Ye olde entertainment
[FADE IN. The scene is set like an old-fashioned hustings. I mean really old fashioned, as in British pre-1837 and the Great Reform act. You wouldn't think twice about seeing Lord North or William Pitt addressing the crowd and avoiding the assorted garbage that would undoubtedly be thrown at them.
Two cardboard cutouts stand either side of a man dressed in seventeenth century dress. To the right stands a masked cutout, the Republican emblem adorning the mask of this 6'5" piece of card. It's well dressed as you would expect from a Whig politician, perfect for the Phantom Republican. The other is less well dressed, more like an early twentieth century Labor party MP in Britain, and bares a striking resemblence to Mad Mark Matis]
Man: Ye hath heard from these gentlemen, yet this is not a two candidate contest. We ask that the floor abide a while and hear from the third and final candidate, representing the people of America whose only wish is that they be entertained, Master Entertainment.
[Mr Entertainment takes to the stage. He’s in a very authentic looking… leather jacket? Yes, the most entertaining man today is dressed for the here, the now, in leather jacket and jeans, his hair tied back. The crowd are going wild as he approaches the front of the stage, riling the crowd up. After about… a minute or two of this, he calms them down and prepares to talk. A hushed silence fills the air in anticipation]
ME: Hello wherever-the-hell I am!!
[The crowd cheers]
ME: It’s great ta be here, wherever it is, because after hearin’ these two dumasses talkin’ about how they’re gonna annihilate the competition on their way to the top, I know YOU guys need some ENTERTAINMENT!!
[The crowd hoot, holla, the usual stuff]
ME: Ya see, this ain’t a fair contest, is it? After all, either we got a Michael Schumacher wannabe gonna be running us all over, or we got a ghostly, mask-wearin’ yawnfest gonna bore us all ta death before he and Jean MY GOD THE BOREDOM Rabesque put a sleeper-hold on us and put this great company under. What chance do I have against a car and a man who’d rather debate politics than get it on in the ring?
[A few of the crowd shout out “WHAT CHANCE?”]
ME: I don’t rightly know. Ya see, I’m a Republican, I voted Bush. I don’t mind a little politics. Heck, some of those car-crashes at the Grand Prix races can be mildly entertainin’. Politics can be fun. I saw a nice little set o’ flash movies on albinoblacksheep around the time of the election which showed that. Bush dancing with Ricey whilst singin’ ‘bout his fuzzy-math skills? Priceless.
[Some of the crowd start singing the song. Mr Entertainment lets it go on for a few, before motioning the crowd to calm again]
ME: What chance do I, the most entertainin’ man on the planet, have against these two? I mean, how the hell am I gonna carry them to a match which will lift the buy-rates for the PPV, lift the ratings ta a level where the company won’t go under? You see who I’ve got ta work with? They both claim greatness, but lookin’ at the figures from matches they’ve had, the crowds have dwindled faster than a speeding car, further than John Kerry’s personality.
Let me put this in language you guys can understand. I’ll take it one at a time, because me bein’ on screen always boost ratings.
Mark Matix…this ain’t a grand prix. The biggest prize you’ll be gettin’ from this match is your pay-cheque. You want fast action? You’ll get it. From the guy you didn’t address. That’s fine, though. I mean, you borde yerself ta sleep trying ta read the card, that’s OK. I understand. Just try and keep yerself from borin’ yerself at the pay per view, k? Give the fans a small bit of enjoyment? I can carry ya if yer asleep if I really have ta, but watching that amount of total dominance isn’t gonna inspire the fans ta watch yer ass when I’m not around. You’ll still go down like this.
[He quickly turns, snapping off a sick-looking super-kick to the head of the Mark Matix cutout. The head flies off, as the cutout falls backwards off the stage. Some smoke rises from where he fell as the crowd cheers, a small section chanting N-E-W, N-E-W]
ME: Actually, that cut-out probably gave more of a fight than you will anyways. But don’t despair. You might be lucky and I’ll let ya get some licks in on the G O P man.
Now, Phantom… hell, sorry, that makes me think o’ that ol’ cartoon, Defenders of the Earth. Mind if I call you Boozy Boris? We all know you and good ol’ Yeltsin see eye ta eye on most things, so it ain’t too bad? Give the commentators somethin’ better ta call you as you stare at the lights anyways.
Boozy, this ain’t a political debate. I sure as hell ain’t Grenada, and you, my friend, ain’t the great U S of A. When our boys go out an’ fight, the fireworks fly, an’ the enemy know they’re getting a show whilst getting their asses whooped. You may be a Republican, but so was Napoleon. He was a boring f[expletive deleted] too. And he had a few years in the sun, but in the end he died a tired old coot, forgotten by most people except the Brits, and that’s just because it gave them somethin’ good after we whooped their ass. Same thing’s gonna happen with YOU, my drunken amigo. You’re Napoleon, Matix over there is Britain, and I’m the most entertainin’ nation on this earth, the United States.
[The crowd cheers again, one of them throwing an American flag onto the stage. Mr Entertainment picks up the flags, showing it off to the crowd]
ME: In the end, Boris, you are gonna be remembered as a sad, pathetic figure with a one inch pecker that got sold at auction. Sure, you got a shot at Rabesque. But damn, you two are gonna suck the wills outta each and every person in the audience that night. You two would be puttin’ a death-grip on this company worse than the US put on the Bolshies in the nineteen eighties. Well, at least if I weren’t here ta save yer pay.
In Canada, at International Intrigue, you, Boozy Boris, and you, Mark Matix, are getting a lesson in entertainment. And at Raucous, when Boozy is fightin’ fer the title, I’ll be sure ta have the crowd warmed up enough so they don’t all fall asleep.
[Mr Entertainment walks off the stage to a rapturous applause. After he’s gone, the Phantom Republican cutout bursts into flames as “America” by the Nice starts up. The camera zooms out during the applause, and we see that the whole thing has been on a TV screen. The camera zooms out further, to show Mr Entertainment sitting in a leather chair. He turns to the camera]
ME: Now THAT’S….entertainment.
[FADE OUT]