you aren’t EVEN a tag team.
Since we’ve been here, we’ve made no bones about the fact that like HOPE, we want Anthology as much – if not more so – than you guys do. They have the belts, they’re in complete disarray after Tact mouthed off to Lindsay while she was on the rag.
(Almost on instinct, as he fires his last words, Frank Pierce looks around to make sure Lindsay Troy isn’t lurking somewhere. His trainer and godfather, Sonny Silver, dealt with her on many occasions that didn’t turn out to well. He’d been told stories of the Boogey[wo]man.)
FRANK PIERCE: And needless to say, this place needs… nay, YEARNS… for Tag Team Champions that actually value the worth of the titles they hold. However, my rage-o-holic friend… that most certainly doesn’t mean that we won’t waste a great opportunity against two people who seem poised to make waves in EPW. We had -- HOPED-- as your expression goes... to get a match exactly like this. We’ll take this ranting retard of Jim Hellwig-like proportions and his tag team partner of, apparently, the greatest drunk wrestler of our generation, and take out some of that pent-up aggression out on them.
And Anarky, Fusenhoff. As much as you may think that we’re somehow overlooking you; that I’ve pretty much laughed off your attempts to go "O… M… G… I’M MEAN… I’M BAD… I… TAKE… DRAMATIC… PAUSES… CAUSE I’M… A… ****TARD…" And Fusenhoff is probably too busy failing a breathalyzer test to talk some smack… That bull****, sir, couldn’t be further from the truth.
We could sit here and tell you guys that there’s no such thing as unworthy opponents. Cause there are.
We could sit here and tell you guys that in my young age of twenty-four, I count my money not in dollars, but in INCHES, friend. Cause I do.
We could even regale you with tales of our conquests of other places and we didn’t even have Mack here with us. But then Anarky would pick up his amateur camera and probably… breathe… and… formulate… another… stupid… stock… I’m gonna hurt you… dramatic pause…
RYAN GALLWAY: STARSHIP HEIRS, REPRESENT!
FRANK PIERCE: (snaps a finger) MACK!
MACK BRODY: (restraining him) Sorry.
(Mack Brody keeps Ryan restrained, hand over the mouth and everything, but now he’s back to his annoying-as-**** Staples button application. Now letting his train of thought roll off the tracks, Frank cracks the knuckles in his right hand, easing them at his side.)
FRANK PIERCE: Now, since we are the n00bs around here, that does place us in the archetypical role as "guys making names for themselves." But in this match, this also places us in the more commonplace "team with a wealth of tag experience" vs. "Mismatched buddy cop sitcom #24601." Which clearly goes "advantage: Heirs." Gentlemen, I respect your will to win to the extent that I can respect the St. Louis Rams putting on their jerseys every day this season. But understand this:
While Fusenhoff is waiting for Karl Brown to come out and fellate him on another grand performance, he’ll have already been detached from his corner.
While you, Anarky, are busy swinging your fists like a retarded gorilla, we’ll have picked you off systematically until you can’t go anymore.
Rest assured, this is a house show so only a couple thousand people are going to be privy to the day the Heirs of Wrestling started their rise to dominance. But for those lucky folks attending Onslaught, they get to see the day that we won and then we’ll get to say…
THAT WAS EASY!
(Frank Pierce glares back at Ryan Gallway, still fascinated with his Staples button application. He glares back to the camera with a mischievous grin on his face.)
FRANK PIERCE: …Eloquently put, Ryan. You better HOPE that you're both ready for this match.
MACK BRODY: Already used a HOPE joke, man. Take us out on something else.
FRANK PIERCE: Damn... okay... uh... Anarky and Fusenhoff, you also both ****ing suck and you'll both probably die of a rage-induced brain aneurysm and cirrhosis respectively. Come on, guys, let's bounce.
(Both Frank Pierce and Ryan Gallway walk off camera, leaving the muscle of the team behind. Given this special gift of a free moment, Mack Brody lets his feelings on this match be known. Lifting up his shirt, he shows off what he affectionately calls the "Mack Brody Titty Mambo," making his pecs jiggle for the audience once again.)
MACK BRODY: Pfft, my pecs alone could kick the ass of Anarky and Fusenhoff COMBINED… *****es.
Fade in to Fusenshoff shrugging in a confused manner at someone standing out of the camera shot. He’s in front of an EPW backdrop; standard show, nothing fancy. Fuse is wearing the same thing he always does with all black except for the white wife beater. He looks cleaner than usual, though it isn’t saying much. He went a little crazy today and bought a fifth of Bacardi Dragon Berry rum. A case of Red Bull is sitting on the floor beside the stool. Dragon Bombs!
Fusenshoff: “So I caught Anarky’s promo last night. Mid-monologue I’m scrounging up something for my own spot. It goes something like this…
“Anarky was in fine form last night. We got a little lucky, he had another one of those promos where… he… paused… for… dramatic… effect… after… every… word.
“I always get a real kick out of that when he does it. It reminds me of that short black kid with the glasses on Malcolm in the Middle. You know, they have self-help groups to make living with a stutter a little easier, Anarky. Ever been to n- s- a- stutter dot com? Check it out. It could change your life. At the very least you may prevent yourself from sounding like half a ‘tard in front of millions of people.
“So it kinda sucks that Pierce said the exact same thing, he just put a little less thought into it.
“F*ck, Anarky! Why do you have to go and telegraph your ‘verbal non-fluency’? Word is that’s the PC term for your… problem… disease… impediment… yeah we’ll go with that.
“I guess I’ll just have to focus on him instead of yet another tag partner from HOPE. Let’s move on to the Hierarchy. Sorry, the Heirs of Wrestling- had to go back and look. And hey Pierce, (Fuse talks with one hand covering half his face) much better than HOPE…
“Now I’m not gonna lie, I love filler. There’s nothing better than wasting three minutes of my life, knowing I’m not the only one getting sh#t on, while some idiot thinks it’s funny to pretend a camera’s talking to him. I think it’s a great way to set the mood. It says ‘I’m funny, so get ready for a beatdown, ‘cuz I’m coming for ya.’
“What it doesn’t say is, ‘I think I’ll blow smoke for a minute as this crap pops into my head faster than sh*t can fall out of my ass because I deserve an ‘A’ for effort.’ It doesn’t say that because someone might notice and think it’s kinda sad. Sad like some swamp donkey grabbing a guy’s cock at the bar, then he gets her kicked out because he happens to be friends with the bouncer- feeble, paltry, contemptible… take your pick.
“It’s almost as dumb as using the gift-wrapped argument that you’ll wipe the floor with Anarky and me because you’re actual tag partners. Of course talent and performance mean nothing. You’ll win because the three of you share the same hotel room.
“You’ve got chemistry.
“I know what you’re talking about. I had it with my high school girlfriend. It starts out as just some friendly eye contact that lingers just a little bit. Before you know it you’re really connecting. Maybe you share the same interests. Perhaps it’s one of those ‘je ne sais quoi’ feelings that can only be described after the moment passes and you’re reveling in the afterglow.
“Next thing you know you’re sharing living arrangements on the road together and picking out matching spandex.
“This might surprise you Heirs. Turns out Anarky and I can hold our own pretty well in the ring. I hate to burst in on your bubble bath and spoil the surprise, but we’re not Pierce’s sister. We don’t just lay down for a nice set of pecs.
“Don’t walk into a fed and blow off the competition faster than… well I think that analogy pretty much speaks for itself. What I’m getting at is you’re blatantly walking in here and underestimating two formidable opponents. It may simply be boasting, but it’s still dumb. A stupid approach no matter the intent.”
Fade out as Fusenshoff pours himself a Dragon Bomb. Suddenly out of nowhere “We’re the three best friends” from The Hangover starts playing and Fusenshoff looks around confused, but it’s obvious he knew it was coming.
”We’re the three best friends that anybody could have,
We’re the three best friends that anybody could have,
We’re the three best friends that anybody could have,
And we’ll never ever ever ever ever leave eachother.
We’re the three best….”
(FADE IN: At the present time, it’s still a couple days away from the Onslaught House Show leading all the way up to Aggression 50. While we’re not at the exact locale and we’ve still got some show time, the camera does find itself in an empty arena located somewhere in SoCal, not unlike the infamous Hammerstein Ballroom. From one of the balconies, the camera gets a very still, clear shot of a wrestling ring already set up.
Yes, we’re going old school. Empty arena promo, sucka!
Inside the ring, the esteemed manager of the Heirs of Wrestling, Alexandria Malone, paces slowly. With head up and eyes forward, she sports a blue blouse and black leather pants as a lot of thoughts seem to be racing through her head at one time. Behind her, all three of the Heirs of Wrestling lean against the ring ropes, adorning pretty much the same familiar attire as the one in their first promo… but washed, mind you. They aren’t a bunch of uncouth slobs… sometimes. )
ALEXANDRIA MALONE: You know, when we signed on for this gig, we set out a goal. That goal was twofold; to prove that tag team wrestling alive and well in today’s “lone-wolf, me first, gimme gimme” society, but also that we are the best collection of second-generation talent that has ever been amassed. So when we called out teams of the past and present to answer the call… we got Anarky and Fusenhoff.
Now – while not exactly multiple-time World Tag Team Champions extraordinaire – they do fit the bill as two big names; names that budding up-and-comers should feel blessed to test their mettle with. But, alas, I had the unenviable task of having to sit through their tapes. No, I’m not going to stoop to the lowest common denominator here and make some joke about how I needed Sominex to stay awake or I would peel my eyes out if I had to sit through Anarky’s manic, tetchy breathing patterns. Heavens, no.
RYAN GALLWAY: (raising hands) Ooh! Hot teacher, pick me! I’ll do it, I’ll do it! Oh, yeah! Spank dat ass if I get it wrong!
(Frank just rolls his eyes and folds his arms, remaining as dismissive as ever. Mack is off to the sides, using his treasured pocket comb to keep every last strand of hair in place. Each fiber makes up the aerodynamic design of his faux hawk that that David Beckham douche CLEARLY stole. Alexandria Malone moans under her breath, but won’t let her through process get lost.)
ALEXANDRIA MALONE: Anarky just fogged up the lens with nothing pertinent to say. But when Fusenhoff was about to speak, I expected him to deliver a rousing speech of some kind, showing the fervor for our sport that Karl “The Dragon” Brown sees in him. Instead… he stepped back in his time machine and went back ten years ago when poking fun at ones sexual preference was the “lawl” moment. He played some obnoxious song that the overweight bearded guy from the Hangover came up with to set the tone for his promo. And even worse? He described this upcoming match as something akin to – I believe the term was (obnoxious air quotes) “filler.” Now, correct me if I’m wrong... I know the “filler” he referred to was these three touting their prominence, but that’s the general attitude I took from that piece. Because we’re a younger group of people who want to do as every other wrestler wants to ultimately do – succeed – and you don’t like how we go about it, we’re automatically typecast as a bunch of “spoiled brats.”
(Alexandria shakes her head, looking down at the ground with a heavy heart.)
ALEXANDRIA MALONE: I may be just the business mind behind the team to you, but I’m well aware of the general message that you’ve both been conveying. You’re both fantastic SINGLES wrestlers and have some degree of fame, the both of you having big things ahead in your careers at Aggression 50, so this match is a “warm-up” to you, yes? We’re under your radar, and we’re new, so we do not compute right? You’ll both march right into Onslaught and seek another notch on your win column on the way to the big dance. Well, then, I guess that’s that.
(The “Princess” of the Heirs shrugs before continuing to pace. She looks up at her surroundings, admiring each of the ring’s four corners. Taking a moment to collect her thoughts, she walks by each of her charges before returning her focus to the camera.)
ALEXANDRIA MALONE: But as Frank Pierce put it in his own special way, we’re not like you. So rather than decry the competition or talk about each other’s family members, Anarky, Fusenhoff. We’re going to do you both a favor. As skilled warriors of your trade, we owe you better than that. What we’re engaging in here is an example of class warfare at its finest. Anarky and Fusenhoff have some time under their belts as veterans and could easily be classified as those that represent those that clawed to get where they’re at today. And in this case, we’re the de facto representatives for those with God-given talent, following in the footsteps of those before us, fighting to earn our place. The haves and the have-nots, if you will.
ALEXANDRIA MALONE: To put it bluntly, we’re already in more synch and we’re already in a better spot to succeed than you two. See, as of press time, our names aren’t on the Aggression 50 card… YET. We have no big matches to look forward to… YET. All we have is Onslaught. And believe me when I say, we’re gonna make the most of it. And maybe between the insults that Frank was dispensing, I can break down what my good friend here was trying to say to you, Fusenhoff.
FRANK PIERCE: To summarize… we are the rule and they are the suck.
ALEXANDRIA MALONE: Thanks, Frank. (clearing throat) See, you’ve got a bunch of tricks up your sleeve from the time you’ve both put into EPW. But us… by knowing our tag skills and knowing how to work them properly, regardless of where you stand now, neither of you even have synergy we do. Unless, that is, you both manage to go on a drunken bender before match time.
RYAN GALLWAY: Can I go on a drunken bender? That’d be sweet!
FRANK PIERCE: I second that motion!
MACK BRODY: Third!
(The Princess simply mumbles once again at the stupidity of her cohorts, but nevertheless is not deterred from driving her point home. She walks towards the center of the ring, arms folded, with her back to the camera.)
ALEXANDRIA MALONE: Despite some of their – colorful – personality traits, when it comes to game time, The Heirs of Wrestling are as focused on success, if not more so than your regularn newcomers. Take this helpful, friendly advice to heart, gentlemen. We don’t underestimate you, we know full well what we’re walking into, but don’t look past us just because you’ve put yourselves on grand pedestals.
(Taking it home, Frank Pierce steps forward, a confident… ah, hell, let’s just call it a ****-eating grin… crosses his face.)
FRANK PIERCE: If you have to lose a match to people you've already written off to get the ****ing point, then the Heirs are just gonna have to help a couple of brothers out.
(The young, second-generation tandem all high-five one another before each exit the ring in their own style. Ryan holds the ropes open for Alex to leave, then hops over the ropes himself. Both Frank and Mack step over the ropes and place their hands on the apron and flip their whole bodies to the floor. Yeah, sure, that part wasn’t necessary, but they’re a flashy bunch. Get over it.)
(FADEIN to a small room with a row of cheap movie theater chairs. In one of these chairs is Anarky, watching a projection screen on the wall which now shows the latest Heirs of Wrestling video clip. He leans over and rubs his temples, and then groans as the footage ends. He takes a deep breath and sighs. Finally he speaks.)
ANARKY: “Amateur night at the f*cking Apollo. That’s what this is, right? A f*cking joke? You’re not really SERIOUS, with this, are you?
“Cause for a second there, I was pretty f*ckin’ sure it was 1996 again, cause here I am listenin’ to some nobody make fun of me cause of my name. Really, dude? REALLY?
“And from whom? The Heirs of Wrestling?
“I don’t get it. Are you all like, a family or something? Is Frank the Dad, and then Ryan and Mack are kinda like the kids with down syndrome and Frank is kinda stuck babysitting them for his whole life but really he just wants to take the easy way out but he’s too much of a coward?
“Am I supposed to be offended? Upset? That you hurt my feelings? Cause I sound like someone pretending to be a wrestler? Cause you throw around edgy terms like noob and lawls? Because you called me a ret*rd?
“For f*ck’s sake guys, do a little homework.
“And you’ve got your f*cking Mature Business Woman manager, who cracks the same tired material you’ve already used because I have to talk real slow for you to get the words into those tiny little minds of yours… and she’s supposed to be what, the smart one?
“So she’s now rambling on and on about about how I’m supposedly looking PAST them because of Agg 50 as she simultaneously explains why we can’t beat them, the irony lost on her I assume. I can’t even begin to imagine what goes on in your minds.
“I get it. You’re edgy and extreme. You’re not grandpa’s ol’ wrestlers, oh no! These are the new, hip wrestlers! And they talk about archetypes and Buddy Comedies! We think you take too many pauses, ha ha! Wow, we’re so observational, it’s awesome.
“Thirteen f*cking years I’ve been in and out of that ring. I have laid my f*cking body out like the fool I am. In and out of hospitals. I can’t even remember the number of stitches I have in this body.
“Thirteen f*cking years I have had to listen to this drivel. Thirteen f*cking years.
“And still, I have to listen to them rambling on and on, this constant stream of piss and sh*t just gushing forth, this self-congratulatory unfunny bullsh*t.
“Go on, then, guys. Make fun of my misspelled name, I haven’t heard that one before. Is the late show the same as the early show, guys?
“Dance, monkeys. I want you to, really. Because let’s face it… if this is all you can muster… if this is as clever and edgy as you can be, then gentlemen, I apologize, but this is just not going to work.
“Run your mouth, guys, like I know you will. Won’t matter much. Not in that ring. Not when I speak.
“Cause me… I’m not runnin’ a f*cking talk show here… I’m a wrestler. And that’s pretty much what I do. I hurt people. And sometimes, if they’re really, really annoying, I even enjoy it.
“Heirs of Wrestling… I want to say that this is going to hurt me a lot more than it’s going to hurt you. Or that I’m not going to relish every moment of your anguished cries.
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