MWG....shoots?!
(CUEUP: “Lost in Hollywood” by System of a Down…)
(M.W.G….The artist formerly known as Madonna Wayne Grossard, sitting on the bathroom floor of Krist Blue’s apartment. No make up. No lavish clothing. Just a tight white “Sleater Kinney” T-shirt and cargo pants. Arms folded over his knees, looking somber yet relaxed…)
“the surreal…”
“the IT boy”
“The Hardcore Legend”
EMDUBBYAGEE: This is the last time I’m ever going to explain this to anyone….I’m tired of it. It’s passé. 1998 passé.
The last year or two of my life has basically been about escaping 1998, you know? This type of thing ceased to amuse me some time ago…
Listen to me, my darling Jayson…Kay? Listening? Good. Now…for the absolute last time….that I will ever say this…I will never…ever…be afraid of you...ever….do you have any concept of who I am, Jayson? And IDEA what kinds of things I’ve been through? Japanese death matches against the likes of Maelstrom and Copycat? Bigger, meaner, and much smarter queens than you…?
I didn’t win all of those matches, Jayson. But I won my share. That thing about me being a hardcore legend? That’s actually got nothing to do with porn. My porn nickname is “the one man daisy chain.” But “hardcore legend?” That’s from hurting lots and lots of people. The opposite of sex. The exact opposite.
The truth, Jayson…that you refuse to admit to yourself….is that I’m a pansy. And I’m a thousand times tougher than you could ever dream of being…
You think our last match was anything special for me, Jayson? You think you really rocked my world? Does it occur to you, ever, that all I have to do to beat you, again, is to let you believe that? It doesn’t, does it? Because I’m on 6 kinds of drugs you’ve never even heard of, and still I’m a million times more perceptive than you….
I mean, jesiskrist, if you even wanna make the case that you beat me, which you didn’t, it was with a friggin’ german suplex. That’s one notch above winning with a roll up. It’s not like you slammed my head against the concrete ‘till I died…
And here you are, the big burly macho asshole, calling me a poser…What, have you been going to hardcore shows or something? Some 14 year old saw you wearing a Pantera T-shirt at a Hope Conspiracy show, got all scenester uppity on you, and you thought “Hey wow, a new word. I’ll start calling people that.”
Frankly hun, I don’t think it applies. I mean, that’s the whole reason you’re such a b!tch when I’m concerned, isn’t it? You don’t have an original bone in your body. There’s a bah-zillion camo pants and metal T-shirt wearing doofuses out there, who look like you, talk like you, listen to the same music you do, eat the same things you do, drink the same beer, bang the same groupies you do, and fight like you, for the same reasons you do. Believe me, baby doll. I’ve met a lot of those people. Don’t feel threatened. They couldn’t handle me either. Wanted me, just like you do…And when they got me, they didn’t have the slightest idea what to do with me…Useless pricks, Jayson. Disposable, interchangeable, forgettable. Straight to Video.
But there’s, undeniably…One, and only one…Em…
Beau Michaels might be gayer than me. I’ve made peace with that. Because I’m more everything else…You, Jayson? You’re not more anything than anyone. You’re not even a bigger f(bleep) up than me. All my little tragedies and true life stories? Well, they’ve got it all over your cookie cutter ass life story…
I got all testy when you called Krist fat. Now I can forgive you. Because you bore me so to tears, I’m barely listening when you talk.
And it’s got me wonderin’…queer little thoughts going through my queer little head…That maybe I’m past the point that I really need to be subjected to the likes of you.
Regardless of what happens at the PPV, I’m the Reality TV champion. You can never be anything but the fake TV champion, the, ha ha ha, “poser” TV champion.
But for sentimental reasons, Jayson…I still want my baby back. Like how you want old lovers back, even when the sex is boring and the conversation is dried up. It’s part vanity, so I can believe I was always the one that mattered, and it’s part comfort, like how sometimes I still kinda miss my security blanket from when I was a little kid…
Hooo boy…did me and my Sunday school teacher ever have some fun times on that blanket…
You say this isn’t about the title, it’s about us, and that’s just silly…This thing between us started because of the title, and the title is what’s going to end it…There is no “us,” Jayson. Sorry if I led you on, but that’s the way it is…
I’m not your true love, Jayson. I’m your misplaced affection puppy dog crush. In my mind, you’re just some guy I can use, but in your little pee sized brain, there is something real between us…
This “personal grudge,” Jayson? I never really did anything bad to you. You’re just mad that someone like me has the balls to exist. To look you in the eye, say “I’m nothing like you,” and not care. Worse yet, that someone like me can thrive. That someone like me can consistently outshine someone like you, a walking cliché, who got told to be a stupid grunt, a big greasy ball of testosterone, and did exactly that. A good little solider.
Needless to say, I’ve ignored the advice of authority figures more than a few times, but despite my flamboyant disregard for everything you stand for, Jayson, I’ll still be famous when no one can remember your name. Catchy as it may be….I’ll take this apparently unbearable beating you’ve got in store for me, and I’ll still be pretty afterwards. And thanks to the best plastic surgeons in all of Mexico, I'll still have a massive wang...
But you?...You won’t even be champion.
(Ghost of Aleister Crowley manifests in the bathroom, all dragged up to look like Kelly Osborne…)
GHOST OF CROWLEY: DO AS THOU WILT, B!TCHES!!! WILL IS THE LAW!!! WWILL TO THE TUNE OF (high pitched sissy squeal) FAGGOTFAGGOTFAGGOT!!!
(FTB)
(ORPP: Yeah, I know. I hate it when people wait ‘till the last day too. But I ended up having a REALLY busy week. There were finals, and then a bunch of other things popped up, and blah. Sorry ‘bout that.)