*scene opens with Jay Phillips running out the headquarter front doors to the parking lot. Up ahead, about to enter into a limousine, is Scotty “The Body” Paris*
Jay” Scotty! Wait!!
Scotty: What do you want, Jay?
JP: I’m just wondering what your next move is, since you were denied the #1 contender spot by--
SP: --Since I was ROBBED that mop-head Slam Jackson?? I tell you what, there’s no such thing as justice anymore. I was screwed over by a corrupt ref in a match against Jackson, and THEN, to add ironic salt to the wound, he goes and wins the Fatal 4-Way for #1 contender. It makes me sick Jay. It really, really does.
JP: Well, some people would say—
SP: Look Jay, try to wrap your head around this *grabs Jay by his collar and drags him over to a car parked in the “Employee of the Month” parking spot. Ugh, what a filthy jalopy!
JP: But that’s--
SP: Anyway, let’s say you and I have a 10 million dollar bet on a game of Tic-Tac-Toe. *Scotty draws a Tic-Tac-Toe board in the dirt on the hood and draws an X in the upper left corner.*
JP: But I don’t have 10 million--
SP: Your move!
JP: *draws an O the left column’s center cell*
SP: *immediately draws two X’s in the middle and lower right and then scratches a line through the three X’s with his ring* TIC-TAC-TOE!!! I win! You owe me 10 million dollars!
JP: What?! That’s wasn’t--
SP: Wasn’t what? “Fair?!” Damn right it wasn’t fair! But don’t worry, I’ll give you a chance to win that 10 million dollars back, except you have to play against 2 other people besides me. How does that sound? Sound like a crock? Well, for once in your life, you’d be right! And that’s exactly what happened to me! But are amends being made? No! Everyone just keeps hatin’ on Scotty Paris. It seems that because I’m wealthy and successful, nobody can put their prejudice against me aside and do what’s right. So now, instead of someone whom everyone can look up to as champion, we’ll either have Rex Anarchy, a man who apparently forgot he joined a wrestling federation and not a political movement group, or Slam Jackson, a glorified back-alley grifter who doesn’t even have a real first name. “Slam?” Are you kidding me? It’s more like “Slum” Jackson! Ha! That’s brilliant! I’m gonna start calling him that!
JP: I’m sure you won’t win any fans calling him that...
SP: Oh, you mean the citizens of “Slumnation?” Yeah, they’re on the same level as Jackson: Trash. While they’re worrying about if they should spend their minimum wage paycheck on food, clothes for their kids, or booze, I’m having my pool filled with fjord water flown in off glaciers from Svalbard! Now, excuse me Jay, I have business that is actually important and meaningful, unlike yours. So this match better just happen already. So Slum Jackson can stagger back to the dumpster that regurgitate him and so Rex Anarchy can stop crying like a Kindergartner throwing and temper tantrum because no one is paying attention to him because....let’s be honest here....no one cares. Then, we can move out of these Dark Ages of the NRWL and start a new era, ushered in by ME!
*Scotty's cell phone rings*
Hold on a sec, Jay. Hello? ....Yeah? Tell him I have to cancel. I can't make it. ........Well if he's mad about it, tell him to blame Jay Phillips, he's the one who's holding me up!
*Scotty tosses his cell phone down a nearby storm grate*
SP: Royce Gracie might be looking for you. Anyway, as I was saying, I need to turn this company around. Unfortunately, I since I'm being denied a title shot this week, I'll get some practice in by beating up on Slum Jackson's cardboard box-mate, Ash. If it wasn't for him busting into MY interview last time, that whole Fatal 4-Way nonsense wouldn't even have happened in the first place! So Ash, prepare yourself...by taking a bath. And then, prepare yourself to just be another stain on the canvas that I'll have to clean off my boot.
*another cell phone rings. Scotty reaches into his back pocket and answers that cell phone*
SP: Hello? OK, I'll be right in.
*Scotty launches the cell phone into the parking lot, where it smashes to pieces upon impacting (and dinging) a car's hood*
SP: Gotta go, Jay. More important matters than you. MUCH more important.
*Scotty gets into the limousine and the chauffeur shuts the door behind him, revealing a calligraphy “F.F.” emblazoned on the door. The limo speeds off while Jay is left with a puzzled look on his face.*
