Post by robriot on Mar 13, 2022 10:36:31 GMT -5
The sand whips across the desert. There’s no desert in Canada - or at least not one that looks like this - so who knows where Rob Riot and the camera have gone for this little piece of cinematography. The Englishman stands there, looking every bit the Brit abroad with his cargo shorts, open-necked white shirt, and sandals. He’s leaning on a very old, very broken-looking wall, peering into the distance. He doesn’t turn around to face the camera at first, but he addresses it anyway.
”Six thousand years ago, nomadic tribes used to cross the desert. It was a long, dangerous journey. Sometimes they tried to do it quickly. Sometimes they stuck around for a while. Maybe six months. Maybe a year. If they decided to stay, they set up desert camps. Breaking up the journey into stages made it easier for them to get to their destination in the end, but it came with risks. It was hot. It was dry. They needed food. They needed water. Now, water they could find if they set themselves down near an oasis, which is what they almost always did. But food - food was a whole different matter.”
Riot pats the stone wall. Dust kicks up from his hands as he does so. Slowly he turns and faces the camera, at which point we notice that he's wearing a very expensive-looking pair of sunglasses.
"These ancient people realised that you couldn't hunt animals by chasing them across the desert aimlessly. This was the terrain of the animals, not the humans. They'd outrun you. They'd out-survive you. Over time, the nomads came up with a better idea. They built walls like these - so big you can see them from space today - and they used them to kettle the animals in. Today we call them 'desert kites,' but that's just a description of their shape. See, the animals would see the humans coming and run the other way, but they ran into the openings between these walls. The walls would slowly narrow, and the animals would bunch together. Before they knew it, they were pushed up against each other, tripping over each other and getting stuck. Even those that kept running eventually came to the bottleneck at the end of the walls and found themselves falling into a pit. Only it wasn't really a pit."
He fixes the camera with a broad grin before he continues.
“It was a killing floor.”
To the undoubted horror of any archaeologists in the audience, Riot hops up and sits on the wall, making himself comfortable before he continues his lecture.
”Now you, Donzig, you might like the sound of all this - or, at least, you think you do. The thrill of the hunt. The frenzied violence of the killing floor. The exhilaration of the slaughter and the ecstasy of savouring the cooked meat that comes at the end of it all. I’m sure you could picture yourself standing here six thousand years ago, with a spear in your hand, whooping and hollering at the animals as they stumble into the trap, oblivious of their fate. Maybe you’d make a good hunter, Donny. I really don’t know. But what I do know is that Steve Awesome definitely wouldn’t.”
Rob reaches up and whips off his sunglasses - all the better for looking straight into the lens. He’s not truly looking at the viewers, though. He’s looking directly at Donzig.
"I knew you'd accept my challenge, you idiot. There was never a shadow of a doubt in my mind. You can't be seen to be upstaged. You can't handle the idea that there's a man who would go to a greater depth of depravity or violence than you would. I made you an offer that you couldn't possibly refuse, and you grabbed at it with both hands. You could barely contain your excitement about it. In doing so, you utterly failed to realise that you're playing with a weak hand. I know you, Donny. I know you can take the hits and keep coming. I know I could crack you with a chair, a bat, the ring bell, and god knows what else, and you'll somehow find a way to keep on getting back up. Here's the thing, though. You know who I am. You know what I do. You know that I'll get up just as many times as you will. I don't quit, Donny. I don't stop. On some level, I think you admire that about me, but do you know who else I think you admire? Frank Windsor."
He hops off the wall again, taking a few paces and getting closer to the camera.
"You've said it yourself, Don. Frank is an animal. He's a savage. He can take everything the world can throw at him, and he'll get up every single time. Hell, you threw everything at him last time you met, and you couldn't keep him down. There are three men in this match who thrive in a brutal environment. Three men who aren't afraid of the sight of their own blood. Three men who'll go to any lengths to win. And then…"
Riot holds up a single finger.
”…then there’s Steve Awesome. I don’t know if you were even looking at him when you accepted my challenge, Donny, but he doesn’t want none. He doesn’t want a single damn piece of this. He protested. He blustered. He physically shook. See, I’m going into this match side by side with a man who I know, one hundred per cent, will still be standing with me at the end and still begging for someone to take another swing at him. Take a good, long look at Steve Awesome. Can you say the same about him? That’s a rhetorical question. We both know what the answer is.”
He takes a deep breath of desert air and sighs. As he exhales, he looks strangely content.
"You might think you're a hunter, but you're the hunted. I built a desert kite and you ran headlong into it, dragging Steve Awesome with you. When we get to the ring at Crowning of a Champion.…."
Rob walks straight up to the camera, leaning over it as he prepares to shut it down.
”….the Bastards will slaughter what’s trapped on the killing floor.”
The camera snaps off.
”Six thousand years ago, nomadic tribes used to cross the desert. It was a long, dangerous journey. Sometimes they tried to do it quickly. Sometimes they stuck around for a while. Maybe six months. Maybe a year. If they decided to stay, they set up desert camps. Breaking up the journey into stages made it easier for them to get to their destination in the end, but it came with risks. It was hot. It was dry. They needed food. They needed water. Now, water they could find if they set themselves down near an oasis, which is what they almost always did. But food - food was a whole different matter.”
Riot pats the stone wall. Dust kicks up from his hands as he does so. Slowly he turns and faces the camera, at which point we notice that he's wearing a very expensive-looking pair of sunglasses.
"These ancient people realised that you couldn't hunt animals by chasing them across the desert aimlessly. This was the terrain of the animals, not the humans. They'd outrun you. They'd out-survive you. Over time, the nomads came up with a better idea. They built walls like these - so big you can see them from space today - and they used them to kettle the animals in. Today we call them 'desert kites,' but that's just a description of their shape. See, the animals would see the humans coming and run the other way, but they ran into the openings between these walls. The walls would slowly narrow, and the animals would bunch together. Before they knew it, they were pushed up against each other, tripping over each other and getting stuck. Even those that kept running eventually came to the bottleneck at the end of the walls and found themselves falling into a pit. Only it wasn't really a pit."
He fixes the camera with a broad grin before he continues.
“It was a killing floor.”
To the undoubted horror of any archaeologists in the audience, Riot hops up and sits on the wall, making himself comfortable before he continues his lecture.
”Now you, Donzig, you might like the sound of all this - or, at least, you think you do. The thrill of the hunt. The frenzied violence of the killing floor. The exhilaration of the slaughter and the ecstasy of savouring the cooked meat that comes at the end of it all. I’m sure you could picture yourself standing here six thousand years ago, with a spear in your hand, whooping and hollering at the animals as they stumble into the trap, oblivious of their fate. Maybe you’d make a good hunter, Donny. I really don’t know. But what I do know is that Steve Awesome definitely wouldn’t.”
Rob reaches up and whips off his sunglasses - all the better for looking straight into the lens. He’s not truly looking at the viewers, though. He’s looking directly at Donzig.
"I knew you'd accept my challenge, you idiot. There was never a shadow of a doubt in my mind. You can't be seen to be upstaged. You can't handle the idea that there's a man who would go to a greater depth of depravity or violence than you would. I made you an offer that you couldn't possibly refuse, and you grabbed at it with both hands. You could barely contain your excitement about it. In doing so, you utterly failed to realise that you're playing with a weak hand. I know you, Donny. I know you can take the hits and keep coming. I know I could crack you with a chair, a bat, the ring bell, and god knows what else, and you'll somehow find a way to keep on getting back up. Here's the thing, though. You know who I am. You know what I do. You know that I'll get up just as many times as you will. I don't quit, Donny. I don't stop. On some level, I think you admire that about me, but do you know who else I think you admire? Frank Windsor."
He hops off the wall again, taking a few paces and getting closer to the camera.
"You've said it yourself, Don. Frank is an animal. He's a savage. He can take everything the world can throw at him, and he'll get up every single time. Hell, you threw everything at him last time you met, and you couldn't keep him down. There are three men in this match who thrive in a brutal environment. Three men who aren't afraid of the sight of their own blood. Three men who'll go to any lengths to win. And then…"
Riot holds up a single finger.
”…then there’s Steve Awesome. I don’t know if you were even looking at him when you accepted my challenge, Donny, but he doesn’t want none. He doesn’t want a single damn piece of this. He protested. He blustered. He physically shook. See, I’m going into this match side by side with a man who I know, one hundred per cent, will still be standing with me at the end and still begging for someone to take another swing at him. Take a good, long look at Steve Awesome. Can you say the same about him? That’s a rhetorical question. We both know what the answer is.”
He takes a deep breath of desert air and sighs. As he exhales, he looks strangely content.
"You might think you're a hunter, but you're the hunted. I built a desert kite and you ran headlong into it, dragging Steve Awesome with you. When we get to the ring at Crowning of a Champion.…."
Rob walks straight up to the camera, leaning over it as he prepares to shut it down.
”….the Bastards will slaughter what’s trapped on the killing floor.”
The camera snaps off.
