Shoot 001: Hungry Like The Wolf

"Nothing. Nada." there's a sharp exhalation, a huff that makes the speakers crackle, perfectly expressing annoyance without elaboration required. "You got nothin' to say to me? Couple weeks anticipation, all ready and rarin' to go on my end, ready for this epic showdown of Godzilla versus Tokyo-"

There's a little snort of derision.

"No racist overtones intended, just… best metaphor I got in a pinch. Was amped, man, and now it's zero hour and the airwaves're curiously silent? Not gonna pretend it doesn't annoy me. Not that my ego requires constant strokin'. I just wanted a good fight. I don't want any lies. You and me sounded like a dream come true on paper - real trial by fire - kinda stuff I live for. Always ask the same question: how much do you really know about yourself when you're not willin' to get down and dirty? If you can't fight for a cause? I wanted this to be different. Instead it's more of the same. More 'who gives a rat's ass' moment. Same endless stream of faceless clones repeatin' on the horizon like one of those funhouse mirror mazes. Sad state of affairs. Legit."

Now there's the sound of knuckles popping in succession, slowly, ringing out like gunshots.

"How's it feel to be neutered, man? The fire's out an' now it's just that wet wood stink, vaguely nauseating an' wholly disappointing. How does it feel to know that the one time it REALLY mattered, you had nothing in the tank? No fire. No smoke. No fuel. Nothin'. This was a moment to really get in on the ground floor, do something great for once and instead you were too damned busy wasting people's time like some inconsiderate dick."

Lex sighs.

"Feel like Rodney Dangerfield over here, bitching 'bout a lack of respect - tired clichés, y'know? The road less traveled is the one paved with all my good intentions, lit by the fires of my righteous anger. Yeah, you heard me right. Angry. Not annoyed, not irritated. Full stop, all-out, blood pressure spike an' all that happy-crappy. Maybe it was already obvious with the way I ran roughshod over that loudmouthed dipshit Matt Stone over in Belleville on Thursday night. Maybe nobody really follows that little Great Lakes wrestlin' promotion. Either way - there's the truth. Ay, there's the rub. An' this? Yeah. I see willful silence as a slight. Too good to say boo, GOZOKU? Cat got your tongue? Devil got your spine when he got all tangled up in the details? Which one is it?"

He pauses, drags in a slow breath, letting it out even slower.

"It's like Midnight Society up in here, all these fresh faces 'round the fire, looking to up the ante with each battle story an' the sound of our own voices comes back warped, the echoes puffin' up egos that would be better off alone. So many of us're in love with the sounds of our own voices. Take this Trench fella for example - dude won't shut up and it's shades of Saturday night Poetry Slam down at the SoHo Starbucks. Can't wait to hear more self-servin' flowery bullshit after this event. Guy'll spin a new tale of a tragic hero, increased with grandeur through each recitation. Sanderson might regret that fight if he wins - never hear the end of it. Folks hang on that nonsense an' I'm over here on the verge of recitin' Duran Duran lyrics, lamentin' how I'm hungry like the wolf - Jesus wept."

Another self-deprecating chuckle comes in the pause.

"Don't diminish the truth one bit. That's my claim to fame. Lex Collins fights. He gets back up. He's too stubborn, too dumb to back down, back off, let it lie. He has to push into oblivion because that's what you do with a windfall. Found money spent. Time's a gift - can't squander it. Fascinatin' stuff, really, 'cause there are so many ways to smash a person into little bits. The process' always different; result's always the same: someone lyin' there broken, bleedin' out, dreams and delusions of grandeur fadin'. Another gust blowin' away, another story blowin' in the wind. Another notch. Another belt. More glory. More guts. Another step towards infinite darkness. All cogs in the same great wrestlin' machine, y'know? The cycle's endless and every last one of us has a story, even if we pretend we're above that crap. Even if you pretend you're not pickin' up what I'm puttin' down."

Lex sucks his teeth, the distaste obvious in his tone.

"So tell me a story, guy. Make it a good one. Make it big an' bad an' impressive - the world's waiting with bated breath for this epic excuse. What's the tale this time? Are you gonna smirk and tell me how I'm walking into a losin' battle with blinders on? Will you grind your teeth in the hopeless efforts to scrape together some sort of credibility in the face of loomin' defeat? Admit it, man. Own it. This company, this place's got my name written all over it. Admit it. I want to hear you say it. I wanna hear a monster's voice quake with fear."

The vehemence bleeds into a rough chuckle that eventually spins out into silence. That pregnant pause lasts far too long before the recording ends, offering the REPLAY and SUBSCRIBE buttons on opposite corners of the window.