“WHOA, WHOA, WHOA! WHAT IN THE HELL ARE YOU DOING? CLOSE THAT SH*T UP!”
(We find ourselves in the rich, lavish living room of one Frank Pierce. Across the room from him, the manager for EPW’s Heirs of Wrestling, Alexandria Malone, wearing a black blouse and blue jeans, freezes in place, clutching an umbrella in her hand.)
FRANK PIERCE: Don’t even think about it. Put it down… step away from the umbrella.
ALEXANDRIA MALONE: Uh… Frank… I was just going to open the umbrella up and let it dry out a lit…
FRANK PIERCE: Winston Churchill once hypothesized… F*CK. THAT. SH*T. I’m not getting ugly-ass-Seattle rainwater on my good carpet. Plus, that’s just retarded, opening an umbrella. That, Ally, is bad luck!
(Shaking his head with dismay, Frank Silver adjusts a mirror cautiously… very, very cautiously, sitting over the couch. Shaking her head from across the room, Alex raises an eyebrow at one of her charges.)
ALEXANDRIA MALONE: So… what’s up with all this anyway? I’ve managed you guys for almost two years now and I’ve never seen you this superstitious.
FRANK PIERCE: Normally? I’m not. But Black Dawn is coming up, Alex. The Heirs of Wrestling have their EPW PPV Debut and we’ve finally got what we wanted. We’re taking on Jared Wells, Copycat, and “Simply Sensational” Sean Edmunds for the EPW Tag Team Titles, Triad Rules. I’m not taking any chances. Bad luck needs to go pack its sh*t and go someplace else.
ALEXANDRIA MALONE: Fine, fine, whatever. Look, you’ve got me out there to keep an eye on things. You’re gonna beat those guys and finally put the tag titles with an ACTUAL team.
FRANK PIERCE: You know, it’s a good thing I like you. If you would’ve actually opened that damn thing in my house and you were a dude, I’d have f*cked you up worse than Sean Edmunds f*cked up in the main event of Aggression 51.
ALEXANDRIA MALONE: Wow. Harsh.
(The young manager makes her way across the living room, pausing for a moment at the ladder in the middle of the space.)
ALEXANDRIA MALONE: And… lemme guess. This is also part of the whole “luck” thing, too?
FRANK PIERCE: You got it. I’ve got a whole “superstition” theme going here. In the bedroom, I got a bunch of horseshoes over the bed and four-leaf clovers. I hid all the salt shakers so there’s no way anybody’s gonna spill any in this house. I’ve got like, forty rabbits feet that me and Ryan picked ourselves.
ALEXANDRIA MALONE: At the store?
(Sliding his eyes from one side of the room to the other, he lets out a heavy breath.)
FRANK PIERCE: Yeesss... bought… not cut off…
ALEXANDRIA MALONE: Wait, WHAT?!
FRANK PIERCE: (dodging the question like Sean Edmunds dodges women) YEAH! LADDER! If it’s in my sight at all times, nobody will walk underneath it. If you check it out, you can actually see a hideous smudge that looks exactly like Copycat on the bottom rung.
ALEXANDRIA MALONE: (peering over) Yeah, I can see it... whoa, Frank. On the floor… that penny’s heads-up. I should…
(Frank smacks her hand away.)
FRANK PIERCE: DON’T. TOUCH. That is an ACTUAL good luck charm and it’s not going to be passed around like something Jared Wells picked up. It’s not the EPW Tag Team Titles! That’s mine!
(Picking it up off the ground, Frank smiles contently before setting the coin in a jar marked “LUCKY PENNIES.” It is also worth noting that this brings his grand total of lucky pennies to one. Going back to his computer, Frank’s fingers dance around the keyboard faster than a crowd exiting a theater showing a Copycat film.)
FRANK PIERCE: Let’s see… bigger dong, bigger dong, bigger dong… give money to your Kuwaiti cousin and get $50 million dollars… Okay, Ally, this is straight bullsh*t. Pills do not exist that make your dong bigger. That’s like saying there’s a f*cking pill that makes people enjoy watching Sean Edmunds compete. You DO have to adjust your sets. He does suck that bad.
(After deleting his junk mail, a light goes off in Frank’s head as a mischievous smile crosses his face. Starting to tap frantically on the keyboard, the Baron of Ballistics clicks away powered by a wave of sudden inspiration.)
ALEXANDRIA MALONE: What’s got you in a tizzy?
FRANK PIERCE: Well, I had this awesome idea. I’m going to send those motherf*ckers all a nasty chain e-mail. We need all the help we can get and I figure, why not? We keep the good juju here and give them the bad juju. Check this out:
To: AnthologyEPW@EPW.com
CC:
BCC:
Subject: Check it, b*tches!
S’up, b*tches,
Don’t read this! If your eyes even so much as peek at this, then you must send this e-mail to approximately 1,000 people on your address list within the next 4.3 seconds. If you aren’t cool enough like I am to even KNOW a 1,000 different people… you, my friends, are all f*cked.
You will continue to be cursed. Your careers will become nothing more than laughingstocks.
“Simply Sensational” Sean Edmunds, you will flat-out struggle with your career. You’ll take dives in title matches and main events. Your own extreme blandness and black hole-like charisma will indeed force you to bury yourself in meaningless catch phrases. Your matches will become so formulaic, you’ll make the Great Khali look like the Great Muta. When around Jared Wells, who would hump a cadaver, you’ll be forced to cover your own asshole because even though you aren’t living impaired, your career pretty much is.
Jared Wells, the reign that you and Larry Tact have spent building up in the last calendar year will have fallen into shambles when Larry Tact opens his mouth for something other than being Triple X’s personal waste receptacle. After he gets fired, your tag title reign will succumb to much more scrutiny when a Destiny’s Child-like revolving door of people sign on to be your partner and get handed titles because they can’t win their own. The only “Clap” that you’re gonna get from the audience is little Timmy Bradbury of Atlanta, GA, when you greet him in the men’s bathroom after the show.
Copycat, your much-touted entry into EPW will be hyped by your own Anthology brethren. You will, indeed, fulfill your true potential while you are associated with your power stable; your true potential as Anthology’s personal bag carrier. Now, unlike Edmunds, you will indeed get a brief dalliance with EPW gold… however, that comes in the form of Jared Wells needing somebody to hold the belts while he takes a piss.
After Sean Stevens proves how much of a b*tch he truly is by ripping off The Wire and getting himself disqualified against Jeff Hardy’s cousin with Down Syndrome, Anthology will have the credibility of a Kevin Federline rap album. You’ll…
ALEXANDRIA MALONE: Frank, I said enough already! Enough!
FRANK PIERCE: What? What the hell is the problem.
(Pointing a finger at his screen, Alexandria Malone lets out a brief sigh.)
ALEXANDRIA MALONE: Ryan sent this to them already when we first came to EPW.
(Frank glanced on at the screen as the wheels started to turn in his head.)
FRANK PIERCE: Well… that explains everything, then…
(FADE)