[WWO] Live Mike 3/30/99
Someone Important
[The music of Bon Jovi's "Wanted: Dead or Alive" begins to play and a very
low sound, but the music begins to pick up a bit, and a number of various
scenes are shown. As the music plays, various still shots and actions
shots are seen rolling across the screen in various directions.]
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[The camera then changes to show what appears to be a replica of the
"Tonight Show" studio, and the voice of a young female is heard.]
Voice: That's right...welcome once again to the most opinionated show in
the World Wrestling Organization... LIVE MIKE!!!
[The shot then changes to show a young female standing in front of a band,
her long blond hair dropping just past her shoulder blades. She is in a
very silky long black dress, and obviously very carefully picked to draw a
certain segment of the ratings population.]
Announcer: I'm Lisa Cultree and this is the "Live Band", and your host
for this evening's show, via satellite...
[The band picks up to play "Everything About You" by Ugly Kid Joe]
Cultree: Ladies and gentlemen, this is "BLOCKBUSTER" JOHNNY DETSON!!
[The camera turns to a video screen, as the band picks up the music and
out from behind the curtain steps the WWO wrestler, drawing a decent
amount of applause from the audience, and the camera pans quickly to show
the full studio. But in the process, the camera catches the "Applause"
sign lit up, obviously signaling the crowd to respond.]
[The shot then changes back to Detson. He is wearing a dark gray Italian
suit with a white shirt and a black tie. He smiles at the audience and
waits for the applause to die down.]
Detson: God its great being back in the States.
[Scans the crowd through the camera]
Detson: Well maybe not that great, but look how they reward their golden
boy. They give him a show. So sit back and see how true entertainment
runs this show. Let's see what's on the agenda for tonight.
" ===================================== "
"ICEMAN" MICHAEL ICE
ARMED FORCES
"SOLID ROCK" RUSTY BOWMAN
"THE FUTURE OF PRO-WRESTLING" CHRIS JOHNSON
ROUNDHOUSE
"BLACKJACK" BOBBY ROJO
"WHITE HOT" DARREN MORGAN
STEVE DUMARS
" ===================================== "
" ===================================== "
ULTIMATE THRASHER
"THE PRODIGY" TRACY HUDSON
"THE GOD DAMN SHOW" TIM BECK
"MONEY DRIVEN" MIKE SEBASTIAN
"LATIN LIGHTNING" AL PEREZ
" ===================================== "
Detson: Well it looks like a packed house tonight. Let's get it kicked
off with the "Iceman" Michael Ice.
" ===================================== "
"ICEMAN" MICHAEL ICE
" ===================================== "
[Scene opens to a television. The screen is showing the encounter between
Michael Ice and Lord Alexander Bennington during the last Superstar
Showcase. The lights come back on, and Alex Perkins is seen, beaten, in
front of Ice. Suddenly, the screen pauses, and a slight chuckle is heard.]
[The camera turns away from the TV screen, noticing a hotel room as the
surroundings. An ordinary hotel room, nothing special, just one bed. And
sitting on the bed is "Iceman" Michael Ice, the victim last week of
Bennington's trickery. And although his own plan backfired, Ice is not
sad, but is wearing a slight smile across his face. Dressed plainly in
blue jeans and a white t-shirt, Ice looks as if he's been in his room for
sometime. His hair is hanging down into his face, casting an even darker
image on the face of the Iceman. He breaks the silence with another
chuckle, followed by a slow and deliberate round of applause.]
MI: Touche, big man. Good show. I must admit, this thing is really
becoming quite a lot of fun.
[He readjusts, setting the remote control on the table beside him, right
next to his trademark sunglasses.]
MI: I was starting to worry that you had lost your spunk, that because
you joined the little children in Uncivil Disobedience, that you had lost
your personality at the expense of gaining a few allies...
Fortunately, I was wrong.
Just when I thought I did have complete control of the game, you throw in
this little plot twist. And make the game just _that_ much more
interesting.
And the whole Alex Perkins fiasco, brilliant. I couldn't have planned it
better myself.
Unfortunately, you're failing to realize that if anybody controls this
game, that it sure as hell isn't you.
Because, you see, this is still fun. I still enjoy this. And I'm still
dedicated to this, Bennington. I gave up my spot in the Road to the Title
tournament because, frankly, I could care less about title shots. You're
the only thing in my future, Bennington. Everything and anyone else is
merely a roadblock.
Even that dolt, Alex Perkins.
[A smile suddenly crosses Ice's face.]
MI: By the way, speaking of Uncivil Disobedience... How's that neck, Rax?
Sure hope you took no offense to that. It was based purely on my dislike
for your stablemate. Our past confrontations had absolutely _nothing_ to
do with that attack...
[The smile grows.]
MI: Bennington, my friend, I got my shots in, you got yours in. The way I
see it, it's my turn. The game is nowhere near over, big man.
As a matter of fact, it's just beginning.
Best of luck to you, my friend.
[He chuckles, as the camera fades to black.]
" ===================================== "
[ Detson is now seated behind his desk]
Detson: This guy needs serious mental help. Not caring about titles?
What does he think pays his salary. With all the light tricks he plays
you'd think he need the money. Next is the Armed Forces.
" ===================================== "
ARMED FORCES
" ===================================== "
[Scene: A makeshift United States military base just outside of Riyadh,
Saudi Arabia. A large missile is positioned for launch on a large pad,
with three men, dressed in fatigues, on a nearby scaffold. A young DefCon
appears to be one of those men, loo king inside a side panel and
apparently doing some work with a wire welder. Across the bottom of the
screen, the year "1991" appears.]
DC: Almost there.
[DefCon pulls out a computer chip and tosses it over his shoulder. He
reaches out toward one of the other men on the scaffold and is handed a
new chip. DefCon places it in the side panel and begins to weld some
more. In the meantime, a siren sounds.]
M1: Hurry up, man, one incoming!
DC: [sounding frustrated] If I don't get this chip in correctly, it will
be one _landing_!
M2: Let's get out of here.
[The two other men begin to descend from the scaffold. DefCon continues
welding, and then finally closes the side panel and heads down himself.
The two men head into a bunker, while DefCon heads for a large control pad
fifteen feet from the missile, whe re he grabs a transmitter.]
DC: New chip installed, sir. Patriot's course now adjusted to intercept
just north of Tel Aviv.
Voice: Fire.
DC: DefCon hits a button and ducks behind the pad, covering his ears.
Flames rush from the bottom of the missile, producing a loud roar, and it
begins to ascend...
[Scene cuts to the control room of a battleship, patrolling somewhere in
the Persian Gulf. A young NavCom is sitting in front of a screen, trying
to make out small green blips on a radar screen. A captain is pacing
around the room frantically as red lig hts flash everywhere.]
NC: Sir, that scud came from... another battleship in the Gulf.
C: Heading?
NC: Zero-eight-zero.
C: Scud intercept?
NC: It appears that patriot missiles have been launched from Riyadh bases
three and seven, sir. I'm getting those on screen now.
C: [on radio] Weapons/Conn. Prepare for ship-to-ship missile strike. Arm
for immediate launch. Navigator will transmit coordinates and optimum
time of fire upon calculation. Standby.
[NavCom begins to punch numbers into a keyboard while speaking to the
helmsman across the room. Scene cuts to a split screen, with DefCon's
patriot missile launching on the left side and NavCom's battleship
launching missiles on the right. A voiceover b egins to speak.]
VO: In 1991, two young men from Omaha took an oath to defend their beloved
country...
[Both sides of the screen show missiles flying through the air.]
VO: ...and undertook a mission to vanquish evil and to protect the
innocent. Eight years later, coming this April...
[The left side of the screen shows two missiles colliding in a huge
explosion, while the right side reveals an Iraqi battleship exploding in
the middle of the Gulf.]
VO: ...the mission continues.
[The screen fades to black, then a picture of NavCom and DefCon, the Armed
Forces, standing side by side in ring attire, flashes onto the screen and
quickly disappears. The resultant black screen is left only with the
words "The WWO will never be the sam e." Fade.]
" ===================================== "
Detson: You know something, these guys make me wish I was watching Army
Man Doug. Next up...
[Detson looks at his list]
Detson: (sighs) Rusty Bowmen.
" ===================================== "
"SOLID ROCK" RUSTY BOWMAN
" ===================================== "
(We see a busy airport terminal at noon on a Monday afternoon. The
massive rush of people hurries to and fro; it is impossible to tell from a
distance where one person ends and another begins. However, from the
constant "wha-wha" of ongoing conversations, we can tell the patrons are
speaking English. What a nice change of pace, no?)
(Yes, this is no German airport. From the departure/arrival board, we can
deduce that we are in St. Petersburg, Florida--sunny, warm, and crystal
clear, about as much of a polar opposite as there can be to the German
climate. It finally appears our cameraman has found his man ...we see
"Solid Rock" Rusty Bowman, dressed in a green pique polo shirt and khakis.
Bowman is leaning against the information desk with his carry-on bag in
one hand and his luggage slung over his opposite shoulder.)
[BOWMAN] "I couldn't imagine more perfect weather for the end of March.
Outside the sun is shining and the trees are budding, and spring is really
in the air. How ironic that now I feel like a spring chicken."
(Rusty checks his watch.)
[BOWMAN} "Call it obsession, call it rage, call it whatever you damn well
please. The word you use makes no difference, but when I track down the
man who pinned the ribbon on me at Showcase, he'll know what it means.
Anybody with eyes knows I've never been the kind of man to lay down to a
challenge, so why the hell would I start now? Maybe I should be
flattered--whoever the lowlife is who took me out knew enough about me to
realize he's got no chance in hell in a one-on-one, face-to-face
situation."
(Rusty walks over to the arrival board ...still, he appears impatient.)
[BOWMAN] "Lord Keeblor thinks I'm not a chicken. I realize you have
feelings for me, Keebs, but I'm just not ready for a committed
relationship right now. Sorry. Oh, wait, maybe that could've been
...well, EVERY year you were in high school. See, Lordy, it goes like
this--I'll be happy to respect the message, but I'll be dammed if I
respect the messenger. Your actions don't match up with your words. If
you respected me, you would've called the Massacre match straight down the
middle. But thanks to you, Keebs, the Showmen are walking around with
heads like hot-air baloons. We might as well have had Ray Charles as the
special referee. I promise you and I will butt heads one more time soon,
big shot, because you obviously have forgotten all about our past. Get
ready for a major league case of deja vu."
(Bowman checks his watch ...12:04. Rusty's obviously waiting on someone.)
[BOWMAN] "But I'm not a cold, heartless man, Keebs. Yes, I empathize with
you, because this week you have the 'pleasure' of stepping in the ring
with Johnny Detson. Having dealt with Detson for quite some time now,
lemme give you some advice on how to minimize the effect on your
eardrums."
(After ANOTHER quick check of his watch, Rusty smiles sarcastically and
continues.)
[BOWMAN] "OK, now, first, when Detson's ugly mug comes on to the screen,
don't panic. Get up quickly, but calmly, and while making no sudden
movements which might accidentally provoke Johnny's leaky bladder, turn
the TV volume down all the way. Then, when you watch good ol' Detson jack
his jaw at about ninety miles a minute but without making a sound, it's
like watching a Japanese monster movie. You can create your own dialogue
for Johnny, such as, 'My name is Johnny Detson, and I suffer from a rare
disease called CWC.' Or perhaps even, 'I'm Johnny Detson--do you know
where your kids are?' But my absolute favorite is, "Johnny Detson here,
and you oughtta see my back. There's a yellow streak running down it that
would make Bart Simpson jealous.'"
(Bowman laughs out loud, drawing the attention of some nearby commuters,
but in a moment, they return to their business. Rusty is still amused,
but he's about to become deadly serious.)
[BOWMAN] "Why don't you just tell the world, Detson? It won't be anything
we don't already know. I know you were sitting right there at ringside,
so barring a permanent pair of earplugs, pal, you've got no excuse.
Thrasher told 'President' Bryson to get it signed, and if Bryson's not
lying in a heap in some detox center right now, he's getting it done.
Quit bitching, or better yet, quit talking PERIOD. It's really very
simple, Johnny. You can try to get my goat until the cows come home, if I
may mix my metaphors like that, but it's time to go back to square one.
Spew all your four-letter words at Thrasher and me and the entire Hall of
Fame ...but I know a four-letter word that's a perfect fit, and it hasn't
even stumbled off your tongue."
(The camera moves in close ...Bowman's nostrils flare.)
[BOWMAN] "FEAR. Very soon, Detson, it'll be time to put up or shut up,
and God knows you haven't got the slightest clue on how to shut up.
You've got two options: you can either stand up like the 'pseudo-man' you
are and fight, or you can run like hell. I see you've chosen door number
two. Just remember that as long as you snap at Thrasher, Rusty Bowman and
the Big Unit, we'll snap right back, just like a boomerang. Keep running,
because it's all part of the game. The more you run, the more your legs
are like cottage cheese, and you're just making our job that much easier."
(Bowman looks straight at the camera, probably at the cameraman. Rusty
raises an eyebrow, implying that the cameraman is asking him an inaudible
question.)
[BOWMAN] "No, Tom, I'm really not in the mood to deal with Tyrone Hayes
right now. You know me better than that. Listen, Hayes is no idiot. He
knows that when I fly back to Germany, we're going to light the house on
fire. There'll be one winner, one loser, and one man standing when it's
all said and done. The thing is, Tyrone and I both know I'll be the one
left standing. *pause* That's right."
(Bowman checks his watch; after ranting about the Blockbuster and Hayes,
Bowman has finally lost his cool. He storms back to the information desk,
and finds a young, brunette woman at the desk.)
[BOWMAN] "Can you tell me if there was a Rocky Johnson on that flight to
St. Petersburg?"
(Bowman taps his fingers on the counter nervously as the woman checks the
records; a minute or so later, she looks up from her computer.)
[WOMAN] "From Berlin to St. Petersburg? It arrived at 11:48 this morning,
sir. I'll check for a 'Rocky Johnson' on our database."
(Rusty nods his head as he holds it in his hands. The camera catches the
woman's eyes as they light up like fireworks.)
[WOMAN] "Sir, I believe I've found him."
[BOWMAN} "There IS a God ...where did he go?"
[WOMAN] "Oh, he went to St. Petersburg, all right ..."
(The scene cuts to an airplane slowing down on the ground. As the plane
halts to a complete stop, the doorway opens and passengers begin to stream
out of the plane in single-file fashion. Obviously having come from a
cold climate, the passengers are wearing heavy coats with scarves wrapping
themselves in cocoons.)
(The camera focuses in close as the man of the hour, Rocky Johnson, exits
the plane. He rubs his arms for warmth as he steps down in a Hawaiian
shirt and khaki cargo shorts. Strangely, we can see his breath. As Rocky
picks up his gait to stay warm, we see a sign written in four different
languages at the top of the terminal; the English translation reads:)
WELCOME TO ST. PETERSBURG, RUSSIA
(To be continued ... fade to black.)
" ===================================== "
[Detson is leaning on his head on his hand which is propped up on the
desked.]
Detson: You know something Bowmen...nah nevermind. The only thing I
regret is that someone got to you before I could.
[Turns to someone backstage]
Detson: Who's next?
" ===================================== "
"THE FUTURE OF PRO-WRESTLING" CHRIS JOHNSON
" ===================================== "
[SCENE: We're inside a hotel room. "THE FUTURE OF PRO-WRESTLING" Chris
Johnson is sitting down in a chair, relaxing and thinking. He notices that
the cameraman is coming over to talk to him, so he sits up and begins to
talk to the cameraman.]
"THE FUTURE OF PRO-WRESTLING" Chris Johnson: Okay, can _someone_ please
explain to me what was going on this past week on Superstar Showcase?
[Chris pauses, sits back and ponders to himself for a second before going
on.]
"THE FUTURE OF PRO-WRESTLING" Chris Johnson: So, for some odd reason, Mike
Sebastian wanted _me_ arrested?
[Chris looks at the camera with a shocked face.]
"THE FUTURE OF PRO-WRESTLING" Chris Johnson: _HELLO_??
Was _I_ the one who stole the money?
[The cameraman shakes his head, moving the camera.]
"THE FUTURE OF PRO-WRESTLING" Chris Johnson: Didn't think so. So perhaps,
little ol' Mikey can explain to me what was going on? Because you see, as
good as a trick as it was - almost something that I would do - he didn't
have it planned out all too well. Otherwise they would have arrested the
man who actually committed the theft.
[Chris shakes his head in disbelief.]
"THE FUTURE OF PRO-WRESTLING" Chris Johnson: Mikey... don't you Get It?
[Chris stands up, and goes to leave the room. But before he does, he says
one more thing.]
"THE FUTURE OF PRO-WRESTLING" Chris Johnson: I guess not. Michael, I'll
might just have a little surprise for you on the next Superstar Showcase.
See you there.
[The scene fades out.]
" ===================================== "
[The shot changes back to the Live Mike desk where no one is seated. The
camera pans over to show Detson over talking to a lady in the backstage
area. She is quick to point out to Detson the the ON AIR sign is lit.
Startled Detson faces the camera.]
Detson: What its done all ready? Well Chris just a reminder that you and
me will be doing a little battle in a couple a weeks. But this time,
unlike STB, Jude and I aren't going to be supporting your ass. With all
that money you got now, why do you buy some wrestling lessons.
Detson: Don't go away more of me...er.. Live Mike on the way.
" ===================================== "
:::: Camera fades to a couple on a couch, slouching in front of their
television, in the living room; until the deep voice of an unseen male
with unusually over-ethusiastic voice pops in from out of nowhere. ::::
VOICE: Hey, You!
[The couple checks behind them in a dumb fashion, as if there were other
people behind them, before looking back at the tv.]
Voice: Yeah: You! Do you wan na look good?
[Couple looks at each other before nodding to camera, without speaking.]
VOICE: Do you want to be in shape?
[Couple nods again in the same stupid and repetitive fashion.]
VOICE: ...but want to eat your butts out like greasy porks and not make
any kind of sacrifice whatsoever in order to attain these goals?
[Couple nods differently but with a stupid smile on their face.]
VOICE: Then ABDO-SHMABDO is for you! Crafted right here in the good ol'
U.S. of A., ABDO-SHMABDO was designed for lazy- beer guzzlers- Jerry
Springer lovers just like YOU!!!
[Another scene pops in, where we see the product in question rotating on a
pedestal: the product is just a blue, thick waist-size rubber band.]
VOICE: From CRAPO co., the ones who brought you the Talking Toilet Bowl
and also, The Vacuuming Toaster, ABDO-SHMABDO is a highly scientific
physical exertion apparel which was almost on the way of maybe being
approved by some of The American Health Association's standards... now how
many other fitness products can say they've done THAT?!
[We see a man on his back laying on a wooden board, and he's attached by
the rubber band: he's trying to do the sit ups with a "struggling-but
attempt of a cool & composed smile" face to the camera and can barely rise
an inch from the board because the rubber band is just too tight.]
Voice: ABDO-SHMABDO is an easy-to-use and comfortable fitness
breakthrough! Just slip in the device and use its resistance to propel
your upper body
from the board... it's just that simple! Thanks to its patented "ABDO-
SHMABDO notches", ABDO-SHMABDO can be set on many levels to maximize your
work-out and give you, the consumer, your money's worth! What, you don't
believe us? You think that ABDO-SHMABDO is just a simple piece of cheap
rubber band we've whipped up together to make easy dough because we
thought some of you would actually be dumb enough to buy something like
that?!? Well don't take our word on it. Listen to these satisfied
customers:
[Scenes from various people in their respective location consecutively pop
in. The people (not looking at the camera, but to someone who seems to be
besides the camera, who's interviewing them) are obvious amateurs reciting
a text and sound like zombies as they attempt at livening their speech but
the rest of their body is stiff.]
Customer #1 (man): Before, I could not go to the beach because of my
physical shape, but now, thanks to ABDO-SHMABDO, my abs look great, I now
go to the beach everyday and women from everywhere throw themselves at me.
(turns to camera in the same stiff manner)
Customer #1: Thanks ABDO-SHMABDO.
Customer #2 (women): ABDO-SHMABDO saved my life. I lost 168 pounds in less
than two weeks... and have kept it off!
(meanwhile, we see a picture of her "before/after" where she's about 250
before and where "after" she's skinny enough to have a "six-pac" abdomen.]
Customer #2: *turns to the camera like the other.* --- Thank you ABDO-
SHMABDO.
Customer #3: I was on welfare for 17 years, but one day ABDO-SHMABDO came
into my life, and now I'm C.E.O. of a multi million dollar company.
(turns to the camera.)
Customer #3: Thank you ABDO-SHMABDO.
Customer #4: *already looking at the camera.* --- My house was on fire and
not only did ABDO-SHMABDO called the firemen, but it saved me and my
little girl. Thank you ABDO-SHMABDO.
[We now see sporadic shots of those people trying with great difficulty to
show "how easy" it is to do sit ups with the product.]
VOICE: So there you have it: what are you waiting for??? ABDO-SHMABDO is
what you've been waiting for your whole life but were too afraid to ask
for because you thought it didn't exist! It's time to shape-up America!
ABDO- SHMABDO can help you get there!
[We then return to the couple from the beginning and courtesy of some
cheesy magical effect, a telephone suddenly appears between the two, to
the exaggerated astonishment of the couple.]
VOICE: So call us now! For just 3 easy and simple payments of 39.95$, you
can own the most incredible discovery since sliced bread!
[We now go to a shot of the wooden board, just sitting on the floor in a
dark room with nothing else around it and enlightened by different
spotlights (as if it were a star and worth something.]
VOICE: But here's the great part: call us in the next 6 minutes and we'll
pitch in the wooden board for free! Yes, you heard us right: we'll send
you this wooden board, straight from the workshop and worth an estimated
62.00$, FOR FREE!!! What do you want more!?! Call us right away at:
1-800-CON-R-DIST
VOICE: ... I repeat, 1-800-CON-R-DIST, our operators are standing by right
now! Feel the results. Feel the difference! Let ABDO-SHMABDO get you
there! ABDO-SHMABDO: a CRAPO co. product!
"Because if it's not ABDO... then it definitely isn't CRAPO!!!"
[The voice then finally states the following legal clauses rapidly with a
serious and ironically, much more duller voice, until the end of the
commercial, before camera fades out.]
"ABDO-SHMABDO is not sold in stores. There will be no reimbursement, no
refund, no nothing. Allow 4 to 12 weeks for delivery or whatever time
we'll need to bail out from the country, incognito. Results may vary from
cases to cases. Do not and we repeat, DO NOT, consult your physician or
ask anyone about their opinion before buying or even trying ABDO-SHMABDO.
We do suggest though that you enroll in a physical program, eat right and
get in good shape all together before trying the product to get the best
results out of the product. All sales are finals."
" ===================================== "
[ The band starts playing "Sharped Dress Man" by ZZ Top and the camera
shows Detson sitting at his desk]
Detson: Welcome back. The guy who sticks a sock down his pants is next.
" ===================================== "
"THE BIG UNIT" ROUNDHOUSE
" ===================================== "
Sitting by the side of his pool is WWO superstar Roundhouse. The Big Unit
is dressed in a pair of long shorts, a very loud button up shirt,
sunglasses and a cap. Beside the deckchair he's sitting in is a table with
a fruit platter, a few cold beers and his smokes. Sitting by the side f
the pool are a few lovely young lasses drinking wine. Directly in front of
Roundhouse is a TV camera and monitor with a WWO logo on the screen. The
producer counts Roundhouse in for his satellite link up interview with the
WWO's resident fun guy, Mikey Ralph. The monitor flickers to life and we
can see Ralph.
Ralph: Good morni ...
Roundhouse: Hello?
Ralph: Um, er good morning Roundhouse [ rather long delay as Roundhouse
moves his lips but doesn't speak in an obvious attempt to confuse Ralph]
Ralph: Roundhouse can you hear me, we can't hear you?
Roundhouse: Good thanks, its great to be here
Ralph: [looking more confused] Um there seems to be some problem .
Roundhouse: Good, good, the injuries have healed nicely. A bit of a break
from gym and some intensive work with the physiotherapist and chiropractor
has done wonders
Ralph: [looking away from the camera to his producer with a questioning
look on his face before turning back to the camera] I don't know what the
problem is but we'll forge ahead none the less. Now since you've been away
the Hall of Fame has had some mixed results, a few losses combined with
the stunning tag team win by Search & Destroy must .
Roundhouse: [barely able to suppress a laugh] Listen I really don't care
what colour Tyrone Hayes' underpants are, all I said was that they always
had a big brown racing stripe running down the middle by the time he
climbed into the ring with me. Hayes is fundamentally a good wrestler but
the guy just has shocking dress sense
Ralph: [almost completely flabbergasted] Wait, what?! I asked what you
thought of the mixed results the Hall of Fame have had
Roundhouse: [feigning confusion] Well thanks for asking but my mother is
doing well. By the time the doctors removed the wart she was sitting again
with no discomfort within few days. How is your mother doing Mikey?
Ralph: er fine. Listen there is obviously a major problem .
Roundhouse: I think calling it a problem is an understatement. That's like
saying Hitler wasn't too fond of Jews. I believe Clinton and NATO could
come out of this whole affair the big losers. While we're on the subject
of world affairs did you realise that Ilya is really a radish farmer?
Ralph: This is unbelievable! In all the time I've worked for the WWO I've
never encountered such difficulties. I really would like to apologise
Roundhouse
Roundhouse: Don't be silly Mikey. You don't have to apolgise to me.
Apparently the average size for a grown man is 5 inches. For every guy
like me there will always be a guy like you otherwise the average would be
closer to 10 inches. Just remember, its not what you've got, its how you
use it, well that's what the guys with small units try to tell you anyway.
Ralph: Who said anything about me being ..
Roundhouse: Alright Mikey its been a pleasure, I'll see you in a few days
[Roundhouse gets up and unhooks his microphone and headset before stepping
out of shot. He stands there pissing himself laughing while an incredibly
frustrated looking Mikey Ralph is looking for answers at his end]
Ralph: Bloody German technicians, couldn't get a transistor wireless to
work
[Roundhouse eventually re sets his microphone and headset before lighting
a cigarette - a relieved looking Ralph tries asking another series of
questions but is cut short by the Big Unit]
Roundhouse: Good morning Barbara
Ralph: What?!
Roundhouse: Mikey what are you still ding here? I'm expecting a link up
with Jay Leno, you'd better get off the line matey
Ralph: Hang on a minute. Now that the communication problem seems to be
fixed surely you can spare us a few minutes
Roundhouse: [looking at his watch] All right but we'd better make it quick
Ralph: Listen I think we can splice something together out of that first
part of the interview so we may as well move on ..
Roundhouse: [tapping his headset] Hello? Hello?
Ralph: I don't believe this! Obviously you've taken some time off from the
WWO and your injuries are better but tell us all what you've been doing
with your time back hm in Sydney
Roundhouse: Are you in Sydney too? Hell if that's the case why don't you
come around to my place and we can do the interview face to face instead
of like this?
Ralph: No! No! I'm not in Sydney I'm in Hamburg ..
Roundhouse: Hamburg? Hey weren't Search & Destroy there last weekend to?
Maybe you should look them up
Ralph: What?
Roundhouse: What what?
Ralph: What have you been doing in Sydney since you've been back there?
Roundhouse: Finally, a sensible question. Well there has be heaps
happening. Since the Gay & Lesbian Mardi Gras I joined over 105,000 other
Sydney siders for the opening of the Rugby League season at Stadium
Australia which is the main stadium for next years Olympics. I've caught
up with a few rugby union games, headed back to Stadium Australia for the
Bee Gees concert, they only pulled 65,000, fair dinkum the place looked
empty. A few beers with some mates and a few relaxing days at the beach
catching the last rays of summer. I tell you what the WWO may be in the
fatherland but Sydney is the place to be. There is a huge buzz abut this
place, everything is shaping up for next year's Olympics, the football
season's have kicked off, mate, it's a ball tearing place to be.
Ralph: I'm sure it is but .
Rundhouse; Well Mikey its been a blast but I've got to go. I'll catch you
next week in Germany. Perhap we can get together and do an interview or
something
[before Ralph can answer Roundhouse is up and off towards the pool and the
lovely young lasses]
" ===================================== "
[The shot changes to Detson who is now standing next to an area covered in
a big red cloth]
Detson: And now for the grand surprise of the evening. You know the best
thing about being in Boston is? Look at whose studio they put me next to.
[ Detson rips off the cover to show some of the props for the old Warren
Hayes Show. Here are the marble busts of Warren Hayes and the desk he
used to sit at]
Detson: Yes ladies and gentlemen welcome to the Warren Hayes Memorial
Auction!!! Just call 1-888-SHOWMEN to place an order for these valuable
collector items! I'll be standing by personally to take your order.
" ===================================== "
"BLACKJACK" BOBBY ROJO
" ===================================== "
[Zooming down a narrow hallway, a camera stops outside a closed door
numbered '286'. The camera operator knocks on the door in a strange
cadence, almost as if it were a code, and after a few minutes the door
inches open. A pair of eyes peer out.]
V/O : Who da smartest man in America?
CAMERA : I already did the knock, let me in.
V/O : Who da smartest man in America?
CA : Don King.
[The door swings open to reveal "Blackjack" Bobby Rojo dressed in a pair
of black pants, a white t-shirt, a flak jacket, and camoflauge green
helmet. Rojo shuttles the camera man into the ring, and quickly shuts the
door open. As the camera begins to scan the dark room, there is the sound
of multiple locks being placed.]
BBR : Oh man, you freak me out every time you knock on that door. Ain't
no way for me to know its you, and its drivin' me loco thinking its
_them_.
I need to have this video done so that if all my homies never hear
from me again, they can at least have sumtin' to remember my ass by.
Because ese, I don't know if they _will_ ever see me again. These
cats want their money in a big way.
[Rojo is pacing around the room. Distracted. Worried. He wears no gold
chains.]
BBR : There's nothing more I can do. I'm outta ideas. I've sold
_everything_ I own. I've sold everything Manny owns. I sold
everything that old lady down the street owns.
But I'm still short. I'm still hella short of the amount I owe,
and both of the bookies are getting tired of waiting. They said
that Rocko is even more tired of waiting, and that ain't no kinda
good news for me.
[Rojo sits down on the bed, his hands on his head.]
BBR : It seemed like such a good play! It seemed like easy money. I mean,
they was givin' me thiry points! So what if it was Florida A&M and
they had to play the Dukies. It was still thirty points, and that
should be enough.
And now, now I'm gonna get a cap in my ass because a bunch of
bruthas can't play ball. It ain't far man. I have dreams. I have
expectations. "Blackjack" Bobby Rojo was gonna sit on top of the
globo, but now I'm gonna do nothin' more than sink to the bottom
of the Delaware River.
[Rojo stands up again, grabs a pillow from the bed, and begins pounding
his fist into it.]
BBR : And I'm spending my last days cooped up in a hotel room! This is
no way to go out. I wasn't even able to attend the last WWO show
cuz I was trapped in here, scared fo' my vida if I ever walk
outside.
Oh man, oh man, oh man. What am I gonna do? What can I do? I
can't hide in here forever. This place don't got room service,
and my supplies are 'bout set to run out. How long can I live
off eating soap? Huh? Not long, lemme tell ya.
[Rojo walks over to the window, and looks outside.]
BBR : They could be out there. Any of those people could be waiting for
me to walk outside so they can shove me in a limo and throw me
in a private plane and dump me somewhere. And sometime during all
that they'd kill me.
I gots ta pay them off homey! Can you spot me a little green? I
know you gotta make some kinda salary off that camera man job.
Help a brutha out, c'mon.
[As Rojo looks pleading at the camera man, there is a knock on the
door. Rojo's eyes open wide, filled with fear.]
KNOCK!
KNOCK!
BBR : Who, who...who is it?
V/O : You need more towels, yes?
[Rojo sighs with relief at the feminine voice outside the door. He
unlocks the door, cracks it open, and slides his hand out. He pulls
his hand back in, and closes the door. Turning to the camera man,
Rojo holds up a stack of white towels.]
BBR : How much will these sell for?
" ===================================== "
[ Detson is sitting at his desk and puts the phone on speaker]
Detson: Go ahead caller your on the air!
Caller: Uh yeah I'll give you five bucks for a head.
Detson: Five dollars?! That's pure marble your talking about.
Caller: Uh yeah okay ten bucks.
[ A bewildered look appears on Detson's face]
Detson: Look I can assure you that the bust can be made into something
else.
Caller: Twenty-five dollars?
Detson: SOLD!!!
" ===================================== "
"WHITE HOT" DARREN MORGAN
" ===================================== "
(Scene opens up inside a gym. All around the gym, people are doing various
weightlifting activities. The camera focuses on one area off to the side.
Darren Morgan riding an exercise bike. Darren stops peddaling, but remains
seated on the bike as he speaks to the camera.)
DM: "Now before you numskulls clear out all the room inside your heads to
make room for the thought of coming to this gym to see Darren Morgan all
the time, know this. This is not Darren Morgan's usual gym. You're not
important enough to see where Darren Morgan spends his time fine tuning
the most important physique in the WWO."
DM: "Now you may ask yourself, 'why is Darren Morgan riding an exercise
bike?' Well the answer to that is simple. I know that Fury will run a
long, long way to get away from me, and I'm going to have to have a ton of
endurance to chase him all the way down to the ends of the earth, where he
has no where else to go. But you know what, enough of that."
(Darren gets down off the bike.)
DM: "You see, the thought crossed my mind to go out there on Showcase,
grab a microphone, and tell you and the whole world that you couldn't
dodge Darren Morgan forever. But then I realized that if there's one thing
Fury does well, it's dodging Darren Morgan. You probably could dodge me
forever. And Darren Morgan doesn't have forever to chase after you. Some
of the people in the world may think you're the cat's meow, but Darren
Morgan doesn't care one iota for you."
DM: "Then Darren Morgan thought to himself, 'why not go get a good look at
that shiny title belt.' That's right. Darren Morgan has the audacity to
put his hands on YOUR belt. But it won't be YOUR belt much longer.
Somebody's got to carry this company into the damn next millenium, but it
won't be you. Somebody's got to reign as champion, but soon enough it
won't be you. That job belongs to none other than The Rolls Royce, The
MVP, The Most, nay the Only Important Man in the WWO, "White Hot" Darren
Morgan. Face me if you would, duck me if you must, but one way or another,
that strap is leaving you and going right where it belongs."
(Scene fades to black.)
" ===================================== "
Detson: Yeah he's so important to all those wrestlers who need a win
under their belt. Next call.
Caller#2: Yeah I'll give you five thousand dollars for the other bust
of the Supreme Entertainment Machine!!!
Detson: Warren is that you?
" ===================================== "
STEVE DUMARS
" ===================================== "
[We fade back _IN_ from black (don't see that much, do you?)
to the setting of the next flash--and yes, don't move from
your chairs, couches, or whatever the hell else you're
sitting on--it is Steve Dumars... and he's... READING!!
AND LOOKING INTELLIGENT DOING IT! Please, folks, try to
calm yourself, as I describe this most unusual of scenes.
Dumars is still on his Express bus to the next WWO stop--
and he is reclining in one of the deluxe leather seats the
bus has to offer. Strange how the luxuries on the inside
pale in comparison to the outside appearance--but another
mystery about Dumars that we will never know... and prob.
will never wish to know.
Dumars is reclining, and like I said reading (GASP) the
newspaper... with REGULAR READING GLASSES (GASP again),
and apparently deeply entrenched in this activity. But
if the reason for this "entrenchment" is the subject of
the article... or a possible illteracy on Dumars' part,
we will never know--we just hope that it's the first.
But we also assume that it's the second.
However, my rambling aside, this is our scene--the bus
is in obvious motion, judging from the German country-
side whipping by, the details undiscernable, but they
aren't important anyway--what _is_ important is Steve
Dumars... reading... and apparently about to speak to
us.]
"Amazing, isn't it... amazing to all those folks out there
who are just BRIMMING with talent for insults--yes, those
that have thought for HOURS and HOURS over my nickname...
that being 'Dumbass'. That was sarcasm.
[sigh] Never the mind. I figured I'd spread the wisdom
once again, just for the hell of it... but I don't have
much to say, so we're all lucky."
[Canned laughter is piped through the bus, and is abruptly
stopped--proving that is indeed "canned".]
"Hey, hey... watch it. The only studio audience we'll be
seeing around ANY Steve Dumars flash will be back in the
States--but that's a bit TOO much foreshadowing. Har har.
"Not much to say, indeed... congratulations, UConn, because
I just had to say it--keep on bombing those damn commies in
Yugoslavia, America... those damn reds are everywhere... and
back here in the lovely world of the WWO, I have a rematch
with white bread himself, Loaf.
"Many a person would say that it's not GOOD TACTICS to piss
off a seven-foot dude with a BAD attitude and a name that,
was... well, not well-chosen--and they'd be right. But
if this judgement is made, the judger is forgetting that
it's _Steve_ _Dumars_ we're talking about here--the guy
who couldn't give a good-God damn what anybody thinks and
what anybody says about him. That's redundant... but like
I said before... redunant is my middle name. And my first
name. And--"
(STEVE! You already used that line a few days ago.)
"Who the hell are you?"
(I'm your narrator.)
"You're not supposed to talk! Didn't you get that message
from the WWO big shots saying we can't break kayf... er,
the 'K-word'?"
(Yeah, but... well, I figured you needed someone to interact
with--you know, to make your continuous spiels much more
interesting. Judging from _my_ view of your little Dumars
Express, everybody got off at the last stop--you're only
one on the bus.)
[Dumars appears a bit flushed, possibly from anger, or
embarassment.]
"Ixnay on the eople-pay... it ain't my fault we couldn't hire
the extras for the rest of the German tour. And thanks for
ruining my secret, Parentheses."
(No problem. So I just wanted to let you know that you'd
already used that line a few days ago.)
"That's the thing... it's called _humor_. I think it's a
big part of my character. You know... redundancy... the
repeating of words and phrases incessantly... don't you
get the joke?"
(Not really. Not many people watching the WWO have your
sick, sadistic sense of humor.)
"True, true. I'll have to keep that in mind. And that's
why I put YOU guys on what was supposed to be a permanent
vacation."
(It's a damn good thing I know how to pick locks, Dumars--
you thought you'd gotten rid of us... but we're back! AND
WE'LL BE HAUNTING EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOUR INTERVIEWS!)
[grinning] "We'll just see about that."
[Dumars non-chalantly turns the page of the newspaper...
and we hear an ear-shattering scream... followed by
silence from the rebel narrator section.]
"Ah, much better.
"Sorry to bore all you folks with that--sometimes, things
just CAN'T BE HELPED. But back to the topic at hand--
the rematch.
"I _do_ plan to make this rematch a hell of a party, Loaf--
and you're the guest of honor, bud. Sure, you're up there
in weight... and stand about seven feet... I'm two-eighty
and top out at six-five. But does size REALLY matter? Not
when Steve Dumars is across the ring. 'Cause I'm one crazy
ess-oh-bee when it comes time to 'knuckle-up', as they say.
It's one of my 'other' sides... maybe from those voices in
my head that everybody says I have.
"A one, one and one record isn't something I'm proud of,
Loaf--I'd sure as damn hell LOVE to make it two, one and
one. If I had my way, it'd be four, zero and zero--but
the past is the past... and watch this segue... the future
is Steve Dumars against Loaf, round two, bring-it-to-the-
center-gentlemen, and there goes the bell. And sure, I'm
'Mister Jackass' during these wonderful flashes, but you
all know what it's like in that ring with Steve Dumars
fired up--so maybe that multiple personality thing IS
true. That's like Janus--two sides to the personality.
Weird, man..."
[Dumars fazes off for a second, then gets back to his
"point"--if this interview has one.]
"Wow, that turned into a little more than 'not much to say',
didn't it? It's not like any of you were paying attention
anyway--so I'll let you get back to your fun little exciting
daily lives, and I'll just sit here, reading, and of course,
strategizing... and W^Ánder-Bread--you know I'm looking for
ya, DARLIN', and all the odds, the size disadvantages and
the talking aside--once we get there, it's go time, and I
sure as hell can GO."
[Dumars, quite satisfied with himself, folds up the news
paper and tosses it aside, mumbling something about how
he needs to start buying newspapers in _English_... and
fade.]
" ===================================== "
Detson: Just think Steve after your match you can go out and clean up
my limo. Remember I need to coats of wax and I want the inside vacuumed
completely this time!
Detson: Well we still have this lovely desk to sell, right now the
highest bid is one hundred dollars! Up next the guy who can't work a
fax machine, Ultimate Thrasher.
" ======================================= "
" ===================================== "
ULTIMATE THRASHER
" ===================================== "
*The scene fades in on a German courtroom, an example of stolid, drab
Gothic architecture. A stone-faced judge sits behind his desk, waiting to
hear his next case. The jury box is empty, and only a handful of
spectators with nothing to do are lingering in the room. Suddenly, in
walks Ultimate Thrasher.....well, you can't really tell it's Thrasher just
by looking at him, because he is wearing a long black robe and white
powdered wig for some reason, but from the smirk on the man's face and the
fact that Sweet Melissa (wearing a t-shirt that reads "MY GRANDMA HAS A
HARDER SUPERKICK THAN DETSON" and tight blue jeans) is walking behind him,
you can tell who it is. As Thrasher walks up the aisle, you can notice
the old Metallica logo written on his robe in white chalk. The two of them
walk up to the baliff, who is standing at the side of the judge's desk.
Unexpectedly, the baliff holds out a bible, and Thrasher places his right
hand on it.*
Thrasher: I, the WWO professional wrestler known as ULTIMATE THRASHER, do,
consequently, and heretofore solemnly swear that the WWO World Tag Team
Champions and my partners in the HALL OF FAME, the great Australian WWO
tag team known by the names of SEARCH and DESTROY, shall not interfere in
my Road to the Title tournament match for the purpose of causing any harm
to MARCUS "THUNDER" THORN, one half of the WWO tag team known as
THUNDERSTORM and the wrestler who I have been paired up with for the
opening round of said tournament, on Thursday, the 8th day of April in the
year nineteen-hundred-and-ninety-nine A.D. So let it be written, so let it
be done. I'm sent here by the chosen one. So let it be written, so let it
be...OW!
*Melissa, who has been translating all this into German, steps on
Thrasher's foot, stopping his recital of the lyrics from Metallica's
"Creeping Death". The judge nods at Thrasher and bangs his gavel on the
desk, adjourning the....uh....whatever just happened. Thrasher and Melissa
turn around and walk out of the courtroom, into the lobby of Hamburg's
Criminal Courts Building. Thrasher walks into a phone booth and removes
the powdered wig and robe, and emerges dressed normally (for Thrasher) in
a Jackson Guitars t-shirt and ripped jeans. Thrasher puts his arm around
Melissa's waist, and the two of them walk out of the building, drawing
more than a few curious stares. The couple walks across the street in
front of the building, nearly getting run over by a Porsche 911 going
about 70 miles an hour, and then walks less than half a block over to a
public square, and sits down on a bench.*
Thrasher: What city is this again?
Melissa: Hamburg.
Thrasher: Ah, okay. From the way the people drive, I was wondering if we
hadn't gone back to Chicago. So if we're in Hamburg, what are the people
from here called?
Melissa: *rolls eyes* For the 40th time....Hamburgers.
*Thrasher laughs loudly, slapping his knee and drawing more curious stares
from passers-by. Even the pigeons in the square seem to be looking
curiously at the long-haired foreigner. Finally, Thrasher stops laughing.*
Thrasher: I love that joke....but seriously, we're up in the north of
Germany, right?
Melissa: That's what it says on the map...
Thrasher: Yeah. We're sorta up in like the Minnesota of Germany, right?
Only go about 50 miles that way *Thrasher points to his right, which is
northward* and you'll be in...uh...uh...damn it, I didn't go to a Big Ten
school for nothing....
Melissa: Denmark..
Thrasher: That's it! Okay....I know Germany doesn't have a king anymore,
but doesn't Denmark still have a royal family?
Melissa: Yep...
Thrasher: This is something I really need to know.......would the last
name of the Danish royal family happen to be "Byrson"?
Melissa: *chuckles* How the hell would I know?
Thrasher: Well, because Jesus H. Detson said something the other day about
me "kissing Byrson ass". I don't know anyone by the name of "Byrson", but,
as we all know, I always do my best to spread international goodwill and
fight against the propaganda of evil religious cults such as the Church of
Detson. So, I thought he might have been referring to some little kid from
Denmark, Sweden, Norway or someplace like that who might've been down here
in Deutschland for last week's card. Oh well.
Melissa: Maybe Detson's infamous dyslexia problem came up again, and he
was referring to BRYSON...
Thrasher: Whoa, watch it there. You don't want to throw the name of our
President around like that. *both laugh* Besides.......me kiss BRYSON'S
ass? Man, if that's really the English translation of what Detson was
saying, he's even dumber than I thought! Johnno, explain this to me....how
is me helping someone out against a typical cowardly Showmen four-on-one
attack kissing Bryson's ass? There were two motives there: Number one, I
happen to like Clancy, in spite of his association with a complete and
utter prick like Bryson, and I don't let friends of mine get attacked like
that. Number two, and you should know this by now, I'll take any chance I
can get to be a bug in your balls. So, finally, now all of a sudden, you
WANT the match. Good. But you're whining about the lack of a contract
showing up on your fax machine. Well.....*Thrasher holds up his
hands*....it ain't my fault. I sent it in to the front office in Boston,
they were supposed to send it to you. There's nothing I can do about it
from here if Bryson, Stone or whoever is in charge has their thumb stuck
up their ass. You're a lot closer to Boston right now than I am, and
you've got feet, so why don't you go trot yourself over to the front
office and see what's going on? You'll need the training for when we meet,
that much I can tell you, but I, for one, have something else to worry
about for right now. One week from Thursday, I'm going to be facing a man
who has claimed to have done...
Melissa: *clearing her throat* This is a direct quote from some time
ago....."27 "187's" that he did solo, 36 "O.J.'s", and 15 "Lorena
Bobbitt's" to his name, not to mention the 45 women he raped then
187'ed." Sounds scary, doesn't it?
Thrasher: Thirty-SIX?? You said before it was only 35....
Melissa: Nope, it was 36....
Thrasher: Oh, god, I'm scared....the Genius is going to gruesomely violate
me, then kill me.......hold me....
*Thrasher "sobs" loudly and leans forward onto Melissa, who holds him and
mockingly "comforts" him, until noticing that his face has somehow found
its way into a certain area of her chest, at which point she yanks
Thrasher's head up by the hair.*
Thrasher: *continuing to "sob"* Genius is gonna kill me! I don't wanna be
dead! I haven't even seen the Vikes win the Super Bowl or America's first
all-Megadeth radio station go on the air! This ain't good!
Melissa: Ah, cheer up....Genius' partner has the same last name as the top
legend of all time in the NLWA...
Thrasher: *stops sobbing, but has a horrified look on his face* What? El
Diablo Rojo is back? That doesn't mean we're going to be seeing that
little fairy from that sinking boat movie around, are we?
Melissa: *laughing* No, no. Not El Diablo Rojo. "Blackjack" Bobby Rojo.
Thrasher: Oh yeah, yeah, him. He kicked Keeblor's ass pretty good last
week. But he's in profound danger for this match, as well. Who's ever
walked into the ring wih the Genius and survived?
Melissa: Warren Hayes...
Thrasher: Well, yeah, him...
Melissa: Wuzho....
Thrasher: Mm-hmm...
Melissa: Night Stalker..
*Melissa goes on to name lots of wrestlers, in fact, almost EVERY wrestler
who has been in the WWO over the last year and a half. When she finishes,
the sun has almost set.*
Thrasher: Well, yeah, there's those guys I guess...you know what I've
realized?
Melissa: You have slivers in your ass from sitting here too long?
Thrasher: No, no....Genius ain't as dangerous as he says he is! In fact,
I'd go out on a limb and say that Genius sucks! I think either me or
Marcus Thorn could take out both of those guys by ourselves!
Melissa: I wouldn't say that's going out on a limb. Didn't he lose to
James Wallace once?
Thrasher: *shrugs* I don't know and care less. But I know that that match
is gonna be a hell of a lot of fun for me. There's nothing more fun than
humiliating a piece of trash, a worthless accumulation of dead cells,
someone who's only still around to make Detson look charismatic and
talented by comparison, and a general all-around waste of protoplasm like
the Genius. With, of course, the added bonus of being able to get started
on the path for me to repeat as Road to the Title winner. Yep, next
Thursday is gonna be a REAL good time for the Hall of Fame...
*scene fades out*
" ================================== "
Detson: Yeah you two will have a real fun time planning funeral
arrangements. So you faxed that thing to Boston huh? Funny I'm in Boston
and I haven't heard anything from Bryson or Stone. A word of advice,
faxed documents have to be sent face down.
" ================================== "
Detson: Now we go to Tracy Hudson. (To himself but the camera picks it
up) God is there anyone good on tonight.
" ===================================== "
"THE PRODIGY" TRACY HUDSON
" ===================================== "
[The scene opens up on the fields of a golf course. At first, we see
nobody around except for a random golfer or greenskeeper. The sourse is
silent, with the eception of the birds fling around the area. The day is
particularly nice and sunny. All, seems peaceful.
A few minutes later, we can see a small golfball flying over the large
hill in front of the camera. Softly in the background, we hear what
sounds like music played over an engine.
As the time goes on, the noise becomes steadily louder, until it sounds
like whatever it is is almost on top of us. Then, we see it. A large black
golf cart comes barreling over the hill, catching a little bit of air as
it approaches. As it comes ever so closer, we see the cart in greater
detail. Over the gloss black paintjob are a series of pink polka dots,
which look to have been spray painted on. A rather nice expensive stereo
system is somehow hooked onto the cart. From the large speakers, "The Ugly
American" by Big Black pays loudly, much to the chagrin of any other
golfer in the area. From the antenna of the cart, a voodoo doll, complete
with pins, hangs loosely.
Suddenly, the cart does a huge broadslide in fron of the camera,
revealing the driver, who is on the left side of the cart(hey, this is
Germany). In case you couldn't guess, the driver of this particular
vehicle is Tracy Hudson. As Hudson pulls up to the golfball, his left arm
drops down. And, with one swing, Hudson sends the ball flying off. After
Hudson hits the ball, he turns, and stops, noticing the camera. He then
gets out of the cart, and saunters up to the camera. Hudson is wearing a
buton up Hawaiian shirt, to go with a pair of black vinyl pants, and a
pair of twenty eyed Doc Martens, with the old Russian hammer and sickle
logo emblazoned on each toepiece. Hudson is also wearing a pair of Ray-Ban
shades.
The camera focuses on the caddy, who turns out to be WWO freelance
reporter, Dan Ericks. Then the camera goes back to Hudson, who decides to
speak.]
HUDSON: So, I was at my analyst's office the other day, and I told him I
was beginning to have anxiety attacks. He tells me that my problem is with
my lifestyle. He tells me that I lead a stressful lifestyle, and I can
lower my stress by taking up a hobby, such as golf. So, here we are at
this lovely golf course taking in a nice day at the links! And to think
that all my friends told me this game was boring! Now granted, I'm not
much of an expert at this, but I have to say that it's pretty damn fun!
Of course, all of my fellow golfers are scared of me, but who cares?
Just frees everything up for me. Hey, Fatass! Which club do I use for my
next shot?
[Ericks walks out of the cart, and stands next to Hudson. A look of
disgust creeps across Hudson's face.]
HUDSON: Hey, Cartman, don't stand so goddamn close! You haven't bathed in
three days! You smell like a dead cat!
[Ericks walks until he is about 15 feet away. As he passes the camera, you
can hear him mutter "@$$hole" under his breath.]
HUDSON: Well, Ericks, ya still haven't answered me. Which friggin' club
should I use?
ERICKS: Well, why not just use the damn sledgehammer!
HUDSON: [stratches his chin in contemplation] Hey, you're right! I should
use the sledgehammer!
[Hudson thens turns back to the camera.]
HUDSON: But, since I have this camera geek with me, I suppose I should
enlighten the fans out there about what I've actually been up to in the
last few days.
Well, first, I went into Superstar Showcase, and showed everybody in
that damn arena that I'm a man of my word. I told them I'd kick that dildo
Shade's ass up and down, and all around the ring. And by God, that's
exactly what I did!
But, as you all know, all did not go to well for the greatest wrestling
team ever. Yeah, Rax and I won, and that's cool and all. But Loaf, is
still pissing and moaning about what happened with him and Dumars. I can
understand that. You too would be a more than a little upset if you lost
to a two-bit dweeb like Dumars. But, that really isn't a big issue.
The real here is with Almost Better. First of all, Vanilla Ice Stalka,
as you may well know; I've pounded your ass about as many times as Tyrone
Hayes pounds his sister in a week! Believe me boy, you keep pulling crap
like you did on Showcase, and I'll be the first in line to do it again!
So, you had best get this idea out of your damn head that you're even
remotely good enough to defeat the greatest wrestling team ever. 'Cause
I'll tell you this: The next time you and your little buddy Snow cross our
paths, I can guarantee that we'll be kickin' your ass so hard that you
won't be able to rump each other for a month!
The next thing I have to talk about is Apex. Yeah, Apex, I heard you
ranting your lobotomized head off at Showcase. I heard you talk about how
you 'dispute' my win. I heard you bitch about how I won because I used
underhanded tactics. I heard you say that I had said that I won cleanly.
First of all, I never once said I won clean. Of course I cheated! I'm
THE BAD GUY, remember? It's in the contract I signed with Satan. If I
don't fulfill my quota of dirty tricks per month, I lose my TV priveleges
for a week.
Then, there's this whole challenge to a rematch. Well, I'm afraid that
just ain't gonna happen at the moment. Why the hell should I have another
match with you? Why the hell should I have to deal with a freak who's so
upset about having a slight bit of tarnish on an otherwise perfect record?
Christ Apex, why don't you just live with the fact that you lost!
Everybody else does, so why not you? Oh well, I guess that's your problem.
However, I'll tell you what. See, I've just decided to change my mind.
I've decided to try to get some time freed up to do that rematch with you.
You wanna know why? It's really simple. See, you're one of the WWO's 'good
boys'. You're the guy everybody cheers for. You're the guy who's gonna get
consideration for some title shots in the future. And you know something?
It's gonna feel damn good to beat your sorry ass again, and prove once and
for all, that I'm the numero uno meal ticket of the WWO!
But I'll warn ya right now. The rematch won't be as nice. It's gonna be
ugly. It's gonna be cruel. It's gonna be bloody. And, afterward, it's
gonna be you who is lying on the ground whimpering like a bitch while I
get the win and the chicks! [Hudson walks to the back of his cart, and
pulls a sledgehammer out of his golf bag. He then returns to his original
position in front of the camera.]
HUDSON: Oh, you thought I was done, didn't you? Oh no, I ain't done
talkin'. Not by a long shot! Now, I have another problem. See, while I was
in the back celebrating my impressive win over that mook Shade, somebody
attacked me. Now, in all honesty, I really didn't see my attacker's face.
However, I have a pretty good idea who it was.
You see, A few weeks back, my boy Gesner had a few problems with one
Lord Keeblor. Another man who had some problems with the Kookie King was
Rusty Bowman. Now, seeing that Bowman was also attacked by this 'mystery
assailant', and I was the only one in the back when I was attacked, and
the fact that I really have no enemies to speak of [laughs], it could have
only been you, Keeblor. Oops! I just gave it away, didn't I? Oh, I am so
sorry!
Now, Keeblor, I'll tell you what. Just to show that I ain't mad at ya,
I'm gonna give you a chance to apologize. Next week, I'll be in the ring
to get your apology. If you don't show up, I'm gonna just assume that
you're a little coward, and I'll be hunting for ya. It's that simple. You
either apologize, or I kick your ass. Iyou've got some time to make up
your mind. I suggest you do so.
Anyway, I gotta go. I have to finish out this hole. Come on, fatass!
We're leaving!
[Ericks shrugs his shoulders, and gets in the cart. Hudson follows behind
him. As he climbs into the driver's seat of the cart. He swings the
sledgehammer in a circle a few times. He then sppeds off towards his ball,
tearing up the fairway as he does.]
" ===================================== "
Detson: You know for hanging around a bunch of idiots he's not such a
bad guy. Just remember Keebs is mine then he can be all yours. Last
chance to bid on this finely crafted table, up next...Tim Beck.
" ===================================== "
"THE GOD DAMN SHOW" TIM BECK
" ===================================== "
[We fade into what is obviously a weight room, and immediately
hear a grunting, and then weights clanking together, then repeating.
The weight room is a nice, small room, with beige wall paper, and
everything from exercise bikes to weight sets.]
[Tim Beck is laying down on the bench pressing unit, benching about
one-hundred and fifty pounds, and 'repping' it with ease. He wears
no shirt and sweat drips down his body and pours from his forehead.
When he notices the camerea he reps once more, then sits up, wiping
his forehead with his hand.]
TB: Hard work. Determination. Work Ethic. Ya see that Ric Studd?
That's what it takes to make a cham-peen. Studd, when I look at
you, I see greed. It's okay to want more, kid, but if ya ain't gonna
work at it like TB does......
You can forget it. Ya know what I think 'bout, day in, and day out,
Studd? I think about winning some gold here in the goold ole' WWO.
You think about money and fame, and how ya can get more. That's
all you want in this match, you don't care about the sport. You just
want the fame. Me, I'm in it for the respect. I don't give a damn if
I go zip and seventeen in my next seventeen matches here in the WWO,
if I get beat fairly each time, and I hold my own, I've earned respect for
myself, and that's what I do anything for. The confidence in myself. And
when you're good as me......
You can get over-confident. But, kid, until ya can step to the ring, and
take on Tim Beck, and pin him for a one, two, three, squarely and
fairly......
I suggest you work.
Studd, you act like ya on top of the world, when in all reality, you are
like a nail......
And this Thursday......
[A wink.]
Ya get hammered.
Studd, ya seem to think you're gonna be able to sit back and beat Tim
Beck with ease 'cuz he's the new kid in town. Well, Studd, think it.Go
'head and think that ya got Tim Beck beat with ease. Come down to
that ring, this Thursday Night, strutting like your somebody......
'Cuz that'll make it all the more fun for good ole' TB to put your ass six
feet under....
[A smirk.]
....kid.
[Fade out.]
" ===================================== "
Detson: Did he say Ric has been saying stuff? Did he call Ric kid?
What's this guy 5'2"? Oh and if he's heard Ric say anything tell him to
call the FBI he's been MIA for about two months. Yes caller go ahead.
Caller#3: Yeah I'll give you one hundred dollars and a pack of Big Red
for that desk.
Detson: Sir you have a deal!!! Jude St. Claire is up...
[Detson pauses and shakes his head with a smile]
Detson: Sorry sometimes he confuses me. Mike Sebastian is next.
" ===================================== "
"MONEY DRIVEN" MIKE SEBASTIAN
" ===================================== "
[The scene slowly fades in upon a generic WWO interview area. Current
WWO Television champion, Mike Sebastian, stands before a black
background, with the WWO logo embedded upon its center. The man is
clad in his wrestling garb, still holding possession of the Television
championship. The strap hangs at the man's side, but he soon slings
it over his right shoulder, smirks, and speaks.]
MS: This time last week, would you have said I'd be standing here as
the World Television champion?
[He pauses, perhaps so that those watching can form their own
response.]
MS: No, don't lie -- you know damn well that going into my matchup
with Chris Johnson on last week's Showcase, you had me fingered
to go down in defeat to the "Future". Me standing here as champion
_after_ the March 25th Showcase... it wasn't supposed to happen.
I shouldn't be standing here like I am.
[Mike gives his best effort towards a smile.]
MS: But yet again, it looks like I proved you wrong. It's not the
first time, and it certainly won't be the last. Each opponent
I'm given, you pick him. Each man that's slated to face me, all
of a sudden, they're the new "hot thing" in the WWO...
Why?
Because one of these days, one of "Money Driven's" opponents
might be in the midst of a lucky streak, and give me my first loss
here in the World Wrestling Organization...
[He pauses.]
MS: But, who's it going to be? It was supposed to be Roundhouse,
wasn't it? The lord and savior, Roundhouse, am I right? The man
you all see as your knight in shining armor was supposed to be
the guy to put me down for three. I mean, what's there to think
about? Roundhouse... Sebastian... what's the mystery? "Roundhouse
will mop the floor with him", you said. Well, you know something?
He didn't. 'Ole 'House has but one flaw on his track record,
and it came at the hands of the tee-vee champ.
Next?
[Sebastian takes a moment to collect his thoughts.]
MS: Tracy Hudson -- you remember your match with "M.D."? If you
don't, I really can't say I'm surprised. You know, with you fading
in and out of consciousness like you were...
Sure, now people see you as this re-focused and re-dedicated man.
But see, when you had your shot at me, you came up a bit short, it
seems. And well, I would normally go about boasting and bragging
about my victory over you. But assuming as how just about
everybody else in the English, and now German-speaking world has
pin your shoulders to the mat, it's not really something to phone
home about, you know?
But nice try, Trace. You did your best -- whatever that is.
[He now stomachs that smile.]
MS: So you see, WWO, you've sent me your best. And I've sent them
to first-aid. The lucky ones, at least. Guys like Victor
Braun... Ikonoclast... remember them? They didn't make it out
alive. So no, it's not just a witty catch phrase -- I _did_
hand them an early retirement.
And with that in mind, who still wants a shot at the champ?
You've all seen what I do with my competition. The question
you must ask yourself is if the ends justify the means, and if
the rewards are worth the struggle.
Chris Johnson -- what do you say?
[Mike gives his belt a quick slap.]
MS: You want another round with "Money Driven"? I'm not saying you've
earned it, or even deserve another go at me. But the fact is,
until I have you down on that mat for a three count from Calhoun,
I'm seen as this "paper" champion.
So Chris, _I_, the _champion_ am challenging _you_, the
_challenger_!
You want a match? You want a fight?
[A nod of the head by the champion.]
MS: I'll give you a fight... I'll give you a damn good fight.
[Sebastian begins to head off camera, but halts and returns quickly.]
MS: Just tell me one thing, Chris...
[There's that trademark arrogant grin.]
MS: ... who's going to be reading your eulogy the day after?
[A small chuckle is heard as he heads off camera. It is followed by
a deafening silence, as fans are left seeing the familiar WWO banner
on the black curtain. And soon, the camera fades.]
" ===================================== "
Detson: Great, two talentless champions to end the show. Just role the
clip.
" ===================================== "
"LATIN LIGHTNING" AL PEREZ
" ===================================== "
(Scene: We are in Hamburg. The streets are full of bustle and the city is
alive with people in the early evening. The camera switches to a
restaurant in Downtown Hamburg. A black BMW limo pulls up to the
restaurant and the doorman opens the door.)
(Out comes Al Perez and his fiancÂe Lisa Monroe and LL's Friend Terry
Tronson. LL is wearing a dark blue Armani suit and a gray sweater. Lisa
is wearing a blue dress that accentuates her beauty. Terry is wearing
black dress pants, silk shirt and tie and a black leather jacket. A WWO
camera crew meets them.)
Producer: can we get a few comments from you on next week's match?
LL: Sure. Hello.
Producer: You and Terry face your arch nemesis Jude St. Claire and
Romulus. If Jude wins he gets a shot at your International People's
title. Do you have any thoughts?
LL: Sure I always do.
Jude, I wanted to have you and that coward Johnny Detson in the cage
but since he chickened out, Romulus is just as good.
Let's look at the record.
We have fought in 2 matches. I beat you both times.
Producer: well actually the record shows that Jude beat you once.
LL: Yeah I know the record but that was because Detson took out my bud
and laid me out with a TV camera. That was real slick. But then again
that's the only way they could have beat me.
But as I was saying.
Jude tried to have his hired goon Colossus take me out. I took him out.
I have fought the WWO Champion to the limit. I lost but unlike all of
his other opponents I am still here and besides I am the IP champion.
You are not.
(Lisa gets closer to him and Terry stands by his partner.)
Now I will tell you why you will never get my belt.
There is this little thing known as character. Being courageous and
doing things the right way.
That's why I signed the cage match. So that way we would have the both
of you and there would be no way out. Or no way anyone can interfere.
The only way to win is to defeat one team and get a pin or submission
out of one of us.
That's right Jude, you or Romulus will have to pin Terry or myself.
Quite frankly I don't think you can son.
Terry: People are saying all over the WWO that I don't stand a chance
against the two of you but. That may be but you have to remember. I may
just be an independent wrestler and will never get into the WWO but
boys before you put your bets on Jude and Romulus remember a few things
about the Hot Property.
I am the only man in the WWO to pin Fury for a 3 count. I put Harbinger
out of the WWO. I am the people's champion. And I have kicked your
sorry a** twice. Very few people can say that.
Terry: Romulus you are the bodyguard to Jude but I have one clear
advantage.
Al and I are friends. Best friends. We have fought each other in the
past and now we fight together. Romulus you are very well paid I am
sure but nothing Jude pays you can compare to loyalty. I am coming after you
and I may go down but I will go down fighting and I will hurt you. Then
my friend here gets to work.
LL: Teaching you Jude that you are just not good enough to beat me. Not
now not ever.
Next Thursday night the Richboy and Stooge go down
(Both men sound off with LL's famous slogan)
LATIN STYLE!!!!
" ===================================== "
Detson: These boys are sadly out of there mind. When did Fury get
pinned, in a tag match? Hardly counts. Oh and you fell off a truck to
get your gold while Jude will beat you senseless to get his. We all
know this is your way of holding that belt a little longer. Let's all
pause for a moment to think of the beating the Perez will receive next
week.
[Detson closes his eyes for about five seconds with a huge grin on his
face]
Detson: Well that's all the time we have for this evening. You're all
welcome for being able to watch me, goodnight!
[ Detson gets up and walks off stage as the band plays Heartbreaker by
Pat Benetar. The picture fades to black followed by...]
888 888 888 888 .d88888b.
888 o 888 888 o 888 d88P" "Y88b
888 d8b 888 888 d8b 888 888 888
888 d888b 888 888 d888b 888 888 888
888d88888b888 888d88888b888 888 888
88888P Y88888 88888P Y88888 888 888
8888P Y8888 8888P Y8888 Y88b" "d88P
888P P888 888P Y888 "Y88888P"
(c) 1999 World Wrestling Organization Productions
WWO -- Simply the Best and planning on staying there.
--
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Tommy Boy: I've got a plan
Richard: YIKES!
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