View Full Version : A Message From The President's Youth Council

12-29-03, 05:14 PM

(CUT TO: Two men stand outside each side of a door that reads on the glass ALEX WYLDE, YOUR PRESIDENT. One man is very black, wearing flowery tribal robes and a headdress, staring intently at the camera. Standing on the other side of the door, wearing his BluBlockers and starched suit is a familiar face-- "MR. MIDDLE MANAGEMENT" Mike McGee, who is holding a coffee mug with Alex Wylde's face plastered onto it.)

McGee: (sipping coffee, pointing at the camera with his pinky finger.) I think each and everyone of you morons sitting at home recognizes me. But in case you don't remember, allow me an introduction. My name is "Mr. Middle Management" Mike McGee. Since this league's inception, I have acted as its human resources associate-- helping to manage its lucrative 401K opportunities, processing time cards and organizing free ticket giveaways to Six Flags Great Adventure during summer months. I have also worked VERY closely with our league's president, Alex Wylde-- a man who has proven himself in his short tenure as RULER of this promotion to be a man of uncalcuble intelligence and brilliance, a man who has already made this promotion the hottest television show amongst the lucrative 18-24 male demographic.

Now... (chuckles) not to toot my own horn, but I have had President Wylde himself write me up a STELLAR annual review for my management of our pension plan and ability to effectively community HIS mission and HIS goals in newsletters, both in printed and e-mail formats. He has wanted me to take a greater stake in this company's future, and as such, he has allowed me-- a 2nd team Division 3 NCAA East Regional amateur wrestler at a William Paterson State College in New Jersey, where I majored in Corporate Communication-- to once again join this promotion's active roster. So, once again, I will be entering the wrestling ring to further the goals of this company-- and the goals of my boss, the handsomest man in wrestling, President Alex Wylde. And any harm I do to you will be for your OWN good.

Next to me, right now, is another man who I currently work for. President Wylde travels in ELITE circles, as being the president of a regional wrestling promotion allows him to enter elite circles of manhood. One such circle that President Wylde frequents is in the world of INTERNATIONAL TRADE and DIPLOMACY, where he recently helped broker a deal that allows for UN Inspections of nuclear facilities in Libya. To my left is THE MIGHTY IMPALA-- President Wylde's Secretary of State, a true master of International Strategy. The descendent of a former RULING PRINCE of a section of Cote d'Ivoire, Impala is now coming to America to conquer the squared circle-- just as he has done to several municipalities in Western Sub-Saharan Africa.

Mr. Impala, the floor is now yours.

(Impala stares at McGee.)

IMPALA: (in his high-pitched, accented English.) Very good, manservant. Please, I am now done with you. Prepare me the royal bath.

McGee: Right away, Mr. Impala.

IMPALA: In Cote d'Ivoire, I am seen as not a man but as A GOD. I command... (Impala claps twice)... and people DO AS I SAY. This country, the land you call America... people LAUGH when I command. People SPIT when I command. No-no. From now on, people will OBEY when I command. President Wylde... haha... he is a VERY smart man. He wants me to come in to this PATHETIC country to help him extend his rule to MY countries. I gladly help. We will rule TOGETHER, with IRON FISTS. All men will crumble before our might. I AM THE MIGHTY IMPALA. I AM A KING. Worship me as such. It is your command. (The Mighty Impala claps twice and walks off.)

12-30-03, 12:54 AM
(Fade in on Copycat standing in front of a TV broadcasting the introduction of Mike McGee and Impala. He wears jeans, his trademark beret, and a Bloodhound Gang T-shirt. Slung over his back is a gym bag. He looks at the TV with an expression of pity)

Copycat: God. It just gets worse every week.

(He shakes his head sadly)

Copycat: California voters, where are you when we need you?

(Copycat turns and walks away. As he turns, we see the other side of his gym bag. Attached to it is a bumper sticker that reads, "DON'T BLAME ME, I VOTED FOR HART")

(Fade out)

12-30-03, 02:06 PM
(CUT TO: McGee and Impala, outside President Wylde's office.)

MCGEE: Ah, yes, Mr. Copycat. Us in Human Resources have been meaning to speak with you for a while. Presideny Wylde *REALLY* would like you to come into our office and enroll in our companies dental plan, because all your family members have crooked, stained, rotten teeth.

IMPALA: In my homeland, those in your position do not address people in mine unless they are begging to have their life saved. I am a man of royal ancestry and I *DEMAND* to be treated as such. Copycat-- I will forgive you now. But one more outburst, I will make sure you spend the rest of your life in a Liberian refugee camp serving poor people cups of soup.