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View Full Version : Dirty Challenge



LQJT86C
07-17-14, 02:48 PM
“Try to see things from my perspective, Pete...”

(CAMERA opens on ALEX AUSTIN sitting at a table in Applebee’s located in Rego Park, Queens. His arms are folded over his black PRIDE FC t-shirt, and there is an intensity about his maniacal stare, cropped Caesar cut hair, and overgrown beard that doesn’t quite jive with the commercial restaurant atmosphere. Next to him sits LUCKY SEVEN in a sleeveless “Jim Rose Circus of the Scars” skeleton twins t-shirt, the Medusa Head portion on the shoulder of her full-sleeve tat flexing as she pours a can of Redbull into her drink glass. “Babylon” by David Gray plays over the restaurant’s speaker from whatever easy listening shit station they’re dialed into)

AUSTIN: “Castor Strife won a World Championship because I taught him how to defend the submission. In the first main event of my life, I went into Brooklyn and BEAT Eddie Mayfield, then did it AGAIN on pay-per-view last month. And if that isn’t enough, Pat Black came out of obscurity and left the New Frontier looking like a kid’s backyard with scattered toy parts, after he demolished everybody in sight, INCLUDING Castor Strife...all because of the training I gave him.”

(Camera switches to NFW Commissioner PETER WINDHAM sitting across the table from Austin/Seven, furiously eating a cup of broccoli and cheese soup before loudly dumping the spoon into the cup and pushing it towards the middle of the table)

AUSTIN: “So you can just IMAGINE my frustration at the fact that...Laurie and I can’t even get booked for a goddamn tag match.”

PW: “Yeah man, that sucks.”

AUSTIN: “What do you MEAN ‘that sucks’? You’re the Commissioner! BOOK US!”

PW: (shrugs) “You don’t sell t-shirts, kid. Can’t book you unless people want to see you.”

AUSTIN: “Hey...fuck the t-shirts. What’s right is right. I’m not a marketing guy, I take people’s limbs for a living. Last I checked, this was a competition. I’ve proven time and again... (looks over at Seven) ...WE’VE proven, that we are championship level competitors. We want our shot to rise up. We want what is fair.”

PW: “Life isn’t fair. You wanna know about competition? I haven’t won a match since 1998, and I sell more t-shirts than Fruit of the Loom. Hell, I’m the COMMISH! I like you guys, we’re buds, we go WAY back. Laurie, I’ve known you since you were young enough to put old men in prison for a long time. But here’s the thing...nobody wants to see you guys unless you’re with Castor. YOU FLEW THE COOP TOO EARLY!”

SEVEN: “We’re under contract, dickhead. Give us a match or I’m going straight to Fiona.”

PW: “Whoa! Calm down. No reason to go to her! Listen, I didn’t say you weren’t getting a match. Simply explaining...why you HAVEN’T gotten one! Ok? You’ll get a match! Just gotta figure out who. I’ll have to rack the jobbers and see who’s available...”

AUSTIN: “Enough with the curtain jerkers. We want a REAL team. Someone who can propel us to the next level.”

(WAITRESS comes by)

WAITRESS: “How is everything? Are you guys ready to order?”

PW: “Anything you want...it’s on me! (flashes the NFW Company Credit Card) This is a business dinner! (looks at the waitress) I’ll have two of the most expensive thing on the menu please.”

AUSTIN: (death stare) “We’re not hungry!”

(Waitress walks away)

SEVEN: “Don’t you have an office?”

PW: “NO! I mean, I don’t need one. I choose to be amongst THE PEOPLE! The fancy offices, high-rise buildings...it ain’t for me. Hey, maybe you guys just need a good gimmick? In fact, I have a brilliant idea for you...hear me out.”

AUSTIN: “No.”

PW: “Pipeline you right into a title match! The Chromatic Dragons are the EMT champs. So what we do is, we REPACKAGE you. You dress up like dragons yourselves, with Calvin Carlton as your manager. You’re now the ORIGINAL CHROMATIC DRAGONS! THE OCD VERSUS THE CD! The Dragons stole your gimmick out of the back of PWI a thousand years ago, and you’re pissed. Seven can do herself up like that Khaleesi bitch from Game of Thrones, Alex can fly around and do whatever the fuck, Cal gets powerbombed off the top of Smaug’s asshole...it’ll be great!”

SEVEN: “GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY FACE WITH THAT.”

AUSTIN: “Book us, books us NOW, and do it for Reloaded, or I swear, Peter, you’re not going to like my next move.”

PW: “Dudes! Reloaded is done! I can’t touch that!”

AUSTIN: “You sure about that?” (stares through Peter)

PW: “Alright, look. The deadline for match signings is TONIGHT. We have to act fast, and the only legit team I can think of...is DIRTY MONEY.”

SEVEN: (spits up her drink) “You?! Please!”

PW: “No, not me. I’m not in game shape! How bout Lane and Royce?”

AUSTIN: “Done. Sign it.”

PW: “Yo! That’s not how shit works. They have to agree to it, and I can tell you right now, those dudes are living ON THE EDGE. They don’t give a crap about wrestling any time in the next month, and are pretty much enjoying the good life. So here’s the thing...we’ve gotta locate them, and maybe you all can talk it out.”

AUSTIN: “Where can we find them?”

(CUEUP: “STRANGLEHOLD” by TED NUGENT (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0c3d7QgZr7g))

(CUTTO: Camera follows PETER WINDHAM from behind as he walks through the doors of WIGGLES GENTLEMAN’S CLUB in Queens, NY. Next to him are Austin and Seven. The door man greets him as they walk through – clearly Peter has been here before, and many times. Girls are on stage, dancing on the poles and gyrating on stage. Pink lowlights illuminate everywhere. One of the girls – a black chick with silver lipstick, glitter all over her face, and a big ass booty – walks by Peter)

PW: “Chandra! What’s going on baby!”

CHANDRA: “Mmmm, what you need tonight?”

PW: “I’m here on business, girl. You know where Lane and Royce are?”

CHANDRA: “Shit...they been in the champagne room for the last two hours!”

PW: “Ah, fuck. Alright, thanks.”

(Peter heads toward the back of the building and through the red curtain that leads to the private champagne room. When Peter, Austin, and Seven enter, they find LANE CASH and ROLLS ROYCE RAMSEY. Lane is laying back on the sofa wearing star sunglasses and a KISS t-shirt, getting a lapdance from an Eastern European girl with a CASTOR STRIFE PRODUCTIONS star logo bullseye tattoo. Royce is dressed dapper and TRASHED hanging out with 7 or 8 strippers by a HOT DOG BUFFET)

PW: “GUYS! WHAT THE FUCK?!”

LANE: “PETER!”

ROYCE: “PETER!”

LANE: “PETEY DOUBLE-YOU!”

PW: “Who the fuck ordered a goddamn hot dog buffet truck?!”

LANE: “You like that, right? Check it out, we got all the fixins. We saved you some relish.”

PW: “This shit costs money! We don’t have that kind of dough!”

ROYCE: “Company card!”

LANE: “COMPANY CARD!”

PW: “No, I’m not using the company card! Think you could have made due with eight strippers as opposed to TWELVE?”

LANE: “Lapdances are two-for-one tonight, son!”

ROYCE: “IF YOU BUY ONE, YOU WILL GET ONE!”

PW: “How fucking drunk are you, Royce?”

ROYCE: “10.5”

(Royce looks up and down at Lucky Seven and moves over towards her)

ROYCE: “Hell yeah! Who ordered the Suicide Girl? I’m ready to NUT!”

(Seven rears back and KICKS ROYCE IN THE BALLS! He doubles-over and immediately gets up to lunge at her, but is too drunk and KNOCKS THE HOT DOG CART OVER! The strippers scream and a few leave the room)

LANE: “YOOOOOO WHAT GIVES? WE TRYIN’A HAVE A GOOD TIME UP IN HERE!”

SEVEN: “You’re disgusting.”

AUSTIN: “We want a match, you washed up loser. We’ve seen your act and honestly? You’re a JOKE! Now we’ve been WAITING for a match, and there’s no way I am sitting on the sidelines for another show while YOU get paid act like trash all week. Now are you going to SIGN or what?”

(PW shows Lane a contract and hands it to him)

PW: “They want a match, dude. You and Royce versus Ill Fortune. You down?”

AUSTIN: “Sign it.”

LANE: “Who are you, Mike Barnes? Get outta mah face boy! You know who I am? I’M LANE DAMN CASH! NOBODY TELLS ME WHEN I’M GONNA WORK! Go on and break Mr. Miyagi’s bonsai tree, throw it in salt water, and GET THE FUCK OUT so I can enjoy mah night!”

AUSTIN: “You want to act like a pig? Here...(picks up the hot dog tray and tosses it all over Lane!) ACT LIKE A PIG!”

(The strippers all run out yelling)

LANE: “That’s it...you wanna do this here? LET’S DO IT HERE THEN, BOY!”

(Lane charges Austin who immediately takes him down, and they start to brawl on the ground. Seven blindsides Royce with a high kick to the face and he staggers and falls at her, trying to grab a hold so he can throw punches)

PW: “COME ON! WAIT FOR RELOADED! DAMN IT, JUST SIGN THE CONTRACT LANE!”

(Club manager walks in)

MANAGER: “PETER! Sorry man, but you guys gotta GET OUT! I can’t have this! Not here!”

PW: “Sorry Mike! What’s the damage? How much do these knuckleheads owe you?”

MANAGER: “Their tab’s up to $14k!”

PW: “FOURTEEN THOUSAND?! Do your girls squirt Montezuma’s gold or something? Damn!”

MANAGER: “Plus damages!”

PW: “Alright, alright. Here. (Whips out the NFW Company Credit Card) Put it on this.”

(The brawl continues as Peter and one of the club bouncers, ‘DANGEROUS’ DUKE MACKEY, formerly of NLW, rush in to finally break it up)

PW: “Stop, guys! Come on!”

LANE: “YOU WANT YOUR DAMN MATCH?! GIMME THAT CONTRACT!”

(Lane takes the contract from Peter, grabs a pen from Duke, and signs it furiously!)

LANE: “Here’s your contract! Signed, sealed...(takes the contract and WIPES HIS ASS WITH IT!) ...and DELIVERED!” (throws it at Austin’s feet)

AUSTIN: (pointing) “We’re going to EMBARRASS YOU at Reloaded.”

LANE: “We’ll see.”

AUSTIN: “EMBARRASS YOU.”

(Seven follows Austin out the door and looks over at Royce)

SEVEN: “Better ice those pebbles, dipshit.”

(Royce takes a swing but Duke holds him back)

PW: “Jeez...”

LANE: “Let’s get out before the bill comes!”

PW: “Calm down, dude. I paid it!”

LANE: “PAID? Why! Just let ‘em throw you out so you don’t hafta pay!”

PW: “Yo, we come here all the time! I know these people!”

LANE: “Baaaahhh!”

(FADEOUT)