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Date Posted: 12:13:33 04/18/03 Fri
Author: The Messenger
Subject: Message for you, Sir

A figure sits in the shadows of a smokey bar, the shade of a wooden dartboard case shrouding his face. He speaks in a hushed voice, barely above a whisper, as he fingers a dented aluminum ashtray.

You push someone long enough, and they will break. I don't care what Japanese wisemen have to say about being supple like bamboo and bending under pressure. The simple fact is, everything breaks after enough pressure. Exert enough pressure on nature's simplest element, and it will give up everything it stands for, and sparkle and shine, so that some poor deluded sap will have something to buy for his wife after she catches him making eyes at the neighbor's 16 year-old daughter.

The man bends the ashtray into a tent-shape across his fingers.

I've been pushed, and I've been pressured since as far back as I can remember. I thought I was better than the rest. I thought I could handle it... absorb it somehow... but I couldn't. Sooner or later, everything breaks; and I broke.

The raspy-voiced man bends the ashtray back the other way. Nothing very impressive, considering what it's made of.

I was broken, and now I'm ready to return the favor. The pressure has finally been lifted, and I'm ready to be the one on top, pushing down at those who think they cannot be broken. I'm no wiseman... far from it, but I've been around long enough to know that it's less fun being pushed than being the one who does the pushing.

The man bends the ashtray back again, and it snaps cleanly into two pieces.

Everything breaks. You've just got to exert the right amount of pressure in the right place. On Friday, I'll be bringing a message to the hallowed halls of the Underworld Wrestling Syndicate. It's one that's worth heeding. Oh, and I'll also be there to do some good old-fashioned breaking. Because this cat is tired of being pushed. Time to do some pushing of my own.

The camera pulls back slowly, but stops as a waitress walks into shot and lays a large drink on the table in front of the raspy man.

Your banana daquiri, sir.

The man starts to speak normally, but quickly returns to a hushed whisper.

Tha-- Thank you.

The woman leaves and the man casually sips his drink from the curly straw in the frosted glass.

Yes sir... everything breaks.

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