Manson
League Member
- Joined
- Jan 1, 2000
- Messages
- 382
- Points
- 0
(FADEIN: Downtown Tokyo at night. Flashing and flickering technicolor lights and glowing neon signs. Japanese people wandered up and down the streets in herds with sparkly hair and waving glow-sticks. Fireworks go up in the sky displaying dragons made of rainbow fire. CUTTO: A top floor bar with a clever sign that's designed to look broken and made from red and purple lightbulbs that reads "Neo-Flux." More of the shining people dance and mosh to a rave indoors with a goth japanese rock band, screaming about the 8 horsemen of the apocalypse doing acid in japanese. Off in the corners, smoke machines go off and goths drift away, their faces painted, tattooed with gods, and pierced everywhere. Many wear gas masks and hook them up to oxygen tanks. CUTTO: One darkened corner at the far, far end of the actual bar where no one but one sits in the shadows. A bottle of Yaeger rests in front of him along with a single shot glass. Before him is powdered strawberry red pez which his fingers play with. His long, midnight-black hair drapes down like a mask over his pale face, but its bruised and cut up. he's wearing a black leather 'Brando' biker jacket, jeans, and "Die for Mike Manson" t-shirt. He stares off obliviously. His reflection doesn't show up in the multiple mirrors around him.)
MANSON(fingering his half-empty shot glass): When I was a child, I had one great and noble dream. Every night when my parents forced me to sleep by taping me down to my bed so I couldn't watch Johnny Carson, images of this saintly future flashed under my eyelids. Even now, I hear the cries and whimpers of the fleeing dolphins of my dreams.
They always thought they could outswim me, but I had a very, very long whip. And it took only the quickest, wittiest ones to escape Mike Manson: Dolphin Abuser.
And, yes, I've abused dolphins in my day, gotten some plastic six-pack containers caught in their gills, had a few mounted up on my fireplace, but then I turned 18 and as all dreams I awoke from it.
But I had glorious, such other dreams.
I've won world titles, sold out entire arenas, been banned from entire countries, driven grown men insane, stalked Hollywood starlets, wrestled, defeated, and annihilated the most talented men in the wrestling industry, sent death threats to the pope, and developed a formula for Really New Coke.
And then there was the NFW. The final mountain to climb.
I've been here since almost beginning. Most people here think I was the first one to actually switch the lights on, but they only think that because I kidnapped them, deprived them of sleep, and made them think what I want them to.
It took time, planning, training, and superhuman regenerative abilities, but I conquered. In a wrestling promotion that at times claimed to have its entire roster made out of the greatest of the great, the most dangerous men in this sport in the most dangerous matches devised, I ascended above them all.
First as a commissioner and even now you see my bloody, bloody fingerprints all over this promotion. And then as the NFW World Heavyweight Champion, one of the longest-reigning and definitely the most memorable. That coincided with the Ultratitle, a trophy that was a myth when I first started out as a young, pale lad with ambitions of destroying the world and all the world wrestling federations.
At one time, I was both the greatest heavyweight champion of the world and the Ultratitle Champion, the winner of a tournament of greats and I did it all in the greatest, the biggest promotion in the world. Yet it wasn't enough.
I created the NFW Eastern Conference and while it has fallen into other, less worthy hands to govern, they've never tamed it. It's the same, drugged-out, maddening, euphoric dreamscape plagued by real life nightmares and absurdity it's always been.
My legacy is total. My legend absolute.
Yet...it is not enough.
The NFW East has grown past me, past the whole NFW and the entire wrestling world. It is a chaotic organism, ever-stretching, ever-extending, that layers on more and more disturbing displays of death, drugs, and deviance with every minute. It's a world unto itself and no one can truly conquer it, but I thought I could.
But things....life...got in the way. Not to mention a strange stretch of time where I stopped snorting pez and started wearing Ambercrombie and Fitch. Still, I thought I could climb to the top again. Another Ultratitle....another World Title. And again...both at once. The utterly impossible....which is what I do.
Battered and almost broken, I survived an Ironman match with Jonathan Marx, my protege and possibly the next greatest technical wrestler alive, but only barely. And he still stands, still lives, and has another chance to go into the Ultratitle playoffs.
And there was Felix Red, who simply beat me. I can't explain it myself. It just happened. Every match before, I always out-thought my opponent, survived to the end, or went to lengths no one else would dare but my imaginary friends Clovis would.
But in a flash, it was over and Felix Red had won. He had kept the coveted NFW World title and remained the Ultratitle favorite. This is a man who dominated the East, the man who unseated Doc Silver, who destroyed Beau Michaels' life, and mesmerized and disgusted the world.
Doing all the things I should!
There are others. Yori Yakamo Junior, a dildo merchant who has somehow developed a sexual vibrational science that distorts the spacetime continuum. A man who somehow lasts thorugh every match, every night, and comes out on top. He's sickened the masses and then draw them in with his own faux-religion.
Again, all the things I should be doing!
If you asked anyone who's coming out of the East, its Yori or Felix. Felix or Yori. There's Maggot, Kin Hiroshi, Dan Ryan, and Jonathan Marx of course....and I'd deal with them with the time came....but I wonder.
If I stopped now, no one would blame me. I've done twice everything that any ordinary wrestler could. I've defied god and every sports authority board on this planet. If there is a Hall of Fame, despite the fact that I'd probably burn it down, my name will be enshrined there.
Let Felix, and Yori, and the rest fight it out....sit back...eat my pez and ponder what's next...the new dream of the new age of the new life of Mike Manson....
...but then I'd never know. My next opponent is Yori. Who is the more depraved, the more diabolical mind? And getting past him and the rest of the East, I might face Felix again and redeem myself. Reclaim my world championship and carry it back with me into another Ultratitle victory.
I can still do it all again!
But why? Why bother? After all these years, all these lives I've made and destroyed, all I've done and caused to come to pass, why go on?
What more is there?
Just the dream. The neon dream of being the dual champion, the undisputed god-king of the wrestling universe.
I haven't woken yet from that. Not yet.
MANSON(fingering his half-empty shot glass): When I was a child, I had one great and noble dream. Every night when my parents forced me to sleep by taping me down to my bed so I couldn't watch Johnny Carson, images of this saintly future flashed under my eyelids. Even now, I hear the cries and whimpers of the fleeing dolphins of my dreams.
They always thought they could outswim me, but I had a very, very long whip. And it took only the quickest, wittiest ones to escape Mike Manson: Dolphin Abuser.
And, yes, I've abused dolphins in my day, gotten some plastic six-pack containers caught in their gills, had a few mounted up on my fireplace, but then I turned 18 and as all dreams I awoke from it.
But I had glorious, such other dreams.
I've won world titles, sold out entire arenas, been banned from entire countries, driven grown men insane, stalked Hollywood starlets, wrestled, defeated, and annihilated the most talented men in the wrestling industry, sent death threats to the pope, and developed a formula for Really New Coke.
And then there was the NFW. The final mountain to climb.
I've been here since almost beginning. Most people here think I was the first one to actually switch the lights on, but they only think that because I kidnapped them, deprived them of sleep, and made them think what I want them to.
It took time, planning, training, and superhuman regenerative abilities, but I conquered. In a wrestling promotion that at times claimed to have its entire roster made out of the greatest of the great, the most dangerous men in this sport in the most dangerous matches devised, I ascended above them all.
First as a commissioner and even now you see my bloody, bloody fingerprints all over this promotion. And then as the NFW World Heavyweight Champion, one of the longest-reigning and definitely the most memorable. That coincided with the Ultratitle, a trophy that was a myth when I first started out as a young, pale lad with ambitions of destroying the world and all the world wrestling federations.
At one time, I was both the greatest heavyweight champion of the world and the Ultratitle Champion, the winner of a tournament of greats and I did it all in the greatest, the biggest promotion in the world. Yet it wasn't enough.
I created the NFW Eastern Conference and while it has fallen into other, less worthy hands to govern, they've never tamed it. It's the same, drugged-out, maddening, euphoric dreamscape plagued by real life nightmares and absurdity it's always been.
My legacy is total. My legend absolute.
Yet...it is not enough.
The NFW East has grown past me, past the whole NFW and the entire wrestling world. It is a chaotic organism, ever-stretching, ever-extending, that layers on more and more disturbing displays of death, drugs, and deviance with every minute. It's a world unto itself and no one can truly conquer it, but I thought I could.
But things....life...got in the way. Not to mention a strange stretch of time where I stopped snorting pez and started wearing Ambercrombie and Fitch. Still, I thought I could climb to the top again. Another Ultratitle....another World Title. And again...both at once. The utterly impossible....which is what I do.
Battered and almost broken, I survived an Ironman match with Jonathan Marx, my protege and possibly the next greatest technical wrestler alive, but only barely. And he still stands, still lives, and has another chance to go into the Ultratitle playoffs.
And there was Felix Red, who simply beat me. I can't explain it myself. It just happened. Every match before, I always out-thought my opponent, survived to the end, or went to lengths no one else would dare but my imaginary friends Clovis would.
But in a flash, it was over and Felix Red had won. He had kept the coveted NFW World title and remained the Ultratitle favorite. This is a man who dominated the East, the man who unseated Doc Silver, who destroyed Beau Michaels' life, and mesmerized and disgusted the world.
Doing all the things I should!
There are others. Yori Yakamo Junior, a dildo merchant who has somehow developed a sexual vibrational science that distorts the spacetime continuum. A man who somehow lasts thorugh every match, every night, and comes out on top. He's sickened the masses and then draw them in with his own faux-religion.
Again, all the things I should be doing!
If you asked anyone who's coming out of the East, its Yori or Felix. Felix or Yori. There's Maggot, Kin Hiroshi, Dan Ryan, and Jonathan Marx of course....and I'd deal with them with the time came....but I wonder.
If I stopped now, no one would blame me. I've done twice everything that any ordinary wrestler could. I've defied god and every sports authority board on this planet. If there is a Hall of Fame, despite the fact that I'd probably burn it down, my name will be enshrined there.
Let Felix, and Yori, and the rest fight it out....sit back...eat my pez and ponder what's next...the new dream of the new age of the new life of Mike Manson....
...but then I'd never know. My next opponent is Yori. Who is the more depraved, the more diabolical mind? And getting past him and the rest of the East, I might face Felix again and redeem myself. Reclaim my world championship and carry it back with me into another Ultratitle victory.
I can still do it all again!
But why? Why bother? After all these years, all these lives I've made and destroyed, all I've done and caused to come to pass, why go on?
What more is there?
Just the dream. The neon dream of being the dual champion, the undisputed god-king of the wrestling universe.
I haven't woken yet from that. Not yet.