Written: 2/28/07
The Pepsi Center is a madhouse. EEI announced their return to LCW Mercury, and set up a fan meet and greet at the Pepsi Center, including an exhibition match, and a wrestling clinic to be delivered by Dirge.
All afternoon, throngs of fans have made their way in, looking at the racks of trophies and belts EEI has amassed over the years, as well as special storyline props such as “Excalibur: the golden crotch bat”, Rasputin the allegedly self-proclaimed most evil parrot in the world, the potted plant that former superstar Atlas was blackmailed into jobbing to, to save a child who frequented his gyms, the mask of Killjoi, Dirge’s brother and former tag champ, and larger than life statues of every member of EEI throughout its various incarnations in several wrestling companies over the years.
Fans are milling about in anticipation, buying unlicensed EEI merchandise and bootleg videos of some classic matches. Finally, the lights darken, cheers start across the arena, the wrestling ring in the middle lights up, and then a BOOM is heard as pyros explode with blue flame……
The crowd virtually erupts as the first notes of Dirge’s intro “The Coldest Sun” by Danzig permeate the air. A lone figure stands at the top of the ramp.
He raises one arm with the appropriate finger extended. BOOM! More pyros.
As the tempo of the music gets faster, he RUNS to the ring, leaps to the apron and slides in, all the way to the center of the ring. He stands and pumps his fist 4 times, signaling 4 pyro explosions, one from each ringpost. The crowd is in a frenzy! Good thing Dirge’s mic is cranked.
DIRGE: YOU …CAN’T …KILL… E…E…I !!!!!!
Explosive applause! The smooth voice, a baritone that always feels like oiled gunmetal to the ears, slides over the arena. Dirge’s well muscled physique is the best it has ever looked. He was always athletic, but he’s trimmed every last bit of fat, sharpened every muscle, his sinews cording together his impressive skeletal structure, his posture like a lion, proud and fierce. His attire is leather and platinum, polished to a wicked sheen. Chains around his waist, neck, and the boots; extra weight always carried to maintain constant resistance. Black leather pants and mirrored shades complement his razor sharp, spiked blond hair.
DIRGE: Mark my words, despite the gimmicks, despite the image, and the deserved reputation, EEI is LIFE. How long has any federation limped on after our departure? How many belts have been retired, divisions ended, stables commended to OBLIVION, because EEI was no longer there to prop them up? To give them Evolution. EEI is change. And EEI is resistance. EEI will destroy its enemies and friends alike, and leave only the valuable parts behind. If our enemies don’t grow from fighting us, they become extinct. That’s it. We build better heroes by culling the flock, and sharpening what’s left.
Crowd roars at this, Dirge says things with a practiced confidence that usually, without any further support, is sufficient to convince people of whatever he’s saying. But EEI has never been short on confidence, or the ability to cash any checks Dirge’s huge mouth writes.
DIRGE: I listen to what other wrestlers are saying. Its all the same, they lost something, their life turned to crap, they’re starting over, working their way back up, they have nothing to lose so they’re more dangerous ……DOGSHIT.
DIRGE: Whiners, crybabies, all trying to find something, ANYTHING that can give them that fire back, that competitive drive. Can that give you an edge? Sure, against someone who hasn’t been there, who doesn’t know how to fight it, or is caught unaware.
BUT THAT’S NOT ME. NOT EEI.
While these sorry pity grabbers try to motivate themselves to get off the couch and get to the gym once a week after eating a sugar-fried butter and mayonnaise sandwich that they “deserve” because things have been so hard, I’ve been evolving.
Is it too much to ask that people show up prepared to wrestle? While these ham-asses have been busy porking up, I’ve been sharpening myself. My physique, my reflexes, my moves, and something sorely lacking here—my desire.
DIRGE: (he snorts in derision) While you strays are getting set to go on your great adventure, your new redemptive journey, your rags to riches tale, or zero to hero fable, I’M ALREADY THERE. You ever watch horse races? Ever see the real Racers, the horses chomping at the bit, yearning for the starting pistol, biting other nearby horses to be an asshole, that’s me. History has made me who I am, but its over. I’ve culled the crap, and sharpened the rest. Only the useful is part of my life. I’ve been training with Vincent’s precision, and Brimstone’s invulnerability. Keeping my body under constant resistance to maximize every moment I could be growing, that’s been my life. Only resistance makes us stronger, only change lets it happen.
He looks at the crowd, loyal fans who always put up with his self aggrandizement so they can get to the part of his promos that they love, the sass.
DIRGE: Scott Royal! Stop being so damn humble and respectful, you swine. I know you’re good, too. So act like it! The apologetic librarian gimmick says too much of the truth about you, that despite your ability you lack confidence. You use your family as a crutch to “explode” all over people. So where’s that intensity the rest of the time? Brimstone’s going to eat you alive because he knows that pain, and has made it his life. He doesn’t let go of it, he keeps it just below the surface so its ALWAYS powering him. Your pain’s too new, and while you’re struggling to deal with its effect on you, the ENTROPY CRUSADE is going to run over you, and your worthless absentee partner.
The crowd starts a “Take..A..Blaze” chant.
DIRGE: (Dirge flashes his patented “Evil Grin”) Blaze McCoy! Didn’t Brimstone and I beat you so bad you had to run to LCW’s minor league to go lick your wounds? You disappointed me Blaze. Everyone knew you were better than that. Everyone knew you had what it took to hang with the big boys, and I loved fighting you. No one’s face tired out my fist like yours did. But your fatal flaw hamstrung you. What turned one of the fiercest competitors in Mercury, who could have slashed his way to any title, into a TRAINER? Thought precedes deed, Blaze. And I got into your head. I attacked your Achilles heel with a nail gun named Brimstone, and shattered your confidence. I made you believe what I believe, and what I tell everyone, even strangers.
You’re a wuss.
The second things get hard, your nuts get soft. Was there a physical weakness to exploit? I don’t know I didn’t look for one. But I can’t lie and say you weren’t a heck of a fight, every time. But you didn’t believe, and you failed. You couldn’t walk the FIRE, BlAZE. Are you any better now? Did beating up on rookies give you your confidence back? Remind you why you were a major leaguer? Open the eye of the tiger? Or are you still going to crumple when I hit you?
DIRGE: Here, I’ve got a gift for you, for old times sake. I took a golden oldie and polished it to bring it out of the trophie case, just for you.
The jumbo screen shows an interpretive dancer, a pot bellied accountant looking man in his forties. He is wearing a black mime suit and is holding his stomach.
DIRGE: (using his best Anthony Hopkins voice) I used to say that when you have that one cursed meal, the one that makes your bowels make noises like an old airplane propeller as the undigested waste fights its way out with the fury of a hungry badger, that it was time to “TAKE A BLAZE” ™
The mime looking fellow starts writhing like his stomach hurts, and then flails his arms around making propeller noises and looking around with puffed cheeks.
DIRGE: But now I see that there is something worse. When you combine 2 people with confidence issues that force them to seek out alternate methods of attaining ferocity, sometimes even killing their own family for the selfish goal of artificially having something to fight for, it creates something even more reprehensible. Like combining tartar sauce and chocolate pudding. This results in something even more feared, it is called “TAKING A ROYAL BLAZE”.
The mime starts stumbling, then crawling towards a toilet. He is carrying a newspaper. He stops, crawls back and grabs a second newspaper.
Upon making it to the toilet, he really starts selling the pain. His hands reach to the heavens while he’s sitting down (pants on, this is just for show) and starts clawing at the air spasmically while opening and closing his mouth in agony, gnashing his teeth occasionally for effect. Finally he keels over dead, but relieved.
The crowd erupts once again, joyously reveling in the entertainment Dirge has generously provided.
End part 1 of the EEI meet and greet.
View Dirge's Biography