[New Orleans, Louisiana.]
[The central offices of DEFIANCE Wrestling, incorporated.]
[ERIC DANE sits behind a large cherrywood desk, rubbing at his temples to try and push off an oncoming migraine. The desk is immaculate, all the way down to the contracts and schedules spread in front of him meticulously so he could check and cross-check the availabilities of certain wrestlers under his employ.]
[Former DEFIANCE wrestler and current Vice President of Talent JEFF ANDREWS is here too. His Cancer Jiles related issues, combined with his girlfriend recently getting fired, has not settled well with him. If he isn’t drunk, he’s either hung over or sulking. His face is all stubbly and he’s, essentially, completely bald now. But as anyone who actually knows him knows, he’s not the dimwitted hick he looks like, and some of those papers on Dane’s desk are facing his direction for his perusal.]
DANE:
This tournament is probably going to screw with DEFIANCE.
ANDREWS:
How so?
DANE:
Nevermind it’s going to have my attention split in yet another direction, you’re gonna be there, two of my top drawing heels are going to be there, and that little fat kid that doesn’t know how to lose matches is gonna be there. I can see it now, there’s gonna be some kind of scheduling snafu, or some kind of backstage politicking... Just, something. Anyway, there’s one more thing we need to cover before I let you buy me a drink with your Corporate Visa.
ANDREWS:
And that is? ...no, wait, lemme guess. I can’t murder Cancer Jiles.
[The boss smirks.]
DANE:
Not only that, but you may have to co-exist with him.
ANDREWS:
Welcome to your new America. There is no more fun. Happiness is still available, but it costs somewhere in the range of six dollars a glass. As popular war advances, peace is close.
DANE:
Can the bull**** drama, Jeff, this is business. I know you hate that guy more than the day is long, I’m not exactly his number one fan either, but in the land of the ULTRATITLE we are the outsiders. I don’t expect anything funny to go down, but this is wrestling, and you know how it goes.
[The briefest of moments pass before...]
[...is blasted from outside of the office.]
DANE:
What...
JEFF:
...the...
DANE:
...fuck?
[The previously locked door to the boss’s office slides its way open to reveal none other than The Czar of COOL himself, CANCER JILES, dressed in his best white button down and slacks, black Terminator shades wrapped around his head, blond hair spiked to perfection, and a midget in tow carrying a boombox with Screamin’ Jay Hawkins droning on in the background.]
JILES:
I heard there was a meetin’ of the Mongos at the office tonight, figured I’d swagger my way down here and remind you mooks just who runs this whole COOL damn show!
[Dane raises an eyebrow. Andrews clenches his teeth.]
ANDREWS:
Lawyers paid for by Ed White’s money?
JILES:
Shut your dirty mouth, you surly schmuck!
[Dane rolls his eyes.]
DANE:
Sit down, and shut up, the both of you.
[The Crown Prince of COOL slides around the side of the office, taking his seat and dragging it as far away from Jeff Andrews as is physically possible. He drops into the chair, props his feet up on the boss’s desk, and produces an oversized joint for himself.]
JILES:
So what’s the good word, Boss 1 and Boss 2? Finally get your heads out of your asses and decide to close this tournament down early, declare me the MASTER OF WRESTLING, and move on about our merry way?
DANE:
Get your feet off of my desk. Now.
JILES: [incredulous]
What? Why?
[Eric grinds his teeth.]
DANE:
Jeff, I think he’s going to kick you, that looks like a physical provocation to me.
[With a quickness that Cancer Jiles didn’t know that ol’ Jeffy still had left in him, the Cross-Wired Timebomb grabbed both of Jiles’ legs and in one fluid movement toppled him backwards off his chair.]
DANE:
Look at ya now, all back’a da bus an’ shit.
[Dane and Andrews share a chuckle. Jiles is immediately enraged.]
JILES:
HOW DARE YOU! I’LL HAVE YOUR HEAD ON A PLATTER YOU INSIGNIFICANT MONGOLOIDIAL SON OF A DONKEY’S GOOCH! I’LL-
[-be interrupted.]
DANE:
You’ll sit down, and you’ll shut up, just like I already told you. Otherwise Jeff and I beat you to death right here in this office and we pay a crackhead to bury you underneath the old St. Louis #1 cemetery.
[Jiles looks from Dane, to Andrews, and back again. He sees no pity. No quarter. And so he sits down in his chair all proper-like.]
DANE:
This isn’t about points, and it isn’t about you two hating each other’s guts.
This is about DEFIANCE.
We as a promotion need to grow ourselves a much larger profile. All three of us, and Eugene Dewey and Pete Whealdon as well, need to present a unified front during the ULTRATITLE tournament. Now I don’t expect things to go sideways, at least not early, but this is wrestling, and once the bell rings anything can happen.
[The mood has clearly sombered.]
ANDREWS:
And what about Dan Ryan?
DANE:
Ryan’s on his own, and I’m sure he’s quite happy to have it that way. Besides, you think he’d side with us against any of this old boys’ club if push came to shove?
ANDREWS:
Probably not.
DANE:
If I know Dan Ryan as well as I think I do, he’d probably watch the whole thing go up in flames from a safe distance, and then figure out a way to sell it as all his doing. He’s a smart man, and he’s a dangerous man, but I’m not yet convinced that he’s a DEFIANT man.
[Jeff nods. Jiles comes back from outer space.]
CCJ:
And what do I get if I play ball?
DANE:
If you can make it through myself, Jeff, and a hundred and twenty-five other assholes out there trying to do the same thing, I’ll give you Jeff’s head on a platter myself.
[Jiles’ expression brightens.]
ANDREWS:
What the FUCK?!?
DANE:
The rest of you will be there too, Jesus, pay attention!
Here’s the deal. If you two want to kill each other, I’m perfectly ay-okay with that. As a matter of fact, I’d love to promote it and make a zillion dollars off of the buyrates, but if you’re going to do it, do it on DEFIANCE time.
I don’t need you two out there making Chad Merritt and ESEN money that could go into my bank account. Are we understood, gentlemen?
ANDREWS:
...Sure thing, bawsman.
JILES:
Yeah, yeah, whatever, can I leave now? It’s gettin’ awful unCOOL in here.
[The Only Star rolls his eyes again.]
DANE:
Yes, please, get out of my sight.
[With all pomp and zero circumstance, the Grand Dragon of COOL makes his exit, leaving the DEFIANCE boss and his right hand man alone in the office again.]
ANDREWS:
You know this is gonna blow up in your face, right?
DANE:
Absolutely.
ANDREWS:
And then what?
DANE:
And then I do what I always do, Jeff, win anyway.
ANDREWS:
And what if it comes down to us?
DANE:
Then you’d better bring The Untouchables, the Truly Untouchables, the Wrestling Inferno, OLW, IWA, the CAL, and anybody else you can get behind you, because I’m going to tear you to pieces.
ANDREWS:
Knowing how it all went down last time bossman, I’m not gonna threaten you back.
DANE:
Probably for the best.
ANDREWS:
Not really. You know I’m just a drunken retarded hick, I couldn’t possibly be wise.
[The Jeffman winks, Eric Dane nods, and this all fades away.]
[The central offices of DEFIANCE Wrestling, incorporated.]
[ERIC DANE sits behind a large cherrywood desk, rubbing at his temples to try and push off an oncoming migraine. The desk is immaculate, all the way down to the contracts and schedules spread in front of him meticulously so he could check and cross-check the availabilities of certain wrestlers under his employ.]
[Former DEFIANCE wrestler and current Vice President of Talent JEFF ANDREWS is here too. His Cancer Jiles related issues, combined with his girlfriend recently getting fired, has not settled well with him. If he isn’t drunk, he’s either hung over or sulking. His face is all stubbly and he’s, essentially, completely bald now. But as anyone who actually knows him knows, he’s not the dimwitted hick he looks like, and some of those papers on Dane’s desk are facing his direction for his perusal.]
DANE:
This tournament is probably going to screw with DEFIANCE.
ANDREWS:
How so?
DANE:
Nevermind it’s going to have my attention split in yet another direction, you’re gonna be there, two of my top drawing heels are going to be there, and that little fat kid that doesn’t know how to lose matches is gonna be there. I can see it now, there’s gonna be some kind of scheduling snafu, or some kind of backstage politicking... Just, something. Anyway, there’s one more thing we need to cover before I let you buy me a drink with your Corporate Visa.
ANDREWS:
And that is? ...no, wait, lemme guess. I can’t murder Cancer Jiles.
[The boss smirks.]
DANE:
Not only that, but you may have to co-exist with him.
ANDREWS:
Welcome to your new America. There is no more fun. Happiness is still available, but it costs somewhere in the range of six dollars a glass. As popular war advances, peace is close.
DANE:
Can the bull**** drama, Jeff, this is business. I know you hate that guy more than the day is long, I’m not exactly his number one fan either, but in the land of the ULTRATITLE we are the outsiders. I don’t expect anything funny to go down, but this is wrestling, and you know how it goes.
[The briefest of moments pass before...]
# I. AM. THE. COOL. #
[...is blasted from outside of the office.]
DANE:
What...
JEFF:
...the...
DANE:
...fuck?
[The previously locked door to the boss’s office slides its way open to reveal none other than The Czar of COOL himself, CANCER JILES, dressed in his best white button down and slacks, black Terminator shades wrapped around his head, blond hair spiked to perfection, and a midget in tow carrying a boombox with Screamin’ Jay Hawkins droning on in the background.]
JILES:
I heard there was a meetin’ of the Mongos at the office tonight, figured I’d swagger my way down here and remind you mooks just who runs this whole COOL damn show!
[Dane raises an eyebrow. Andrews clenches his teeth.]
ANDREWS:
Lawyers paid for by Ed White’s money?
JILES:
Shut your dirty mouth, you surly schmuck!
[Dane rolls his eyes.]
DANE:
Sit down, and shut up, the both of you.
[The Crown Prince of COOL slides around the side of the office, taking his seat and dragging it as far away from Jeff Andrews as is physically possible. He drops into the chair, props his feet up on the boss’s desk, and produces an oversized joint for himself.]
JILES:
So what’s the good word, Boss 1 and Boss 2? Finally get your heads out of your asses and decide to close this tournament down early, declare me the MASTER OF WRESTLING, and move on about our merry way?
DANE:
Get your feet off of my desk. Now.
JILES: [incredulous]
What? Why?
[Eric grinds his teeth.]
DANE:
Jeff, I think he’s going to kick you, that looks like a physical provocation to me.
[With a quickness that Cancer Jiles didn’t know that ol’ Jeffy still had left in him, the Cross-Wired Timebomb grabbed both of Jiles’ legs and in one fluid movement toppled him backwards off his chair.]
DANE:
Look at ya now, all back’a da bus an’ shit.
[Dane and Andrews share a chuckle. Jiles is immediately enraged.]
JILES:
HOW DARE YOU! I’LL HAVE YOUR HEAD ON A PLATTER YOU INSIGNIFICANT MONGOLOIDIAL SON OF A DONKEY’S GOOCH! I’LL-
[-be interrupted.]
DANE:
You’ll sit down, and you’ll shut up, just like I already told you. Otherwise Jeff and I beat you to death right here in this office and we pay a crackhead to bury you underneath the old St. Louis #1 cemetery.
[Jiles looks from Dane, to Andrews, and back again. He sees no pity. No quarter. And so he sits down in his chair all proper-like.]
DANE:
This isn’t about points, and it isn’t about you two hating each other’s guts.
This is about DEFIANCE.
We as a promotion need to grow ourselves a much larger profile. All three of us, and Eugene Dewey and Pete Whealdon as well, need to present a unified front during the ULTRATITLE tournament. Now I don’t expect things to go sideways, at least not early, but this is wrestling, and once the bell rings anything can happen.
[The mood has clearly sombered.]
ANDREWS:
And what about Dan Ryan?
DANE:
Ryan’s on his own, and I’m sure he’s quite happy to have it that way. Besides, you think he’d side with us against any of this old boys’ club if push came to shove?
ANDREWS:
Probably not.
DANE:
If I know Dan Ryan as well as I think I do, he’d probably watch the whole thing go up in flames from a safe distance, and then figure out a way to sell it as all his doing. He’s a smart man, and he’s a dangerous man, but I’m not yet convinced that he’s a DEFIANT man.
[Jeff nods. Jiles comes back from outer space.]
CCJ:
And what do I get if I play ball?
DANE:
If you can make it through myself, Jeff, and a hundred and twenty-five other assholes out there trying to do the same thing, I’ll give you Jeff’s head on a platter myself.
[Jiles’ expression brightens.]
ANDREWS:
What the FUCK?!?
DANE:
The rest of you will be there too, Jesus, pay attention!
Here’s the deal. If you two want to kill each other, I’m perfectly ay-okay with that. As a matter of fact, I’d love to promote it and make a zillion dollars off of the buyrates, but if you’re going to do it, do it on DEFIANCE time.
I don’t need you two out there making Chad Merritt and ESEN money that could go into my bank account. Are we understood, gentlemen?
ANDREWS:
...Sure thing, bawsman.
JILES:
Yeah, yeah, whatever, can I leave now? It’s gettin’ awful unCOOL in here.
[The Only Star rolls his eyes again.]
DANE:
Yes, please, get out of my sight.
[With all pomp and zero circumstance, the Grand Dragon of COOL makes his exit, leaving the DEFIANCE boss and his right hand man alone in the office again.]
ANDREWS:
You know this is gonna blow up in your face, right?
DANE:
Absolutely.
ANDREWS:
And then what?
DANE:
And then I do what I always do, Jeff, win anyway.
ANDREWS:
And what if it comes down to us?
DANE:
Then you’d better bring The Untouchables, the Truly Untouchables, the Wrestling Inferno, OLW, IWA, the CAL, and anybody else you can get behind you, because I’m going to tear you to pieces.
ANDREWS:
Knowing how it all went down last time bossman, I’m not gonna threaten you back.
DANE:
Probably for the best.
ANDREWS:
Not really. You know I’m just a drunken retarded hick, I couldn’t possibly be wise.
[The Jeffman winks, Eric Dane nods, and this all fades away.]