Post by D! on Nov 29, 2005 5:34:16 GMT -5
Groove Armada - Purple Haze
mfile.akamai.com/1689/rm/bmguk.download.akamai.com/1689/groovearmada/purplehaze_high.ram
SCREEN: THE FIVE MOVES OF D!OOM.
SCREEN: 5 - PLEASANT CYCLING
CLIP: D! is calling for it! PLEASANT CYCLING! He's got it hooked! The Plague is in the center of the ring! He's going to have no choice but to tap out!
(Shot of D! in the ring, with Wayne Wright chilling in the background.)
D!: My fifth move of D!oom is Pleasant Cycling, a modified leg crab and my favouritest of submissions. I'm D!, your NAPW Champion, and behind me is Wayne Wright, who keeps losing bets to me. Now I know all you kids at home want to learn the move, so let's get cracking, shall we?
(Closer shot of the two, with Wright laying on his back.)
D!: Listen carefully: I don't care what you see on TV, but unless you work an opponent's body over, he will not tap out just because you've got him in a submission hold. So before I slap this puppy on, I make a point of working the knee--Dragon Screws, Stump Pullers, Indian Death Locks, what've you got. But since Wayne here's working pro bono, I'll just demonstrate the hold as is.
WRIGHT: Yeah, lucky me.
(D! grabs Wright's arm, then hops over his head to flip him on his belly. D! then digs his knee into Wright's back, then clinches his torqued arm right in his knee. Hands free, D! yanks up Wright's leg in a single crab.)
WRIGHT: OWW! SONOFABITCH!
D!: You pretty much paralyze one side of your opponent's body, leg and arm, so getting to the rope's a bitch, plus they're dragging your body weight by doing so.
WRIGHT: AAAUGH!!! AWRIGHT AWREADY!
D!: Now some devious opponents might try to boot you off with their free leg . . .
(D! grabs Wright's other leg and turns it into a modified Boston Crab. Wright immediately begins to tap out madly with his free arm.)
(Shot of D! at ringside.)
D!: Some people call this move the Tequila Sunrise. Me? I heard someone call this Pleasant Cycling. And I have absolutely no idea why. (Laughs.) I mean, it works, so who cares? "Pleasant Cycling" it is.
SCREEN: THE FIVE MOVES OF D!OOM
(The screen strangely dissolves from broadcast-quality to a TV screen caught on camera, close-up. The camera zooms out, slowly, to reveal the specific TV, one large and resting on a dolly. The shot zooms out wider to reveal D! standing next to it, staring holes into our eyes. He snaps his fingers, the music cuts out and the TV goes dark.)
D!: Hey. Plague. Did you get all of that?
Did you set your VCR? Huh? Did you use a TiVo? Download this from NAPW.ca onto your hard drive? Write it all down with pen and paper, maybe?
Did you miss anything? Should I repeat it? Play it back slower? What's gonna help you, Streppy? Would you like a transcript? A director's commentary?
Have you got my number yet?
You didn't expect this, did ya?
Maybe I keep giving you too much credit, so let me explain--you've got nothing on me, Plague. Nothing. I am the better man in the ring and you know it. All of your so-called victories against me this month--attacking me with cheeseburgers, hitting me with the NAPW title, Black Deathing me after the match was decided--well, none of that has ever got you your win against me, has it?
Has it?
You put your career on the line, because you'd rather quit than work in a business where a guy like me is champion. That's what you say. And you even have the battleground all picked out, Black Thursday in a Two Out of Three Falls Match, because you're the wrestling expert and I'm the fluke with the silly kicks.
You flank up with two other guys to handicap me and Ravager, and what do you do? You run away like a little bitch, that's what. So I dig my heels in and wait for you to inevitably go to plan Z, because there's No! Way! In Hell! you'll just give me the win leading up to your career match, right?
Right?
And then! You do!
NNNOTHING!
I hold court at Action!, I interview D-X, and you do--
NNNOTHING!
Hell, I could have died at Chapters, of all places, and you don't even respond.
NOTHING!
(D! holds up the NAPW title at eye-level.)
D!: I've got every new recruit and their momma begging me for title shots, and you go away to sulk?
And then! When I do something! To remind people that we have a match!
Look who's Mister Big Shot.
You tell me you've got my number. You tell the fans you've got me figured out. You tell everyone that you've unlocked my arsenal because I unwittingly gave you the key. You tell so many people that you can't help but believe it yourself.
Well, I've got news for you, Plague, but it's only news to you. I've known it for a month. The fans have known it for a month. Lobo figured it out and that's why he walked out on you. Ravager and Static know it, and that's why they're steering clear of this title. In fact, I'm appalled that you don't know it, because I spelled it out for you a few short weeks ago:
You bail on yourself. Every single time.
Because all this time? When I was rehabbing? Training? Polishing my moves? Running the NAPW's talk show? Being a "people's champion"?
You wake up in the middle of the night like an old man. Make a spot of tea. Nurse your hangovers.
I run with the title, you live out a preview of your retired life. Now you tell me who's winning Black Thursday, if you're so smart.
Go back and study my Five Moves of D!oom, Plague. Change out of your pyjamas and tell yourself that you've figured how to counter the NyQuil Driver. Go through your mail and tell yourself you'll power out of Pleasant Cycling.
Sit in your apartment and convince yourself this new life won't be so bad.
But whatever you do, get down to Black Thursday on time. Because I'm sick of delaying this even one second longer than I have to.
(Pause. He looks at his mobile TV.)
D!: Y'know? I went ahead and made a "Final Move of D!oom" video for The Beat-O-Barrage.
(Pause. He smiles.)
D!: But then again, you already know how that goes.
(And so, patting his title, he walks out of frame. The camera centers on the de-powered TV, and holds it mid-frame. There is a pause, a pregnant wait, but the TV offers up nothing new. Lights down.)
mfile.akamai.com/1689/rm/bmguk.download.akamai.com/1689/groovearmada/purplehaze_high.ram
SCREEN: THE FIVE MOVES OF D!OOM.
SCREEN: 5 - PLEASANT CYCLING
CLIP: D! is calling for it! PLEASANT CYCLING! He's got it hooked! The Plague is in the center of the ring! He's going to have no choice but to tap out!
(Shot of D! in the ring, with Wayne Wright chilling in the background.)
D!: My fifth move of D!oom is Pleasant Cycling, a modified leg crab and my favouritest of submissions. I'm D!, your NAPW Champion, and behind me is Wayne Wright, who keeps losing bets to me. Now I know all you kids at home want to learn the move, so let's get cracking, shall we?
(Closer shot of the two, with Wright laying on his back.)
D!: Listen carefully: I don't care what you see on TV, but unless you work an opponent's body over, he will not tap out just because you've got him in a submission hold. So before I slap this puppy on, I make a point of working the knee--Dragon Screws, Stump Pullers, Indian Death Locks, what've you got. But since Wayne here's working pro bono, I'll just demonstrate the hold as is.
WRIGHT: Yeah, lucky me.
(D! grabs Wright's arm, then hops over his head to flip him on his belly. D! then digs his knee into Wright's back, then clinches his torqued arm right in his knee. Hands free, D! yanks up Wright's leg in a single crab.)
WRIGHT: OWW! SONOFABITCH!
D!: You pretty much paralyze one side of your opponent's body, leg and arm, so getting to the rope's a bitch, plus they're dragging your body weight by doing so.
WRIGHT: AAAUGH!!! AWRIGHT AWREADY!
D!: Now some devious opponents might try to boot you off with their free leg . . .
(D! grabs Wright's other leg and turns it into a modified Boston Crab. Wright immediately begins to tap out madly with his free arm.)
(Shot of D! at ringside.)
D!: Some people call this move the Tequila Sunrise. Me? I heard someone call this Pleasant Cycling. And I have absolutely no idea why. (Laughs.) I mean, it works, so who cares? "Pleasant Cycling" it is.
SCREEN: THE FIVE MOVES OF D!OOM
(The screen strangely dissolves from broadcast-quality to a TV screen caught on camera, close-up. The camera zooms out, slowly, to reveal the specific TV, one large and resting on a dolly. The shot zooms out wider to reveal D! standing next to it, staring holes into our eyes. He snaps his fingers, the music cuts out and the TV goes dark.)
D!: Hey. Plague. Did you get all of that?
Did you set your VCR? Huh? Did you use a TiVo? Download this from NAPW.ca onto your hard drive? Write it all down with pen and paper, maybe?
Did you miss anything? Should I repeat it? Play it back slower? What's gonna help you, Streppy? Would you like a transcript? A director's commentary?
Have you got my number yet?
You didn't expect this, did ya?
Maybe I keep giving you too much credit, so let me explain--you've got nothing on me, Plague. Nothing. I am the better man in the ring and you know it. All of your so-called victories against me this month--attacking me with cheeseburgers, hitting me with the NAPW title, Black Deathing me after the match was decided--well, none of that has ever got you your win against me, has it?
Has it?
You put your career on the line, because you'd rather quit than work in a business where a guy like me is champion. That's what you say. And you even have the battleground all picked out, Black Thursday in a Two Out of Three Falls Match, because you're the wrestling expert and I'm the fluke with the silly kicks.
You flank up with two other guys to handicap me and Ravager, and what do you do? You run away like a little bitch, that's what. So I dig my heels in and wait for you to inevitably go to plan Z, because there's No! Way! In Hell! you'll just give me the win leading up to your career match, right?
Right?
And then! You do!
NNNOTHING!
I hold court at Action!, I interview D-X, and you do--
NNNOTHING!
Hell, I could have died at Chapters, of all places, and you don't even respond.
NOTHING!
(D! holds up the NAPW title at eye-level.)
D!: I've got every new recruit and their momma begging me for title shots, and you go away to sulk?
And then! When I do something! To remind people that we have a match!
Look who's Mister Big Shot.
You tell me you've got my number. You tell the fans you've got me figured out. You tell everyone that you've unlocked my arsenal because I unwittingly gave you the key. You tell so many people that you can't help but believe it yourself.
Well, I've got news for you, Plague, but it's only news to you. I've known it for a month. The fans have known it for a month. Lobo figured it out and that's why he walked out on you. Ravager and Static know it, and that's why they're steering clear of this title. In fact, I'm appalled that you don't know it, because I spelled it out for you a few short weeks ago:
You bail on yourself. Every single time.
Because all this time? When I was rehabbing? Training? Polishing my moves? Running the NAPW's talk show? Being a "people's champion"?
You wake up in the middle of the night like an old man. Make a spot of tea. Nurse your hangovers.
I run with the title, you live out a preview of your retired life. Now you tell me who's winning Black Thursday, if you're so smart.
Go back and study my Five Moves of D!oom, Plague. Change out of your pyjamas and tell yourself that you've figured how to counter the NyQuil Driver. Go through your mail and tell yourself you'll power out of Pleasant Cycling.
Sit in your apartment and convince yourself this new life won't be so bad.
But whatever you do, get down to Black Thursday on time. Because I'm sick of delaying this even one second longer than I have to.
(Pause. He looks at his mobile TV.)
D!: Y'know? I went ahead and made a "Final Move of D!oom" video for The Beat-O-Barrage.
(Pause. He smiles.)
D!: But then again, you already know how that goes.
(And so, patting his title, he walks out of frame. The camera centers on the de-powered TV, and holds it mid-frame. There is a pause, a pregnant wait, but the TV offers up nothing new. Lights down.)