Hobo Nick: Jalie, what will happen to this inseparable group of friends now that the show’s been cancelled?

Jalie Thomas: Ehh... It’s been cancelled for a while now. But I guess, they all go to bad actor heaven. If you want. All the shitty actors’ll be there. Then they can... Go over shitty scripts for even shittier sequels. Like Rambo 328743857374657 and Rocky 723847356463474... And then come up with a sitcom called Rambo meets Rocky.

Hobo Nick: I’d watch that.

Jalie Thomas: I’ll bet you would. Are you ready to go? We’ve got that press conference thing in Seattle.

Nick gets to his feet, grunting about the media being parasites. Jalie twists open her beer and gazes at the television as Kelly runs off crying.

Jalie Thomas: Heh, she’s probably pregnant.

Seth Thomas: You like to think the worst of people, don’t you?

Seth steps off the stair landing and into the living room as Jalie nods in agreement.

Seth Thomas: Promise me you’ll keep your temper at this conference? We don’t want another Chaz incident. How many times did you run that poor fucking reporter over, anyway? And LAW never sued.

Jalie Thomas: I can’t promise anything... But I can tell you that I might try. A little. Maybe.

Hobo Nick comes parading down the stairs. His hair is slicked back into a ponytail and he’s dressed in a navy blue pinstripe suit. His beard now sticks out like a sore thumb - but Nick never shaves. In his left hand is [gasp] the Book of Mormon. The bible that makes their own rules. You know, like the Church of England. The King wanted to get rid of his wife so he invented a new religion where it was okay. Come on people, don’t you remember your history classes? Anyway...Jalie gets up from the couch, staring at Nick in horror.

Jalie Thomas: They got to you, didn’t they?

Hobo Nick: Relax, Lielee. It’s all a ploy to get them to think i’ve converted. Seth here came up with the idea. Something about infiltrating their ranks and destroying their organization in a covert mission.

Jalie looks at Seth oddly.

Jalie Thomas: You’ve been playing Splinter Cell again, haven’t you?

Seth grins and picks up he and Jalie’s duffle bags, sitting by the door. Nick throws the door open and the three head out to the car as the scene fades.

.Dos.

Voice-Over: Are you a man between the ages of 5 months and 93.6 years?

A man walks onto the screen wearing a business suit, holding his hands in front of him.

Voice Over: Are you experiencing a mid-life crisis because of it? Well no more. There IS something that can help. The doctors at our F.U.B.A.R (Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition) center for medical rehabilitation, have developed something that can help.

The man holds out his right hand to show a tiny yellow pill.

Voice Over: Tremlatin. Fast relief of all mid-life crisis symptoms. You DON'T have to feel like a man with PMS, anymore.

The man pops the pill into his mouth, before flashing a winning smile. The voice over returns, speaking far more quickly this time.

Voice Over: Side effects may include, loss of sex drive, loss of hearing, loss of eyesight, bone deterioration, hair loss, toe fungus, suicidal tendencies, homicidal tendencies, diarrhea, constipation, vomiting, severe hallucinations, headaches, and death. Talk to your doctor before taking Tremlatin, to see if it's right for you.

.Tres.

The scene fades in to a large conference room. The stage up front is equipped with wooden tables and microphones. The seating just happens to be steel chairs. How thoughtful. Beyond the stage we have rows upon rows of seats, slowly being filled by the massive cesspool we so lovingly refer to as “the media”. Camera crews are beginning to set up around the room, focusing their lights on the row of tables on stage. As the reporters finish getting seated, their prey begins to appear on stage. Cody Carson, along with Jalie and Seth Thomas walk on stage followed by the only ewo staffer available... Jimmy Stryker. He doesn’t look too happy to be there. Then again, none of them do. Jalie slumps down in her chair with a pissed off look on her face. Seth and Cody take a seat on either side of her, as Stryker attempts to sit down by Seth.

Seth Thomas: I don’t think so, you fucking fruit...

Jimmy frowns, looking at the only available chair; next to Carson. He grumbles and scoots it to the very end of the table before sitting down in a huff. The final lights are adjusted, and the last reporter takes his seat as questioning begins. A man in the third row from the front stands and removes his hat. Jalie leans over to Carson, whispering.

Jalie Thomas: Dude, what the fuck was this about, anyway?

Cody Carson: No fuckin’ clue. But then again, I had six shots of JD this morning.

Jalie looks impressed, yet jealous at the same time.

Reporter: First of all, Mr. Thomas... There’s rumour of you signing an endorsement deal with Viagra. Is this true?

Seth Thomas: I believe that was Mr. Stryker over here.

Jimmy flashes Seth a glance that couldn’t scare a six year old. Cody smirks.

Cody Carson: Truth hurts, eh?

Reporter: Alright, well, Mrs. Thomas... There has been speculation about the three years you spent in the Atascadero mental facility. Some still believe that you were responsible for the murder of your fiancee. What do you have to say to them?

Jalie blinks, looking as though she’d like nothing more than to rip his insides out and use him as a jack-o-lantern.

Jalie Thomas: I say... If they think i’m capable of murdering him, then what the fuck do they think i’d do to them for bringing it up?

She smiles, as the reporter looks relatively uncomfortable. Finally he sits down. This time a female reporter stands just as Hobo Nick dashes on stage. He slams his hands down on the table, gasping for air. Seth pours him a glass of water and hands it to him. Nick takes it, looking at the female reporter and raising an eyebrow. He winks at her, licking the rim of his glass seductively. She looks disgusted and turns to Cody.

Reporter: Ehh, Mr. Carson. Machtan Aomori has stated that he intends to go after your International championship. Are you worried at all?

Cody Carson: Please. Superstar of the month, remember? Fuck no i’m not worried. Aomori has not earned his stripes yet. Granted, he doesn’t completely suck-

Jalie Thomas: That slots already filled by Dirk Phoenix.

Cody Carson: Exactly. And uh.. What the fuck is his name? George of the... No, Tarzan. His name is Tarzan, for christs sake. What an imbecile. But no, i’m not worried about Aomori. He’s just another guy who’s completely new and walks out spitting about what fuckin’ title he wants before he’s even had one god damn match. There isn’t shit to say about him, especially not now. You should be asking Jalie about him. It’s no surprise he’s gonna beat Phoenix’s ass, and it’s for number one contendorship to her title.

Reporter: Well, she hasn’t won it yet. She’s yet to face Jason Blade.

Jalie Thomas: Bullshit. Blade is a peon. This match is just so there’s a legitimate reason for giving me the title. That’s basically what it is. I’m an intimidating girl. Wouldn’t you say, Jimmy?

Jalie flashes a smile to Stryker. He nods meekly, possibly suffering from a backstage experience a few moments ago.

Jalie Thomas: I wish Aomori luck in defeating me. Or, luck in coming out of the match without something severed. However you wanna look at it.

The convention director steps on stage with a mic.

Director: Ladies and gentlemen, we’re gonna wrap up for right now with a little intermission. They requested time for lunch, so...

The reporters groan, pissy about having to wait. Jalie hops out of her seat excitedly.

Jalie Thomas: I vote Quizno’s!

Cody and Nick sigh, giving the impression that Jalie usually gets her way. The four of them head off stage as Stryker slowly follows.

.[Avengement].

...Jason Blade.

Dude. Your track record sucks. You talk about being booked in bullshit matches... The only thing that's bullshit about them is the fact that you're participating. Plus the fact that you're even considered an ewo superstar. But with most cases, that's just a term they have to use openly so there's no accusations of playing favorites. You stated that it is simply wrong to hit a girl.

...Is that so.

What if the girl really pissed you off? What if the girl was better at your own job, and every one of your co-workers knew it? What if, that girl was the one who planned on taking what is most likely the only title you will ever get to hold in this company? Would it still be wrong? Or would you give in? I'll bet you'd cave quicker than a senior in a credit card scam. Because you are that simple.

I've already got you all figured out, Jason. You try and try to exceed others expectations, to prove that even in one match, you were good. You were damn good. But it's still not happening. And as time goes by, you're starting to sink. You're sinking into your beliefs that you will always be second rate. Slowly but surely, you're starting to believe that everything people say about you is true. You're nothing. Filler for an empty slot on the roster. What have you accomplished? Tag titles, sure. With Damian Johnson. Woo, what an accomplishment. Johnson was a sorry excuse for a performer and your stable... Your stable was just bad for the company. It was as if all the jackass wrestlers attempted to come together and multiply their little bit of talent to form something substantial. Instead, the only thing that multiplied was the boredom viewers experience while seeing a promo from one of you. However...Of the three, you did impress me the most, and that's something to be proud of. Maybe impress isn't the right word... But you were just, better than the others, if even by a hair.

I've noticed something. My first two opponents were both people I had on my list. You're the first one that isn't. You should be glad. Because trust me, anything I did to Trina, I can easily do to you. Sure, i'm smaller, but I make up for it. Size means nothing... In fighting terms. Any woman who says size doesn't matter is a LIAR. Truth hurts, don't it? But getting back to my point... Take scorpions for example. One sting by an average sized common desert scorpion can make you extremely sick, for weeks even. But the smaller they are, the deadlier. Especially the young ones. What they lack in size is made up by their intensely fatal venom. One sting from an itty bitty baby scorpion, can kill you. Easily. So you see, lacking in size isn't a fault. I make up for it in other ways, and trust me, it more than evens out.

Fin.

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