SFZero
League Member
Tuesdays at the Global X-Treme Wrestling offices in Los Angeles are a very hectic time. Preparations for next week's show is already beginning, and everyone is determined to top last week's event.
GXW employees mill about the cluttered hallways and cubicles, a rogue's gallery of backstage workers and wrestlers meeting with the front office.
The camera passes through a slightly cracked door that reads "COMMISSIONER," the office of JP.
Inside, Commissioner JP sits, leaning back in his chair with his booted feet resting on his oaken desk which holds a huge, random mess of papers. Three men sit opposite him on uncomfortable looking wooden stools.
The man on the far right is clad in a pair of red wrestling tights with gold boots and a black hooded sweatshirt. His dyed red hair is tied back in a high ponytail that bobs as his head moves.
The man in the middle is black and has a shaved head with a barely visible tattoo running down the back of his skull. He wears a FUBU jersey and a baggy pair of jeans.
The final man on the far left looks to be in his late forties, his head a mass of wild black hair standing straight up. He wears red contact lenses and a black t-shirt that reads "YOUR SOUL IS FORFEIT!"
JP rocks back in his chair, tapping his fingers together, addressing the men. He turns first toward the red-haired man.
JP: I think we might have a spot for you on the second house show next month. What was your name again?
1st Man: The Scarlet Swan.
JP: Not anymore. You will now be known as Buttplex.
Buttplex: But...that's kinda...
JP: Don't call us, we'll call you.
Buttplex stands up dejectedly and begins walking out.
JP: Oh, and Buttplex, a rule of thumb. We don't wear tights outside the ring. People will think you're weird.
Now that the first man is gone, Commissioner JP turns to the black man. JP stares at him for a moment blankly before speaking.
JP: I'm sorry, what did you want again?
2nd Man: Uh...a job. Isn't that what most people who see you here want?
JP: Don't get fresh with me, Arsenio. What the hell is your name anyway?
2nd Man: Well, I was thinking of going by The--
JP: Nah, too eighties. What about CrackaNinja?
CrackaNinja: What?!
JP: Excellent. We'll call you if we need someone to fill a commercial break...er empty spot, CrackaNinja.
CrackaNinja: Son of a...
The rest of CrackaNinja's sentence is lost as he exits the room, shaking his head. Finally, JP turns to the last man who appears to be gargling some red liquid and rolling his eyes back in his head.
JP: And you are?
The third man spits the red liquid out of his mouth up into the air where it rains back down on him, covering him with red streaks.
3rd Man: I AM DICK CLARK THE DESTROYER!!!
JP: Hey...that's a good name. I like it. What's your style?
Dick Clark the Destroyer: WHAT?!?!
JP: You know, your wrestling style?
Dick Clark the Destroyer: Well, usually I just hit my opponent several times in the face before ripping out their spine as the ring announcer shouts "FATALITY!"
JP: I love it. Here, let me write down the address of our next show. It'll be at 1111 Bahruck Street, Istanbul, Turkey. Got it?
Dick Clark the Destroyer: AFFIRMATIVE!
JP: Great, see ya there...
Dick Clark the Destroyer gets up and walks out, slamming the door behind him, leaving JP by himself.
JP: ...freak. I swear, this place is turning into a damn freak show.
Suddenly, there is a knock at the door. After a "Come in" by JP, the door opens and in steps none other than Victoria McCave.
JP: Well, hello there Vicky. What can I do ya for?
McCave winces at the poor attempt at a joke and sits down in one of the stools previously occupied by CrackaNinja.
McCave: I was doing some digging around, and I think I might know who's been sending you those threatening messages.
JP: Oh?
McCave: Think about it JP, who would have the perfect motive for--
JP: Do you like Italian?
McCave raises an eyebrow, struck off guard by JP's sudden interjection.
McCave: Um...yeah, I guess.
JP: How about we talk about it over dinner?
McCave: I don't know, JP. It's not that I don't want to, it's just--
JP: So that's a yes?
McCave: Um...sure. Why not.
JP: Excellent, see you then.
JP winks at McCave as she gets up and exits, looking confused. JP watches her leave, a thin smile spreading across his face as she closes the door behind her. He then enjoys a brief moment of silence, laying back in his desk chair when suddenly the phone rings.
JP: Yeah, whattaya want? (Pause) Ooh, of course, I'll be suuuure to answer the phone more politely next time, your majesty. (Pause) You what? (Pause) You're going to WHAT? (Pause) Wow...I gotta say, I didn't think you were capable of something like this. (Pause) Yes. (Pause) I'll back you on this. (Pause) Well, it's so gutsy that I can't help but respect it. (Pause) Anything I can do, let me know. (Pause) Yes, I'll keep my eyes open...sir.
Fin.
GXW employees mill about the cluttered hallways and cubicles, a rogue's gallery of backstage workers and wrestlers meeting with the front office.
The camera passes through a slightly cracked door that reads "COMMISSIONER," the office of JP.
Inside, Commissioner JP sits, leaning back in his chair with his booted feet resting on his oaken desk which holds a huge, random mess of papers. Three men sit opposite him on uncomfortable looking wooden stools.
The man on the far right is clad in a pair of red wrestling tights with gold boots and a black hooded sweatshirt. His dyed red hair is tied back in a high ponytail that bobs as his head moves.
The man in the middle is black and has a shaved head with a barely visible tattoo running down the back of his skull. He wears a FUBU jersey and a baggy pair of jeans.
The final man on the far left looks to be in his late forties, his head a mass of wild black hair standing straight up. He wears red contact lenses and a black t-shirt that reads "YOUR SOUL IS FORFEIT!"
JP rocks back in his chair, tapping his fingers together, addressing the men. He turns first toward the red-haired man.
JP: I think we might have a spot for you on the second house show next month. What was your name again?
1st Man: The Scarlet Swan.
JP: Not anymore. You will now be known as Buttplex.
Buttplex: But...that's kinda...
JP: Don't call us, we'll call you.
Buttplex stands up dejectedly and begins walking out.
JP: Oh, and Buttplex, a rule of thumb. We don't wear tights outside the ring. People will think you're weird.
Now that the first man is gone, Commissioner JP turns to the black man. JP stares at him for a moment blankly before speaking.
JP: I'm sorry, what did you want again?
2nd Man: Uh...a job. Isn't that what most people who see you here want?
JP: Don't get fresh with me, Arsenio. What the hell is your name anyway?
2nd Man: Well, I was thinking of going by The--
JP: Nah, too eighties. What about CrackaNinja?
CrackaNinja: What?!
JP: Excellent. We'll call you if we need someone to fill a commercial break...er empty spot, CrackaNinja.
CrackaNinja: Son of a...
The rest of CrackaNinja's sentence is lost as he exits the room, shaking his head. Finally, JP turns to the last man who appears to be gargling some red liquid and rolling his eyes back in his head.
JP: And you are?
The third man spits the red liquid out of his mouth up into the air where it rains back down on him, covering him with red streaks.
3rd Man: I AM DICK CLARK THE DESTROYER!!!
JP: Hey...that's a good name. I like it. What's your style?
Dick Clark the Destroyer: WHAT?!?!
JP: You know, your wrestling style?
Dick Clark the Destroyer: Well, usually I just hit my opponent several times in the face before ripping out their spine as the ring announcer shouts "FATALITY!"
JP: I love it. Here, let me write down the address of our next show. It'll be at 1111 Bahruck Street, Istanbul, Turkey. Got it?
Dick Clark the Destroyer: AFFIRMATIVE!
JP: Great, see ya there...
Dick Clark the Destroyer gets up and walks out, slamming the door behind him, leaving JP by himself.
JP: ...freak. I swear, this place is turning into a damn freak show.
Suddenly, there is a knock at the door. After a "Come in" by JP, the door opens and in steps none other than Victoria McCave.
JP: Well, hello there Vicky. What can I do ya for?
McCave winces at the poor attempt at a joke and sits down in one of the stools previously occupied by CrackaNinja.
McCave: I was doing some digging around, and I think I might know who's been sending you those threatening messages.
JP: Oh?
McCave: Think about it JP, who would have the perfect motive for--
JP: Do you like Italian?
McCave raises an eyebrow, struck off guard by JP's sudden interjection.
McCave: Um...yeah, I guess.
JP: How about we talk about it over dinner?
McCave: I don't know, JP. It's not that I don't want to, it's just--
JP: So that's a yes?
McCave: Um...sure. Why not.
JP: Excellent, see you then.
JP winks at McCave as she gets up and exits, looking confused. JP watches her leave, a thin smile spreading across his face as she closes the door behind her. He then enjoys a brief moment of silence, laying back in his desk chair when suddenly the phone rings.
JP: Yeah, whattaya want? (Pause) Ooh, of course, I'll be suuuure to answer the phone more politely next time, your majesty. (Pause) You what? (Pause) You're going to WHAT? (Pause) Wow...I gotta say, I didn't think you were capable of something like this. (Pause) Yes. (Pause) I'll back you on this. (Pause) Well, it's so gutsy that I can't help but respect it. (Pause) Anything I can do, let me know. (Pause) Yes, I'll keep my eyes open...sir.
Fin.
