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My Title, My Pride


Jan 1, 2000
(CUT TO: "The Original King of Cool" JJ DeVille, standing in front of a blue-screen skyline backdrop of downtown Greensboro. JJ, his hair now grown out some to be a tight, curly perm that is long and feathered in the back, has on a half-shirt that reads "Nightlife" in airbrush sky blue, along with daisy duke cut-off jeans. He proudly holds his CSWA Greensboro Title on one arm, and proudly grips a pair of nunchuks in his other hand.)

JJ: C! S! W! A! Did you MISS ME? Hahaha, well, boys and girls, ladies and germs... (JJ points the chucks at the camera.) I *KNOW* you missed ME! Since my last television interview, which I have been told drew a 68 share-- one of the highest non-Eddy Love television ratings in the CSWA's history, there have been thousands of phone calls from people speaking in many, many foreign tongues. There have been millions of illiterate and illegible letters from the masses. All of them have been sayin' the same ol' same ol'... where is The Human Weapon? Where is Mister Main Event? Where is The King... (JJ swings his chucks.) of Cool?

Well, contrary to Internet rumors, I have most certainly NOT been hiding in my mom's basement, afraid to show my face in the locker room after I successfully... AND RIGHTFULLY... won myself the CSWA World Greensboro Title in a stunning 2 out of 3 falls match against Shane Southern. No. What Greensboro's Favorite Son has done is traveled the world and the seven seas, just like the Eurythmics song, defending my titles in nation-states across the world. I defeated the Burkina Faso Bear in deepest, darkest, Africa. I defeated Mr. Francey Pants in his hometown of Paris. Crockmaster, Master of Crocodiles in Australia. Wild Samoan Numero Four in Samoa. Andy Andes in Peru. You name an internationally ranked challenges, I have defeated them on my own, personal GoldQuest (tm). And, as a result, I have made this title, the CSWA World Greensboro Title, the most important title in the world today. It's legacy was ruined when it was held by that awful, horrible Shawn Southern and it needed someone who is a registered Human Weapon with the Bod of a God to restore it to its proper mantle!

But, most importantly, what I have been doing on my world tour is going around to school groups and poor villagers across the world to spread The Gospel of Love to them. And what is that, you ask, moron? It is a personal message of hope from the man who makes us all feel alive, Mister Eddy Love, my main muchacho, the uncrowned CSWA World Champion, my beacon of hope, my shining light and the greatest humanitarian the world has ever seen. What lessons did I, his personal acolyte, teach? Well, I told a poor family in war-torn Bosniahertzovegonia to stop their crying and moaning... if Eddy Love's legs were blown off by an errant, left-over mine, he would not cry about it-- he would make the most of his opportunities and would still be a better wrestler than Evan Aho. I told villagers in war-torn Rwanda that they should put down their weapons against the so-called cruel dictator who has taken their land... and instead, they should agree to his terms-- like YOU all should do whenever someone as wealthy and as rich as Eddy Love tells you to do something, you should do it. I spread his message of hope and glee and, frankly, I feel like I have made a difference.

But now that I am back on our shores, back to Eddy Love's Smokey Mountain retreat, cleaning the barnacles off of his 55-foot Love Boat, making Sweet Melissa a delcious lobster dinner every night, I have learned of something tragic and awful. I have learned that once again GUNS, THE STRONGEST ARMS IN THE WORLD has attempted to steal my spot as Mister Love's right hand man. He has contacted my main muchacho-- and if you ask him real nicely, Eddy himself can confirm this-- and has begged Mister Love for my job. He has begged to carry Mister Love's leather cache case, to wash his 96 cars. He has offered his children, his disgusting pig wife, his father's dentures... ANYTHING to get closer to his hero. Frankly, GUNS THE STRONGEST ARMS IN THE WORLD, it is scary and repugnant what you have done and I have to draw the line somewhere.

That is why I will in Oklahoma City... the land that time forgot... defeat you in front of the millions of Eddy Lovers out there, using my hybrid fighting skills that I have picked up from my international tour of goodwill... using my hands of stone and legs of lightning... and my superior intellect and vampish charm to once again pin your weakened, crippled shoulders to the mat... and teach you a lesson once and for all. You can not Avoid The Noid... and you are not worthy to shine Eddy Love's boots! (JJ points the nunchucks at the camera. FTB.)


(FADEIN: GUNS standing in front of a locker room wall, with a CSWA backdrop noticeably torn down by his feet.)

GUNS: Man, JJ, you actually popped your head out of Eddy Love's ass to answer THIS challenge? To defend your COVETED Greensboro Heavyweight title, which you won in such HARD-FOUGHT ass-kissing fashion...against the Strongest Arms in the World? (Laughs.) Boy, you really ARE dumber than you look, and trust me, son, that's sayin' somethin'.

Look in the mirror, JJ, and then take a look at what you're up against. You're a Yugo going up against a Mack truck, son...you don't have a CHANCE.

See, I got myself a little aggression that I need to work out. I gotta deal with the fact that Eli Flair, whether it was 2.999 seconds or 3.0001, the referee decided that for that fragment of time, he was the better man. That's a bitter pill for me to swallow, JJ. You see, you've never actually been a man in your entire life. You ain't never been' nothin' but Eddy Love's poolboy, but for a MAN...it's all about competition, JJ. It's all about being the biggest dog in the yard. For three seconds, BARELY, Eli Flair backed up his bark with his bite. For three seconds, Eli Flair took over as the big dog around here.

Oh, Eli Flair and I will meet again someday...and he'll get the beating he deserves, no doubt. But right now, JJ, I'm gonna take it out on you. I'm gonna release ALL my excess aggression on you, JJ, and there ain't a DAMN thing you can do about it. Eddy Love...he ain't gonna help you...he's tryin' to fight the Barely Living Burnout for a shot at the oh so prestigious championship of the World. You think he's gonna stick his neck out to save your ass?

No, JJ...you're all by yourself. You can run your mouth all you want. Tell your little fantasy tales about me sucking up to Eddy Love. Do whatever you have to do to make yourself feel better. Fact of the matter is, JJ...you're so proud of that belt that Merritt's personal rack handed to you on a silver platter. You're so proud of representing the third largest city in Greensboro. I don't need your belt, JJ. (Smiles.) Kind of like the bully in the schoolyard didn't really need your lunch money when you were a kid. But just like he took it from you every single day...I'm gonna take that Greensboro Heavyweight title. And why, JJ? Because I *CAN*.

Your belt...it don't mean a damn thing. I don't care about it. The fans don't care about it. Nobody in that locker room cares about it. MAYBE three rednecks in Greensboro care about it. (Smiles.) But you care about it, don't you, JJ? It's the one thing you can cling to, besides Eddy Love's clean laundry, as a sign that you've DONE SOMETHING in this sport. I'm gonna take that away from you, JJ, not because I want the belt...not because I care about the belt... just because I CAN...and because you can't do anything to stop me.

And to bring back an oldie but a goodie, JJ...if you don't like it, that's too damn bad. Because there's NOTHING you can do about it.

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