Post by davisreynolds on Oct 21, 2018 14:36:24 GMT -5
We cut to the toilets of a nondescript venue. From behind, facing into the mirror, we see The Black Dragon, Davis Reynolds, fresh out of his latest deathmatch. He splashes water on his face in a vague attempt to clean the cuts on his forehead, made forcefully, with a fork. He looks into the mirror, his eyes catching the camera.
Davis Reynolds: So I got an invitation to come to L.A. for some new promotion. L.A. Underground, the new home for violence, sex, drugs, rock and roll, all that fun shit. Offered a plane ticket and a paycheck. I was pretty busy at the time, had to get down here to get my fucking teeth kicked in by a 300 pound block of fucking muscle, normal Sunday night stuff. I got my shit rocked, as you can probably tell, and while I was lying on the floor after getting dropped on my head through two tables I had plenty of time to think about some simple questions: Is my career going anywhere anymore? Am I really gonna get famous fighting for a shit-tier hot dog and $10?
He pulls a flask out from his jacket, turns to face the camera, and drinks.
DR: I also took a second to remember who I am and where I was, but a concussion'll do that to you. So the way I see it, I have two options. I can hang here, doing nothing, going nowhere and drinking myself to death, or I can take a risk, go to Los Angeles, try my luck at this Underground whateverthefuck, and drink myself to death. And I figure that if I'm gonna die drunk and impaled on barbed wire, I may as well do it in the fucking sun.
Davis stops leaning on the sink, stumbles before catching himself, and begins to limp towards the door.
DR: So fuckers, consider this a challenge, I'm gonna show up on your turf, pissed off my tits on cheap liquor, and I'm gonna storm that ring and I will take any one of you motherfuckers who dares to try and fight me. And by the way, may not seem like it but back in that ring? I fucking won.
Davis Reynolds: So I got an invitation to come to L.A. for some new promotion. L.A. Underground, the new home for violence, sex, drugs, rock and roll, all that fun shit. Offered a plane ticket and a paycheck. I was pretty busy at the time, had to get down here to get my fucking teeth kicked in by a 300 pound block of fucking muscle, normal Sunday night stuff. I got my shit rocked, as you can probably tell, and while I was lying on the floor after getting dropped on my head through two tables I had plenty of time to think about some simple questions: Is my career going anywhere anymore? Am I really gonna get famous fighting for a shit-tier hot dog and $10?
He pulls a flask out from his jacket, turns to face the camera, and drinks.
DR: I also took a second to remember who I am and where I was, but a concussion'll do that to you. So the way I see it, I have two options. I can hang here, doing nothing, going nowhere and drinking myself to death, or I can take a risk, go to Los Angeles, try my luck at this Underground whateverthefuck, and drink myself to death. And I figure that if I'm gonna die drunk and impaled on barbed wire, I may as well do it in the fucking sun.
Davis stops leaning on the sink, stumbles before catching himself, and begins to limp towards the door.
DR: So fuckers, consider this a challenge, I'm gonna show up on your turf, pissed off my tits on cheap liquor, and I'm gonna storm that ring and I will take any one of you motherfuckers who dares to try and fight me. And by the way, may not seem like it but back in that ring? I fucking won.