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M.W. Grossard vs. Cameron Cruise


League Member
Jan 1, 2000
Boston and other places.
M"W"TV generation...

(FADEIN: 50 Cent and Eminem are walking home from a VMA afterparty...a cooler one than MWG got invited to. Madonna was there. So was James van Der Beak, Eliza Dushku, Jane's Addiction featuring Carmen Electra, and Adam Carson from AFI...50 Cent carries with him
his MTV award for Most Unorthodox wrestler...)

EMINEM: Yo fiddy, I copped some dy-no-mite sh#t from some legless cat in a mask when I wuz in the hottub with the Olsen twins. (removes a bottle of Stacking 2.3 from his jacket pocket) You wanna hit a strip joint 'n bump it off some hoe's ass?

50 CENT: Oh, that's alright Marshal. I'm actually really tired. I just wanna go home, take a bubble bath, and get a good nights rest.

EMINEM: F(bleep) that sh(bleep) b!tch. You horn a handfula these 'n you wont be doin' any sleepin' fo a week 'n a half.

50 CENT: Oh. (Em hands 50 the bottle) Well, I suppose I could use the extra time to work on my next album...oooh, and finish that wonderful Virginia Woolf novel.

EMINEM: Word b!tch. Woolf iza mad bomb digity fresh.

50 CENT: Oh, Marshall. (chuckles warmly)

(A "Charles" Manson family esq. van complete with spray painted flowers and happy faces pulls up along the curb next to Fiddy and Eminem...)


50 CENT: Do you know those people Marshal? Should we say hello?

(The Van door swings open. A lanky chap in a black Ski mask, sundress, and combat boots leaps out and lets loose soul rupturing warcry. Eminem books it down the block...)

50 CENT: Um, yes? can I help you?


(MWG pulls a pair of smith and westens out from under his skirt and shoots Fiddy ten times.)

50: OW OW OW OW OW OW OW OW OW OW!!! (collapses against a building 'n drops the moonman. MWG grabs it and hops back into the van, screaming "GO GO GO GO GO!!!"...)

(CUEUP: "Atomic" by Blondie...)

(CUTTO: The tattered, piss, poop, and cum stained "GLCW" logo banner leftover from the Jean Rabesque segments, now with "GLCW" scribbled
out and a crude "MTV" logo painted over it in red...MWG's inna wedding dress and blonde wig sitting on a steel chair, snickering
triumphantly, flanked by Abby the Nazi in a tuxedo polishing MW's new VMA with her mouth...Bostwick B. Maximized occasionally passes into the shot shouting buzzwords and vague commands into a headset phone...)

"the American Idol"
"the hardcore legend"
"the surreal"
"pop culture whore"
M.W. GROSSARD: There's so many people I should thank...I suppose first off would be myself, and um...the industry executives who
closed their eyes and claimed they were pretending I was a chick...I guess that's all. F(bleep) the rest of you...

To my next opponent...who is way too ugly to truly be the child of Cameron Diaz and Tom Cruise...You've had one match that I
know of and lost, but don't sweat it baby cakes....I lost my first GLCW match too, and look at me now. In terms of sheer notoriety,
lets face it, a VMA is worth about 30 of any wrasslin' championship belt. I'm hands down the biggest celebrity in this company. Which makes it more than a little ridiculous than I'm matched against you, but I've got better things to complain about. AIDS in Africa. teenage pregnancy. Racism. The Oxy conten addiction epidemic. The Real World...er um, I mean True Life...ah, I mean...Y'know,
enlightened sorta junk that proves I'm not as phony as people say I am...

I know you're thinking of this as some sort of opportunity. You're supposed to be the young and hopeless, lost and I know this upstart
rookie with nothing to loose. you're thinking since you work your ass off and take your bumps and are polite and docile when dealing with the management you'll make it big someday. Except you've got plenty to loose. Your health and dignity for example. You're going to find out far too late Horatio Alger is not merely dead, but he was a pugly mother to boot...

See...it's possible you've been paired off against me because you deserve the chance to prove yourself against a celebrated veteran.
It's more likely everyone with any political influence in this company is afraid of me...and you being stupid, desperate, and lacking
a say in the matter anyway, are my opponent by de fault...(cackles) Okay, so I lied about being enlightened. I don't care that you're so beneath me, because you're going to make me to look even better than usual without me working very hard. It's not that I'm taking you lightly, I'll f(bleep) anything that moves, it's just that well...I mean, c'mon. What the hell do you want me to say? I'm like this totally big time celebrity, and you're like, just some dood. You could be anybody. You might as well not exist. Cease to be. Disapear....enter your nasty auntie M.W., here to apply that logic...

oh, and by the way...Even though I video taped myself shooting 50 cent, I wont go to jail...For one because obviously I didn't kill him, and once I'm arrested I'm going to blame the whole thing on newgrounds.com for giving me the idea. And I'm wicked famous. So it's not like I could ever go to jail...

ABBY: (removes award from back of throat) killing black people should be legal anyway.

MWG:...He's black?


I spoil things.
Jan 1, 2000
Merced, California USA
Too much TV....

(Fadein to a private GYM somewhere in local Peoria, Illinois. CUTTO: The outside of the treadmill part of the gym where Cruise, dressed in warm-up pants, a sleeveless undershirt and tennis shoes and a black bandana, turns the corner. Walking facing the camera, he wipes off some sweat from the previous run, sees the camera, and shows a look of grimace.)

CRUISE: You know, for someone who's s'pose to be a top contender in this league...you sure know how to completely turn off an audience. Matter of fact, if it weren't for my intent on trying to prepare for this match by watching the promo...I would have since changed the channel after Madonna and Britney.

You're a celebrated veteran.


Pass that (bleep!) on to somebody else who gives a damn (waves off)...or your freaks....guns...whatever. I, unlike you, didn't come here for a job, I was offered one on a silver platter. Why? Because I've paid my dues, kid. I don't *need* to take on some Bullsh*tter who thinks his stuff is top notch, when I can just as well occupy my time around here training for someone else worth a damn.

Then why sign the papers then?? Hell, I give everyone else a benefit of the doubt, why not you? Believe me, I would rather spend time here training for my next match just as much as you would trying on warddrobes for Dennis Rodman, but a shot is a shot.

That's okay though, because whether or not you pay attention to me, or spray paint crap all over your van, it doesn't matter to me. Because I guarantee you this Mister hippity-bippity-blip-blam-boom-skippity-boo-bop star....if you're not ready at the bell....well...it sucks to be you.

The pre-game clock is ticking....the only I'm lookin' for is whether or not you're ready for me, and believe me, the look in your eyes will tell me.

(wipes himself one more time before opening the entrance door.)

You're the biggest celebrity of the company eh?

Well then it's showtime Hotshot....I won't allow for any second takes, and no deleted scenes.

It's my show....and if you don't perform....you're fired.

(Cruise slashes his throat and walks out.)


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