White Zombie
September 26th, 2006, 07:07 PM
Smoke stacks. Concrete as far as the eye can see. Buildings, traffic, noise pollution, smog. A wonderfully degenerated brew of everday life in these United States for those of us living in the fast lane and in the big city. Sitting of the edge of all of this madness is Blake Straker. We see him sitting on a ledge of a rooftop, looking down below, wind blowing the strands of hair on the back of his head and his black tuxedo duster he wears over himself.
Blake Straker:
The urban jungle of south Philadelphia. The toughest, most hostile city on the planet. Wether it's football, basketball, baseball, or in this case, wrestling, they seem to come in droves and make their prescence known. Man, it's boggling. I'm looking down on them and you know, the way I see them from here is the way I've always viewed them as human beings. Small. Insignificant. Insects in my domain.
At least from my point of view, that is...
Blake pivots on his hip, plants his boot into the concrete and stands up from the ledge and begins to pace.
Blake Straker:
My big debut. Pro Wrestling Warriors. Oh, the peanut gallery screams with approval! The hotbed of everything good and competitive about this business. A landmark night for this industry and a turning point in many lives. Oh, the story has just begun and so have the twists.
Insert Straker.
Now, historically, I've never been one to... you know... take an active interest in whom I'm facing on any given night. Hell, I haven't even been one to show to schedule events at all in the last couple of months. My downfall? Yeah, okay, that's my f*cking downfall.
WHOO HOO! Get smashed on some tequila! WHOO HOO! Trip on some peoti! WHOO HOO! Loose, naked women! WHOO HOO! Ahaha, oh yes, that was me, alright... that was me... yeah...
NOT ANYMORE!!!
No, no, no, things have changed. It took a long fall from grace to open my eyes and see what's in front of me. I almost fell all the way down, but about three fourths of the way I opened my eyes and grabbed a branch in a forest of confusion and guess what? Guess what, wrestling fans? That's exactly what Pro Wrestling Warriors was to me. It was my saving grace, so all sarcasm aside, thank you. Thank you Pro Wrestling Warriors. Thank you for saving my life.
But you have to ask yourself something, now. At what price did you save me? Sure, you've picked up a hot commodity. You've picked up a former franchise player. You've picked up merchandise sales like you won't believe. Yeah, you've gotten all of that, but you've also picked up something else. You've picked yourself up a trempter, a snake, and I'm very open about that. I look at wrestling a lot like Big Brother or Survivor or some other reality TV show that's made way too much revenue.
I look at it... like a game.
I'm playing a game. A game of survival, any means necessary. The beauty of it is, while I was sailing with Fuginami, I was good. I was damn good. But I wasn't the best. I wasn't clear, I was a fool. I lived a lifestyle in which I wasn't living at all if I wasn't pushing it to the edge every single night and every single day. But, now that you've saved me from myself... now that I've reached this point of clarity... it's scary, really, because I'm no longer just good. I'm no longer some naive kid looking to score drugs and make p*ssy ache.
No, I've become something else. I've calloused over, I've taken everything that was good and productive about myself and I've calloused that over. I've created a shell for myself, a skin, and I'm ready for anything that stands in my way. I don't care if I have to break your rules. I don't care if I have to break your code. I don't care if I can walk the next day or see straight after a match anymore.
And with all of this said, you still can't afford NOT to trust me when I am supposedly on your side... supposedly... because I can make that difference. I can propel you to my level, or take you down to that of a towel boy faster than the ref can slap the mat three times. It's just that simple and just that academic, but ironically complex.
My body is not a temple, no, it's a f*cking bunker and I'm fighting off the enemy with everything I've got stashed away. My strategies? You'll never know. I could be hiding in the under brush, waiting behind a tree... waiting for you to make the first mistake in this urban jungle, this hostile city. Waiting for you miscalculate and that's when I will strike.
I have many faces and who knows which you will see. I am reborn, I am renewed, I am dangerous beyond all belief. Most importantly, I am the Lizard King, the shaman that summons you and spellbinds you into a game of death. I am the Lizard King, the witchdoctor who tempts you and manipulates you until you can neither move nor breathe.
I am the Lizard King and I... can do anything.
Blake turns on a heel, his duster flapping, and the scene quickly cuts to darkness.
Blake Straker:
The urban jungle of south Philadelphia. The toughest, most hostile city on the planet. Wether it's football, basketball, baseball, or in this case, wrestling, they seem to come in droves and make their prescence known. Man, it's boggling. I'm looking down on them and you know, the way I see them from here is the way I've always viewed them as human beings. Small. Insignificant. Insects in my domain.
At least from my point of view, that is...
Blake pivots on his hip, plants his boot into the concrete and stands up from the ledge and begins to pace.
Blake Straker:
My big debut. Pro Wrestling Warriors. Oh, the peanut gallery screams with approval! The hotbed of everything good and competitive about this business. A landmark night for this industry and a turning point in many lives. Oh, the story has just begun and so have the twists.
Insert Straker.
Now, historically, I've never been one to... you know... take an active interest in whom I'm facing on any given night. Hell, I haven't even been one to show to schedule events at all in the last couple of months. My downfall? Yeah, okay, that's my f*cking downfall.
WHOO HOO! Get smashed on some tequila! WHOO HOO! Trip on some peoti! WHOO HOO! Loose, naked women! WHOO HOO! Ahaha, oh yes, that was me, alright... that was me... yeah...
NOT ANYMORE!!!
No, no, no, things have changed. It took a long fall from grace to open my eyes and see what's in front of me. I almost fell all the way down, but about three fourths of the way I opened my eyes and grabbed a branch in a forest of confusion and guess what? Guess what, wrestling fans? That's exactly what Pro Wrestling Warriors was to me. It was my saving grace, so all sarcasm aside, thank you. Thank you Pro Wrestling Warriors. Thank you for saving my life.
But you have to ask yourself something, now. At what price did you save me? Sure, you've picked up a hot commodity. You've picked up a former franchise player. You've picked up merchandise sales like you won't believe. Yeah, you've gotten all of that, but you've also picked up something else. You've picked yourself up a trempter, a snake, and I'm very open about that. I look at wrestling a lot like Big Brother or Survivor or some other reality TV show that's made way too much revenue.
I look at it... like a game.
I'm playing a game. A game of survival, any means necessary. The beauty of it is, while I was sailing with Fuginami, I was good. I was damn good. But I wasn't the best. I wasn't clear, I was a fool. I lived a lifestyle in which I wasn't living at all if I wasn't pushing it to the edge every single night and every single day. But, now that you've saved me from myself... now that I've reached this point of clarity... it's scary, really, because I'm no longer just good. I'm no longer some naive kid looking to score drugs and make p*ssy ache.
No, I've become something else. I've calloused over, I've taken everything that was good and productive about myself and I've calloused that over. I've created a shell for myself, a skin, and I'm ready for anything that stands in my way. I don't care if I have to break your rules. I don't care if I have to break your code. I don't care if I can walk the next day or see straight after a match anymore.
And with all of this said, you still can't afford NOT to trust me when I am supposedly on your side... supposedly... because I can make that difference. I can propel you to my level, or take you down to that of a towel boy faster than the ref can slap the mat three times. It's just that simple and just that academic, but ironically complex.
My body is not a temple, no, it's a f*cking bunker and I'm fighting off the enemy with everything I've got stashed away. My strategies? You'll never know. I could be hiding in the under brush, waiting behind a tree... waiting for you to make the first mistake in this urban jungle, this hostile city. Waiting for you miscalculate and that's when I will strike.
I have many faces and who knows which you will see. I am reborn, I am renewed, I am dangerous beyond all belief. Most importantly, I am the Lizard King, the shaman that summons you and spellbinds you into a game of death. I am the Lizard King, the witchdoctor who tempts you and manipulates you until you can neither move nor breathe.
I am the Lizard King and I... can do anything.
Blake turns on a heel, his duster flapping, and the scene quickly cuts to darkness.