WFW Christmas Card: Manson (c) vs. Copycat

[PaulNJ21]

This match will be a double cage match for the WFW World Heavyweight Title, Edmunds and Shane Southern will be in the outer cage.

The deadline for this match is Friday, January 7th 11:59 PM EST. Send all angles to pmiller21@gmail.com

 

[Manson]

Rayne

((FADEIN: Early morning just outside the tall corporate park of 4 leaning towers of glass and concrete that compose the home offices of World's Finest Wrestling. The sky is blue and lined with white clouds and the camera pans down to small green square of grass at the epicenter of the 4 buildings where a lean woman, in her late 20s, with neon red hair masking her angular face, sits in a circle of lanterns. She is wearing black leather pants and a long Matrix-styled leather coat. She is RAYNE, NFW East commentator, former pagan assistant to MICHAEL MANSON, and his most ardent disciple. Now RAYNE sits still as a statue as WFW executives race up the stairs late for a meeting.))

EXEC: I can't believe Felix Red wants to put up a gyroscope...

EXEC#2: He asked that the donkey face of God be on it too...

EXEC#3: Hey, you guys don't have to deal with Shane Southern's salary.

((All 3 suddenly pause as they see RAYNE, obvlious to them and everyone else, in a meditative trance.))

EXEC(waving his hands): SECURITY!!!

((CUTTO: A squad of security guards standing around RAYNE, their batons handy, but they quietly converse with her as she holds up a small permit in her hand.))

((CUTTO: The sky has darkened, and the roads leading out of the WFW offices are congested with traffic, but RAYNE sits still in her circle, now a large tent erected behind her, all the lanterns burning brightly green around her.))

((CUTTO: The executives arriving in the morning, staring at RAYNE, awake with a large canteen of coffee and a pez dispenser for a breakfast, as they march up back into the building.))

EXEC(sighing): SECURITY!!!

((CUTTO: A tall, black security guard standing over RAYNE, his shadow drowning her.))

GUARD: We told you you could come in yesterday.

((CUTTO: A large office with a wide window view of the rolling meadows just beyond the corporate park. In the shadows of the room, RAYNE has pulled the couch over into a corner, and sits on top it, Indian style as a small band of secretaries and WFW idea men stand before her with notebooks.))

SECRETARY(a stocky, well-dress woman in a business suit): ....and why were you camping outside the whole night?

RAYNE: Many eastern religions employ the notion of self-deprivation to prove yourself before you set foot on holy ground.

SECRETARY(as everyone scribbles away with pens): And this is holy ground?

RAYNE: My savior and master works and rules here.

IDEA MAN(a short, square-faced man in a white coat): Ah, Michael Manson.

((RAYNE squints her eyes in confusion.))

IDEA MAN: Manson...you know...WFW World Heavyweight Champion...fire..goats...pez....violent..his monkey died.

RAYNE: ..should I know him?

((The group huddles together and a brief whispered conversation follows. They break up.))

IDEA MAN: ...I mean...the King of All Men, the Man More Exciting Than Jesus, The World's Finest Wrestler.

((RAYNE's eyes glow almost supernaturally.))

RAYNE: Yes, this is his graceland.

SECRETARY(to another secretary): God, have you ever been here when he's at the offices? It's like everyone in the room dies, and he thinks its hilarious. He starts talking about Aquaman and how he's a valued member of the Justice League.

((RAYNE glares and hisses.))

RAYNE: Do you commit blasphemy right before?

SECRETARY: Er, what?

RAYNE: Do you dare slight the lord of light given flesh in our world, the men of all men, and the master of all matter?

SECRETARY(taken aback): You're just as weird as he is.

((RAYNE leaps up suddenly unveiling a power drill from under her coat. She races across the room wielding it. She leaps on top on the woman as the other business-suited folk flee, with security guards rushing in. As we fade to black, we still have audio.))

VOICE: Hey, that power drill doesn't even have a cord...

((CUTTO: RAYNE sitting in a white room on a stool, smoking a cigarette calmly, a reddened, inactive power drill at feet. A man in a doctor's coat stands over her with a chart.))

DOCTOR: And some word association....

((RAYNE nods consent.))

D: Shane Southern.

R: In my religion, he is the white devil.

D: And what about Anarky?

R: The other devil.

D: What's the difference?

R(rolling her eyes): One is like Satan, one is like Lucifer. They're not the same, you know.

D: All right, all right..Scotty Michaels....

R: Was once the luckiest man in all the universe and never will be again.

D: Copycat?

R: Whom?

D: Copycat....the other co-number one contender along with Scotty Michaels.

R: Ah him, well....if he's anything like a real cat, he should be skinned and dragged by a car across broken pavement. The Master is a dog person.

((A door is heard swinging open and in walks WFW World Heavyweight Champion MICHAEL MANSON in black jeans and a black jean jacket holding a steel briefcase in hand.))

DOCTOR: Good, finally, you're here.

MANSON: You're not a real doctor, are you? I asked for one.

RAYNE: No, my lord, he's just an actor. They couldn't find a real doctor who'd stay in the same room with you.

MANSON(while setting his briefcase against a far wall): Why are you here?

RAYNE: I went through the classifieds and found an opening in the WFW for an executiver assistant to the vice president of intermural promotional targeting audiences and media services.

MANSON: ..which basically is...?

RAYNE: I have no idea.

MANSON: That Felix....

((MANSON naps open the case to reveal the large, golden WFW world title belt which he straps over his shoulder. The DOCTOR-ACTOR approaches him.))

D-A: Thank God..you're here...she kept asking for you...they were setting her up for an office and everything when she went after someone with a power drill. Then someone brought up what they'd do if Copycat or Michaels won the title and how they'd promote it and she started lighting fires.

((MANSON looks over to RAYNE taking a drag.))

RAYNE: That would be an error in the fabric of life itself and the universe would be broken. It must not even be uttered. There can be no other world champion.

MANSON: Everything seems to check out to me.

D-A(shrugging): Fine, fine, look, I'll do this promo with you people, they're paying me enough, but I'm not going to act like you're some imperial god who cannot be beaten even by world class competition...

((CUTTO: RAYNE leaping, snarling, into the air at the Doctor, power drill running in her hand. CUTTO: MANSON strolling over to a corner where he takes a straitjacket off a hooks. He puts it on and turns in a circle.))

MANSON: Hey, when you're done...come help me buckle this on...

((CUTTO: The white room where WFW World Heavyweight Champion MICHAEL MANSON sits on the floor, strapped in a white straitjacket with his precious world title belt hanging on a hook above him.))

MANSON: The doctor says...well there was supposed to be a doctor and he'd say that anyone who would lock themselves into two cages and fight for a piece of gold is a mad man. He would say that the type of violence necessary to walk out of there would have be classified as psychotic.

Which is what almost everyone has been saying about me for years. And, it's worked for me, given that I am a 9 time world champion, the former and greatest BAD World Heavyweight Champion, and the premier world heavyweight champion, the WFW champion. Now I've been entered into what might be the dangerous match in my career just the double cage alone..and I'm not afraid.

Across from me is Scotty Michaels, who once beat me before in a cage, who had help and luck on his side then, someone who claims he wants to change his ways. But, Scotty, you never would have beaten me before if you went about it along the light of redemption and good sportsmanship. No one's ever gotten anyway with that..look at how Iris has snapped, something I probably contributed to with breaking him in half in his home country.

No one's breaking in to help you this time, Scotty, and it's not only going to be me in there, which normally, would be harsh enough. You once said that I was the only man in the WFW you respected for whatever reason, but I'm not really anyone to respect. My methods in any other profession would have led to me being locked away in a dungeon, yet, here, I'm a success. You're going to have to do more, Scotty, be more, have more tolerance for pain, because once you're locked inside there, there's no escaping, there's running, not until it's over. And it'll only be over when I decide it is.

I'm only giving you this advice now, Scotty, as you lie there and ponder about whether or not I abandoned you in the 6 man tag team match at Ghoulish Games. You helped me earlier, but I still would have gotten up on my own power. You didn't. Now, did I know that, or didn't I? Do I know your limits? Do I know the amount of pain it takes to make you pass out or weep? And did I show that I'm willing to even forego a victory to aquire that information? Or did I already know and want to see you weakened?

There's no easy answers here, not with me.

Think about all that as you prepare for what will be the most important match of your life. Think about your reformation..and if its worth it. Because when you're out there trying to be a saint, I'll still be the champion, and, hell, it's not like the people will like you just for being a good boy.

Then there's Copycat, who for months has been screwed and denied a world title shot, which sounds like something I would do, but actually I had nothing to do with. Copycat's also been going on and on for months that he wants respect, perhaps the type of respect Scotty Michaels professed to me. And, yes, it is more likely to rain vermin than it is for me to respect Copycat, so I would say that you, Cat, should want the title, and only the title, like any great competitor would want. Not my respect, because that doesn't come easily, if at all. So far with your juvenile games and your childish rants, you've shown me nothing.

Months ago, I offered everyone and the world a title shot if they could take me out, and not one of you stepped forward. That, right there, was your chance for a title shot, but you ignored it. I don't really know why or care that much, but how badly do you want this title if you just waited like you have? You didn't go out and create opportunities, you didn't try to change things, you just complained, and ran through the washed-out scenario of being screwed by the president, who admittedly was your old nemesis Sean Edmunds, but still, you could have sidestepped all that.

You could have just asked me for a title shot.

I don't book the matches or award title shots, but obviously, I can make some things happen, and when I deem it beneficial, I keep my word. But, obviously, you nevet thought of that.

I remember when you mistakenly referred to me as your friend, in some forgotten diatribe against Anarky, and you're as wrong now as you were then. But I would have given you a title shot, in fact, there are few I wouldn't, if only for my own amusement.

Because despite everything, I will win out in the end. It took me a year, a year of frustration to win this title, and now it will take tearing it away from my undead grip to part me from it. Copycat, don't think that you are the only one being set up to be screwed here.

Sean Edmunds, former president and ringside enforcer, would like to see you fail, but he isn't a huge fan of myself either, and really wants nothing more than that gold title back around his waist, the one he won from Scotty Michaels, incidentally, and I doubt he wants him to win it either. So, really, would Sean want any of us to win? Or does he hate you more? Or would he fear me as champion more?

I can't answer this, but I can mention the x-factor, the newly arrived Shane Southern.

And, yes, he is there to cancel out Edmunds, there at Felix Red's bequest, and I see all the signs and portents. Shane was going to end up here eventually, it seems everyone does, and things have been building, climbing a huge mountain for a while now, between him and me. As inevitable as the apocalypse, even the South Park version.

And, I know for a fact, that Shane Southern would like 2 things above everything else: Either myself, lying bloodied and broken at his hands and stripped of my world title, or him winning that WFW world title from me. He's much closer to the former than the latter.

But despite two competitors, two cages, and even two enforcers..I will endure.

You know, one of my idols was the Great Houdini, the man who could escape any trap, triumph over any challenge, and overcome any hold. Much as I do. You watch Houdini's old shows and you see him tearing off his straijacket and thinking it's more difficult than anything in the world...but when you try it yourself...when you study and read up on it..when you ignore the pain and just do it...well...

((MANSON nips up to his feet and moves to the wall, planting his elbow against it, and begins wedging it up as he starts forcing his head down underneath the arm. He eventually does, bringing up the other arm with him, the two now out in front of him. With his teeth, he unclasps the buckles of his arms, and then undoes the back buckles with his newly hands. Then holding his sore shoulder, he faces the camera again, a free man, and reaches up for the gold world title with his hurt arm, wincing as he does, but he grabs it.))

You'll see that there is no one...nothing....that can you what you can't do. Especially when you're me.

((FADE to black, but again, voices are heard.))

VOICE: What do you want to do with him? He's just lying there.

VOICE: I drove the lincoln today, so the trunk should be big enough.

 

[GARTHIsTheLaw]

Culmination

(Cueup: Unsettling silence)

(Fade in on the high ceiling of a large, somewhat dark room. The camera begins to pan down, and we see why so high a ceiling is necessary: This room is being used to store the double steel cage first used for Anarky vs. Maelstrom and now slated for use in the main event at Christmas Card. Eventually, the camera pans down to the base of the cage and stops. Copycat walks onscreen past the camera, looking up at the massive structure, his footsteps echoing to provide the only sound in the room. He wears jeans, his trademark beret, and a black T-shirt)

Copycat: The last time I saw this thing, Anarky and Maelstrom were trying to kill each other in it. Then there was the referee, the camera men, the commentators, the officials, the ringside security. And on top of all that, a couple thousand screaming fans were surrounding it, fiending for blood, begging for it. This isn't a commentary on the brutality inherent in the use of this cage, mind you...it's an observation on the activity outside and inside. So when it's just me and the double cage in the room, without all the extras, it's a hell of a gear change.

(Copycat turns and looks at the camera)

Copycat: There's been nothing but hatred between me and all three WFW presidents, but I'm on good terms with a few people in the WFW offices, so when I asked to come take a look at the double cage, they were happy to oblige. I'm not sure why I felt compelled to do this. I guess I wanted to be able to make peace with SOME participant in this match, and it's not likely that any of the human participants will be so willing.

(Copycat turns back to the cage to look it over)

Copycat: It's funny that my path to the World Heavyweight Title came to end up in a steel cage. For so long, the title was made inaccessible to me. Wylde didn't want me to draw attention away from him. L.O.V.E. didn't want me to focus on anything besides them. And Edmunds would have done anything to keep me away from the title. For over a year, I've been outside the cage, looking in at the WFW World Heavyweight Title on its shiny pedestal. And while everyone else, it seemed, was given a key to try their luck, I never had that opportunity. And finally...FINALLY...I've got my cage key.

(Copycat runs his hand over one of the bars)

Copycat: I've been known to relate physical settings to in-ring issues. But this time, the match is doing that for me. I don't have to create the metaphors because they've been laid out on the table for me. That leaves me with just two things to focus on.

(Copycat turns to look back at the camera)

Copycat: Number one. Respect. I have earned respect, just as I'd said I would. I got laughed at a lot when I announced that as my driving force, but now, I've gotten that respect from just about everyone. There are a few who still laugh, but it's an empty laugh for all of them...save Michael Manson. Manson, as I'd expected, has essentially said he will never respect me, and that I should abandon that as a goal. But I haven't come this far to give up now. And if Manson is as smart as the evidence suggests he is, he should realize that. I'll address this matter later, though; I'm here tonight to talk about something else.

(Copycat leans back against the cage)

Copycat: Respect is still the force that drives me. But as important as respect is to me, it has only been my focus for a year. I have one other thing to focus on: the WFW World Heavyweight Title. That title carries with it a degree of respect I would be foolish to ignore. No matter how much I hated Scotty Michaels or Sean Edmunds or Alex Wylde, I had to respect each of them when he had the title. With it, I would show every wrestler in WFW that I am everything I say I am and more.

(Copycat looks down at the ground)

Copycat: But it goes deeper than that for me. I want that respect, I want that status...but I NEED that title. Manson mentioned, in passing, that he chased the WFW Title for a year. I've actively chased the WFW Title for about that long. But to me one year -- just one year -- is NOTHING. Two weeks ago, I celebrated my 31st birthday. I've been wrestling professionally for nine years. And of those nine, it has been eight years -- EIGHT YEARS -- since I have been the World champion. I had a taste -- just the faintest taste -- of what it was like to be the World champion in 1997 before it was stolen away from me as quickly as it had come. And as much as I've tried since, I haven't even gotten a SHOT at the World title since 1999. Every time I've gotten close, something has gone horribly wrong and I've been denied.

(Copycat looks back up at the camera, fire in his eyes)

Copycat: Well no more. Nothing is going to take my title shot away from me. I told L.O.V.E. before my last match that they would have to kill me to stop me from getting my title shot, and I meant it. I am going to walk into Christmas Card, into this double cage, and take what is rightfully mine, my shot at the WFW World Heavyweight Title. And at the end of the evening, I will have that which I have craved for eight...long...years. Michael Manson, Scotty Michaels, Sean Edmunds, Shane Southern...they won't get in my way. For me, this goes beyond them.

(Copycat walks slowly toward the camera)

Copycat: This is about respect. This is about the WFW World Heavyweight Title. And this is about me making good on my promises -- promises to the fans and promises to myself. At Christmas Card, I will not be denied. I will get the respect -- AND the title -- that I deserve.

(Copycat walks past the camera, his footsteps echoing as he leaves)

(Fade out)

 

[Manson]

((FADEIN: MICHAEL MANSON sits in a rocking chair with the WFW world title belt drape in his lap like a blanket.))

MANSON: Never have I had two opponents with such rage inside them that they could not even speak! My word, how will any cage, even a double cage, hold them?

Perhaps it would be better if the two of you had a match while I wrestled myself for the WFW and greatest world title in all the land. That way both of you can unleash what horrible violence has shamed the two of you into silence while I put on a 5 star classic against the most worthy of title contenders.

 

[SouthernBoy]

Hi There

{{...FADE-IN: A nice, cool, December afternoon in New Orleans, Louisiana. Shane Southern is perched atop is Bourbon Street apartment balcony with his feet propped up on the railing. He takes a long swig off the bottle of Bud-Light in his hand, wipes his mouth with his sleeve and begins to speak...}}

SHANE SOUTHERN: " Greetin's Double-ya-ef-double-ya. In case alotta' you boys been hangin' out in Maelstrom's over-grown shadow for tha' past few years ... name's Shane Southern. "

" Nice ta' meet ya'. "

" I'd run down mah' history ... where I've been, what I've done ... but it really don't matter. 'Cause in tha' end, I'd bore ah' few people who already know. Hi Dan. N' tha' few people that don't ... 'sup Red ... probably don't care anyways. "

" Let's just say I been ah'round. "

" N' most places I've gone ...people remember me. I sorta' like ta' make n' impression, n' what better place ta' do it ... than tha' WFW. "

" Tha' man I beat for mah' FIRST World Title is here. Hey Sean. Some NFW cohorts are here. How ya' been Cruise? Got some CSWA friends as well ... Good luck Joey. (smiles)

I've got mortal enemies here ... see ya' real soon Mike, n' I've got good friend here. (looks around) Ok, well maybe not, but you get tha' picture.

" Sean ... don't flatter yerself ta' think I came to tha' WFW fer you. It was fun ta' piss you off at Ghoulish Games ... n' it'll be even funner ta' beat tha' hell out ah' you at tha' Christmas card should you get outta' line. "

" Mike ... well, any opportunity ta' screw with you makes mah' night ... so you can bet that I'll be watchin' real close. "

" Red, thanks for tha' invite, but I'd just as soon crush you like a bug than look at ya', so don't think we're friends. "

(Southern looks at this watch, finishes what remains of the beer and sits it on the table beside him)

" Well ... gotta' go. I look forward ta' gettin' ta'gether with you boys n' tha' near future. In tha' meantime ... have fun. Cause business is ah'bout ta' pick up. "

" Party's Over. "

(FADE OUT)

 

[Manson]

Baptism

((FADEIN: WFW World Heavyweight Champion MICHAEL MANSON, the Man More Exciting Than Jesus, the American Alien, Collector of Rare Animal Skins, sits in a rocking chair with the WFW world title belt draped in his lap.))

MANSON: The other day as I sat up in my ivory tower down upon all the rest of the people walking about the streets I came to the powerful realization that there are people who would literally kill to be me. Even with my anti-religious fixation and emotional problems. There are people who would step over the burnt-up bodies of their family to me, with my merchandising empire, devilish charisma, and the adoration of my followers here in the United States and abroad.

And then I thought all the men here in World's Finest Wrestling who want to be the WFW World Heavyweight Champion. We have Anarky wanting to gain masculine sexual dominance over me by usurping my position of champion (which he desperately wants regardless of what he says), Jared Wells trying to the best BAD World Heavweight Champion that he can be to gain a shot at the real World's Championship, we have the members of the Inner Circle branding together so they have people to play Dungeons and Dragons with and to gain power in the WFW as a means to its world title. Felix Red has repeatedly stated he would use the presidentship toward the title if he could.
Shane Southern himself has crawled out of the gutter of his life and thrown his almost dead carcass onto the WFW landscape because he wants to be the world champion, the greatest world champion there is. That's what you're supposed to think of when you think of Shane Southern, yet, there's always that shadow standing in the way, that actual world champion. And Shane Southern is willing to risk near-death experience to pry this title from my cold hands to call himself the world's finest wrestler.

But he'll have to wait, because two other gentlemen come first.

There's Copycat who claims he has waited almost ten years to become a world champion again. He says he's 31 years of age now, which means he was a champion at the enchanted age of 21, which probably means that title wasn't that hard to win in the first place, but I'm sure it was special to him. There's also Scotty Michaels who was the WFW World Heavyweight Champion, yet he couldn't hang on to this lofty perch, and thus, better men took it and made it into a grander title.

However, since you have to win this title from the most manipulative, hardcore sadistic-slash- masochistic, pez-snorting fiend in the wrestling industry, the odds don't look good. Especially when most would consider a match such a double cage to be in my area of expertise. Still, there's worse things than losing a match. There's a whole downward spiral both Cat and Scotty can fall down into. That toilet of self-despair Shane Southern has one foot in and that Sean Edmunds just climbed out of. The very thing that almsot drowned a former great world champion, a friend of mine that I'll just call "Alex W."

((CUTTO: A full-screen picture of ALEX WYLDE at the WFW offices in a disheveled business suit, his tie undone and his shirt sleeves rolled up. He hairy gravel around his chin and he sits with his chin leaning wearily on his hand. A bottle of Jack Daniels stands half-empty on his desk.))

MANSON V/O: Alex W. had it all. He had fulfilled his lifelong dream of finally winning a world championship, and on top of that, he had conned his way into a position of political power within the very organization he had won his title in. He was untouchable, winning match after match, drawing huge crowds and even larger paychecks. There were many insiders who called Alex W. the most powerful man in wrestling.

And he lost his world champion.

Of course, he lost it to someone most consider the best wrestler in the world at the largest and most important show of the year, but still, everything went downhill for Alex W. after that. He had taken to the bottle to celebrate too much recently, and it was his only comfort when he lost his precious world title. Within a 2 week span, he turned from healthy 5 star athlete into a wavering drunk. He lost his political power, in fact, he had stolen away from him by someone he considered a close friend. And on top of all of that, he was fired from the promotion.

Months ticked away and Alex W. whittled all his hard-earned cash on drinks, trying to make himself feel like the champion he once was, or maybe even the greater champion he could have been, but it was never the same. Alex W. closed himself off from all his friends and became a recluse, thinking no one in the world could understand the pain of all his natural ability being wasted away.

ALEX W. V/O: I was on top of the world...really....I had a different lady every other hour of every night....I had the gold strap and the whole world looked up at me....and then I had nothing. I didn't even have a job. God, I didn't even think I had a reason to wake up in the morning. I only drank to get through the day, but that got harder and harder, and I had to drink more and more. Hey, I knew drinking was bad for you, I knew my health was getting worse, but I couldn't help myself.

MANSON V/O: One cold night in November, Alex W. finished off the last of his bottles of wine and then looked around at the bared walls of his living room where expensive portraits of clowns had once hung. Then he reached down for his revolver and pressed it against his forehead, hoping to end the pain forever.....when suddenly...there was a miraculous intervention.

SFX: Phone ringing.

ALEX W. V/O: Right when I was about to put a hole through my head, I get a call from MIKE MANSON! God, I hadn't even spoken to him in months. I didn't even think we were on good terms. Sure, I knew he still tapped my phonelines and kept surveillance on my house, but I didn't think he'd care enough to call. Hell, I don't know how he did it since I hadn't paid my phone bill in months.

((Actual recording of the ALEX W. suicide call.))

MIKE: Put that gun down.

ALEX: I can't! I can't do it anymore!

MIKE: Goddammit, if you want to shoot yourself in the head, use a freaking rifle. You can actually survive a small gunshot to the head, your face will just be disfigured to look like an asshole. A rifle guarantees your whole head going up on the walls.

ALEX W. V/O: We talked for hours and he said to me...Alex...what do you believe in and I said nothing. Then he said, well, believe in me, and I did. I did and I threw my revolver out into the backyard. It went off and killed a neighbor's dog, but it didn't matter. Mike Manson was my new reason to live.

MANSON V/O: He took small steps at first, but with Michael Manson ordering him around and taking command of his family's considerably finances, Alex W. fought back from the brink and is in shape for a wrestling comeback, but first, he has to go back insider and find the real Alex, the person he wants the rest of the world to see. And to do that, he wants to officially show everyone his new-found faith, to show that people can change, and that there are heroes and messiahs walking amongst us.

((CUTTO: ALEX W. in the distance kneeling in front of a white baptismal fountain. His face is blurred by the distance, but one can clearly see the MICHAEL MANSON: AMERICAN ALIEN t-shirt with the gray alien crashing his flying saucer into the crucified Christ. Standing on the other side of the fountain is MICHAEL MANSON in black leather pants and a black collared shirt with a priest's collar around his neck. Next to him, holding a towel, is RAYNE, adorned as an altar boy with her hair forest green and styled back into a ponytail. Words are passed between them, but are inaudible to the camera. ALEX W. repentantly stands up and lets MANSON take him by the head and shove him underwater. ALEX W.'s arms flail for awhile, but eventually, he just tightly grips the fountain. MANSON then glances over at the camera, and nods to RAYNE, who takes over for him pressing ALEX W.'s head underwater. MANSON strides up closer to the camera with his hands locked behind his back.))

MANSON: Now I'm not just offering this service to my downtrodden friends, no, not at all. There'll be a moment in the double cage match where both of you, Copycat and Scotty Michaels, will realize that I have won and you'll want to slink off into a corner and wear yourself away. What a waste when you could be such an efficient lackey instead. I can give your lives meaning again, I can give you reasons to live despite not being the WFW World Heavyweight Champion.

Of course, I'm not in the business of making dreams come true, well, just mine. I believe in people earning what they win and have, unless I find a shortcut. Nonetheless, despite how both of you want to be the champion, I cannot allow it. The WFW needs me as champion, LOVE needs me, the Inner Circle needs me, the Board of Directors needs me. Most importantly, the fans need me as an anti-governmental antichrist role model to offend their suburban parents with.

Yes, I am offering salvation, and, yes, people easily confuse me with Jesus Christ. We both have performed miracles, we both have shed a lot of blood, we both know a lot about crucifixion. The two of us were the finest in our fields and were also experts in the various fields of theology and mythology. Mel Gibson has made multi-million dollar epics about both of us that spanned theaters across this entire world. I've even been known to turn water into wine when I find my cupboard empty, or something throws a twenty my way.

The difference is, Jesus Christ laid down and died. I do not, I will not. He would let the two of you be the WFW World Heavyweight Champion, both at the same time so you could learn sharing and so that everyone can be happy. I realize no one is ever really happy and try to make everyone as cynical and hardhearted as I am and that's how I derive whatever enjoyment I can.

I do not care that it has taken Copycat a decade to get back to title contension...I do not care that Scotty Michaels was arguably robbed of the world title.....I am the champion now, and thus, the judge of both of you. Sure, Felix's the president, but I'm the one who has to go out and work for a living.

And I do handily.

But when you fail, Cat, Scotty, remember, that though I've smeared your faces against hard steel, that I've sold samples of your blood to vampire goth clubs over Ebay, and broken your bones and have you questioning the existance of God, I will rebuild your spirit. I will give you something else to live and hope for.

There's no need to think that this is the highest you'll go, second and third place.

I can help.

Just with with Alex W.

((The camera pulls back to show ALEX W. struggling with his face sideways and grinding against the lip of the baptismal fountain as RAYNE digs her nails into his face to get back to drowning him.))

ALEX W.(shouting): MIKE! MIKE! She's trying to kill me!

MANSON: Well, she tends to do that.

ALEX W.: I'LL DROWN!

MANSON(turning back around): Hey, hey....I thought you wanted salvation. Now just think happy thoughts and go under. When you awaken, you'll be a new man, especially since I'll have stolen your identity and sold it to a Russian immigrant.

ALEX W.: WHAT!?

((MANSON walks over and kicks ALEX W.'s head back into the fountain with the holy water splashing out to each side, soaking RAYNE, who dauntlessly holds the head down in only a bare inch of water.))

 

[GARTHIsTheLaw]

What the hell is this? Where did my RP go?

 

[DBrunkGXW]

Don't worry, I saw it before it disappeared.

Oh wait, I don't book....

 

[PaulNJ21]

(OORP: I am reposting this for Garth, I have no idea what happened, but thankfully I have all RP sent to my GMail account so I can repost this.)

(Cueup: Footsteps and quiet conversation)

(Fade in on a decorated wall at the WFW home offices. On the wall are large framed pictures of every wrestler to hold the WFW World Heavyweight Title, with a framed replica belt underneath each picture, save Doc Silver's, which has two replica belts beneath it to signify his two title reigns. Given the positioning of the camera, right now we only see the pictures of Doc, Psycho, and half of Shawn Hart, from left to right. Copycat walks onscreen from the left. He wears jeans, his trademark beret, and a WFW Copycat "THE RESPECT THAT I DESERVE" T-shirt. He glances idly at the pictures immediately before him)

Copycat: This is a pretty nice display. I would've liked to have seen it before, but this is the first time I've been allowed back in this building since I forced my way in trying to kill Alex Wylde. This was back when he was president...hard to believe it's been this long.

(Copycat slowly walks down the line and the camera follows. Shawn Hart's pictures scrolls its way onscreen, followed by Scotty Michaels', and continuing on through Sean Edmunds and Alex Wylde as Copycat talks)

Copycat: The trouble with this wall is, once you get past Shawn Hart, the title reigns just get less and less impressive. Scotty Michaels, a guy I've had issues with for almost a year and a half, lost the belt in his first official defense. Sean Edmunds, probably my longest-running and most-hated rival in this business, lost the belt in HIS first official defense. Alex Wylde, who baited and teased me to the point where I lost control and just tried to bulldoze my way to him...lost on his first defense. Yeah, this wall loses a lot of its luster...right up until this point.

(Copycat stops and the camera stops with him. He stands before the framed portrait of Michael Manson)

Copycat: I hold a pinfall victory over Scotty Michaels and a knockout victory over Sean Edmunds, and if Edmunds hadn't fired Alex Wylde when he took over the WFW presidency, his name would have come up on the list too. Manson, though...he's another story entirely.

(Copycat turns his head to look at the camera)

Copycat: Manson still remembers a promo I made where El Arco Iris and I implied that he was my friend. Now, that was just an offhand remark, and I don't think Manson really believes I meant anything by it. If he's been paying attention, though, I'm sure Manson has noticed that I've mentioned several times how much I'd like to face him one-on-one. This is a matchup that's never happened before, and it's no secret that a lot of fans would love to see it. With Scotty Michaels missing in action, the word is that he might be a non-factor in this match...and if that's true, it means that at Christmas Card, the world will see Copycat vs. Manson for the first time ever. With the World Heavyweight Title on the line. An intriguing thought.

(Copycat looks back at the picture of Manson)

Copycat: I've already taken the time to explain what the World Heavyweight Title means to me -- how it would be the culmination of eight long years of hard work. That's one thing I need -- not want, NEED -- out of this match. But what I didn't cover was what Michael Manson's respect means to me. That's what I'm here to explain today.

(Copycat glances back up at the camera)

Copycat: Winning the World Heavyweight Title would carry with it an enormous amount of respect, of course. And beating Michael Manson cleanly -- or as cleanly as can be expected in a match with two special guest "enforcers," one of whom is Sean Edmunds -- would also gain me an enormous amount of respect. But not from Manson himself. Manson has made it painfully clear that his respect is no different from anything else associated with him -- it does not come cheap. And he's even gone so far as to say that it may very well be impossible to obtain his respect.

(Copycat cracks the faintest hint of a grin)

Copycat: All the more reason for me to want it.

(Copycat turns his whole body to the camera and faces it)

Copycat: As the weeks have gone on, and a title match between Manson and myself has become more and more inevitable, I have tried to think of just how I can earn the respect of this man who has never been known to respect anyone or anything. And one day, it suddenly became so obvious. I thought about why this match is considered by many fans to be a "dream match" of sorts. And I had my answer.

(Copycat poses next to the picture, imitating Manson's position in it)

Copycat: We are considered to be two of the best wrestlers in the world. But not because of our power or technical ability, though certainly, we both have those things. Manson and I win not because we are stronger...

(Copycat points to his forehead, then takes his finger from his forehead to point to Manson's forehead in the picture)

Copycat: ...but because we are smarter. I could try to beat Manson with brute strength or technical prowess. Maybe it would work, and maybe it wouldn't. But that's not how I'm going to approach this match. I am going to do something I have wanted to do as long as I have recognized Michael Manson's name. I am going to outsmart him.

(Copycat turns back to the camera)

Copycat: For years, Manson has walked into every match he has had -- every single one -- with a psychological edge on his opponent. He has won more titles than I know exist. And he can do that because no matter how much bigger, how much meaner, how much quicker his opponent is, he is always -- ALWAYS -- smarter.

(Copycat slowly rubs his hands together, his gaze darkening)

Copycat: And thus, the question that every WFW wrestler, official, announcer and fan has on his mind: Can Manson outsmart the Smartest Player in the Game? That question will be answered at Christmas Card, when I step into that double cage and take not just Manson's title, but his respect as well.

(Copycat shoots his gaze sideways at the replica belt beneath Manson's picture, then glares back into the camera)

Copycat: There is not a soul on this earth incapable of respect. Manson, your respect may be the hardest to gain of all, but gain it I will. I will prove to you that I can contend with you on a psychological level -- something no one else has ever done. When the night is through, and the referee is handing me the World Heavyweight Title gold it has taken me EIGHT LONG YEARS to regain...you will know something entirely new. You need not know pain, suffering, despair, or any of the other clichès so common to our profession. But you WILL know RESPECT. And I will finally have the REPSECT...that I DESERVE.

(Copycat walks offscreen)

(Fade out)

 

[Manson]

Found

((FADEIN: WFW World Heavyweight Champion, the Man More Exciting Than Jesus, the American Alien, Pseudo-Satanic Anti-Hero, and Pez Addict MICHAEL MANSON stands against a backdrop of a large screen TV with the double-cage prominently displayed in an empty arena.))

MANSON: Well, that was different. Copycat says that I'm smart. Most of the time, my other opponents say that I'm not and then scamper off like children on playground until I threaten their families, and then they respond "NO YOU WON'T!!!!!" Other than Felix Red, of course, who directly attacked my intellect and tried to bound me up in philosophical quagamires, which I might have lost myself in if not for the timely assistance of Stan "The Man" Lee, but I digress.

While I already know I am the WFW's roster moral, intellectual, spiritual, physical, and psychological superior, it's always nice to hear someone else mention it. Sure, Copycat said he was smart too, but I don't expect him or anyone to ver come out and say someone was smarter. I wouldn't, but, as they say, there is always someone out there who's smarter.

I've yet to meet this person that is smarter than I am, but on the day I do, I'll have to resort to inane and creative violence to win, so, it doesn't concern me. However, Copycat, someone who has constantly referred to himself as "The Smartest Player in the Game", you have finally met the one smarter than you. Even should you pin my bloated, bloodied carcass to the mat, I've outsmarted. I know I hate moral victories as much as anyone, but the fact of the matter is that my respect is not given nor earned. Truth be told, I really don't care that much about respect in general. Fear normally works better, and it gives you a nice feeling inside that you've accomplished something. Still, should I lose this match and my coveted WFW World Heavyweight title, I can gain some meager of satisfaction knowing that Copycat will not have earned my respect in any measure of the word.

That alone is a trap I can place him in. In fact, he can run in circles trying to outsmart me, thinking that somehow I'll think the better of him for it. If I lose, I lose. I'll just have to come back, like I always do. That said, Cat, I don't intend to lose. Because with all of your schemes and your plottings, with all the little thoughts crawling around the webspace of your head, by now, I really shouldn't have to tell everyone that I always have a better plan.

There's 2 boxes of steel to use, weapons scattered around the arena in the form of chairs the fans sit in and whatever else I can find to hit someone with, and, of course, there are two living, breathing weapons who'll be wandering around the ring. That's more than enough to work with. And there's also the fact that I can outwrestle you, or anyone else in the world, regardless of what the blander amongst out peers proclaim.

I said I'd help you, Cat, and, when I feel like it, I am a man of my word. I can't offer you respect, I can't offer you friendship, and I can't offer you glory or a world title. I can offer you pain, I can offer you cynicism, the world's finest cynicism in fact, and I can offer you blood. But most of all, I can offer a deep and abiding lesson.

Which is basically...never...never assume that you can outwit the man who outwitted Satan and used his pitchfork to win a television title that no one recognizes anymore. Never presume that you, of all people, in all promotions, even here, in the world's finest promotion, will be the chosen one, the one to finally humble and bring Michael Manson, the greatest WFW World Heavyweight Champion of all time and the choice of goth suburban teens across America, to heel. If I go down, I assure you, it will be excessive and awe-inspiring, not to mention hopefully enough to crack open the earth and have it swallow the entire arena inside.

But, before we start running in circles with our war of words, let heed the advice I gave new WFW President Felix Red, a trickle of wisdom he repeats despite the fact that I beat him like CSI beats a poorly-conceived NBC sitcom. Simply put, we're not going to make any real points to each other, we're not going to convince each other of anything, not even held within 2 cages of hard steel. We could swing chairs at each other for an hour and then sit down and fill out IQ tests with our own blood to decide the world title, and still, none of us would be satisfied. I'm not going to shake your world because you tried really, really hard after the match and when you lose your so-coveted and dreamt of title shot, you're not going to say it was because I was the better man, because I'm not, and you're not going to say it was because I outsmarted you.

No, you'll say you were screwed, or that you lost focus, or that I got lucky, or another of many excuses, which will just illustrate my point.

But we have to move things along, so, I thought to myself, if we might as well be talking to walls, we need a third opinion. And I realized we should have had a third opinion, but Scotty Michaels had to go and get lost. Now he is stripped of that title shot he wanted just as much as you did, Cat. However, surely he knows the both of well by now, having been in the ring with both of us, even getting pins over both of us. Having been stripped of his title shot, Scotty Michaels can be objective about this much talked about, fantasized, and bet on match-up. So, if betting his entire life's fortune in a seedy Nevada brothel, putting everything he's ever earned and won against the royal prince the Russian Mafia has kidnapped, whom would Scotty Michaels, former WFW World and North American Champion place his money on? Who would be his horse?

Like many of us, I thought I'd never know. I am not one to simply give up though, so I sent hounds across all 50 of the United States, hired private detectives, and had my legions of followers scour the internet for traces of him. Like Alex Wylde, I am not willing to so frivilously throw someone away, especially not an ex-world champion.

So....allow me to re-introduce to you, Copycat, World's Finest Wrestling, and the entire world.....SCOTTY MICHAELS!!

((RAYNE, her hair dyed blood red, stalks on-screen from the left wearing a waist-long leather coat and leather pants, guiding a bent over homeless man. The bum is decked out in a stained army jacket and holey jeans. He smiles at the camera with yellow-gritted teeth and a gap where his bottom front teeth should be. MANSON throws his arm around his shoulder.))

MANSON: Scotty, welcome back.

SCOTTY: T'ank you, sir.

MANSON: Now, how have you liked your last week of living at the Princeton, New Jersey Holiday Inn. I know that someone's been charging room service to the WFW corporate account and has ordered..well....let's call them "sexually interesting" films.

SCOTTY: I's been great, sir. I love it an' I ne'er thought I'd s'eep in a bed a'ain. I LOVE WFW!

MANSON: That's great to hear, Scotty. WFW has quite a debt to repay you for all you've done for World's Finest Wrestling. The classic matches and moments you gave us all.

SCOTTY: I f'ught in the war, sir, I did a'ot for my coun'ty and i's time I got some back.

MANSON: I agree, wholeheartily, I agree. Now, I've force-fed days of footage of myself and the eponymous Copycat. Myself, Cat, and the whole world are waiting to hear your expert analysis of this encounter. Tell us, who should win, who should lose, and the children, MY GOD, what about the children?

((RAYNE waves a small bottle of Jack Daniels and SCOTTY immediately flicks his head and foams at the mouth for it.))

SCOTTY: Y'u a rassler, sweetheart?

RAYNE: No, I never trained.

SCOTTY: Y'u could fg't that troy, she's a 'ig woman, she is.

RAYNE: Probably I could, since the master says she's not that good a wrestler anyway and people only shackle their careers down when they shackle themselves to her. I prefer leeching onto the biggest stars and riding on their own natural ability.

((MANSON sighs.))

MANSON: Mister Michaels, we're waiting.

SCOTTY: 'ight.

((SCOTTY stares out at the camera, squints his eyes, and gestures for someone to come forward. A man holding a cue card comes into view. SCOTTY squints his eyes again, and then gestures the man to come closer. The man holds the cue card right in front of SCOTTY.))

SCOTTY: I t'ink that Mike Mansum is the best rassler in da world an' the best wurld champ. An'.....an'......

((RAYNE uncaps the bottle and lets its scent ride under SCOTTY's nostrils.))

SCOTTY: An' he's guin' win that cage match 'cause he's got the smarts.....A'en...I pray to Mansume like he's mah God....'cause I love God, but I loves Mansume more...

MANSON: Very good.

((MANSON nods and RAYNE hands SCOTTY his Jack Daniels which he takes into his arms like a newborn, and slurps happily away with it.))

MANSON: So there you have it...Scotty Michaels himself has proclaimed that MICHAEL MANSON must win this match....and being the humanitarian I am....I saved him from the cold streets...and fear not Cat..when this is over...I won't let become involved with an overly manly female sidekick and bodyguard whom you'll become personally involved with and get fired from WFW with for drugs and then you'll both desperately try to regain stardom in anyway possible even making poor sex tapes and trying singing careers and then it all ends when she beats you up on New Year's because her armpits grew back all their hair. NO! NO! I won't allow it!

No matter how badly I beat and hurt you, I won't let it be. Even if you have to hate me for all the rest of your life to have that as a purpose, I'll make it be.

Struggling against a force of matter, a natural law as stubborn as MIKE MANSON not losing is no reason to throw your life away like Scotty almost did. Prepare yourself now....because SCOTTY..(Camera pans down to SCOTTY crouched on the ground kicking back his JD) has already predicted the best outcome for all possible futures....and as her....(MANSON nods to a stoic RAYNE)..well..there's no point in even asking.

And that's normally best.

 

[GARTHIsTheLaw]

Final stage

(Cueup: Blowing wind, with the sound of traffic in the background)

(Fade in on a view of the Boston FleetCenter from a hotel balcony. The camera seems to be focused on a large marquee which reads, "TOMORROW: WORLD'S FINEST WRESTLING CHRISTMAS CARD." The camera then pans back slowly to show the balcony on which it is being used. Copycat leans against the balcony railing, looking down at the city and the FleetCenter. He wears jeans, a heavy jacket and no beret, probably due to wind concerns)

Copycat: The stage is set...ought to be a hell of a performance. You'll have to forgive me. When you're in my position, you think only in clichès.

(Copycat turns his head to look back at the camera)

Copycat: When my match with Michael Manson was officially set for Christmas Card, I knew I had to expect him to get as wacky as possible. He hasn't disappointed. That Manson is a clever guy. First the insane asylum bit, then the Alex Wylde impersonator. Anyone who's followed my career knows I have a pretty good sense of humor, even at a time like now when I'm trying to look at my career in a serious manner. Manson has certainly given me a lot of interesting things to respond to. But you know what?

(Copycat turns around and faces the camera)

Copycat: I'm really not going to respond to any of them.

(Copycat leans back against the balcony railing)

Copycat: Manson is -- I'm certain -- wondering just HOW I plan to outsmart him. I know he was taken aback when I made that claim, even though he didn't take it very seriously. Most people, when confronted with Manson, threaten to either outwrestle him -- uncommon -- or maim him in the most inhuman way possible -- more common. But it's not often someone like me threatens to beat him psychologically. I don't fight to maim. I don't fight to hurt. I fight to win, of course, but I also fight to learn. And it's what I've learned over the past eight years -- the time it's been since I last knew what it was like to be the heavyweight champion of the world -- that will help me know that feeling again at Christmas Card.

(Copycat plants his hands on the railing as he leans against it)

Copycat: Manson has spent years perfecting his craft. He can be beaten by excessive cheating, or intense brutality, or sheer luck. But beating him at his own game is near-impossible. This is something I know going into this match. I've watched Manson wound the psyches of too many opponents to think I -- or anyone else -- can beat him when he makes the rules.

(Copycat leans forward a little and glares into the camera)

Copycat: But at Christmas Card, Michael Manson will NOT be making the rules. For the first time in his career, Manson will not be fighting on his own terms. He will be fighting on MINE. This is how I have beaten people for the past year. I will not -- I WILL NOT -- battle any man on his own terms. I know Manson is going into Christmas Card thinking he will be setting the rules for the game. But that isn't the case. I may not be the champion going into this match. I may be wrestling surrounded by two steel cages. I may be under the watchful eyes of Sean Edmunds and Shane Southern. But when that cage lowers and the World Heavyweight Title is on the line, the Smartest Player in the Game will set the rules.

(Copycat turns to look back down at the FleetCenter)

Copycat: Tomorrow, it's all on the line. This one match will make or break the year I have spent chasing the WFW World Heavyweight Title, and the eight years I have spent craving that gold. This is about the championship. This is about respect. And this is about all the work I have done coming together to show the world that I am everything I say I am. Smart. Strong. Respected. Dedicated. Triumphant.

(Copycat turns back to the camera and looks into it)

Copycat: I won't be denied. I've been denied enough times. Manson, on his many flights of fancy, often refers to himself as God. But once I step into that ring, once that World Heavyweight Title is on the line, once I finally have the opportunity to prove myself in front of everyone who has ever doubted me AND everyone who has ever believed in me...

(Copycat glances away, then back at the camera)

Copycat: Not even God Himself can stop me.

(Copycat walks past the camera and offscreen)

(Fade out)

 

[Manson]

If you stare...

((FADEIN: World's Finest Wrestling World Heavyweight Champion, The Man More Exciting Than Jesus, American Alien, Marketing Genius MICHAEL MANSON, wearing the long-sleeved "Heavenly Manson" shirt which features MANSON with dark, leathery angel wings snorting pez off the golden gates of heaven and he also wears a set of black jeans. He sits Indian-style on a divan leaned against a blank wall. The WFW World Heavyweight Title is propped up on its own right next to him.))

MANSON: Contrary to what your parents and teachers told you, ignoring me will not make me or anything I've ever said go away. In fact, anything I've ever said or done is endlessly referenced by everyone else in this industry every time someone brings me up because it is imperative that we all exactly what everyone else thinks of what how we've spent the last ten years.

Of course, I only know what Copycat's done for the last ten years because he told me. I also know what he's going to do for this match because he also told me. You present Copycat in front of me and I will say that this is a man who has trained and worked to get back to that lofty perch he occupied ten years ago as a stupid kid. He should be able to do better now, he should be wiser, smarter, better trained. But he won't. Because the main difference between whatever heroin-addled, tennis shoe fetishist he beat for a world title ten years ago, and the champion he has to beat now is that the latter is Michael Manson.

Copycat, you might have spent the last decade of your life training, but so did I. I worked, I learned, I read, I challenged myself in ways no normal person could conceive. And, yes, along the way, I became a champion, and 9 of those times, I was a world champion. Mostly because I would never allow ten years to go when I wasn't one. That's something I trained myself to do. To have that iron will, the frightening ambition, and the cynical belief that I can accomplish anything I set my mind to.

And you think that you can psyche me out? That you will be the one who set the rules to this game? The fact that Shane Southern and Sean Edmunds will be closeby alone would un-nerve more than a few. The structure of the double-cage would un-nerve anyone else. But not me. It was ten years ago in Boston Action 'N' Destruction that I clawed my way across broken glass and a cage made from barb wire to win their world title.

The things I've seen, the things I've done, it's very difficult to shock me. Even more to get inside my head. To un-nerve me completely, you would probably have to go to lengths that I wouldn't. And I seriously doubt there's anyone that can, given what I've done these past ten years. True to say, if I were undone psychologically, I'd likely be found in church every Sunday lighting candles and asking for forgiveness.

But, like so many other things, that won't happen.

I've been called a lot of things in my career, Cat, God is only one of them. There's also Satan, the infidel, the angel of death, the savior, the most entertaining man alive, the greatest actual wrestler in the world, and many other things. There are still small towns that have altars to me set up outside their arenas that they leave pez dispensers at every season.

I might have been everything I've ever been called, and I might not be, but I have always been myself. And that's whom you're walking into a steel prison with. If not even God could stop you, I'm not concerned. You're not wrestling him.

You're wrestling Michael Manson.

I've been through cages and fire, I've climbed ladders and scaffolds, and I've wrestled for an hour, I've made larger men submit and sign over the deeds of their houses to me, I've chain wrestled with the finest in every country. I've done unspeakable things as well to win, but every wrestler pretty much has to at some point. I just did it with more panche and with the creativity a goth art student would envy.

I don't need to tell everyone that I'm the best wrestler, that I make the most money, that I'm the biggest star, or that WFW would collapse without me. The large gold belt sitting beside me already tells you that. 9 months ago I claimed it as my own, and WFW has grown more and more each month. And they said I was all about death and destruction.

All the same, you want to outwit me, and the attempt is admirable, but to do that you will have to try to think like me, to dream like I do, and that requires going to places most people don't like to admit exist. And everyone who does try, comes up short. Because there is always a dark, dank corner I can go that no one else will. But in trying, Cat, remember the saying, if you stare into the abyss, the abyss will stare back into you.

I already warned you what can happen once you don't win the world title. It almost happened to me, but I came back. I come back so much it might as well be my super power.

But whether or not you do is not my concern. I will only help those that reach out to me. But until then, you are simply in opposition to me, trying to take from me what my entire life was leading me towards..the world heavyweight title....the status of the the World's Finest Wrestler. This is not merely a promotion's highest title, not merely a specialty title for a certain type of wrestling, but the very world title that marks you as the finest and best wrestler in this world. The "God" of professional wrestling, if you will.

I haven't grown bored with being the world champion yet, and I don't think I ever will. Because for all the time I put into winning each and every one of my titles, I also put in the time to being the champion, the star upon which the world of the promotion has to revolve.

Really, Cat, would the title mean as much if you weren't trying to win it off me?

Then again, therein lies the irony, and it is bitter. Because it is me that you have to win the title from, and that is as likely as the all the stars in the sky going cold all at once.

 

[TheOriginalSE]

(FADEIN: The same hotel room as earlier. There are now dozens of Coca-Cola cans surrounding the bed that 'Simply Sensational' Sean Edmunds is sitting on. Sensational Sherri is sleeping on top of the covers, a Coke can resting on her back.)

EDMUNDS: "It is my duty as WFW President, to inform you all that you will be fined $5000.00 for each and every time you mented 'Sean Edmunds' without the expressed written consent of the President's Office."

(Edmunds takes a swig of a Coke.)

EDMUNDS: "Except for Shane Southern, who will be fined double for reminding everyone of the fact that I was the man he beat for his very first World title. That is all."

(FADEOUT: As Edmunds finishes the Coke and tosses the empty can backwards, hitting Sherri in the head. She throws up a hand and swats at the air before grunting and going back to sleep.)