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| The scene opens up as Anarchist is sitting on a torn up lawn chair in a very dark room with just a flickering light on in the corner. There is a red light coming from Anarchist's cigar everytime he takes a puff. He stands up and walks over to the small light in the corner and carries it over next to his chair. Anarchist sits back down as he looks up at the camera. Anarchist:Hot Shot, you talk and you talk but nobody listens. Nobody gives a damn about what you have to say. You say your a hot shot but tomorrow night we'll see you really are that damn good. I really don't know what to say to you because I never listen to what you have to say, if you say anything at all. But after tomorrow you won't be saying much when your jaw is ripped off! I'm gonna' shove my foot so far up your ass you'll be sh*ttin' shoelaces for a week! Frankly, I can't wait to get in the ring with your stank ass because when you step through those ropes I own your ass, and I'm gonna' do whatever I please with you. Maybe I'll toss you from ring post to ring post, maybe I'll beat you over the head with 'The Club' nobody knows. I don't even know. You see, I don't like to think about things before I do them, and that just makes me even more dangerous because I hate to be predictable. And the last person who thinks that they know what I'm gonna' do is you, Hot Shot! Anarchist gets up and makes a fist. He looks at it for a moment and then walks over to the wall and punches it as hard as he can. His whole arm is through the wall up to his shoulder. He pulls his arm back and looks at his hand which is now covered and dark red blood. Blood flows from his hand like the ocean as he puts it up to his mouth and licks a little bit of it. He smiles as he grabs a towel from the ground and raps it around his hand. The white towel quickly becomes red as Anarchist sits back down in his chair. Anarchist:Hot shot, can you tell that I'm unpredictable? Well, when we get together in the ring it doesn't matter because I'm gonna rip off your d*ck and hand it to ya'! I love wrestling, whether I win or lose it doesn't matter because even when I lose I know that my opponent is hurt equally as bad if not worse. Anarchist takes his cigar and puts it out on his tounge with a sizzle. He opens up his black full length leather jacket and pulls out another cigar. He also pulls out a gold lighter and sparks it up. He takes a couple quick puffs, puts his lighter back in his jacket, and sits back in his chair. Anarchist:Hot Shot, do you smoke? Well, it doesn't matter because tomorrow night your gonna get smoked, by me! Some wrestlers come down to the ring with a manager and with some little broad with almost nothing on. And I'll tell you the truth, I like the girls, and just between me and you, I slept with half these girls in the back. But what my point is, I don't need anybody, I don't need a manager, I don't need some little trick runnin' around. I win my matches by myself and I lose my matches by myself and I have no one to blame but myself because I play the game fair. I don't cheat, I never have cheated, well, maybe a couple times but since I like to be unpredictable, I'm not gonna' tell you anything about our match tomorrow night. I'm not gonna' tell you if someone may come down to the ring who doesn't really like you or if maybe 'The Club' will be doin' all the talkin'. But since I just said I don't need help from anyone, if someone does come down to the ring then they can pick away at your broken body when I'm done with it. Did I tell you that I like pain, I like to dish it out. And believe me, tomorrow night, you'll be gettin a full sized meal. Hot Shot, some may love me, many will hate me, but all will respect me. And after a couple days after you wake up out of the coma I put you in then you may either love me, or you may hate me. You may love me because I let you survive, or you may hate me because you may not survive at all, or you might hate me because I put you in that damn coma. Either way, theres no backin' out now, me and you have to step into that ring, and you won't like it and none of the fans will like it because it isn't gonna be a pretty sight. Blood will be shed, and I'll be damned if it's mine. Though I like the sight of blood and I like the taste of blood, it won't be mine. I hate you Hot Shot, and theres no particular reason, but I hate everyone. Whether they be my fans or my enemies. I will stop at nothing to put you in a hospital bed. Even if I have to chase you out into the parking lot after the match just to beat you some more, then so be it. I injure people, I put people in hospitals, I make grown men wear diapers because when I beat you so hard you lose complete control over everything because you don't know what to do. Anarchist gets out of his chair and paces around the room a little bit as he takes a couple puffs from his cigar. He sits back down and leans back and relaxes. Anarchist:I never quit in middle of my match. But I'll tell you the truth, I have walked out on a match before the bell has rung. I've done that once, and that was when some ammature thought he had the balls to step up to me and he sh*t his pants before I stepped into the ring. But Hot Shot, I hope you have a little bit more courage then that. When I step into the ring I hope your man enough to stay in there until I pummel you relentlessly with anything I can find! Well, It's about time for me to go commit some pointless acts of violence and bring terror to others lives, until it's time for me to bring some into yours Hot Shot. The scene fades away as Anarchist puts the second cigar out on his tounge. |
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