2012 Ultratitle: Endgame

[User Poets]

RP in this thread for the following.

Semifinal Match #1: Joey Melton vs. Castor V. Strife
Semifinal Match #2: Eli Flair vs. Jack Harmen

ULTRATITLE FINALS!

No RP limit.

No "stacking rule." You're all big boys -- someone has to beat out the other three to win, so I'd suggest making sure you address all your opponents, etc. The mix and way you do that is up to you.

RP deadline, Sunday August 26th, 11:59 PM Astral Standard Time.


NOTE: Judges for this thread will be grading you from 1 to 4. To win the Ultratitle you have to have beaten EVERYBODY else in this thread, so do not get involved in a protracted battle of words with just one opponent.

 

[User Poets]

Ghost

ELI FLAIR (V/O): "This is strange."

"It's a position I've been in before, but I feel like I'm completely new to it."

"These are opponents I've faced before, but they feel as new as they do familiar."

"Such is life."



(FADEIN on a scene out of an Edward Gorey landscape. The sky is darkened, like the sun is trying to cut through a thick, thick layer of clouds that refuse to release an imminent rain. The grass is a bright green in stark contrast to the sky, and there are some leafless, wicked looking trees strewn about.

In the middle of the view, stood the King of Extreme, the Original Nobody, Total Elimination, Eli Flair. He stood with his back to the view, his black hair free of it usual non-match ponytail and cascading just past his shoulders, but still hanging as loosely and greasy - looking as it ever did. He wore his typical black leather trench coat, and had his hands folded behind his back.

He was not moving.)

FLAIR (V/O): "I was here once before. Five years ago, I stood at the cusp of the Ultratitle Finals in New Frontier Wrestling, with nothing but a man named Nova between me and my moment of unbridled immortality."

"Did I fail?"

"Seventy minutes inside a cage, surrounded by steel, ladders, wire, and insanity in the NFW West."

"I didn't fail."

"Nova succeeded."

(A flash of lightning, and a crash of thunder, and suddenly, Eli Flair stood at the far left of the scene, facing the camera. He was no longer wearing his black leather trench coat, and his arms were crossed in front of himself. His face revealed no emotion.)

FLAIR (V/O): "Now, I stand with three men who made a career out of success."

"Out of succeeding."

(Lightning. Thunder. Eli was now on the right side of the screen, looking up at the sky, with his hands out to his side.)

FLAIR (V/O): "In my immediate path is Jack Harmen, a man I know well. A man I faced off with when we were both in our supposed primes. A man who has a fairly significant advantage over me if you extrapolate future potential against past performance."

"I beat Jack Harmen."

"Once."

"Jack Harmen beat me."

"Shall we say... more than once."

"Maybe that's my advantage, Jack."

(Lightning. Thunder. Eli was center - screen again, though in the foreground, holding his hands in front of his face, hiding all of his features except his steel - gray eyes that burned through the view from behind strands of his hair.)

FLAIR (V/O): "Our previous encounters were based against the background of a wrestling company with as much of its weight resting on my shoulders as yours. Our previous encounters were based as much on the future of our place of employment as they were personal pride."

"And while Eli Flair was good for street cred with a small but vocal portion of darklings and User Poets, the fact remained that Jack Harmen was good for business. I could justify my repeated failures against you, Jack, with the reality that if I win today, I get paid today, but if you win today, I get paid today and tomorrow."

"It was only business, but that didn't mean that I could easily accept your freaks being more powerful than mine."

"Fortunately, the very tenet of Survivalism is the fact that for the first time in my career, I can afford to be selfish."

"I can afford to say that I don't care what happens tomorrow. I don't give a flying f'k about next week."

"This is about the here and now."

"And this is where I make my stand."

"You've had a streak of good luck against me over the course of our careers, Jack. But I'm retired now, and I can virtually guarantee that this will be the last time we'll ever face off in the ring."

"Do you still have my number? I don't know. Will a victory here erase the last four or five times we've been in the ring together? I don't know."

"But the last time pays for all."

Pause.

"The good news, of course..."

(Lightning. Thunder. Lightning.)

FLAIR (V/O): "Is that while I stand, I don't stand alone."

(After the last flash of lightning - which was a double flash - the scene has shifted again. Now, Eli Flair is wearing his trench coat again and he's on his knees facing to the right. In front of his gaze, 'Poison' Ivy McGinnis is standing up, facing the camera. She has her hands rested on a Singapore Cane that's planted in the ground in front of her, her chin - length blonde hair swept partly in her face while her green eyes burn through with purpose. She's completed her own retro ensemble with a black short sleeved T-shirt with the smoky silhouette of Craig Miles on it, a green - and - black plaid pleated skirt, fishnet stockings and combat boots that crawl to her knees.)

FLAIR (V/O): "And I'll have my partner in crime, my hetero life mate standing in my corner for my match with Jack Harmen, just like she'll be there when I move onto the Undiscovered Country in the Ultratitle Finals against either Joey Melton or Castor Strife."

"Honestly, I feel sorry for my confirmed opponent and my two potential opponents. The three of you need to keep yourselves somewhat grounded in reality for fear of going too far in one direction and destroying your chances at success."

"Me, it doesn't matter how far I go."

(Lightning. Thunder. Eli is now on the right while Ivy is on the left. She is striking an offensive pose, as if she's attacking Eli with her Cane. Eli is in a defensive position, grabbing the end of the Cane to render a potential attack moot.)

FLAIR (V/O): "All I have to do is reach out my hand, and McGinnis will catch me."

"And vice versa."

"Jack Harmen might have Tony Davis and Mary Lynn Mayweather."

"Castor Strife might have Lana Dremire and who knows who else wasn't bought off by Donny."

"Joey Melton might have his rotating cast of hangers - on."

"McGinnis and I go beyond friends. We go beyond family."

"She told me that, in fairness to the Ultratitle, her position of power on the administrative end, and the endless streams of whiny, b'tchy sore losers, that she would remain behind the scenes until such time that Triple X and myself, or some combination of the two, made it to the Final Four."

(Lightning. Thunder. Now, both of them have their backs to the camera. Eli has one fist in the air, while Ivy is holding her Cane aloft like a victorious sabre.)

FLAIR (V/O): "As always, I'm the Soul Survivor."

"But who will it be? Will it be Joey Melton?"

"I would love for it to be Joey Melton, after everything he's said about my inferiority. After everything he's said about the negative pall I've cast over this industry."

"What would your favorite author say, Joey? It is decided as you may have expected; all judges had rather that ten innocent should suffer than that one guilty should escape."

"What I did was to do things my way, Joey. What I did, I did, not to change the wrestling business or to destroy sacred traditions, but to assure myself of the next paycheck so I could eat."

"Don't blame me for the way the fans abandoned you to flock to me."

"Don't condemn my innocence because you're too f'king afraid to face your own guilt."

"The monster you created wasn't Cameron Cruise, Joey. The monster you created was your own reputation, one that you were never able to live up to, even when you were in your prime."

(Lightning. Thunder. Eli and Ivy now stood foreground center. Ivy was most prominent, with Eli standing behind her. He had his arms crossed over her collarbones like a friendly, posed hug, while she had her Cane planted in the ground with eccentricity and had her other hand on her hip.)

FLAIR (V/O): "And Castor Strife."

"Castor Strife."

"Who am I, Castor? Who are you?"

"I'll tell you. I'm the one that understands you."

"You're the freak, the outcast, the only auteur in the room, indignant over the fact that the rest of the world fails to understand your art."

"We don't fail to understand."

"We fail to care."

"New Frontier Wrestling may be the farthest thing you can find from the mainstream. New Frontier Wrestling will never be featured in prime time network television."

"But New Frontier Wrestling is the organization that always pushes the envelope to the next big thing. It's been the truth for twelve years now, you want to know where mainstream professional wrestling will be in three years? Look at the NFW right now."

"And you're its Champion."

"And yet you're still dancing like a puppet, begging for the approval of a generation that you should've disregarded years ago."

"You're me, Castor."

"Only with a massive inferiority complex."

(Lightning. Thunder. Eli and Ivy now stood center screen, facing each other with their arms crossed.)

FLAIR (V/O): "Don't get me wrong, you've done well, Castor."

"You've made it pretty far."

"And you may make it farther still."

"But all the way?"

(Lightning. Thunder. Now they stood back to back.)

FLAIR (V/O): "Wait 'Till Next Year."

"And what about me?"

(Lightning. Thunder. Now they stood side by side, facing the camera.)

FLAIR (V/O): "I came here to win."

(Lightning. Thunder. They're both turned around in the same pose.)

FLAIR (V/O): "I will it."

(Lightning. Thunder. Opposite sides of the screen.)

FLAIR (V/O): "I see it."

(Lightning. Thunder. Center screen again. Ivy is pointing, accusingly, at Eli, while he has a hand up to ward her off.)

FLAIR (V/O): "It is... inevitable."

(FADEOUT)

 

[Steve]

Re: Ghost

(FADEIN: Joey Melton in front of an ULTRATITLE backdrop.)

MELTON: This is where I’m supposed to tell you I’ve survived a great many obstacles to get here the Final Four of ULTRATITLE TWIN-TEE-TWELVE and the process has taken me to hell and back.

I would love to follow the script and say those exact words.

But oh no…

I can’t do that…

No, no…I can’t do that…

This has been the furthest thing from a surprise. Joey Melton was always going to be in the Final Four. How could I not be when I was the only one to add some suspense to my bracket? I tried to save the fans from the predictability of Melton winning the UT --- AGAIN but our business is overrun with lazy assholes who can’t think for themselves, who have to have their words written for them and be told when and how high to jump.

I ****ing put a bounty ON MY OWN HEAD to help create a new star, but apparently in this economy everyone is good. I find that surprising, but nobody stepped up to take the money. Nobody even ran down to ringside and made off with the briefcase full of cash like a thief in the night. Plenty of you jagoffs have taken my money in the back for years, but when I bet against myself when I PAY YOU to be the last man to beat Joey Melton – you turn gutless.

Or maybe you understand who I’m betting against.

Maybe you realize you’ve never seen Joey Melton like THIS.

You’ve seen him play the fool, you’ve seen him make you laugh, bed your wives and daughters, and you’ve even heard of a sex tape that’s leaked in North Korea. But as we know getting anything out of that black hole is a nightmare.

You’ve seen Melton in Best of DVDs with Little Voltron as we tore up the Pacific at Carnival’s expense. You’ve see him create the CSWA and lift the NFW from the ****hole it was to the **** fest it is now.

But you’ve never seen me THIS dedicated.

Or maybe you just didn’t think Joey Melton had anything left.

Whatever the case is, **** you all.

This is my title, my tournament, my legacy and if you’re going to win it you should take MY money. But nobody has the balls to do so. I thought the one man who did was Cameron Cruise. I spent the last 8 years of my career raising Cruise to be my successor to be the man who ends the Joey Melton legacy, but he couldn’t do it. Because as I said, there’s only one Joey Melton.

I’m in search of my last great rival, the one man who can get in that ring with me and put on the greatest show this sport has seen in years. I haven’t found him yet, and looking at you three, I doubt he exists.

I started with a ****ing parody of one of the greatest love songs of any generation. Yet, all anyone wants to talk about is Castor Strife’s “art.” Aside from the fact the man probably can’t spell art if you spotted him the A and T, I find this repulsive.

Castor Strife the misunderstood, unloved, unwashed artist who will shape the business around his image only to become bored by it all.

I’ve read a porn synopsis with more weight, Strife.

Just like Cruise, it’s taken you this long in your career to do **** and now I’m supposed to bow down? At the start of my career I created an empire and at the back end I saved the NFW, your ****ing playland from the depths of bankruptcy and late night time slots with their signature shows being led in by reruns of “Frasier” and that fat **** Louie Anderson’s version of “Family Feud.”

To be able to pay your salary right now, you maggot, they NEEDED the ULTRATITLE and Joey Melton to teach the fans to give a ****. Oh, it was cool to catch a bunch of misfits at 1 am in the morning when you were still half-drunk and deciding whether or not to get on a web cam for some chic on the internet you hoped wasn’t really a man, but you know, the first time I saw a good Woody Harrelson performance was on TBS after midnight too in the movie “Cool Blue.”

Point is, things taste different after midnight, and we create memories we necessarily don’t want to relive.

No, your title wouldn’t mean **** without Joey Melton.

You know what’s funny ape?

How many people can say the same thing twenty years later…

YOU ALL ****ING CAN.

So don’t give me any **** about being an artist.

Don’t tell me how this is your ****ing summer job while you get your training as a lifeguard.

Yes, this is all a whim…blessed we all are to see you create another stroke of genius.

Please.

This isn’t Chad Merritt’s title. He cared so little about it he lent it out to a wasteland and takes it back when he needs leverage against his new house. This is MY TITLE! I stepped foot in that piss ridden chicken pen because I wanted to bring it back home, because I knew what would happen if it was allowed to be stained and looked at the wrong way.

I carried Season One but no man is perfect. Somehow, that dumb hick who sadly didn’t get trapped under the brutality of Hurricane Katrina, Shane Southern ended my run.

Oh yes, I know why I lost…

I WAS FRESH FROM OUT OF BEING IN A WHEELCHAIR!

I gave my legs…

I gave my SOUL to Season one… I was f---, freaking baptized to be able to walk again. In the end, I guess God doubted my sincerity which is odd considering I know the horrors Shane Southern has committed upon the Boy Scouts of America.

“Here Timmy let’s build a tent using the camp’s underwear…”

“Yes that’s my title, and yes you can touch it.”

But that was years ago, I understand.

But is it all really that much different?

I’m in the Final Four again Strife.

But they say you’re the man to beat.

They say this is your title to lose.

They better hope so because I hate to say I told you so, but **** it--- I will. If nobody wants my cash to spend, I’ll ****ing spend it the night I win the ULTRATITLE --- yes, AH-GAIN.

Castor Strife…

(smirks)

(Melton then turns serious on a dime.)

Eli Flair.

Eli… Eli…

Of course you’ve done things your way, you dumb mope. We all do.

But it’s not that your way is wrong, it’s that it’s so flippin’ boring. Eli I’ve always said you’re a great friend. You’ve been there for me when I needed you, both you and the Psycho *****, but one thing has nothing to do with the other.

I resent what you represent in this business. You found a niche, a small slice of the pie and you made the world believe the piece you cut out was somehow cooked more evenly than the rest of the dessert. Men like you Flair, guys who couldn’t work as well as I could in the ring, guys this business all but chewed out bandied together and turned this business into a stunt show. They realized if they beat the hell out of themselves long and hard enough people would come. I liken you to the Christian in Roman times that got off on being mauled by Lions. You wouldn’t quite ****ing die. There you were, torn to shreds, unsure of your next move, but alive and the crowd loved you for it.

Even as I was writing promos in the first couple years for Paul, Merritt wanted men who stepped off the set of “American Gladiators.” Big, steroid infused stiffs who couldn’t sell a hamburger to Wimpy fresh off a 10-day cleanse.

The business changed.

I adjusted.

I won every belt that company had to offer.

I made more names in this business than anyone else. Name the top five tag teams of the last twenty years. #1 will be Joey Melton and anyone else. Sammy or Steven Flair. Cameron Cruise. Lindsay Troy. The list goes on. I was the work horse, the show stopper. And here I am this many years later. Where are they?

You saw how he moved a few weeks ago in his last match. A shell of himself.

But Melton remains on top when he chooses.

How’s that for a legacy.

To survive you have to adapt.

At some point probably right when you started breaking Troy Windham’s digits, I knew there was a portion of this business I’d never get back.

But I never had to package myself as anything as anyone other than Joey Melton. That’s why I’m STILL the biggest name this business has ever seen. Because I’ve been free for twenty years to just ****ing be myself and that’s a true artist Strife. That’s a legitimacy you can’t fake.

Most of all Eli I resent you because you seem so content to just run with the bulls when you had the capability to castrate every last one of them.

When I worked a match with you…yes, I knew I’d have to carry you, I knew I could out work you, have to push harder, but afterwards I knew the next morning I would feel like I stepped in front of the 7 train. As we drank each night after the match and you’d say, “Ah, Joey. Gave’em an eff’in great match, didn’t we? Ivy says ‘he crowd never sat down.” I’d look at you and think “if this dumb son of a ***** ever gets a clue he’ll rule this business.”

You had one of the great minds by your side, not on your head that’s a key point to all of this, but one of the great minds at your side…some talent, and a body that was built like a tank.

You were content just to be good.

How many in this business think of Eli Flair as great?

That’s your fault.

You’re in the conversation. But so is a good coffee table piece.

There’s always someone better to talk about Flair. And that’s your fault, because despite your anti-establishment whims you are a people pleaser.

With your size and drive you should have held the top belts for years at a time, but you settled. You settled JUST for beating Jack Harmen once.

And now here you are for one last run because you’re being eaten alive knowing you never quite did enough. Well, I’m sorry Flair.

The FINAL FOUR is about the coronation of a man who takes what he wants. You don’t ask.

Jack Harmen.

We both know this is between the two of us.

I’ll be nice and give you the first words, you know, before I bury you with mine.

(FTB)

 

[LQJT86C]

Castor Strife

(FADEIN: Night time, Hollywood Hills – the camera is pointing to the ground from three stories up, situated on the rooftop of CASTOR STRIFE’s studio mansion. The view looking down is of a patio set back from the woods, but the blur of the camera’s refocusing robs our attention span)

“Don’t look down, you’ll get vertigo…”

(Camera turns up and around at CASTOR STRIFE, sitting down with his back leaned against the chimney. A gas mask covers his face, this one painted purple in the shape of a smiling Mickey Mouse, slightly pulled up to allow free breathing, though his face above the mouth is still covered. With his forearms resting on his knees, Castor taps the long end of a black cigarette holder to discard the ashes)

CASTOR: “I know… (brings the end to his mouth and takes a drag, blowing the smoke like a kiss into the wind) …I used to get it myself.”

(Turns his sight to the far off distance, the grid of humanity on the move in the city below the hills. He lets his cigarette end burn as he watches, then turns, lifts his mask up to the top of his head, and squints before continuing)

CASTOR: “You shouldn’t train your eyes on the drop when you are this far up. It’s like watching the set of your own death scene, except you haven’t been cast. Not yet… Eventually you will, you must, but not yet.”

“One more tightrope to cross. One more mountain to conquer.”

“Men like us, Joey Melton, we don’t look to the pitfalls and ask for an excuse to fail. We grab the next rock, take the next step…”

“I admire you in that way. And I admire Eli for it, and Jack… The four of us, we’ve cleared the field of natural born cowards. But the question is, legend, which three will be made into cowards when we cross paths? This is about more than just a trophy, you know…”

“…for one of us.”

(Smoke inhale, smoke exhale)

CASTOR: “Bored? No Joey… (begins to laugh) …I’m not bored – far from it. This is too much fun. I’m like a cartoon mouse with a pair of scissors in a field full of daisies. Uncle Chad’s going to be thrilled when he sees what I’ve done to the place. The ol’ fun house and all it’s magic mirrors couldn’t protect the Colonel Sanders Wrestling Association’s age-old secret recipe – ULTRATITLE. And my GODS, the Castor V. Strife Productions video library couldn’t sell you on a fetish stronger than nostalgia lust.”

“Since Ultratitle started, I’ve had men who I hadn’t even heard of tell me how it is the most important thing in their careers. I’m not making this up – people who didn’t know this thing existed three months ago…now believe it to be the penultimate achievement. Fortunately, I’ve been around the block, and I know better. And the only thing sillier than a young man with limited knowledge telling me the importance of Ultratitle, is a couple of grown men pushing fifty, one of whom has competed for it before, the other who has won it TWICE, telling me the same thing.”

“ULTRATITLE – so important that the reigning champion couldn’t be bothered to get out of bed for it. So important I couldn’t name you two people outside of my personal friends who’ve won it. So important that three out of the last six NFW champions used it as a stepping-stone. If I didn’t know any better, I would think it’s the NFW Television Title.”

“And somewhere behind the veneer of your Buddy Hackett routine, Joey, is a sad longing to wear the crown of an empty Kingdom. To once again find the summit, even if the mountain, like Big Foot, only exists in the minds of a precious lowly few who are possessed by its aura.”

(Leans over and spits something ashy)

CASTOR: “Don’t waste mine and the audience’s time with obscure references from the Ancient Tome of Wrestling History – you haven’t been relevant in half a decade, and smothering people in the minutiae of tournament rivalries from eight years ago isn’t going to help.”

“Today’s fans know you for three things since the turn of the decade: getting Cameron Cruise over, chewing on Troy Windham’s testicle gum, and producing some of the most horrendously awful moments ever captured on television with Lindsay Troy. Fortunately for her, she moved on and won back some respect. You? Not so much.”

“To the mainstream viewer, you were good for a few laughs. They enjoyed you while they waited to be inspired by bigger and better men.”

“I, however, don’t always operate in the mainstream, and would be happy to tell the audience what really makes you dangerous. No need to lie – I’m an honest man most of the time – I will vouch for you.”

(Crosses the cigarette holder between both hands, twirling it slightly as ashes spill out from the end)

“And I fear what motivates a man like you, every time he walks into a room and one less person remembers his name. Women would fall to their knees whenever you groped them, but now you’re just a drunk old wrestling legend, grabbing at a titty and getting away with it because a horrified young woman’s father had to explain to her that you were Joey Melton, and he wanted to be just like when he was her age. The best seat in the house was always yours, and the bill never came – and today, the restaurant owner lends you money because it breaks his heart that you would ever have to ask.”

(Takes a drag)

CASTOR: “This is why I fear Joey Melton in 2012, because beating Castor Strife is all he has left to live for. He can’t fall back on the promise of a bright future, like so many of my challengers can. I once fell out of the loop too, friend. I once hit bottom. So I know better than most what kind of man steps out of that fire – and it’s not something to be underestimated.”

“Now I’ve told them a story about you, it’s time you heard mine. Eli, you should pay close attention here. Listen…”

(Takes the cigarette out of its holder, jamming the lit end against the brick wall. Castor pulls the Mickey gas mask over his face and begins to speak. As he does, subtitles appear at the bottom of the screen, to help us understand what the man is saying – to read the message spoken through the mask)

“Once upon a time, in the first year after nineteen hundred and ninety-nine…a young man was sent by his teachers at age twenty, to learn at the feet of a master whose gym was in New York City.”

“The prospect was a diamond in the rough, groomed by giants to be the biggest of them all…and now I can see him walking into the gym, with the sign above, COOP’S GYM, and meeting Terence Cooper himself. His students called him Coop – everybody did – but I would think for certain that an old opponent or two knew him as Lucifer. Only a fallen angel, pain’s dominion and he the master, could recollect so many ways to hurt a man.”

“Now the prospect introduces himself to the catch-wrestling master: My name is Castor Strife, and I was sent by Stan Vick. He wants to know if that’s my real name, or an alias of some kind. Reality – the hooker we pay to tell us how big we are. I know a little lady who says I’m the best fuck in town, Coop. She calls me Castor Strife and you should too. That’s my thought twelve years later, but at the time I just shrugged.”

“In the ring, the master gathers his faithful. Who likes pain? I didn’t raise my hand, but another did. This lucky volunteer had his arm pulled back while Coop dug one heel into his throat. Now escape. But he couldn’t. Eli Flair watches from a distance, sidelined by injury. I felt strongly that he observed me practice and knew what an amazing talent I was. He even nodded in my direction once or twice, clearly impressed with what shouldn’t be – a teenager with the prowess of a ten-year veteran. Perhaps he and Coop could take what Stan Vick, Ares, and Robert Leland molded into a dynamo, and finish him into a champion.”

“KID… Coop waves me into his office. He taught mainly city kids with no real future, but now, sitting before him, was a goldmine waiting to be struck.”

“You show a ton of promise, but your fundamentals…need some work. I think you know that. My mind goes blank and I stare. We should probably draw you up a program, six days a week, proper diet, conditioning, and you work with me the whole time. Now the words find me: I say that I could give him three months, because my trainer knows Craig Miles and guarantees that I’ll have a contract with the New Frontier by January. But before I finish, Coop is shaking his head. No, that’s how you’re gonna wind up back in the indies wrestling for bubble gum and fifty dollars. Get a job around here, commit to the program, give me FIVE YEARS, and I’ll make you a champion. It’s up to you, though…he says, shrugging, sitting back in his chair with folded hands, like he’s some fucking God. What I saw across from me at that moment was a small man – a big fish lording over a local pond – who wasn’t smart enough to know that I was a gift to his shitty little habitat.”

“So I leave the office – WALKED RIGHT OUT – and grab my things from the back. On the way out, I see Coop speaking with Eli Flair. If nothing else, I expect him to be professional and keep the contents of our meeting private. Then I walk by and Eli says:

Idiotic hotshot. What a joke.”

“He smiled while he said it, like I was an insect that flew headfirst into his windshield. To just wipe me out of existence like that without a thought – what gave him that right? He didn’t know me. He didn’t take the time to evaluate me firsthand, and perhaps help me along where help was needed.”

“You probably don’t remember this, Eli, but I never forgot. I can still see my image reflected back in a car window of the New Jersey Transit, asking what I’ll tell Stan when I get back. What happened at Coop’s? he asked me. I told him I never went in. Said I hung out in Soho and drank with friends. I’d rather he think me a reckless youth than a coward. And you know what he said? Yeah, I was just testing you, Coop told me you never showed. What’s wrong with you? Just like that: cast from their memories like a nameless leper.”

“Six years later, the New Frontier cast me out too…I was injured, and addicted beyond function...and that’s when I disappeared.

“Then to see you return to the New Frontier, and prosper in my absence…to see Joey Melton, somebody who I heard was lobbying ESEN to keep me off camera, featured weekly…”

“It made me think of that day in New York all over again. The way some men think they’re entitled to bury a better man’s dreams beneath their legend’s topsoil, and forget about it like the ashes of a deceased anonymous. But what you buried was a seed…and every day that you prospered, it rained…”

“And in-vitro, I dreamed of returning to New York more deadly than the Son of Sam…”

“I saw Coop, dead in life but alive in my dreams, and I spit in his face. I told him he deserved to die, and that I would catch up with all his students down the road. I would find Poison Ivy and mutilate her sex parts. Then Eli Flair…then…then…”

(Long pause. Now Castor takes short breaths behind the mask – perhaps sobbing, or laughing. Maybe he’s gone somewhere else, and his mouth exhales in bursts like a car idling before it’s passenger resumes their place behind the wheel. In this case the wheel is purple Mickey Mouse, and before long it’s animated again as Castor bows his head and takes the mask off completely. He grins and runs a hand through neck-length blonde hair, returning his gaze to the camera)

CASTOR: “That’s a story never told before. Not even Eli and Coop’s star pupil and prodigal son IMPULSE knows that story. He never needed to…”

“But it is well known that when I returned to the ring three and a half years ago, I targeted him. I took Impulse, broke his neck, robbed him of two belts, and sent his career into a tailspin. And if he thinks about challenging me again Eli, so help me Gods, I’ll fucking paralyze him.”

“In this year, two thousand and twelve, Castor Strife is The Greatest Show on Earth. He has everything: power, respect, money, fame, and the New Frontier’s World Championship Title. He doesn’t need the Ultratitle to be what he is, though the tournament fed him enough easy challenges that you could call it a better commercial for Castor Strife than New Frontier could ever pay for.”

(Smiles; purses lips and shakes head)

CASTOR: “But Joey, and Eli…they need this, because it’s a chance to write the final chapter of their careers on the best terms possible. For Joey Melton it’s one more time. For Eli Flair, it’s the one that got away.”

“Now I find myself with a stone aimed at two birds. So hear me good and clear, friends, because if you’ve learned anything about me in the last few years, it’s that my words marry to fate like Pink Floyd to the Emerald City…”

“Castor Strife is going to write the last chapter of your careers. The illustration on the back cover will be my vehicle pulling both your carcasses through the streets of Greensboro as I make my exit…”

“I know you’ll do anything to beat me and win this, Joey. But my will to deny you the Ultratitle is greater than your desire to win it. And that’s what you should fear.”

“Eli Flair…I killed off the prodigal son, and now I’m coming for the father. They call you the King of Extreme, but I’m the God of Snuff. I’ll fuck you, gut you, and chuck you into a dumpster somewhere east of Ukraine. They never called the number on the milk carton to report sightings of Impulse, and they won’t where you’re going either. Где легенды перейти к кристалла – WHERE LEGENDS ARE FORGOTTEN.”

(Scoffs, nods)

CASTOR: “Funny that an ‘idiotic hotshot’ would be the one to fell your white whale. Now that’s a joke.”

“Jack…”

(Pushes himself off the brick chimney and stands up, tilting his head down but looking up at the camera)

“I’m not overlooking you Jack Harmen. In fact, you’re the only other person in this final four who is actually relevant. And I know that if you show up to win, you’ll beat Eli Flair – no doubt in my mind. That’s why I’m asking you Jack, as a colleague, as someone who I respect, to do me this one favor and lay down for Eli.”

“Take him to the ten minute mark, give him all he can handle, and then walk out of the ring. Let me be the one to take his dream. I deserve the opportunity.”

“You’re smart enough to know that Ultratitle means nothing. Do as I ask, and I’ll give you a shot at the real thing back home in NFW. Call Eddie Mayfield, tell him to put it in writing: Jack Harmen gets a shot at the World Heavyweight Championship, with an automatic rematch clause. That’s two. And all you have to do is yield the right of way to Eli.”

“Face it: when I break Melton apart, you will face me in a match with virtually nothing on the line. Even if you beat me, I’m still the World Champion. Don’t speak to the press, don’t cut any promos, walk into the ring so they pay you, get your fill of Eli, and walk out in ten. Then we’ll do it for real, in a place that’s not Greensboro.”

(Smiles, crosses arms)

CASTOR: “It’s a wonderful world we live in…that such opportunities should be available.”

“A host on ESEN radio said the other day that the real Ultratitle winner was the company and CS Enterprises, because of all the magnificent new talent and fans the tournament brought out from the woodwork. Well isn’t that swell…I can’t wait to destroy it all in one night.”

(Unfolds hands and cuts an arm out in a swatting motion)

“The so-called talent proved to be nothing but a farce, and the fans, well…if they’re not my fans, I don’t give a fuck about them. I hope Greensboro is a ghost town in two weeks – I’ll even fund a counter-program to the event if that’s what it takes. Film it so there’s proof, but that’s as far as it goes. This is the last Ultratitle tournament, ever.”

(Clenches jaw)

CASTOR: “I’m walking into Greensboro, and when I get there, tell them I want my money in an envelope, CASH. And then tell them I want Jack Harmen’s room number to confirm he RECEIVED my message regarding Eli Flair, and that he’s prepared to do as I ask! And I want a BASKET for Melton’s head – and one for ELI’S – and I want a percentage of PPV buys! – Blue Moon goddamn cancelled – a written apology from CSE and ESEN – AND I WANT ALL OF MO GREEN’S FUCKING CASINOS…”

(Pounds a fist against his chest and points to himself with a thumb)

“Because it’s my ring they kiss now! It’s my rules they play by! When they don’t, I snap their vertebrae.”

“Hear that MELTON, hear that FLAIR, and even Harmen in case you have a mind to meet me in the Finals…”

“In one fell swoop, I’m going to wipe you off the map.”

“Gone, baby, gone.”

(FADEOUT)

 

[Ford]

Logic from a Lunatic

(FADEIN: Jack Harmen stands in the middle of an abandoned warehouse. An overhead view.

CUTTO: Medium close up on Jack Harmen. He wears his NFW Superfly Express t-shirt and just cracks a smile.)

JACK HARMEN: Greensboro…

(CUTTO: Wider shot. Harmen laughs.)

JACK HARMEN: I f*cking hate Greensboro.

(CUTTO: Close up on Harmen as he quickly rambles.)

JACK HARMEN: But Jack-You gotta toe the company line-you gotta get the crowd behind you-you’re a good guy now-sign those autographs!

(CUTTO: Medium shot. Harmen runs his hands over his near bald head.)

JACK HARMEN: Sometimes I wish I could just be hated again. Life was so much easier-you knew where you stood-you could always hit anyone in wrestling tights and get away with assault.

But this Ultratitle final? Being held in Greensboro? It’s like the UNIVERSE hates me. Fraking Karma.

It’s making me reflect back into my past and realize that the first time I wrestled on American soil, it was in Greensboro. And no, it wasn’t CSWA; it wasn’t any place any of you heard of. It was a shitty run down carnival tent. Blah blah blah past blah blah blah history blah blah blah BORING!

(Jack Harmen leans in and grabs the camera.)

JACK HARMEN: I live in the NOW! And I see something shiny in the horizon. So, I'm just gonna go TAKE it.

(Harmen’s eyes narrow. He tilts his head up.)

JACK HARMEN: Now the question becomes… which path do I take?

(Harmen points to one side.)

JACK HARMEN: The Ultratitle?

(Harmen points to the other.)

JACK HARMEN: Or the NFW World Heavyweight Championship?

(CUTTO: Wide shot. Harmen begins to pace.)

JACK HARMEN: Hmmm. Tough decision. Gotta weigh the pros and cons, figure out the most logic—

(CUTTO: Harmen GRABS the camera once more in a close up.)

JACK HARMEN: SERIOUSLY?

(CUTTO: Harmen lets go of the camera and the cameraman moves to a medium close up.)

JACK HARMEN: If you respected me? You never would have asked me to lie down.

(Harmen’s eyes bulge.)

JACK HARMEN: You think I’m the type to throw a match Castor?

(Harmen sighs.)

JACK HARMEN: Cause this isn’t about the Ultratitle for me. (Quickly) Sure-it’s-shiny-I-want-it. But my goal in this tournament was to test myself against the greatest wrestlers alive. I was BORED. Now I’m not. THAT’S all that matters.

(Harmen looks away.)

JACK HARMEN: I haven’t wanted anything in a very long time. You see, after I had a bunch of accomplishments in my wrestling past that DON’T MATTER TODAY, I became complacent. I thought, why carry the big belt around. You get weighed down with the gold. Everyone’s gunning for you; you’re always on the defensive. It leaves you without a lot of options, doesn’t it Castor?

(Harmen smiles.)

JACK HARMEN: Me? I like my freedom.

(Harmen walks toward the camera, the cameraman backing away in a hurry as Jack stalks him.)

JACK HARMEN: That’s why the accomplishment of the Ultratitle means so MUCH to me. Cause I don’t HAVE to defend it. EVER.

(Harmen laughs.)

JACK HARMEN: It’s BRILLIANT. It’s IMMORTAL. And I WANT IT! So I will TAKE IT!

(CUTTO: Medium Close up on Harmen as he lowers his head and stares at the camera.)

JACK HARMEN: That's why Joey Melton wouldn't say word one to the Lunatic. That's why he's speechless. He knows imma TAKE what's mine.

(Harmen raises his chin and takes a deep breath.)

JACK HARMEN: I *SMELL* the Ultratitle. It’s surging through my veins like methamphetamine. I feel the high, of soaring oh so high, over one hundred and twenty four other wrestlers. But unlike Icarus, I know when I’ve soared too high for my own good.

Eli Flair.

(CUTTO: XCU on Harmen’s eyes. They are resolute.)

JACK HARMEN: Five years ago I wouldn’t be saying this. But, now? I say it.

(CUTTO: Medium Close up. Harmen throws his arms in the air.)

JACK HARMEN: What. The. FRAK!

(Harmen does a brief circle before returning his gaze to the camera.)

JACK HARMEN: Stop being Icarus. You’ve flown too high. And I should know. You know how high I fly. Cause while you’ve put up a good showing Eli, defeating homeless men and guys with mob debts and jaw jacking slackers, you’ve become a living DISGRACE to our ONCE proud sport. You couldn’t win the Ultratitle when you were GOOD! So what makes you think you can do it WITHOUT KNEES! What makes you think you can even HANG with CRAZY anymore?!

(Harmen shakes his head.)

JACK HARMEN: I’m sorry I haven’t talked to you in a while Eli. I have your number—

(Jack pulls out his cell phone and shows it to the camera.)

JACK HARMEN: —right here, in my phone. But there’s no reason to ever call you unless I want a recommendation about a band that’ll never be on the radio. You don’t matter. You’re a relic. A giant of the past living in the shadow of himself. Hell, your plant girl is more relevant these days.

(Harmen pockets his cell phone.)

JACK HARMEN: But don’t get me wrong. It’s good to catch up. Talk shop. It’s like a high school reunion.

‘What have you been up to Eli?’

“Oh, I sat at a dive bar and listened to this industrial beat for three hours as I imagined I was still relevant. How about you?”

‘Oh life’s fraking GREAT! I make b*tches BLEED!’

(Harmen leans in to the camera.)

JACK HARMEN: Are you ready to bleed Eli? Are you ready to never walk again? Are you ready to DIE?!

(Harmen deeply inhales. He presses his palms together in a prayer.)

JACK HARMEN: Cause I’m ready. I told Freddy Sagawa I was a ticking time bomb. That I was living on borrowed time. That it’s only a matter of time before I supernova.

(CUTTO: XCU: The right corner of Harmen’s lips curl in a half smile.
CUTTO: Medium close up as Jack lightly chuckles.)

JACK HARMEN: Considering you couldn’t beat Nova, I don’t know HOW you can beat a supernova.

(Harmen raises his right hand with one finger held outstretched.)

JACK HARMEN: But there’s only one way you won’t get caught in the blast Eli. Only ONE way to win.

(CUTTO: Close up on Jack Harmen as he stares directly into the camera.)

JACK HARMEN: …

(Jack Harmen doesn’t say anything. After a few moments of silence, the camera slowly dollies away from Jack. The Lunatic SEETHES and SNARLS.)

JACK HARMEN: I LIED Eli. You’ll NEVER beat me!

(Jack raises his chin and looks at the warehouse roof.)

JACK HARMEN: There's NO WAY YOU'LL WIN!

(CUTTO: OVERHEAD VIEW: Jack Harmen stands alone in the abandoned warehouse. His shouts echo.)

JACK: EVER!

(FADE OUT.)

 

[User Poets]

Arrogance

ELI FLAIR (V/O): "Joey, I addressed your temper tantrum and weird obsession with me at the beginning of this tournament, before we all knew where we stood. Then I watched you bring me up against three of your opponents when we were still miles apart."

"That, I can write off as your own insecurity. What I don't get is, when, exactly, were we supposed to be friends?"

​

(FADEIN on a black background. An image appears, slowly, as if on a computer scree. It shows a kid, maybe fifteen years old, wearing an old Ozzy T-shirt. He's standing in between an Eli Flair and an Ivy McGinnis who look drastically younger.

The picture slowly morphs to show the same pose - a man standing between Eli and Ivy, with all of them looking about ten years older.)

FLAIR (V/O): "I assume you're referring to the two weeks we spent in Japan during NFW Season 2, preparing for the Elimination match? When we landed in Tokyo and you immediately grabbed hold of my leg and said 'Don't leave me'?"

"I'm paraphrasing, of course, but the sentiment was there. It was like you were never in Japan before, the way you wouldn't let me go anywhere without you."

"It was like you'd never been anywhere but Greensboro before, but I know that can't be the truth."

"So yeah, Joey, we were friendly on that trip. Why not? The fans were NFW East hardcores, they were gonna boo us no matter what, so all we had was each other."

(Another picture started to come into focus: a girl of maybe sixteen, reddish hair, with Eli and Ivy. Eli looks much more haggard than the last, giving the impression that this was post - match. Another morph and the picture shows the same girl 10 or so years later with Eli, Ivy, and Ivy's son Shannon. The girl has a baby in her arms.)

FLAIR (V/O): "And you spent the entire two weeks picking my brain for relationship advice, because you couldn't figure out how to make things work with Troy."

"So why did we never have a conversation again after we got back to the states?"

"I'll give you a hint."

JOEY MELTON (V/O): "When I worked a match with you…yes, I knew I’d have to carry you, I knew I could out work you."

FLAIR (V/O): "I learned a long, long, long time ago in this sport not to take things personally. People will hate your wrestling character, people will hate your matches and your promos and there will always be a large or small contingent of fans who think every World Champions should be jerkin' the curtain."

"I don't give a sh't about any of that, Joey. I never cared if people liked me, loved me, or hated me."

"But for one of my contemporaries to insinuate that they had to carry me - that I was being 'managed' toward a more favorable outcome?"

"That's when you show how bitter you really are, Joey."

(Another picture landed, with the same story. Young person with Team Extreme, the same person, several years older with several years' worth of wisdom on their faces as the morphed image.)

FLAIR (V/O): To insinuate that anyone had to drag me off the mat would be to insinuate that I wasn't giving everything I had of myself every time I went out there. To prove the opposite point, you ended your time in the NFW West outside the ring, staring helplessly as I pinned your dear departed wife Lindsay, either because you didn't have the strength to reenter the ring after the beatings you took, or because you really were fulfilling the fans' chants: Joey's the Bitch."

"Me, I won that triangle match and went on - that night - to wrestle Nova for seventy minutes inside a cage that was populated with ladders, barbed wire, and a Golden Ticket before my night ended more on a twist of fate than a case of being out - wrestled."

"To state or imply that anyone - ever - carried me in a match, even the almighty Joey Melton, is laughable at best and libel at worst."

(Another picture, another story. Young kid with Team Extreme, morphed into the same kid, ten to fifteen years later. Older, wiser, and like the rest, wearing the only officially sanctioned Team Extreme T-shirt: a Pagan Crucifix behind the simple words I AM.)

FLAIR (V/O): "So when did we have this friendship, Joey? The first few years of my career when you never spoke to me or Ivy? When the only reason you knew either of our names was because Ray recognized Ivy's greatness as a mind in this business, and your sister Teri was learning, firsthand, what Irish temper truly means?"

"I managed to wrestle in Greensboro for two and a half years before injury put me out, without even shaking your hand."

"And I don't care. I never asked for your approval and never lost a minute of sleep when I didn't get it."

"And I wouldn't even consider us friends during the second phase of my CSWA career, starting with the '98 reboot and ending - as you put it - when I broke Troy's fingers and we all shed a tear for a portion of the business that you'd never get back."

"Not even when Ivy rescued you from the unemployment line in the fall of '99 and convinced Merritt to keep you on the payroll because you'd earned it."

"And since you never said it, let me say it for you. You're welcome."

(The pictures kept falling, a little faster, but all with the same M.O.)

FLAIR (V/O): "It's ironic to listen to you talk about how 'Melton remains on top when he chooses' especially when you consider the company you're in."

"Because as much as you would like to lay claim to, as much as you've built a career on the legacy of Being Joey Melton, the truth is, there's very little that you can claim that wasn't the result of fate, luck, or someone else's hard work."

"The Greatest of All Time?"

"No, Joey. You're not even the Greatest of Bracket One."

"You're OddJob. You're the Thin Creepy Man."

"You're the distraction before the main course that makes the less knowledgeable in the crowd think that James Bond might not make it to the end credits."

"You said it yourself when you said I was content to just be good, you asked me how many in this business think of Eli Flair as great, and how you made more names in this business than anyone else."

"I've never been just good, Joey, and I don't give a flying f'k how many in this business think of me as great."

"Why?"

"Naming the top five tag teams of the last twenty years, and you honestly think number one would be Joey Melton and anyone else?"

"Vox Nihili."

"The Professionals."

"The World Peace Organization."

"Team WTF~!."

"The Legion of Dairy."

"The Hollywood Wrecking Crew. The Dirty Rotten Scoundrels. The Diamond Cutters. Generation X-Press. Crazy Like a Windham. Excess Impact."

"Even Mega Job, Joey."

"Top five of all time? You don't even rate top five of the moment in my book."

"And that's the point. You were good, Joey, but the most anyone can really say about you is that you were almost great."

"Almost made it to the Ultratitle Finals in NFW Season One, but stopped by Shane Southern in a pathetic show of cowardice involving a wheelchair match; you somehow, magically managed to walk when you needed to."

"Right into Shane Southern's boot."

"Almost made it to the Ultratitle Finals in NFW Season 2, but stopped by a triangle match, the realization that the fans shared with you that Joey, indeed, was the b'tch... as well as the fact that I won the match."

"Handed the CSWA World Title, quite literally, by Commissioner Needs-A-Clue, and proceeds to escape by the skin of your teeth against Hornet, Craig Miles in Hornet's face paint, and yours truly before losing it to Shane Southern in what was undoubtedly one of the easiest titles he ever won."

"Except for one thing."

(CUTTO: CSWA PRIMETIME in Nassau, October 7, 2004 - Main Event was a Non Title match between Joey Melton and Eli Flair.)

BB: Melton’s back in...and all too proud of it. (Joey’s backstrutting in the ring.) He meets Eli, forearm to Melton’s gut! Joey’s rocked...FALLEN ONE!!

SB: FANS WE’RE OUT OF TIME, SEE YA NEXT---

BB: ONE..........TWO.............THREE!!!! Eli Flair has defeated the World Heavyweight Champion clean in the middle of the ring!

SB: No!!

(Worthington raises Flair’s hands as the fans go wild.)

BB: Eli skips out, big hug for Ivy! He’s just beaten the World Champion! Melton’s beside himself!

(CUTTO: Joey kicking the ropes, threatening to harm the ref.)

(CUTTO: Lindsay Troy walking back up the rampway with Eli and Poison Ivy.)

(CUTTO: Buckley and Benson)

SB: (to himself) Non-title Sammy, non-title. Relax.

BB: What a night! The return of Eli Flair! Adler walks out, Dan Ryan with a big win...and Melton...the (cough) World Champion disgraced again!

(CUTTO: The ever - growing picture collage.)

FLAIR (V/O): "Checkmate."

"And you finally managed to win another World Title via pinfall, but it took an assist by your mysterious twin brother to secure it."

"None'a this sh't matters to me, Joey - you wanna call yourself the greatest of all time, that's cool. You wanna tell the fans that you're the most entertaining wrestler that's ever stepped into the ring, be my guest."

"Just be honest with yourself, Joey, and be honest with the boys. You teamed with Cameron Cruise because he was so tightly wound and straight laced that you'd have no choice but to look cool by comparison. You got into some kind of relationship with Lindsay Troy because her star was going up and you're a spotlight whore. You asked for Troy Windham's nuts to dip into your mouth because you knew people would still be talking about it years later."

"What does any of that have to do with what you refer to as the business of being Joey Melton?"

"I told you, Joey - I've always done things my way."

"You? You've done things the way that you figured would put you in the spotlight another day. Play the fool. Play the martyr. Play the underdog. Play whatever role can put the most bucks in your pocket that day, and drop it all when something better comes along."

"You're playing deep right for a third string little league team, Joey - always running as fast as you can to catch up to what the in thing was, last year."

"Maybe that's where your problems started, Joey. You peaked on the CSWA's first card and have spent twenty four years trying to get back to that point, by any means necessary. Ironically, history has proven that you weren't even the greatest wrestler in the company that night."

"Meanwhile, I never went to the fans and said 'Love me, adore me, and make me your hero.' And that's precisely what happened."

"Because in the end, Joey, it doesn't matter if you think you're the greatest thing to ever happen to this Industry and the rest of us are lucky to be wrestling on your card, or if you think I'm a good friend who never pushed himself to be better."

(By this point, the screen is literally filled to overlapping with pictures of Eli and Ivy with their fans.)

FLAIR (V/O): "It's what the fans want to see, and they've made that pretty f'kin clear over the years."

"But this is all just conjecture, Joey. Because you'll never make it to the finals."

"Because you have an opponent who not only doesn't care about the Legend of Joey Melton, but who was probably about six years old when you were wrestling in the official prime of your career."

"Who doesn't think of you as anything more than a noisy fly on the way to the Ultratitle Finals."

"Who can probably put you down and be in the locker room before he breaks a sweat."

"The only difference between us in that respect is that Castor Strife was lucky enough to draw you in the semis."

(The screen went black, to be replaced by several pieces of splintered wood that are arranged vaguely in the shape of a wooden cross.)

​

FLAIR (V/O): "Nice catching up, Jack. Glad to see you're still dealing your own brand of crazy to the world of professional wrestling at large."

"But, to answer your question, Jack? I don't need to fly high to beat you."

"I'll be right where you can find me: in the middle of the ring. You'll come to me."

"Because you have no choice."

"No, I couldn't beat Nova five years ago, Jack, but Nova's not here - and based on what he's done since losing the NFW belt to the Almighty Joe the Plumber, I doubt he'd be such an untouchable opponent, even if his art has gotten better."

"And that's the crux of it, Jack."

(The cross started to re-form, but as the splinters moved, it was evident that there was enough for two crosses.)

FLAIR (V/O): "We're here. We're the top four wrestlers in the world right now."

"Or three, at least. Joey Melton himself admitted he had a greased path."

"And you're trying to reconcile your own history with the fact that a man who reTired three years ago, and hasn't been seen anywhere near a wrestling ring until this tournament started, can possibly rate."

"You want to disrespect the bracket I wrestled to get here, Jack? Homeless men and jaw jacking slackers and everything in between? I'd say they were the disgraces to our proud sport, sir - not me."

"It would be a disgrace if Vagabond or Eric Dane was here now, wouldn't you say?"

"We had a similar path, actually - and while I'd probably wager you had a tougher match with Troy Windham than I did with Eric Dane, the fact of the matter is that we both had to dispatch of egotistical veterans who spend most of their time living off their past accomplishments instead of doing something new."

(The 'T' ends to the straight cross started to pull back into the body, while the tilted cross deformed more to resemble an 'X' than a cross.)

FLAIR (V/O): "You asked me if I was ready to bleed, Jack."

"That's a pretty dumb question. Of course I'm ready to bleed. I was always ready to bleed."

"The question, Jack, is actually, are you ready to make me bleed, put me through hell, and hit me with enough offense to make any opponent in the sport crumble like an avalanche and give up, waving the white flag just so you won't hurt them anymore?"

"And are you ready to stand there with your thumb up your ass when I take every single one of your shots... and just keep on coming?"

"Because that's where we're going to end up, Jack. I'm going to move on to the Ultratitle Finals after taking your best shot, over and over again, because I say so."

"And I'm going to beat Castor Strife for the 2012 Ultratitle."

"Because that's what's going to happen."

"And you might not realize it now, Jack... you might not even realize it when you're staring me down in the ring."

"But slowly... piece by piece, minute by minute, it's going to dawn on you."

(The splinters finally coalesced into a perfect Pagan Crucifix.)

FLAIR (V/O): "You can't stop Eli Flair."

"And there's nothing you can do about it."

(FADEOUT)

 

[User Poets]

Dog of Snuff

ELI FLAIR (V/O): "I'll be honest, Castor... at first I thought your tale of betrayal and crushed dreams was a Hail Mary pass, a fanciful tale even more unbelievable than Joey Melton's insistence that he was ever better at this than me."

"Fortunately, I've got an associate with a selectively photographic memory who can remind me of the things I didn't think were important enough to remember the first time."

"Most of that stuff, I still don't think is important enough."

"Like those guys who spent fifteen minutes at Coop's and think they know everything he's about to say."

"Was it an important day, Castor, when you stepped through that door, only to leave fifteen minutes later with the knowledge that Eli Flair crushed your dreams? Have you been waiting for a chance at first degree revenge for twelve years now? Was this the defining moment of your youth?"

"For me, it was just another day of the week. Couldn't even tell you which one."

​

(FADEIN on a still photo from Coop's, a dozen or so years ago. It's black and white to be dramatic, and they're doing the Ken Burns thing, zooming in and moving across the photograph to give the illusion of movement.)

FLAIR (V/O): "One of our compatriots from back in the day was an infinitely gifted man named Johnny Fizzbin; he could've been a World Champion anywhere, but he never wanted to leave his neighborhood."

"Regardless, he was always taking pictures."

(Pan over, to see a fourteen year old Randall Knox, currently wrestling in the NFW as 'Impulse' - sitting on the top turnbuckle with a small gathering of other students, listening to an older student talk to them.

Zoom in on a spot near the canvas, where an agitated - and much younger - Castor Strife can be seen walking in the direction of the door.)

FLAIR (V/O): "So I guess that's photographic proof that you were there, Castor. Did you have that conversation with Coop? Did I have that conversation with Coop?"

"Sure. I guess so."

"I mean, I'll take your word for it. You say you were there, you were there. And you were offended - nay, outraged at the thought that Coop wouldn't immediately tell you that your game is flawless and that you should immediately be scheduled for the Championship of the Universe. And then when you threw a bitch fit and stormed out over it, you were offended - nay, outraged all over again at the fact that I commented, quite accurately, on the fact that you threw a bitch fit and stormed out over it."

(Slow dissolve to a picture of Terence Cooper at ringside during one of his monthly IWB events, very much playing the 'old school manager' for someone in the ring that we can't see.)

FLAIR (V/O): "So if you're finished with your epic tale of woe, let me explain to you what really happened."

"Without even being there, it's Another Version of the Truth."

"Obviously, you had promise. He probably never told you this, but I've known Stan Vick for a long, long time. He was one of the first people I spoke to when I stepped into the PYBA locker room for the first time: the first promotion I worked for besides Coop's place."

"And he wouldn't have taken an interest in you if he didn't think you had talent, so that's going for you."

"But what happened, I'm willing to bet, is that you showed up and did your thing, and immediately got yourself a head full'a sh't when Coop pulled you into his office."

"And he gave you the talk. He told you that you had the beginnings of a style, that he could see the charisma behind your nervousness and your bravado, and that all you needed to have the total package that you could build on was a solid foundation in basic mat wrestling."

"And he offered to hold your hand, so to speak, while you built that foundation."

"What did he say, Castor? Gimmee a year, two years, six months, timeline doesn't matter, to work with you every day and make sure you're on the right track."

"I can have you as the toast of any wrestling promotion you work for, said Coop, I'm willing to bet, bringing the fans in with that charisma you show, and keeping them on their feet with the mat wrestling that I can teach you."

"All for the low low price of zero."

(Another slow dissolve, to Coop at his desk.)

FLAIR (V/O): "He didn't want to keep you there to make money, Castor, he didn't want to stop you from making money. Coop was the most unselfish man that this business ever produced; his joy came from watching the kids he trained make it big."

"It didn't happen much; that's why he never charged money, but when a Randall Knox headlines a show, or when an Eli Flair makes it to the Ultratitle Final Four, those were the moments he'd have lived for."

"But you didn't see it. You didn't see the long term investment in yourself, you saw dollar signs right damn now and a promise of on the job training, not realizing that Craig Miles was a jackyl and the NFW was - and always will be - as dog-eat-dog as you can get."

"Idiotic hotshot, I apparently said. What a joke."

"I'd like to apologize for that, Castor."

"For calling you a joke, that is. I should've called you a tragedy."

"So you're the NFW World Champion, eleven years after you blew off Coop, six years after you could've been there."

"You've got talent, kid, Coop was saying, and I can offer you opportunity. And you turned around, Castor, and asked, where's the money?"

"Ten years wasted, Castor, all because you were too short - sighted to see the big picture."

(Another slow dissolve, to a split/screen of Eli Flair and Castor Strife from the Ultratitle promo shots.)

FLAIR (V/O): "I meant what I said about you to Melton, Castor - that he's in over his head and he's got almost no chance in taking you out."

"Because you're that good. Now."

"But considering how long it took you to get from Point A to Point B... you will always be a disappointment to this industry."

"And even if you make it past Melton, and you and I are staring across from each other in the Ultratitle Finals and you finally have the chance to 'take out Daddy' after taking out the kid?"

"You're going to be very, very disappointed."

"Point one, the kid has scruples. The old man will snap your fingers and not give it a second thought."

"Point two?"

"Just like twelve years ago, you're obsessing over the name Eli Flair. You're existing opposite me because you've positioned yourself in the role of The Adversary."

"And because you've shown your hand, because you've revealed yourself to be acting in reaction to the moves I'm making... you will never be able to get past me."

"Why?"

(The picture of Castor slowly faded out while Eli's became much more prominently displayed.)

FLAIR (V/O): "Because I'm the King of Extreme, and you're still existing in my past, an afterthought in a black and white photograph."

"And because of that... I own you."

(FADEOUT)

 

[Steve]

Re: Dog of Snuff

(FADEIN: Joey Melton in front of an ULTRATITLE backdrop.)

MELTON: Castor, you dumb fuck I think you’ve underestimated two very important points.

1) Most people in this business would KILL to have Troy Windham’s testicle gums between their teeth and

2) Just how fucking hard it was to get Cameron Cruise over.

I probably could have come to ringside with a Magic 8 Ball and had greater odds of success. Think of the possibilities.

“Will I win the EPW World title again?”

(Melton makes shaking motion.)

“It is decidedly so.”

Who else has been able to get Cruise over?

You think some mythical chase of an AIDS ridden plumber for superiority between your ears and finally taking the toy in the cereal box makes you a legend, that it gives you director’s cut over the FINAL FOUR, but it means nothing Strife.

If you live long enough, if you’re lucky enough to rule over a Kingdom, as my boy Doc said, we all will have bags of gold.

You want someone to stand up and beat you.

You want to destroy legacies while building your own.

Who the hell doesn’t, man?

What I did with Cruise has only been seen previously in Disney fairy tales. I took a rotten, stinky, dumb as a box or rocks pumpkin and turned him into a golden ticket to ride. You’re just like every other stiff in this business Strife. So narrow minded, yet you talk about your creations.

I created another man’s legacy.

You can’t even validate your own.

You’ve been around the block and know better? Please. You started your career in death time slots in front of reruns of “Change of Heart” and “Cheater.” The ULTRATITLE, Uncle Chad, and every other big name who came into your town, yes, eight years ago…put your play land on the fucking map.

Joey Melton, Hornet, Nova, Eddy Love, Eli Flair…

…that’s right they were chasing the NFW TV title, weren’t they?

You’re too late Strife. You’re just another NFW star trying desperately to get the ULTRATITLE rub, because you’ve seen how the script plays out. Nobody considers you the best in this game without it. It’s expected for you to play it down. I’d be upset if you didn’t.

But I just have to ask…

..if I’m irrelevant what the fuck are you?

And let’s talk brass tacks. I’ve been good for MORE than a few laughs, come on now. And I’d put my body of television work up against anyone. A man like Troy Windham feels like he has to suck a few cocks in the TBS board room to get on a sitcom and pad his resume, but I’m creating pieces most cable networks would love to have on their stations.

I was wrestling Adrian Evans in a steel cage whilst touring the Virgin Islands long before reality shows decided to exploit little folk. Now Evans has shot a cameo in Peter Jackson’s version of the “Hobbit.” My work has indirectly influenced Peter Jackson you maggot, so don’t tell me I’m responsible for bad television.

Your constant no-selling isn’t exactly blazing a trail…

(Melton takes a breath.)

Eli Flair. Do you not see the problem here? You’ve got Rudy slicing in footage and sound tracks just to cover up the fact that you’re BORING AS FUCK.

My God man did you really just waste ten minutes of Seizter’s life trying to pin me down on dates as to when the two of us broke bread and maybe talked about our shared love of frank and beans? Seriously? He's over fifty. He's got limited time left on this Earth.

You think I give a shit about an unscientific poll, thank you very much, regarding the top five tag teams of the last fifteen years? Look if there’s one thing Jay Leno never gets credit for is just proving how dumb Americans really are. You could hit the streets and ask twenty people who the first president of the United States was and they wouldn’t have a clue.

You want a thank you?

Here’s your fucking thank you jagoff.

Thank you. I totally forgot how close I came in season two to winning the whole thing AH-GAIN. I just assumed I faded out early or had a health scare, but no I was pretty close.

Awesome.

I was more dialed in to eating Lindsay’s pussy than I was eating your lunch that day, but man those years are a blur. I blame sobriety and being in a committed relationship for the first time. As we age our priorities shift, but even a half-hearted effort saw me within arm’s reach of the ULTRATITLE.

But hey congratulations on pinning Lindsay Troy. I’m sure it was a thrill. As was ALMOST winning the ULTRATITLE. They’ll put that on your gravestone someday I’m sure.

And honestly, who else would have the ABILITY to sell a twin brother post-match like I did? You see the shame in how I won, I see the big picture. EVERYBODY WAS FUCKING TALKING ABOUT THAT PROMO the next day.

A lot in life comes down to just being there, Eli.

Luck, fate, someone else’s hard work…

The checks clear just the same.

Everybody was shitting their pants over Blaine Hollywood pre-tournament, but it’s not surprising to me that Calvin Carlton led another man to failure. All that pent up sexual frustration, it just wears on you being around it for a very long time.

Dan Ryan? Sure. He’s the greatest of bracket one. Or maybe Showtime is. Or some other helpless sack who isn’t here right now to lay down for Castor Strife.

Who the fuck cares?

If my career is luck, Jesus Christ Superstar….any of you three should BE so lucky.

My legacy is beyond anything you three have created.

I was handed my last CSWA World title run. I’m so ashamed… (Melton cries)

You big dumb ox, you’re not the only one who can demand thank you’s. Maybe, just maybe Joey Melton deserved some gratitude for helping start the greatest promotion of the last twenty years.

You think, asshole?

I walked into that warehouse and had to CARRY that talent base for years. I wrote half the promos for the FIRST THREE YEARS. Merritt and Thomas didn’t sign off on any talent contracts without my opinion.

The CSWA was going to be my stepping stone, but the truth is they just kept me too fucking busy 24/7. So, I partied a little too much, so what if I as New Yorkers are prone to do told everyone what I thought whether asked or not. I STAYED. That’s my legacy bonehead. I stayed and because I did you’re fucking here right now.

You want me to thank Ivy for keeping me there?

Those bastards turned their backs on me because I wasn’t the Golden Child. Because I had the nerve to ask for everything I was worth, full well knowing everything I did behind the scenes to make it all work. And the sonsofbitches left me out to dry. They pushed me out.

I helped run that company and I got shit for it.

Dan Ryan still kisses a belt goodnight when he goes to bed, and whispers sweet nothings to it every time he lays his little head to sleep. A belt that wouldn’t be here without ME.

I won every title that company had and then some.

Part of being great is not giving a shit Eli as to whether you’re a distraction or opening the gawd damn show. And I made sure every match I had stole the show.

I’m here at 48.

People know who I am.

I teamed with half the roster to put them over at some point or another. Sammy and Steven, the Corporation, Ray S. Cornette. You can’t put my legacy around your waist. It’s in the fucking fabric of the business. Its history.

Ancient, sure…but my work has led us all here.

Tell me I didn’t leave my mark…

I won in Japan.

I’ve won everywhere.

I won the first ULTRATITLE. You think Joey Melton winning the first UT didn’t make it that much more special? You don’t think those little queers in New Frontier begged me to enter their never ending seasons?

Dan STILL defends the honor of a belt that hasn’t been defended in ages.

And we’re all here competing for the ULTRATITLE.

Who gets the credit for that Eli?

Uncle Chad?

If you and Ivy are as smart as you claim to be, you’ll own up to the truth.

My legacy breaths.

Yours is you ALMOST beat Nova.

And you pinned Lindsay Troy.

You think I should fear Strife? This coming from the same man who openly pined for Cameron Cruise to be the hero.

Bring on Strife. Fuck him.

The fact of the matter is, irritant, you three are in competition against each other.

I’m competing against what I’ve already accomplished.

What’s that Flair? It’s called perspective. Get some.

(Melton takes a breath.)

Jack Harmen.

(laughs.)

You need to get laid, man.

(FTB)

 

[LQJT86C]

Real Legends Play With Blood Money

(Blackness; a faint sound of laughter)

(CUTTO: Photo darkroom, where a red light reveals pictures hanging from a line across two walls, each one of them blurred so as not to offend the ESEN viewer with overt sexual content. At one end of the room is LANA DREMIRE, bathing the pictures in water before getting them ready for development. At the center is CASTOR STRIFE, with his back to the camera. He continues to laugh, almost like a mutter, but begins to break and groans)

CASTOR: “You don’t own sh*t, Eli. That’s why you’re here…scraping at the glass on the other side of a silver relic that you spent a career chasing. After all these years since our brief encounter, you still think you know something about me. And from the safety of your legend’s perch, you think that gives you control…”

“…over me.”

(Shakes head, laughing, sighing)

“That’s not an ace in your pocket, friend. It’s a train ticket. One for each of us who are headed to the same place. And I’m the only one who’s coming back, Eli. I am going to leave the three of you at the final stop, the place where legends go and never come back: the past.”

“The people today, they don’t want or need you. Everything around you, in this business you dreamt you built, now belongs to me.”

(The sound of clean tearing; Castor turns around to face the camera with an exacto knife in hand)

CASTOR: “And for you to tell Joey Melton I’m going to destroy him for the very same reasons why I’ll do the same to you or Harmen, proves to me just how out of touch you really are.”

“I find it challenging, in the year 2012, to sit here and listen to grown men read off from the expired catalogue of their careers – names, dates, and numbers that have all lost meaning over time. But I realized long ago that neither of you can help it, because it’s all you have left.”

(Turns, runs the blade through an old photo, then another, continuing to speak while his attention is elsewhere)

CASTOR: “ULTRATITLE brought you and Melton out of the woodwork. With or without it, when this tournament ends, you will climb back up to your pedestals, because being a legend is what you do best.”

(Turns back to the camera, points the knife at it)

“Another word for legend? Myth. And what the both of you have done is taken your legacies, your mythic legends, and wrapped them up in an equally mythic championship. So now you face a dilemma, because here I am, brandished like a machete before the tall grass, a man for whom the Ultratitle is nothing but a weekend gig, with no other motivation than to smash your folk-tale careers to pieces on the hallowed grounds where they were built.”

“Now you begin to see why this idea, Eli, that I exist opposite you, is so funny to me. I didn’t sign my name to the tournament because a win over Eli Flair would complete my career. Only a small minded IDIOT would enter a thing like this looking for closure.”

“It’s true: I never forgot the way you, and Joey, and a few others so unfairly slighted me early in my career. I also never thought I would have the opportunity to pay you back for it. The fact that I can now win the Ultratitle while possibly getting to break BOTH your necks isn’t my handicap, Eli – it’s my advantage. It is a motivation that I wouldn’t have otherwise possessed, and that’s a problem for you, not me. I surely would not feel safe in the knowledge that the greatest athlete in the world today is itching to paralyze me.”

“Your disposition is an unfortunate one.”

(Bows head and closes eyes briefly)

CASTOR: “Jack Harmen might be your only reprieve. He’s your way out. Losing to him might not be such a bad thing, you know? It was a good career you had. Held a few championships here and there, fought some classic battles. You might not have won the Ultratitle like you would have liked, but hey, final four, losing to Harmen…that’s not so terrible.”

“Pity that Jack is so g*ddamn unprofessional that he couldn’t do a colleague this one favor, this one time. It would have been nice if he accepted my offer, so I could show you first hand why I am and always have been your superior, instead of watching him do it.”

“Three years of dominating the industry, and I’m the disappointment Eli? No…(shakes head) nobody saw it coming. Nobody, not even your dead teacher, thought I could shrug off my demons and swat the field like a bunch of mosquitoes. I wiped my ass with the PWI Top 20.”

“I’m the disappointment? I don’t think so. You’re only here because the lack of Ultratitle in your life has been a self-disappointment for the last two decades, and to be honest Eli? You want a list of real disappointments? Try ESEN for wasting a load of TV time on Cameron Cruise, Zero, and Kendall Codine – where I come from, wasting a load is sacrilege – or CS Enterprises for the way they botched what could have been a huge success.”

(Tosses the exacto knife on the table and wipes hands aggressively)

CASTOR: “Disappointments, you say? HA! Dan Ryan, let’s start there! Danny boy showed up drunk and got himself beat by…what’s his name again? Then we have Sean Stevens, a man who I was looking forward to facing, and not only did the referee bungle his first match, but they actually gave him a second chance and he still lost. Joe The Plumber? Don’t get me started…”

“128 men, and THIS is what they give me for a grand finale? Two CS-RETREADS and a man who’s never come CLOSE to earning a shot at me in the New Frontier?”

“This is bullsh*t. I want my money back. This entire industry is a disappointment.”

“Don’t get it twisted, Eli, Joey, Jack…it’s not that your bodies are old. It’s that your mentality is old. You don’t bring anything new to the table. You have nothing for me. Your legends exist so that men like me can debunk them.”

“And my gods, Joey Melton, do you ever show your age.”

“You’ve been cutting the same promo for 20 years, wrestling the same match for just as long, and the only thing worse than being stuck in the past is not being able to re-tell it accurately.”

“Let me tell you something about the people and their attention spans, Joey: if it’s not current, they don’t care. If it has no bearing on the here and now, THEY DON’T CARE. And if you’re going to lie to them, make sure ESEN doesn’t offer NFW Seasons One and Two FREE On Demand.”

(Picks up the exacto knife from the table)

CASTOR: “Here’s a quick re-enactment. Ready? (Holds up exacto knife) This is my cable remote. Every time you say something stupid like, ‘You were competing on dark time slots, I put NFW on the map!’, I just press this button right here and…oh look! There goes half the CSWA and the rest of the industry making a mass exodus into NFW because they were just DYING to put an indie dive-hole on the map. Had nothing to do with chasing the viewership that was leaving your companies in DROVES…”

“What’s on the next episode, Joey? (Presses imaginary button) Wow, there’s you, Eli Flair, and all your fake-legend friends getting STOMPED en route to winning absolutely nothing and being forgotten in two years. This is quite riveting.”

(Presses button again)

“Check it out, Season Two, when NFW brought back the World Championship because everybody stopped giving a shit about Ultratitle. How unfortunate.”

“Look, there’s Nova! Oh boy, he just sneezed and won Ultratitle. Still no sign of you putting anything on the map. I mean, I see Troy Windham’s balls in your mouth…I see Mike Manson working on your vineyard, that’s hilarious I guess…you and Lindsay Troy on some 50 Shades of Grey nonsense, that’s…interesting. I bet the 18-35 demo loved that.”

“Unfortunately, I’m not seeing where you, Eli, or anybody else in your fake-legend sphere did anything resembling importance or relevance.”

“Just like your twin separated at birth, Eric Dane, I am the one who must wake you to the fact that just because you were THERE, doesn’t mean you mattered.”

“I understand you provided some comic relief while Craig Miles, Mike Manson, Shane Southern, and Nova put NFW on the map. I also understand you had a run in EPW before Lindsay Troy, Sean Stevens, and The First put THAT place on the map. But unless there’s something in the deleted scenes or outtakes that I’m missing, it seems that Joey Melton kind of, sort of, maybe…HASN’T DONE SH*T IN FOREVER.”

(Holds up an invisible photo and bugs out his eyes)

CASTOR: “Oh wow, look Joey, there’s a picture of you signing an autograph for President George H.W Bush. I bet you were a really important guy twenty years ago. I bet he asked who the man from Nantucket was, and you told him it was you. Look at that charismatic little bastard, Joey – was that really you? Hey, I wonder what would happen if Joey Melton from 1995 faced Castor Strife from right now. Wouldn’t that be amazing?”

“Instead, the Man of Today, the Promise of Tomorrow, Castor Strife, will face a challenger who doesn’t realize that the last twelve years of his career has been a lie. And his real challenge will be not to prove that he’s as good as he is, but that he’s as good as he was.”

“Can you really learn from a past you don’t believe in, Joey? Because if you think the key to victory is to perform like you’ve done in recent memory, then this match is going to be easier for me than it ever should have been.”

“I want the myth, Melton. I want it to be real. I want to believe that there is a man as good as you out there, so when I beat him, the world will fear and love me that much more.”

(Sighs)

CASTOR: “But the reality, is that I’m going to get Joey Melton 2012: THE MAN WHO GOT CAMERON CRUISE OVER. And to answer your question, friend, Dan Ryan put him over when he decided to rip the fans off and list Cruise’s name on the headliner of a pay-per-view. It doesn’t make him a great man, it just means he has as much contempt for the audience as you.”

“You ARE irrelevant, Joey, you’ve BEEN irrelevant, and any lay man’s dictionary will tell you exactly what that makes me. But you know this…”

“Just like you know that your Holy Grail means nothing to me, other than a notch in my belt. I’m going to be just another NFW star, that’s right, Joey…just another for whom the Ultratitle is not a pinnacle, but a pit-stop. And I’m sorry if that bugs you and the 497 other wrestlers with an NFW insecurity complex…I really am. I didn’t want to answer for my organization during every televised appearance, but the fact that certain people never climbed the mountain there has caused my every opponent to put me on trial for the imagined crimes of their white whale. Let it go, John Rambo. Because I’m not here for NFW either…”

“I compete for Castor Strife, the greatest single banner in professional wrestling. You mock and ask who doesn’t want to build his legacy…”

“You’re right, Joey. Everybody has the same dream. Hell, millions of people around the world dream of one day being a movie star. Many more dream that they too can be President of their country. Every writer wants to pen the next Great American novel. And yes, every wrestler wants to dominate the industry.”

(Nods head with a mesmerizing stare)

CASTOR: “But I’m the one, Joey…(points at chest) I’m the one who gets it done, while all the dreamers and wannabees point the finger and say, ‘He’s overrated. He’s not as good as he thinks. He’s not The Plumber. The Plumber wasn’t even The Plumber. Nobody who climbs higher than me is worth his salt, because it should have been ME. That’s MY dream he’s living.’ And none of them can do anything about it…”

(Smiles)

“I’ve taken on every challenge, and frankly, this industry is running out of names for me to erase. The only man who stepped up and took me to the limit was Dan Ryan, and I’d gladly give him a third shot if he could just remember how to wrestle and stop dropping matches to busboys. Nobody cares now.”

“I even threw down the gauntlet and invited The Plumber to fight me in the first round, but he too destroyed his worth when he dropped the match to…some guy.”

(Walks closer to the camera, hands out in explanation)

CASTOR: “There’s maybe a handful of people left who interest me any more, and guess what? None of them entered the tournament or made it past the first round. I tried getting Nova to enter, he wouldn’t budge. EPW’s champion The First said he had better things to do. Mike Randalls actually LAUGHED when I told him to throw his hat in. Joey…I tried! I really, really did. I wanted ULTRATITLE to be big, because the idea of the ONE CHAMPIONSHIP TO RULE THEM ALL really does interest me. I’m a competitive guy. But none of my powerful friends wanted to give it the time of day, and those who did bungled it.”

“Now I’m stuck here, in the finals, arguing CSWA vs. NFW with The Wrestlers Who Time Forgot, just like I was stuck last round arguing about ACW with some no-name…”

(Sighs, drops head and shakes it)

“Eli, Joey…”

“I’m tired, and I want this film to end so I can enjoy my weekends again.”

“Jack Harmen is a liar and a con-man – somebody with no sense of professional courtesy. He knows the only thing keeping me from holding out for more money, or walking out on this tournament and counter-programming the finals with a supercard of my own…is the prospect of breaking Eli Flair’s neck.”

“He knows this, and the bastard is going to beat you anyway, Eli.”

(Stares at the camera hard)

CASTOR: “Jack, in the words of Christian Bale, you and I are DONE professionally. After I beat you in the finals, you’re not so much as SNIFFING a shot at my title unless you go 95-0 against only the top competition.”

“You want blood, Harmen? I’ve got a donor all lined up, name’s Joey Melton and all that old scar tissue is going to open up like a paperback. If that’s not enough, you’re next. That’s when I beat on you so bad, you’ll think your name is High Flyer.”

“Then, Eli, if you’re still breathing after Harmen and would like to come find me elsewhere (you don’t), I’ll ask Eddie to write you a permission slip to fight Castor Strife in NFW.”

“Take a snapshot, Greensboro. I am The Greatest Show On Earth, and it’s almost time for me to pick up the tent, and move to the next town…”

(FADEOUT)

 

[Ford]

Re: Real Legends Play With Blood Money

(MULTIPLE BURSTS OF STATIC. CUTTO: Jack Harmen drives a large unmarked white van. He has a camera in his lap and records himself. He smiles as he turns around a corner. He wears an NFW “Superfly Express” t-shirt and lightly drums the beat to the background music with his thumbs on the steering wheel.)

JACK HARMEN: Oh! Look what we have here!

(Jack pulls the car to the side of the road. Sitting on a bus bench is a cute 19 year old girl in pig tails. She wears a skirt and hugs a college level physics book to her chest. Jack rolls down the passenger window.)

JACK HARMEN: Hey sexy transient! You need a ride?

(The woman frowns and tilts her head up.)

JACK HARMEN: I have candy.

(The young girl smiles and laughs. She stands from the stop and walks to Harmen’s car door. She catches gaze, and tilts her head to the side.)

GIRL: Do I know you?

JACK HARMEN: Maybe. I’m on TV.

GIRL: Are you on Gossip Girl? I used to watch it but then Ivy Dick-

(Harmen leans forward and quickly cuts her off.)

JACK HARMEN: Please stop making my brain melt.

GIRL: Wait! You’re that cute guy who my brother had a poster of hanging in his room!

(Harmen throws his head back in a laugh and broadens his shoulders.)

GIRL: You had weird green hair back then.

JACK HARMEN: Yeah. That was my jealous phase. I’m Jack.

GIRL: Mandy.

JACK HARMEN: You a student Mandy? Looking to smarten yourself up?

GIRL: No. I just carry around this book to make people think I’m a college student.

(Jack gets disappointed.)

JACK HARMEN: Oh. Here I thought you might want to earn some money for your college tuition for a few hours work.

(The girl frowns.)

JACK HARMEN: Or maybe you’re behind on your rent?

(No reaction from the girl. Harmen smiles.)

JACK HARMEN: I have a pizza with a special sausage topping!

(The girl’s jaw lowers.)

GIRL: PIG!

(She kicks the side of Harmen’s unmarked van.)

GIRL: I’m telling EVERYONE on twitter about you!

(Harmen laughs.)

JACK HARMEN: Alright crazy she-bitch. Get off my car before you lose a foot.

(Harmen steps on the gas and speeds away. Disappointed, Harmen stops at the next red light.)

JACK HARMEN: Man, how does Castor do it? I’ve been driving around Sunset for an hour now, stopping by bus stops and transient dens of inequity, basically talking to the scum of the earth. It’s like I’m backstage at a wrestling show! And I can’t get one young impressionable girl to bare all for a few hundred dollars!

(Harmen sighs as the light turns green. He continues on.)

JACK HARMEN: See, I try to take people’s advice. I checked out the Church of Scientology when Troy suggested it. Pretty crack pot lunatic theories there.

(Harmen smiles.)

JACK HARMEN: It was PERFECT for me! I’m heading back for a session next week even!

(Harmen laughs, turns down a side street called Gower.)

JACK HARMEN: Then Melton just tells me I need to go get laid. Which, I mean, I can yell till I’m blue in the face that I get as much of the wet I want. I can’t prove shit without photographic visual evidence though. So here I was, driving up and down Sunset trying to find a girl who wants to have a million of my swimmers backstroking down her throat while she’s immortalized on video tape.

(Harmen frowns.)

JACK HARMEN: I just want to point out Joey, that’s just a distraction. Cause like any heavyweight prize fighter, I better keep my lil’ Harmen’s inside my balls before I blow my testosterone all over some gutter skanks face. I gotta keep myself fresh, focused, and ready for the war of a LIFETIME.

(Harmen pulls his car over to the side and stops the engine. The camera fumbles as we—

CUTTO: Multiple bursts of static.

CUTTO: Jack Harmen sits in a center rotating chair. Behind him, sixteen flat screens display various wrestling matches from the careers of each of the Final Four Ultratitle Competitors. He is only illuminated by the light from the television screen and a single flashlight he holds in his hands like a microphone.

Jack leans forward as if he were to tell a scary ghost story, his face stern and motionless.)

JACK HARMEN: Let me tell you a story.

(Harmen leans back in his chair.)

JACK HARMEN: Y’know what? Fuck that! You know how many stories I’ve heard from you three people in the past week? I’ve got enough to write a novel twice the length of War and Peace and THREE times more boring. I pinned him. You pinned her. She pinned me. I pinned you. I punched out a porcupine. I ate a mongoose. I headbutted Bigfoot.

(JACK stands to his feet and shoves the chair backward. It rolls and knocks over the flat screens if he were a bowler catching a perfect strike. Harmen storms to the camera, as the lights FLARE on.)

JACK HARMEN: My name is Jack Harmen. I don’t CARE what I did one hour ago. I don’t CARE what I’m going to do one hour from now. I care about… NOW! Which is why Castor Strife is the ONLY one worth speaking too.

(Harmen turns to another camera as we CUTTO: A new angle on Harmen.)

JACK HARMEN: Castor. Castor V. Strife. The NFW World Heavyweight Champion. The MAN, in this sport--

(Harmen chuckles.)

JACK HARMEN: --DE-MANDS, I throw my match in the Ultratitle. All for the chance to get some revenge against Joey Melton and Eli Flair… for… WHAT? Getting hazed when Castor was nothing but a rook? So now the “artist” wants to destroy Joey Melton and break Eli Flair’s canvas and spirit because the seniors punked the freshman?

(Harmen lowers his head, grabbing the bridge of his nose. He shakes his head from side to side.)

JACK HARMEN: This reeks of a sense of entitlement that can only come from a dominating yet complacent champion. I mean really Castor. Let’s go over your history of title defenses in N-F---

(Harmen’s hands fall to his side as his shoulders slump.

He’s fallen asleep standing up.

After ten seconds, Jack jolts awake. His eyes wide and his body on alert. He raises his hands, palms toward the camera.)

JACK HARMEN: I DIDN’T KILL ELI! I SWEAR!

(Harmen pauses. He frowns. He lowers his hands and kicks the imaginary corpse.)

JACK HARMEN: Eli’s gonna kill himself. Cause he’s living in 2007. Which is better than Joey Melton--who probably saw Tim Burton’s Batman the same month he first won the every so shiny Ultratitle.

(Harmen smiles at its mere mention.)

JACK HARMEN: Eli. I will say to you as a friend – because I consider my enemies my friends…Don’t come to Greensboro. Please. For your own sake. Create yourself in NFW’s new video game. Rewatch old tape when you had a twenty five percent CHANCE to beat me. Because if you show up in Greensboro…

(Jack shakes his head from side to side.)

JACK HARMEN: I’m gonna get arrested for decapitating you with my Locomotive.

(Harmen’s eye brows raise.)

JACK HARMEN: And I don’t want create the Headless Horseman! Eli Flair running around like a soon to die chicken. I mean, you helped me CREATE the Locomotive when I CRAZY TRAINED YOUR BRAIN FIRST!

(Harmen looks at his imaginary watch. He taps his wrist.)

JACK HARMEN: Cause if the 8:15 to your brain doesn’t kill you; the 8:23 will. And if that doesn’t do the job?

(Harmen laughs.)

JACK HARMEN: I’ll just keep RUNNING YOU OVER! OVER, AND OVER, AND OVER.

(Harmen pauses, and looks up.)

JACK HARMEN: Hmmm. I wonder what would happen if I got a chance to Crazy Train Joey Melton? He’d probably turn to ASH!

(Harmen’s eyes widen and he smiles.)

JACK HARMEN: Like the vampires on Buffy! I gotta see that. Now I just have to find Melton backstage to make my supernatural dream a reality! Cause there’s NO WAY that geriatric is getting past Castor and the NFW Championship.

(Harmen turns his head back to the main wide shot as the camera CUTS.)

JACK HARMEN: I’m sorry Joey. Friends isn’t pulling 20 million viewers anymore. Reality TV is not a “new” thing. YOU, are not the GREATEST. RIGHT. NOW!

(Jack raises his palms out to his side and hunches his shoulders.)

JACK HARMEN: And there’s no shame in that. None whatsoever! Maybe you were the greatest in the past, but NOT anymore. And y’know, one day? I’m going to be in your shoes. Violently and vibrantly kicking and screaming against the raging current as it drowns me in a sea of mediocrity. In five years, I won’t be as good as I am now. In fifteen? I’ll be a walking skeleton, the living DEAD! And I get it Joey. I do. Better to go out in the ring in front of 18,000 people, rather than alone in your own bed. Am I right?

(Jack leans in, eyes narrowed.)

JACK HARMEN: Joey. If you somehow get past Castor? You’re personal Cinderella quest to win your final Ultratitle before the clock strikes midnight will come CRASHING DOWN as I UTTERLY ANNIHILATE YOU! The only remnant of your legacy will be me holding the Ultratitle trophy high above your shadow, imprinted where you once stood on the canvas like you were hit by a NUCLEAR BOMB!

(Harmen laughs. He turns away and paces.)

JACK HARMEN: But I don’t expect that. I look forward to Jack Harmen vs. Castor Strife. Ultratitle Final. Cause now it’s the only chance I’ll ever get to kick Castor’s grin clean off his face.

(Harmen stops pacing.)

JACK HARMEN: Unless I get some assistant to have him sign over Castor Strife Productions to me in some roundabout convoluted way.

(Jack smiles.)

JACK HARMEN: I do have a lawyer.

(Harmen shrugs.)

JACK HARMEN: Whatever the case Castor. I wanna bring the Ultratitle where it belongs, back home to the NFW! It shouldn’t be a mantel piece in an old folks home. It should be MINE!

(CUTTO: EXTREME CLOSE UP on Jack Harmen’s face.)

JACK HARMEN: Because it’s SO! VERY! SHINY!

(Harmen licks his lips. FADE OUT.)

 

[LQJT86C]

Re: Real Legends Play With Blood Money

JACK HARMEN: Man, how does Castor do it? I’ve been driving around Sunset for an hour now, stopping by bus stops and transient dens of inequity, basically talking to the scum of the earth. It’s like I’m backstage at a wrestling show! And I can’t get one young impressionable girl to bare all for a few hundred dollars!

CASTOR: Did you try offering her the Ultratitle?

 

[User Poets]

Re: Real Legends Play With Blood Money

"Everybody wants more. Everybody hates someone. And why do you hate them? More likely than not, it's because they are in your way, or have something you want." - Patrick Bateman
​

ELI FLAIR (V/O): "I'm not sure what's more disappointing."

"The fact that I've turned these peers and equals of mine into such mindless puppets, continually tap-dancing for my approval?"

"Or the fact that it was so f'king easy."

(FADEIN... on the King of Extreme. 'Total Elimination' Eli Flair is on camera for the first time in the run of the finals so far.

The camera was shaky - hand held - and he was doing something of a 'tightrope walk' on the roof ledge of his old apartment building in the Bronx, a mere half block away from TC's Pub.

His hair was blowing in his face and his arms were folded behind his black leather trenchcoat as he paced around one side, turned the corner, paced the other, and so forth.)

FLAIR: "Joey Melton tells Jack Harmen point blank that it'll be the two of them in the finals, before blowing his entire wad on the forever - shifting tale of the Legend of Joey."

"Hah - hah."

"Castor Strife tells Jack to lay down and let me win, because that's apparently the only way that I can make it to the finals, and then turns around to say that losing to Jack is the only way I can avoid a broken neck."

"Hah - ho."

"And Jackie boy, good ol' High Flyer Jack Harmen, has the decency to be straightforward enough to tell me that I couldn't even win one of these things when I was good, but even then, he goes with the bandwagon and says he'll decapitate me if I show up."

"Ho-hum."

"One vote for me simply losing outright, one vote for me no-showing and saving myself a night of pain, and one vote for getting thrown a pity-f'k as the only chance I have of getting to the Finals."

(He stopped, and turned his head slightly to face the camera, though most of his face was still obscured.)

FLAIR: "All three of you speak... like your words have any power."

(Eli turned, and started walking the other way.)

FLAIR: "Even the great Joey Melton."

"No, Joey - you made one valid point in your entire monologue: you've already won the Ultratitle before, and the rest of us haven't."

"Eighteen years ago."

"When you were last the Ultratitle Champion, I'd only recently stopped my string of petty crimes and post-juvenile delinquency. Jack Harmen was sitting in the backseat of his parents' car, actually believing it when the stuffed bra sitting next to him told him it was okay, that it happens all the time, and Castor Strife was locked in the basement at three in the morning, swearing up'n down he could see tits through the scrambled mess that was the Playboy Channel that his parents didn't subscribe to."

"And while I'm sure we could all still relate to our past selves, haven't we all moved on?"

"I know Castor has."

"This is your only chance to legitimize yourself in the eyes of professional wrestling. You brag, Castor, about dominating the NFW for the past three years?"

"Were you ever planning on doing it against a legitimate opponent?"

"I mean, seriously, Castor... I know the quality of professional wrestling has thinned out since the days when I wa an active participant, but Magnus? Legion? Cameron Cruise? Eric Dane?"

"Are these the opponents that you're counting on to cement you as a mainstay?"

"Well, there was Dan Ryan.... ohhhhhhh."

"That's right, that one didn't go the way you planned, did it?"

"The irony is that in order to get an actual opponent in Jack Harmen, you're asking him to lay down for a wrestler you've decreed by innuendo and attitude is inferior."

"Then again, knowing Jack's luck he'd take a dive against me."

"Futilely, as I'd then go on to win the Ultratitle."

"And he'd take his promised shot against you, Castor, take your belt from you because Jack Harmen is a quality wrestler, and then not defend it for three years but keep the juice running."

"Jack, I've been IWC World Champion for thirteen years now, even though the place shut down before Joey Melton was irrelevant, does that mean I've trumped you?"

(Another stop, another turn, but this time Eli faced the camera.)

FLAIR: "See, Joey? I can throw around meaningless accolades too. And I realize that your biggest claim to fame is being the third man in a wrestling promotion that hasn't existed for half a decade, but if you're gonna try t'convince us that you're the best at this, could you actually... y'know... believe it?"

"The legacy that you're championing, Joey, means f'k all to me. The legacy of almost being good enough, of changing your tune after I demolished your pedestal by asking McGinnis one simple question, all it did was show the world what a sad and pathetic man you've become."

"Your claimed, with much gusto, that Joey Melton and someone else would be the top of any list of tag teams, then dismissed the idea as a meaningless opinion poll when I rattled off five teams with more talent, charisma, and influence than you could ever hope."

"You claimed, thinking it would be your trump card, that I've never beaten you. I provided video evidence to the contrary that McGinnis, the human sponge, found in about five minutes, and all of a sudden our history is limited to the night that you were mine and your husband's bitch."

(He hopped down to the camera - person's level and took a few steps toward the lens.)

FLAIR: "All it took was one little promo, and I had you singing the tune I wanted you to sing, Joey."

"The irony, of course, is that at some level, you actually get it."

"For yourself, at least."

"For Joey Melton, what matters is the journey. Making names in the business. Wrestling the classic matches. Taking Troy's dingleberries in the throat."

"Making the fans scream the loudest for the longest. That's what it's always been about."

"For me?"

"All Joey Melton can do is tell me that I almost won the Ultratitle."

"Somehow, losing the bracket finals to Shane Southern when you were pretending to be crippled is more honorable than losing the bracket finals in a seventy minute was with Nova."

"Because you weren't good enough to get to that point, Joey. Because your perspective is skewed."

"You're a little fish in a little pond, Joey. CSWA. NFW. Empire. You never expanded your horizon. You never took a risk. You tagged along with the cool kids because you knew that we'd take pity on you and not steal your juicebox."

"At some point, Joey, you need to stop using your history as an excuse for why you deserve consideration in the here and now. I told you that your greatest career achievement took place almost a quarter century ago in a converted warehouse, and all you've done since is go on to convince me that it was actually a series of unfortunate events that took place between twenty four and twenty one years ago."

(Eli turned his back to the camera and started to walk back to the ledge.)

FLAIR: "Semantics over decades make you more than just a has - been, Joey... they make you a sad has-been."

"Part of being great, Joey, is actually not caring whether you're in the main event or jerkin' the curtain. Part of being great is the fact that I legitimately don't care, and I don't need to spend the twilight of my career reminding the fans that my most memorable matches were against a midget in the comedy break before the main event."

"The fact remains, Joey, is that while you see yourself as an innovator, as a pioneer in this industry, the rest of us, both within and without, see you as the comic relief. Good enough for a quick reign with a belt in between the real competitors. Good enough to put on close to the end of the night to give the fans some laughter."

"You've spent so long playing the fool, you'll have to excuse us if none of us can take you seriously when you're trying to be the contender."

(He started to pace again.)

FLAIR: "It's not like you're Jack Harmen, who somehow managed to do both at the same time. World Champion on one coast, National Guardsman - slash - masked rebel on the other."

"Aces, Jack, for the top notch Harvey Dent impression."

"Or Castor Strife, who somehow managed to be both the only reigning World Champion in the Final Four, as well as being the least important."

"The point of all this, gentlemen, is that the Ultratitle doesn't belong to any of us."

"Like Harmen said, it's not a real title. It's not something to be defended."

(He stopped again.)

FLAIR: "It's an idea. It's a state of mind."

"It's a matter of turning perception into reality."

"So, it's really quite simple."

"My body of work proves that I'm a better overall wrestler than Joey Melton, despite his intentional ignorance to anything outside his own backyard."

"My collection of scars proves that I'm crazier than Jack Harmen, when it comes to breaking through. Despite his insistence that he's going to decapitate me, I've built a career on taking the hits and moving ever forward."

"My personal body count proves that I'm willing and able to go to deeper depths than Castor Strife, whose own threats and boasts sound less like the NFW World Champion and more like the hardcore version of sparkly vampire guy, trying to convince us he's tough."

"But in the end, I've only got to beat two of you to win this. So, I guess, in a way, Joey Melton was right after all."

"The three of us are fighting for the Ultratitle. Joey Melton is fighting to keep his head above water and not let the fans see that he's completely out of his depth."

(Zoom in on Eli, smirking.)

FLAIR: "But there is one thing you could do to try and fit in, Joey. For old times sake?"

"Tell us a story about how you were the real brains behind... well... anything? I don't think any of us can get tired of hearing you tell the same story over and over again and again and again and again and again..."

(FADEOUT, with Eli still talking.)

 

[Steve]

Re: Real Legends Play With Blood Money

(FADEIN: Joey Melton in front of an ULTRATITLE backdrop.)

MELTON: It must be such a burden being Castor Strife. Here, competing against myths and waiting for the paint to dry on the lumber of his lemonade stand he hopes to make a dime with this weekend. It’s hell. You’re a trooper for being out here. If nobody has offered to pick the green M&M’s out of the candy dish in your locker room, I’ll gladly do it.

Just be gentle with me. I’m fragile. I could break a hip, and you know what they say about Joey Melton, if he’s fallen it probably means he can’t get it up…

I know this tournament COULD have been something special. If only Dan Ryan wasn’t a closet alcoholic or every other NFW superstar didn’t bother doing shit. I hate that for you, you know, that you wasted your time but at least you have a sense of humor about it. So few people see the joy in being retarded. I’m glad you’ve decided to look on the bright side.

It’s funny Strife, you’re chasing the ghost of someone who cleans up shit for a living and a past ULTRATITLE winner for validation, but you’re stuck with the guy who didn’t bother to learn your name years ago. Truth be told, I still don’t know who the fuck you are. But, that’s just me. Bear in mind I was frozen in carbonite until recently. I find it does wonder for my pores. Although as you pointed out I’m still getting my bearings. You know, trying to learn what the fuck this Internet thing is all about. Ratemyteacher.com. I would have loved to have had that when I was younger, instead I just dealt with the Cuban Missile Crisis and fallout shelters. If I never see a can of beans again, it’ll be too soon…

It’s interesting. I leave NFW and Nova puts it on the map. I leave EPW and The First puts it on the map. This is very good news for you Strife, once you’re finished putting lotion on my skin and threatening me with the hose again people outside of a singular community will finally know who the fuck you are.

That’s the bitch about myth and legends.

They take time to create and when damn near everyone else have done the hard work in creating NFW for you; it’s going to be a while before you prove anything. And that’ s really why you’re out there on your phone, sending emails, begging people to come make you a star because you haven’t been able to do it yourself. That’s what you’re really after. You need Eli or I to put you on the fucking map. You’re just too proud to say it. Come here you big lug…God you’d be great in a group therapy setting. We’d get so much out of you. The tears would flow. It’d be magical.

Show me how to work a remote again Caster. Will you please?

No you dumb fuck, I came to NFW as did others because they offered cash on the fucking barrel head. Had I known then that years later I’d be bitched at by a little girl who couldn’t do shit to actually carry the company THEN, I would have stayed home.

You think Eddy Love, Eli Flair, Hornet, or half a dozen more made the trek because they wanted a shot at the goddamn NFW World title? (Melton laughs.) Put down your Craig Miles wrestling buddy and take Mayfield’s dick out of your ass Strife. That company needed the ULTRATITLE and well, myths and legends to put you all on the map. Hell, even your demi-God Manson needed to pull over-time and work for me off camera. Of course he turned into quite the little firebug, but personality tests as part of the application process is a bit out-dated. Which is a means to say, my balls were wrapped in red-tape.

You may be the most original thing about NFW and it’s taken you this long to have a good run in the company. I’m sure there’s a good reason. Let’s grab the remote and go back through the fucking archives and relive the early years. Better yet, find Rudy Seizter get on youtube and REBOOK the whole fucking thing, this time make yourself look good and put Castor Strife in the mix, within a sniff of the Main Event, you know, when the fucking company turned a corner and started making money.

We’ll see what kind of creative genius you are then, because you can’t draw a dime by yourself Strife. Never have been able to. So take your Super fan hat off and stop embarrassing yourself.

Stop crowing to whoever will listen that you’ve been “ON TOP OF THE WORLD FOR THREE YEARS…”

Three years?

Christ man.

Point of comparison, any STD worth having sticks around at least that long.

But that’s just you, Strife you’re the fucking herpes of the wrestling world. You want everyone else when they don’t want you.

(Joey blinks)

Wait.

Did you just fucking say you tried to get MIKE RANDALLS to throw his hat in?

Yes, yes (laughs) relevancy for the win.

Congratulations on your empire doing the slow build to the relevancy match of the year. Windham vs. Randalls. That’s the thing about wrestlers who time forgot. They draw more money than Castor Strife. I just hope they’ll let you wrestle a bear as part of the MAIN EVENT when that colossal showdown happens.

Don’t bitch and moan Strife. You can work with a bear. Just dress it up like a plumber, get shit on its paws and send him to the ring. You’d be in line for the biggest win of your career!

Yes you’re right. I haven’t done anything in forever.

It weighs on me.

I lay awake at night.

I cry myself to sleep.

Yet, I’m here.

So let’s be brutally honest, irritant. How much has the wrestling world really moved on without me?

If I can get out of bed and make the goddamn FINAL FOUR of the ULTRATITLE it simply means I’m still as good as there is…now.

But I have no illusions about what I can and can’t do at this age. You can moisturize and brush with real peppermint and treat your body to natural, Vegan products that have never been tested on animals to stop the aging process but I’m not twenty-five anymore. (cringe) I’m not THIRTY-FIVE anymore, but there’s a reason a good wine takes time to appreciate.

I’m vintage.

But whats in it for you to beat an old Joey Melton? Nobody will love you for it, will they? That’s why I’m bringing $100,000 to the table. Beat the legend, take the cash, and put it all on Jack Harmen in the second match because we sure as fuck know Eli Flair won’t be headlining this baby.

You see, Strife, I don’t need to be as good as I was I just need to be good enough to win two more matches. I’ve done that a thousand times in my career.

Two more matches and then Joey Melton is gone.

Maybe you beat me and you can spend another three years addressing me as a footnote to your personal history. You boxed up the MAN WHO MADE CAMERON CRUISE and stuffed him in the attic where old winter coats and VHS porn collections go to rest.

I know nobody is counting on Joey Melton on winning that first match…

Nobody thinks I probably can.

They fear the worst, don’t they Strife?

That I’ll just be added to your bag of bodies, a collection of disappointments who you really didn’t want to beat, but where forced to because the situation hasn’t created a man big enough, bad enough, bold enough to defeat Castor Strife and end his massive three year reign on the industry.

But if I cared what the people thought I would have stayed clear of Auto-erotic asphyxiation.

My danger is maybe they’re right and Joey Melton didn’t know when to quit, maybe I run the risk of going out here and embarrassing myself, but I’ve been doing that for years.

I’ve set my time.

I’m going out on my terms and I have the opportunity to win my final match and in the process show Castor Strife measuring sticks are fun to dream about until all the dicks are on the table.

(Melton smiles.)

Jack Harmen. High Flyer. This is the problem with learning new names. But, Jack all that pent up aggression, it seems to be doing you wonders. I just fear what happens when you get the ULTRATITLE. I’ve done some pretty awful things to it, you know, I’m no virgin to debauchery but you, alone, with MY trophy.

Well, it won’t be the first time some bitch has drank out of the ULTRATITLE, but you seem crazy enough to take a swig yourself. That’s what worries me.

I’ve toured the country across the ring from a kid who thought he was a muppet and his tag partner who was fresh out of a mental hospital…I got off the crazy train long ago, but Jack there’s a method to your madness and I’m old enough to see through all the bullshit.

You are NOW.

You may be the best in the business. You’ve been all over the world, a handful of major promotions. Truth be told, you’re the one I worry about in Greensboro.

I want the challenge though.

You’re not a megalomaniac angry at the world for poor timing. You’re pound for pound the best this sport has to offer and I’d relish that compliment because I’ve been around the best for hundreds of years…

Do I have to consult you three on an old joke first or…

..ahem.

I know what greatness is Jack.

In my final match I want that test.

What greatness was vs. what greatness is.

You’re right, it’s a mad, lonely world waiting for some mountain you HAVEN’T climbed yet. The best dreams I’ve ever had are the dreams in which I’m dying. This is it for Joey Melton.

I’ll walk out of that curtain for one final time and I’ve thought about how these moments would play themselves out for years. I’m here because Joey Melton shouldn’t just fade to black. I should go out on top.

There’s no shame in saying you lost to an old man, to yesterday’s champion Jack.

Just as there’s not in knowing as great as you are, you’ll never be Joey Melton.

(FTB)

 

[LQJT86C]

Rome On Wheels

(FADEIN: STAGE SET – a red and gold colored throne chair is surrounded by cardboard cutouts of ELI FLAIR, JACK HARMEN, and a single cutout of TROY WINDHAM standing over JOEY MELTON, teabagging him with his testicles. In the chair sits CASTOR STRIFE, completely frozen beneath a dimmed light, right leg crossed over left, fist holding up chin, and the Roman laurel-wreath crown on his head. The NFW World Heavyweight Championship as well as a few other titles that shall remain nameless hang over back of the chair. Suddenly, LANA DREMIRE walks onto the hard wood stage, her heels making a loud clicking echo with each step. Her dirty-blonde hair is tied back, and her eyeshadow matches her glittery silver lipstick. She turns and meets the camera with an empty glare, now reading from the script in her hands)

LANA: “They came for the champion, three of them, with lies and misinformation in hand. Each gave their sinister, slanderous account, hoping and wishing the man known as Castor V. Strife would simply…shrink away, and fold his hand before the final table.”

“But we who know what kind of man Castor Strife is know better.”

“The hero returns at ULTRATITLE to cut the heads off his enemies…”

(Walks to the cutout of Joey Melton, laying beneath the nutsack of Troy Windham, where a spotlight shines)

“JOEY MELTON…the last gasp of the old guard, come to claim the trophy for a third time. Best known as a victim of on-screen sexual assault at the hands of Troy Windham, this old derelict tells THE PEOPLE that Castor Strife needs the likes of him and other industry names to build his own. Vicious bastard…”

(Spotlight shines on Eli Flair)

“The self-proclaimed ‘King of Extreme’ ELI FLAIR. He seeks closure to a storybook career, but who ever anointed him? A crown of blood is no crown at all… He is a pretender to the throne. All roads lead to one man, and we all know who that is. For Eli Flair to question the legitimacy of that man’s reign truly stretches the bounds of imagination. Will he even make it to the end, and have the pleasure of being taken out by Castor himself?”

(Spotlight shines on Jack Harmen)

“We don’t believe that will happen. That’s because we believe in YOU, Jack Harmen, and your tendency toward the element of surprise. So what do you have in store for Eli Flair? Locomotive to the skull? Think hard on your strategy, because however you succeed, by whatever scale of the pain index, it will be revisited on you in multiples at the hands of your champion. You remember your champion, don’t you? The one who asked you to step aside and let him settle unfinished business? It was in your best interest to acquiesce – still is. But if you insist on burning out the hard way, we know a guy who likes to play with matches. Come here little moth…”

“LADIES AND GENTLEMAN! It’s almost time for the show to begin…”

(CUTTO: Shot of the crowd, a small theatre filled with devoted wide-eyed fans; the front row is a line of mannequins with painted-on smiles)

“In ONE WEEK, your champion re-appears to make yet ANOTHER conquest. I don’t have to tell you what an enormous joy it is to watch him…”

(CUT back to LANA)

LANA: “…performing all over the country, taking on all comers, spreading Guild values to the uninitiated and uninformed. You’ve never seen an athlete, an artist like him before, and you WILL NOT see one since. Count yourselves lucky…”

“And now, fortunate few, I present to you the thoughts, ideas, and WORDS of the 21[SUP]st[/SUP] century man himself, CASTOR STRIFE…”

(Audience applauds. Lana bows and presents with an outstretched hand as she backs off the stage. The light now focuses on Castor, sitting on his throne chair, and all else fades into dark)

CASTOR: (Silence in the crowd) “When you reach the top of the mountain, a funny thing happens…”

“The climbers stop climbing. They sit tight on a ledge, and throw rocks at the man on top yelling, ‘DON’T FALL!’ Nobody pulls themselves up to try and knock him off, because it’s easier for them to question how he arrived up there in the first place.”

“Do you know what happens to the man up top?”

“He grows BORED. He tires of waiting on people to pull themselves up and reach his level. He stoops down, and starts kicking them off one by one. He pulls his cock out, and pisses on their faces, DARING THEM to climb higher. This is how he passes the time, because the thought of standing their WAITING on somebody else to throw him off disgusts him. Once a hunter, always a hunter. No gold from the earth, no God in the sky…can change that.”

(Gets up from his chair, walks around it and back to the center, looking up while he speaks)

CASTOR: “Now I look at the four names vying for Ultratitle, and I see myself, Castor Strife, and three men who are counting on him to make them relevant again. They benefit from my place on the food chain, because suddenly, people want to see them wrestle again.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but do any of you remember signing the petition to bring back Joey Melton?”

(Audience laughs)

“How about movement to goad Eli Flair into giving it one more shot? Does that ring a bell?”

“…”

“No? What about the Pew Research poll that showed 8 in 10 Americans want to see Jack Harmen’s name on the marquee without ‘NOVA and…’ in front of it? I didn’t see that one either.”

“That’s because none of these things existed prior to Castor Strife’s Ultratitle ascension, and you can be sure they won’t exist afterward either.”

“Without me, this GRAND FINALE is nothing but two retirees, a tag wrestler, and ORPHAN in the most expensive event that nobody watched. It would be the Heaven’s Gate of wrestling shows. But because it involves me, people will watch to see if any of the oldies but goodies can stop Castor from dominating yet another event.”

“That is your reality, Joey Melton, Eli Flair, Jack Harmen. I am the LION…and you are the faithful. And if Emperor Chad wants blood, by Gods, I’m going to see that he gets it. The old coliseum is going to get a new coat of paint. And every man, woman, and child will go home with a smile on their face knowing that yet again, I gave them their money’s worth.”

“For you, it’s the inglorious end. For me? Time to wake up and do it all over again. Different names, different town.”

“I’ve been to hell and back, and even Wyoming. This show stops for no man. Not the King of Extreme, not the Neighborhood Lunatic, not the CSWA golden boy. No man.”

(Places hand on his chair and leans)

CASTOR: “I look at the Ultratitle, and I say to it, ‘I GAVE YOU POWER’. My presence here makes the idea of ‘Ultimate Champion’ seem plausible. Castor Strife is Ultratitle 2012’s path to legitimacy, because the people KNOW…should one of the other men beat me, they can make a case for themselves. Without me, it goes down as the tournament that Dan Ryan punk’d on-air with a snakecharmer video. Props to Dan…he saw the whole thing for the charade it was long before I did.”

“All bullshit aside, you want to know the real difference between myself, Joey Melton, Eli Flair, and Jack Harmen?”

“THEY ARE ALL REPLACEABLE.”

“I…am not.”

“Does Eli Flair think he can change that by questioning the level of my title challengers? Ignoring the fact that every name he cited is a former World Champion at some point in the last year, whose fault is it that the men he would like to see fight me, haven’t exactly made the cut?”

“Am I responsible for the fact that Impulse and Dan Ryan failed to win contender’s bouts for a rematch with me? You know, REMATCH, i.e. their chance to face me and actually be successful the next time around.”

“Is it my fault that Jack Harmen, Deacon, and J.J. Deville are constantly having their momentum stopped by losing to mid-level contenders? Seems to me your issue is with them, Eli.”

(Paces around in a circle, hands held behind his back)

CASTOR: “I gave Eric Dane a shot at the belt, afforded him every advantage, and beat him in what was by far the biggest match of the year, in Jacksonville, the old backyard of the CSWA. You know what the second biggest match was? Castor Strife vs. Dan Ryan, Rogers Centre – ONE HOUR – and I’m still champion.”

“But I bet you didn’t know that earlier in the year, Joey Melton fought Hornet, and Hornet fought Mike Manson. I kid you not. Remember back when those matches would have ENDED THE WORLD? And now they just made some promoter lunch money off iPPV sales. Pathetic.”

“While you and Hornet were hyping your match at Piggly Wiggly – literally, this happened – I was breaking records, Joey. Who even won that match, anyway?”

“Troy Windham versus Mike Randalls is one thing, but at least they’ve been seen at a regular time slot for a couple of years running. The way I see it, NFW was kind enough to give the fans of old school rasslin’ the biggest match in CSWA history…FOR FREE, on Castor Strife’s night off. You know what? I think that’s pretty cool, just like I thought the one-off between you and Hornet was not so bad either. These new fans, they don’t get it. That’s a gem that never quite loses its shine, even when it’s performing at the local flea market. And I think you should continue touring VFW halls with your old war buddies to give the kids a treat, because they don’t know what wrestling used to be like.”

“But you sit here, and talk about ‘carrying’ Eli…well what the fuck do you think I’ll be doing with you? I don’t sign autographs at Waldbaum’s, Joey. I’m the biggest star in the world, and for the first time in years, people will tune in to watch your match because it involves me.”

“My friends…”

(Castor walks over and sits at the edge of the stage, one hand in the other, squinting out at the audience)

CASTOR: (sighs) “Why does the man at the mountain’s summit seek climbers, instead of waiting for them to reach him? This is the question that was posed to me by the others. So why did I reach out and challenge Nova and Joe The Plumber before the first round even began?”

“They say it’s because I need them to create my legacy…”

(Shakes head)

“No, I’ll tell you. Come in close.”

(Curls finger; camera zooms in, Castor lowers his head and looks up at the lens menacingly)

“BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT A WORLD CHAMPION DOES!”

(Echoes…silence in the theatre; Castor leaps back up to the stage and turns at the center)

“HE FINDS THE BEST IN THE WORLD, AND HE PUTS THEM INTO EARLY GRAVES!”

“The people…”

(Kicks over the cardboard cutouts one by one)

CASTOR: “The people talk, and they say, ‘This man would make a great match for the champion.’ So it’s my job to find that man, and eliminate him. This is what constitutes being THE BEST, and if it needs to be explained, then you never understood to begin with.”

“Unlike the many COWARDS in this business, I don’t coast on merit, and let some promoter build my legend. I seek new ways to challenge myself, constantly. Truth be told, I don’t know think any of you, in any organization out there, can beat me in that ring. Nobody! But what I going to do? Never wrestle again? Close the book? Believe the hype?”

“If some never-do-well in Lowell, Mass yells at me, YA NEVA BEAT THE PLUMBA, it doesn’t matter if sit her down and explain how Joe had his opponents hand-picked. She doesn’t care that they plucked Hornet out of the ether because they knew Joe could merk him out easily in a five-way affair and not have to worry about being pinned by someone else – someone like Felix Red, or Sean Stevens. Betty Barstool in Lowell doesn’t want to hear that noise…”

“She just wants me to beat the Plumber. She wants to know that her World Champion stood up and issued a challenge to person she felt was his biggest challenge.”

(Drops head in hand and shakes it; pops head up and folds hands together)

CASTOR: “Joe had the opportunity to save face by losing to me, the greatest in the world. Instead, he did exactly what I said he would do, and he lost to some nobody, because I knew what Betty didn’t – IT WAS ALL MAKE BELIEVE FROM THE BEGINNING.”

“While Joey Melton was putting chump-change bounties on his own head to give such luminaries as MARCUS DAVIS the extra incentive to beat him, I came out in the very first Ultratitle promo, the very first, and told the reigning tournament champion to fight me.”

“Let me ask you – who wanted Nova round one? You, Joey? You, Eli? I know Harmen isn’t jumping off the Superfly Express any time soon.”

“I even asked tournament officials to put me in a different bracket, because mine, frankly, was TERRIBLE. If it wasn’t for Anarky, I might not have broken a sweat. Khristain Keller? Orphan? Give me a fucking break.”

“Harmen can cut all the cute promos on my ‘sense of entitlement’ that he wants, but it stands to truth that in his life he never had the mettle to challenge me when we were on all the same shows, not once. The closest he came was losing a number one contender’s match, so there it is boys – another one falls short. But tell me some more about how easy I’ve had it, Eli Flair, retired legend who just got off the couch.”

“People thought I was too rough on Jack, perhaps a little disrespectful to ask a man like him, who has achieved all that he has, to step aside so I can settle an old score with Eli Flair. But when Jack Harmen can demonstrate to me that he gives shit one about making a serious challenge for something outside of his comfort zone, maybe I’ll think twice about telling him what he aught and aught not do.”

AUDIENCE MEMBER: “Bullshit! Harmen won all over the place, he doesn’t have to chase anybody!”

(Audience begins to unsettle, some of Castor’s hardcore fans yell at the heckler)

CASTOR: “What was that? Doesn’t have to chase, is that what he said? (smiles, shakes head) When does somebody earn the right to put in minimal effort? Jack’s won something, Joey’s won, Eli’s won, we’ve all won our share. So I’m supposed to care because Jack Harmen decided on a whim three months ago that he feels like taking things seriously?”

“This is a guy who only recently climbed out of the doldrums because he got Nova jacked up on enough cupcakes and Mountain Dew to get his head back in the game. And when that guy realizes he’s putting in all the work and only reaping half the reward, I’ll be waiting with a contract and a felt pen. Jack Harmen will be waiting at a bus stop.”

“Talk to me about the Locomotive, Jack, when it’s not busy being derailed because the guy driving it was too fucked up on Molly and children’s cough syrup to see straight.”

“In this business, you either challenge yourself at every turn, or you find something else to do with your time. I wanted to be the best – I am. I want to stay the best – I will. And to do that, there is no man I won’t seek out, no name I won’t pursue, unapologetically, while I leave a trail of bodies behind.”

“I won’t go the Joey Melton route and let some southern fried corporation serve me layups while pretending to NOT KNOW ANYBODY’S NAME – a tactic I see he’s still fond of after all these years – when it comes time to face a real challenger.”

“That’s why I’m the Greatest Show on This Earth – that’s what being CASTOR STRIFE is all the fuck about. I’ll hunt the entire PWI 500 and set their teeth on fire. If people want to see me fight Joe, I’ll fight him on my own dime and promote it myself. They want sex on the undercard? I’ll snatch Dan Ryan’s daughter off the street and sell her to my contacts in Slovakia for a fair distribution price. The crowd is thirsty for sex, blood, and gold, and I am prepared to quench them in spades. I’M GOING KNUCKLE DEEP INSIDE THE CUNT OF CIRCUS MAXIMUS, WYOMING OR BUST.”

(Takes a deep breath, sighs)

CASTOR: “But…as fate would have it, you’ll get no such thing in Greensboro. For personal reasons, I will enjoy cutting down Melton and hopefully Flair too, but the reality is that people are not clamoring to see me fight these men. They will tolerate it because they want to see me period, but the collective let down of Ultratitle was too great for even me reverse.”

“You will see my car leaving Greensboro with a silver trophy rattling around in the trunk, while Melton and perhaps Flair will move on to a simpler life more suited to their current situation. But they will look back and thank me one day…”

“Not soon from now, when Joey and Eli are signing their $20 autographs to a teenager in a Castor Strife t-shirt at the local gym, who is excited that he has some signed eBay merchandise to give to his father as a 49[SUP]th[/SUP] birthday present – maybe a best of Melton DVD or even the ultra-rare FLAIR U t-shirt – they will remember Ultratitle 2012 as the night Castor Strife put them on one more time in front of the old house.”

“One of them might even call me just to say, ‘Hey, thanks for what you did back there. You didn’t have to show up and Uncle Chad would’ve paid you anyway, but you honored the contract, and it meant a lot to me. Thank you, Castor Strife.’”

“And I’ll say, Joey, Eli, Jack…we weren’t always on good terms, but it was my pleasure. Thanks for the sentiment. Never call me again.”

(Castor takes a bow as the lights fade and the curtains close. The audience begins to clap one at a time, until the room joins in)

(FADE TO: 2012 Castor V. Strife Productions)

 

[Steve]

Swan Song

Every performer thinks about their legacy. Joey Melton is no different. He started the ULTRATITLE tournament in search for one more title, an exclamation point on his storied career and, maybe, a bit of peace of mind to quiet the voices which say he should have retired a half-decade ago. But Melton’s always seen his legacy as something more. He’s never wanted to be a memory. Joey’s quest has been to bottle and sell the essence of himself and push it across strip malls all over America.

Joey Melton’s legacy is written on the back of his “Son of Soy” Vegan skin care products; all natural and never tested on animals.

Time is marked by fads. Nothing is more current than wanting to know the peppermint toothpaste you’re brushing with, or tree oil face wash, wasn’t first scrubbed over a rat or stray cat.

No animals were harmed during “Son of Soy” product testing.

Except one.

Adrian Evans.

The paralysis in the left side of Adrian’s face was only temporary last November, and chemical peels have undone the worst of Joey’s whims. These were all natural products, but the right balance must be kept at all times. Oh sure, Melton didn’t understand why sprouts led to Evans pissing himself every three hours and attempting to enroll at a local high school, but to be fair Adrian’s never possessed the greatest of bladder control and his love of the Disney channel sooner or later would turn into something unsightly. Melton noted the side-effect, but kept plugging away.

Admittedly, testing was rushed. Maybe Adrian was subject to some unnecessary risks, but Joey Melton is THE celebrity vegan hero since that bitch Drew Barrymore recently admitted she occasionally eats meat. The truth of the matter is, Alicia Silverstone beat Melton to the punch with her line of Vegan cosmetics. Joey was desperate to start production before she cornered the market. Adrian was a team player, just as he’s always been. He’ll go down in the “Great Book of Vegan” as a hearty footnote.

True, the price paid for the contents of the briefcase Joey was carrying wasn’t as heavy as the lives of the Rebel spies who delivered the blue prints of the Death Star to Carrier Fisher and her friends, but there was hard work put in here, and plenty of it.

“Are you ready for this?” Adrian Evans has seen Melton nearly choke to death on his own vomit and win World Titles, and on rare occasions when they were up the night before both at the same time. In short, no pun intended, he’s seen it all. He’s wondered how Melton will handle retirement, but he’s not sure he’s up to stomaching Joey Melton: The Suburban Strip Mall Salesman.

“This is our dream, Adrian. You want to back out now?”

“Our dream?”

“OK, my dream. Your dream is being able to hack Selena Gomez’s cell phone.”

“I will NOT,” Evans pokes Melton in the stomach forcefully, “be held accountable for shit I said or did during the testing phase for this cheap shit you’re about to unleash on the public!”

“Anything that comes from the ground can only make you feel good, Adrian. How many times must we go through this? This woman was kind enough to meet us in her store. This could be the start of something, Adrian. From this, if it takes off, who’s to say where we go? Look at Paul Newman. We could be pimping Ragu and competing in celebrity open wheel racing exhibitions in a matter of months!”

“Look, I know you’re freaked out about leaving the sport, but I can’t do it.” Adrian grabs the briefcase in Melton’s right hand. “I can’t stand by and watch you whore yourself to middle-America.”

“Adrian,” Melton pushes Evans up against the glass of the Bath and Body Works knock off where they’re due to have a testing session later in the day, “if you’re worried about the infomercial script, I’m not married to the idea of you as Mother Earth’s mutated baby. There are a lot of moving parts…”

“Mutated baby? Melton f—“

Evans pops Melton in the groin. Joey doubles over; he’s about to dropkick Adrian through the window before he stops cold in his tracks. His eyes are fixated across the street to the patio of a high-class restaurant.

“What? Come on, hit me you jerk!”

Melton grabs Adrian’s face with two hands and forcefully turns his attention to his sightline. “Look…”

Evans standing on his tip toes stares silently for ten seconds. “Joey,” he says meekly. “Joey, I’m sorry.”

Sitting next to a row of flower-specked shrubs is Lindsay Troy, nodding and laughing at the man sitting across from her.

“She’s with another man, Adrian.”

“Joey, you knew she was dating someone. Come on.”

“She’s with ANOTHER MAN!”

“Come on buddy, let’s get out of here. Let’s go to the Kids Museum.”

“Adrian…”

“Damn sprouts!”

“I thought the stories of her moving on were just rumors, really.”

“The Facebook updates, and pics of romantic vacations…the phone call just last week when she threatened to get a restraining order against you. None of this rings a bell?”

“An elaborate ruse…well played to be sure, but…”

“Melton, she’s not yours anymore. I hate that for you, I really do. But she’s gone. You assured me you’d moved on as well.”

“Moved on?” he looks at Adrian incredulously. “Moved on? My life stopped the day she walked out.”

“I feel you. Come on, let’s go sell the hell out of some soy based products.”

“No. I’ve got a better idea.”



There are few things better than a perfectly cooked steak.

Lindsay Troy slides her knife easily through the medium-rare piece of prime rib and lifts the piece to her mouth, taking care not to drip any juice on her red and pink sleeveless dress. A waiter stops at the table to refill her wine glass, and she smiles in thanks.

“I’m not sure who I’ll vote for, really,” she addresses the man across from her. “Neither candidate comes close to addressing the areas I’d like to see discussed.”

“Such as?” asks Clay Darcy, superstar lawyer and dead ringer for James Spader’s Alan Shore.

“For starters, no minimal wage. A $15/hour living wage instead. And…”

“AREBA!”

Lindsay, startled, drops her fork. “What the-“

A small mariachi band begins to walk next to the patio from a Mexican joint close by. Guitars and violins blazing, the group cuts through the traffic like a knife in route to Lindsay Troy’s table. In full uniform and sombrero, at the heart of the mariachi madness, is Joey Melton and Adrian Evans.

They sing:

“Para bailar la bamba
Para bailar la bamba
Se necesita una poca de gracia
Una poca de gracia pa mi pa ti
Y arriba y arriba
Ay arriba y arriba
Por ti sere, por ti sere, por ti sere

Yo no soy marinero
Yo no soy marinero, soy capitan
Soy capitan, soy capitan

Bamba, bamba
Bamba, bamba
Bamba, bamba
Bamba.”

Lindsay’s mouth drops open. Clay starts laughing.

Melton holds up his hand and the music stops. The patio erupts in delight. What else could be better at this point in time other than a flash mob breaking out? Troy looks around sheepishly, and wipes the corner of her left eye with her right middle finger.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this next song goes out to a very special lady. Professional wrestling superstar, entrepreneur, organ donor, big sister, and my ex-wife.” The patrons on the patio “ooh” and “aww” as everyone inside has rushed over and have their faces plastered to the glass looking out on the patio and hoards of cell phone cameras break out.

“It’s OK, it was more of a common law marriage than anything.”

“Joey, I’m busy…”

Melton puts his fingers over her lips, “Hush now.” He eyes her date up and down and snarls. Clay smirks.

“AREBA!” Melton snaps his fingers and the mariachi band grabs Clay’s chair (while occupied), whisks him away, and a split second later presents Joey with an empty chair, facing Lindsay.

“Gracias.”

“Melton, I’ve had just about enough. I’m not afraid to send you back to the Senior Center with bruises.”

“This next song is dedicated to my lovely woman. She’s not just my ex, she’s an extraordinary passionate lover and mother what a love she wore out.” Laughs. “The late great Rod Stewart everyone.”

Applause.

“No, don’t applaud him, please.” Troy grabs Melton’s wrist and squeezes hard. “Stop this now,” she hisses.

“For you my love. Dim the lights please.”

“It’s daylight, you a---“

The mariachi members step in front of Troy and Melton creating a nice shade.

“Gracias.”

“This is my nightmare,” she groans, “And for Christ’s sake, stop butchering the Spanish language.”

Joey strums slowly on his guitar, looks at his band mates and they begin to play softly.

“Turn down the lights, turn down the bed
Turn down these voices inside my head
Lay down with me, tell me no lies
Just hold me close, don't patronize - don't patronize me “

Everyone begins to applaud as they recognize the tune.

Cause I can't make you love me if you don't
You can't make your heart feel something it won't
Here in the dark, in these final hours
I will lay down my heart and I'll feel the power
But you won't, no you won't
'Cause I can't make you love me, if you don't

I'll close my eyes, then I won't see
The love you don't feel when you're holding me
Morning will come and I'll do what's right
Just give me till then to give up this fight
And I will give up this fight

Cause I can't make you love me if you don't
You can't make your heart feel something it won't
Here in the dark, in these lonely hours
I will lay down my heart and I'll feel the power
But you won't, no you won't
'Cause I can't make you love me, if you don't”

Melton finishes as he gazes into Lindsay’s eyes. She takes a deep breath and looks away, but it’s obvious she’s blushing - from embarrassment or flattery is up for debate. The crowd stands and cheers, yet another standing ovation for Melton, one of the last of his career. Is there an audience he CAN’T bring to its feet? Has anyone ever worked a crowd so well? Sinatra, or Scott Biao at a Hooters maybe?

“That was,” Troy clears her throat and avoids eye contact. “Nice.”

The Maitre D rushes over, beaming, to shake Melton’s hand. “Whatever they’re paying you sir, we’ll double it.”

“You’re too kind.”

“My tears have tears! Bless you.” He kisses Joey on both cheeks.

Joey grins, “It’s always nice to know there’s another job out there somewhere, you know?”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Joey takes off his sombrero as Adrian leads the band away. Slowly, everyone returns to their dinner and puts their cell phones away.

“That’ll be virginal in an hour.”

Troy hides her shame, “It’s viral. VIRAL.”

Clay approaches the table again, and adjusts his suit jacket. “Well, this has been quite the dinner and a show.“

“Who’s the dick?”

Troy thinks. “My date for the evening, Joey.”

“Really?” Melton looks at him, and scoffs. “He doesn’t seem like you.”

“You mean age appropriate?”

Pause, “Charming, to the last.”

“I’m just going to grab these and we can talk about the gym expansion later.” Clay shuffles papers into his leather binder and grabs his bag.

“Really? You’re really leaving me here with him.”

“Of course. This,” he smirks again, “this is hysterical. I’ll call you in an hour.” Then, to Melton, “Pleasure seeing you again, Joe.”

He walks off. Troy puts her head in her hands. Melton looks after him, curious.

“He looks familiar.”

“That was Clay. He handled our divorce. Nice to know senility hasn’t kicked in for you yet.”

“Ha! Your ‘date’ indeed.”

“Well, you never know where the night might have led.”

“Oh, I’ve got an idea where it’ll lead you. Back to your hotel room, face buried in your work, and a hot bath with a vibrating friend.”

“No, Joseph, when you have someone who’s not courting an AARP card, you don’t need help to cross the finish line. Tyler and I manage quite well, thanks.”

“Would Tyler sing to you in Spanish?”

“Please, you weren’t even speaking it properly.”

“Soy capitan, Lindsay,” Melton asks, “soy capitan?”

“You don’t hate me,” he continues, “You hate live entertainment. You’ll understand that in time.”

Troy laughs, “You think so?”

Melton looks at her, why is he the fool when she’s near?

“You look great.”

Troy rolls her eyes, and takes a gulp of her wine. For all his nonsense, something about Melton still affects her, loathe as she is to acknowledge it.

“It’s hard to believe it’s been six years. Troy, what happened to us?”

“Maybe you should ask that question to the two hookers I found you with in Cabo.”

“Hey! Those weren’t hookers honey, they were high dollar masseurs. I told you the service I ordered was lost in translation!”

“I think happy ending is universal in any language, asshole.”

“Let’s not forget, sister...I said I was sorry, and I MEANT it.”

“I’m not doing this dance with you anymore.” Troy throws a glass of water in Joey’s face. “Go home, Joey! Please.”

She stands and storms away, but before she gets very far, Melton gently grabs her left arm and turns her back to him. They stay face to face for a moment.

“Don’t you-“

Before any other protest can escape, Joey grabs the back of her neck and kisses her deeply. The patrons on the patio erupt in applause, cell phones break out once more, and the mariachi band runs close by and begins to strum a sexy little tune.

It’s almost instantaneous that Troy breaks the kiss and, in the midst of everyone’s adulation, cracks Melton across the face with an open-handed slap. The force of the follow-through (or, her weak knees?) sends her stumbling into the table behind her.

“You don’t belong with another man, Lindsay.”

“Don’t I?” Troy scoffs. “Funny you didn’t think that way when we were married.”

Sore point for Melton, “No, I thought that way then. I was…” He puts his hands in his pockets. “I’m just a old fool, Lindsay. It’s killing me to not be with you, and I know it’s largely my fault. But,” Joey waves dismissively, “this isn’t the time or place to get into that.”

“You were never big on having serious dialogue about the two of us, were you?”

Fair point. “Lindsay, I’ve wanted to pick up the phone and talk to you for…” six years, where does the time go? “for a while now.”

“You did last month, Joey. Or have you forgotten waking us up at 3 in the morning?”

“I thought I found a testicular abnormality! I didn’t know who else to call!”

“Couldn’t have toddled into Adrian’s room?”

“No, look, what I was saying.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m scared about what’s next. The ULTRATITLE Final Four in Greensboro is my curtain call.”

Her hands go to her hips. “Until the next month when Carnival calls.”

“No. No more cruise line work, no more Japanese tours. I’m retiring. It’s…it’s time. I’m 48 years-old and stuck in a profession that wanted me gone six years ago. I had to call in a few favors, the last I had to get in the ULTRATITLE. I’ve been terrified over what happens next. When I saw you tonight I was jealous, yeah, but I felt a peace I haven’t had since you left. “

“Look.” A heavy sigh escapes her mouth. “I’m flattered, but-“

“I know you still care for me.”

“As a friend, sure. We all know you can’t take care of yourself.”

“No. Well, that’s true, but…” he looks her over. “if there’s even a slight part of you that loves me, I want you to do me a favor.”

“Joey, that’s enough.”

“I’m being serious!”

Troy looks skyward and drops her arms down to her sides in defeat. “What.”

“Meet me in Greensboro for the ULTRATITLE.”

Her eyebrows crinkle together. “You want me to manage you?”

“No, I want you to marry me – again.”

A woman nearby nearly faints.

“Melton, we tried that, and I’m involved, quite happily so. You’re insane.”

“I want to make the commitment to you I should’ve made six years ago. Lindsay, I’ve put a bounty on my own head in this tournament. Final Four weekend, $100,000 for anyone who can pin my shoulders to the mat.”

“That’s idiotic. You know the money trouble you’ve had in the past.”

“I don’t plan on making that payment. But I’m proposing, we take that $100,000 and…”

“Don’t finish that sentence! I’m done. WE’RE done. Apparently you need longer than six years to realize it.”

Troy grabs her purse and briefcase and hurries to leave.

“I’m not leaving Greensboro without you.”

“Well, you’d better put down roots then, because you’re gonna be waiting an awfully long time.”

Her heels click disapprovingly against the patio tile as she struts away from the patio area and through the restaurant. Melton watches her go, afraid to blink in case she vanishes again from his sight again for another six years.

Adrian cozies up to Joey and puts his arm around him. “And?”

“I suggested an alternate use of the bounty money.”

“Lovely. Now you just have to fight three of the four housemen of the apocalypse to hold on to it.”

He watches her disappear, “Yeah, but,” Joey smiles. “She’ll be there anyway.”

(All characters used with permission.)

 

[Ford]

Re: Swan Song

(FADEIN: The Odessa Dungeon. Two single spotlights illuminate the empty squared circle. On the outside, Jack Harmen throws rights and lefts against a punching bag. He's shirtless and wears his ring tights as he sweats heavily. On the other side of the bag, former Ultratitle Winner and Superfly Express tag partner NOVA edges him on.)

NOVA: That all you got!?

(Harmen throws a few more punches, this time heavier as Nova holds and positions the bag in place.)

NOVA: Imagine it's Troy Windham's on Men At Work!

(Jack throws a round house kick.)

NOVA: Eli Flair is talking about 1999!

(Harmen roars. He steps back.)

JACK HARMEN: CAPTAIN AMERICA!

(Jack CHARGES. His Locomotive RIPS the bag off of it's ceiling hook as plaster rains down on the NFW tandem. Nova sighs, and shakes his head. Harmen stands in the rubble seething.)

NOVA: I'm allergic to asbestos.

(Nova dusts himself off.)

JACK HARMEN: Everyone is. (Yelling) MARY! Another!

(CUTTO: Mary-Lynn Mayweather, dragging a LARGE punching bag up from the basement. She's sweating profusely and having quite a difficult time. She yanks the bag three feet and then lets it fall, and repeats this over and over until the bag is sitting at Jack Harmen's feet. Exhausted, she falls to her butt, taking deep breaths.

Jack stands over her, and crosses his arms.)

JACK HARMEN: Mary. Is this lunch time? Cause I need this bag drilled into my ceiling ACTASAP. That's as close to as –

BOTH HARMEN & MLM: --soon as possible.

MARY-LYNN MAYWEATHER: Yeah yeah, I get it.

NOVA: Lay off her Jack. Let's hit the ring.

(CUTTO: TRAINING MONTAGE. Nova backs up, blocking a barage of blows from the Lunatic. Nova swats Harmen's arms away and chest punches him. But Harmen leaps and catches Nova's arm between his leg and drops him to the mat.

CUTTO: Jack doing push ups as Mary-Lynn sits on his back, reading a large legal book entitled “Tournament of Lawyers: The Transformation of the Big Firm.”

CUTTO: Nova and Jack chain wrestling. Go behind by Nova, Harmen with a snap mare into a seated dropkick that Nova avoids. Harmen slithers to his feet and chargers for a leaping forearm strike. Nova catches Harmen and sets him on his shoulders. Harmen spins and hooks Nova in a victory roll.

CUTTO: Jack Harmen and Mary-Lynn Mayweather playing chess. Mayweather moves her rook. Harmen frowns, and knocks over the chessboard.

CUTTO: Nova throwing a right. It's blocked. Harmen with a side kick to the gut that Nova catches. Nova slams his elbow into Harmen's thigh as Jack lifts his other knee into Nova's face.

CUTTO: Jack Harmen quickly climbing the staircase at the Philadelphia Art Museum. As he reaches the top, Jack high fives Nova.

CUTTO: Jack Harmen YAKUZA kicking the Sylvester Stallone bronze statue, only to clutch his leg and ankle in immense pain.

CUTTO: Harmen back pedaling down the Philadelphia Art Museum's iconic staircase blocking the onslaught of punches from the EAGLEStar.

CUTTO: The bottom of the staircase. A woman lets her child play with some liquid bubble.

Nova and Harmen tumble down the last few steps in a scrape. A woman screams as the two roll to her feet, fists raised at one another.

She quickly grabs and yanks her child close, as Harmen and Nova relent. They slowly crane their heads to the shrieking woman.

CUTTO: WIDE SHOT of the Philadelphia Art Museum. Jack Harmen and Nova sit exhausted on the bottom steps as the sun sets.)

JACK HARMEN: Same time tomorrow?

(Nova smiles, and the two clink their glasses.)

NOVA: Without a doubt.

(Nova extends his hand as the two elaborately shake in only the way Superfly Express could. After a moment, Nova nods, lights up a wacky cigarette and walks off into the distance.

Jack remains behind, sitting on the very bottom step. He smiles and chuckles. Jack takes a deep drink from his water bottle. He finishes by spitting a bunch of it out on the Museum steps.)

JACK HARMEN: I remember being at the bottom of this business.

(CUTTO: Harmen in the corner of the frame on a DUTCH TILT. He looks up at the imposing staircase.)

JACK HARMEN: From pesos and knife stabbings in Mexico to the Ultratitle Final Four. Climbing the ladder rung by rung, the stairs step by step.

(CUTTO: XCU on Harmen's lips. He smiles.

CUTTO: Normal medium shot on Harmen.)

JACK HARMEN: It's amazing what time and dedication can do for you.

(Harmen stands and cracks his neck.)

JACK HARMEN: Perspective is a funny thing. I've been at the top-I've been at the bottom and everywhere in between. But I've never been CLOSE to the Ultratitle. And until my opportunity arose, I hadn't put in the full Harmen 110% Grade A crazy in quite some time! Joining the Ultratitle provided a sense of clarity I haven't had in years.

Cause when you entered a tournament to be the BEST, in the WORLD? Well, hell, what's the point unless you give it EVERYTHING!

(Harmen shrugs his shoulders.)

JACK HARMEN: Why should I bother when I'm six manning with Dos Equis and Legion?

(Harmen wrings his hands together.)

JACK HARMEN: But getting the chance to defeat that smug Troy Windham? To tear apart an animal like Freddy Sagawa limb from limb? To step into the ring ONE MORE TIME with the Eliminator, and ELIMINATE HIS CAREER?!

(Harmen takes a deep inhale.)

JACK HARMEN: Then? To have the chance to face the NFW World Champion, fresh out of retiring a former TWO TIME, TWO TIME, Ultratitle champion?

What more could a man ASK for?

Besides having all the champagne floats in the WORLD poured into the Ultratitle and as I celebrate like a ROCKSTAR!

(Harmen nods.)

JACK HARMEN: But Joey. You get me. I'm glad you see the pattern Joey. Logic from a lunatic. I may fly off the handle in fits of unbridled rage, but for the most part, my rage is focused and purposeful. Vengeance, is when things get tricky. It may be my only downfall.

Yet here, I have no great vendetta, and my rage is my greatest ally. Cause with that asset, you call me the best in the world.

Thanks.

You say there's a method to my madness.

True.

And then... After you quoted Gary Jules ten years too late... You showed the same sense of entitlement that Castor showed...

“I should go out on top,” Melton says.

Castor says “Without me, this GRAND FINALE is nothing...”

The POINT, is that we ALL feel we deserve the Ultratitle. And Eli Flair, SOMEHOW, is the voice of reason, the mind of clarity. We act as if the 2012 Ultratitle BELONGS to us, but NONE have us have earned it.

(Harmen begins to climb the staircase.)

JACK HARMEN: Yet.

“Oh, I'm retiring. I won the Ultratitle twenty three years ago. Please let me win it before my bones crumble to soot!”

“Oh, I'm the NFW World Champion. That means the Ultratitle's mine, right?”

“Hey, I've never won the Ultratitle before. You think I could? Maybe? Just this once?”

(Harmen reaches the middle and grabs the camera.)

JACK HARMEN: You don't ASK for the Ultratitle. You don't EXPECT the Ultratitle. You TAKE, TAKE, TAKE THE ULTRATITLE.

(Harmen lets go of the camera and continues climbing the staircase.)

JACK HARMEN: It's like flirting with the prettiest girl in the room. The Ultratitle's gonna come to the man who WANTS her the most, but doesn't NEED her. The man who just doesn't GIVE a frak and TAKES what he WANTS.

Joey Melton needs the Ultratitle to go out on top. Castor needs the Ultratitle to validate his rhetoric of being the BEST! And Eli needs the Ultratitle so badly he'd come out of retirement in five years from now if he had the chance!

Me?

Sure. It's shiny. I like it. But there are OTHER shiny things in the world that can catch my eye. Like the arena lights bouncing off the open forehead scar of Eli Flair. Like Joey Melton's shining white teeth as I PUNCH them clean out his skull. Like my reflection in Castor Strife's NFW World Championship.

Your NEEDS make you DESPERATE!

(CUTTO: Close up on Harmen's face as he smiles.)

JACK HARMEN: Me? I'm just having the TIME of my life.

(CUTTO: Wide shot as Jack Harmen has climbed the staircase of the Philadelphia Art Museum. He tosses his arms out to his side.)

JACK HARMEN: I'm the KING OF THE WORLD!

(CUTTO: Close up shot as Harmen lowers his arms.)

JACK HARMEN: And I want the Ultratitle.

(CUTTO: Medium shot on Harmen.)

JACK HARMEN: So I will TAKE the Ultratitle.

(CUTTO: Close up on Harmen's lips.)

JACK HARMEN: Just so YOU three can't have it.

(Harmen tilts back his head and laughs.)

JACK HARMEN: WON'T THAT BE FUN?!

(CUTTO: Wide overhead helicopter shot of the Philadelphia Art Museum. The camera SPINS in a disorientating manner. Harmen tosses his head back in a long evil cackle that resonates throughout the park. FADE OUT.)

 

[Steve]

Old Man River

“Adrian, I once read it takes the human brain 20-30 years to grasp the concept of death.”

“I knew Playboy was sending off a word of the day,” Adrian held the door for Melton, “But their email newsletters are engaging in scientific discussion now? I appreciate the effort, I guess, but I’d not like to be reminded we’re all meaningless in the grand scheme of things while I’ve got lunch meat in my hands, you know what I’m saying?”

“Kinda makes you feel like you’re wasting your life, huh?”

“Exactly.”

“My point was more just of wondering at what age one might grasp the SMELL of death, because oh boy this is it.”

Joey Melton and Adrian Evans looked around the rec center of the Greensboro retirement center, Happy Landings, owned and operated by CS Enterprises. A small part in allowing Joey to enter the ULTRATITLE field, Chad Merritt wanted Melton to sign off on a few hours of volunteer work at Happy Landings. They’re understaffed at the moment and truth be told it’s hard for Merritt to keep good help.

Punishment of the elderly has always been a trigger for Merritt. In the CSWA’s heyday, it was cute to strap an aging Jack Roiter to a wheelchair and push him down a flight of steps. It was one of the sorts of bits that made the CSWA special. They wrestled, and pushed the boundary of entertainment, but also wanted you to know they were the first ones looking to have a good time. But, now, as a diversified businessman it’s not quite as funny when local television stations film exposés on the treatment of residents by Happy Landings staff.

Chad was horrified the first time he saw video of a candy striper whipping an 80 year-old man with a phone cord for the fun of it. But, months later, as he’s had to volunteer his own time he’s softened his stance.

He wanted to lift the team’s spirits by rolling up his sleeves and going to work. He set about doing menial tasks. Chad was handed meds by nurses and instructed to go to the residents rooms, engage in small talk, probably not how long it takes a brain to grasp the concept of death, and see to it the residents took their meds. When an 77 year-old woman kept spitting her heart pills back in Chad’s face, he found himself wrapping her into a tight headlock and near his breaking point. An intern came in just before Merritt was about to pry her mouth open with his size 12 shoe.

Merritt’s image as a successful businessman with a golden touch has taken a hit in recent times. He needed the people of Greensboro to understand isolated incidents don’t make Happy Landings a house of horrors. Good PR would be a God send, so Chad coaxed the local NBC affiliate who destroyed his rep earlier back to film a follow up piece. If the cameras could catch a local celebrity entertaining the troops so to speak, it’d go a long way to proving Merritt wasn’t the gate keeper of hell.

Only Joey Melton returned his call.

Sure, a good number of Melton’s PR assignments have ended in disaster. The money Chad had to pay in 1991 to keep Joey’s exploits at a local high school under wraps still haunts him. But, these people are old and Merritt’s at his wit’s end. So Melton was signed to oversee Bingo night. He’s an entertainer and a star, or was a star. The residents are thrilled beyond words when a local spelling bee champion stops by, or when they’re applauded for good bowel movements. Surely, this is a crowd Joey can handle.

The two titans have had problems for years. Sending Melton to an old folk’s home for an afternoon brought a smile to Merritt’s troubled face.

“Look at all these people, Joey. I haven’t seen this many bodies waiting for death since the Carlton Family Civil War Reenactment in 2004.”

“Curse you Evans for bringing up that name,” Melton snapped. “I still can’t believe so many things about that day.”

“What specifically? That he hired kids from the local Big Brother program to act as slaves for the day, or every out house was supplied with corn cobs. I mean, there’s a lot to forget.”

Joey nodded in agreement, before looking around the rec room. “Look at these people Adrian? They’re content.”

“They’re deciding whether they have the will power to take another breath.”

“They’re at peace. I admire it.”

“Let’s just call out these numbers and get the hell out of here. It’s hard enough for me to get laid, bathing in rotting skin cells won’t help.”



The key to holding a crowd is working the room. As Adrian cranked the Bingo wheel for numbers, Melton played musical chairs, dividing his time around the Rec Room between games. He wedges himself between two wheelchair bound men as Adrian calls out, “I-16.”

“Damn.”

“I-16….” Joey scours his three cards.

“You got anything David?”

“I got shit.”

Joey laughs at the old man’s candor. “Do you?”

“That wasn’t me.” David points behind him. “First day he was here Rebecca kissed on him the cheek for shitting after dinner. He’s been doing it uncontrollably ever since.”

“He’s a real ass kisser.”

The whole table laughs.

Melton strains his back as Adrian calls out “N-33.”

“What’s wrong with you sparky?”

“My back is killing me,” Joey groans.

“Mine too.”

“Took a live round in mine while I was busy saving the world from NAZIS!”

“Shut up Paul. You got hit by some fucking idiot from Oklahoma, a friendly took you down.”

“NAZIS!”

“BINGO!” A woman behind them calls out as if she just won the lottery. A collection groan from Melton’s table is uttered.

The TV crew walks by recording footage that’ll be pieced together and play on the 11 o’clock telecast.

“You think your back hurts? It’s just the beginning, kid.”

“Wait till you start rolling out of bed every two hours to pee.”

“Wait till you stop rolling out of bed to pee.”

“Oh lord.”

“There is an end to all this, though.”

“Yeah?”

“Death.”

Everyone laughs and Melton stops reaching for his back.

“The great Joey Melton at a senior center?” questions Joe, a mid-70s diabetic. “You might already be dead.”

“Take it easy, guys,” Melton motions with his hands.

“Last year a high school Cheer team passed out Christmas gifts, and today we’re stuck with Old Man River.”

“Old Man River?”

“I remember that, David. This place hasn’t seen so many perky tits since we lost hot water for a week four years ago.”

“Let’s just play some bingo, gentlemen.” Melton sighs.

“Joe is right. Your career has been dead for years.” David looks around, “Welcome to hell.”

The old guys laugh uncontrollably before breaking out into coughing fits.

“Truth is, when Merritt told us at lunch yesterday you’d be stopping by, the boys threw together a pool.”

“Yeah?”

“Which bed you’d be taking up. Stewie’s been without a roommate the longest. But he’s on dialysis. Don’t get too attached.”

“You scurvy bastard…” said Joe as the table laughs. This has turned out to be fun. And the cameras are catching most of it.

Melton politely smiles before jumping to his feet and slamming his fists on the table. “That’s it you old farts! I came here to brighten your days to give you a reason to get out of flippin’ bed this morning and this is how you repay me?”

Joey storms off towards the stage and Adrian.

“Calm down kid, death is a natural part of life,” David cracks.

Melton stomps onto stage and snatches the microphone from Evans’ hands, “Adrian, give me that mic. I CAME HERE TO HELP YOU PEOPLE! And this is how you repay me? There’s a reason you’re being systematically beaten by the staff around here! You’re spiteful, old creatures who have over stayed your welcome!

The residents look around at one another stunned. Post-menopause these outbreaks aren’t seen anymore.

“Well, some of you are. But all it takes is a bad seed to ruin it all!”

“Yes I’m retiring, yes I’m one night away from ending my wrestling career, but I’m not dead! I…. “ Joey looks to the heaven.”WANT TO LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE!”

Joey falls to his knees.

“I WANT TO LIVVVVVVVVVVVVE! “

Melton notices the camera crew grinning and focuses on his moment. “If you people want a show, if you want to be empowered, inspired..if you want to know there’s something more to life than bingo and after dinner beatings then watch the ULTRATITLE Final Four because Joey Melton as he rides into the sunset, will cap his career with his greatest performance ever!”

“They say Castor Strife is unbeatable, that he’s the king of the mountain but Strife you’re a king without a castle. You’re the NFW World Champion and it means nothing. How can I fear you, how can I respect you as champion as a man when your company doesn’t do the same? They don’t even trust you to draw money, and you think Merritt will trust you to headline the finals of HIS tournament? NOT A CHANCE MAGGOT!”

“You’re on top now by default, and your employers can’t stop putting Ghosts in front of you to make you stick. This is your chance to become a draw, to make your legend by beating Joey Melton and winning the ULTRATITLE but do you have it in you?”

“You can open me up, you can make me bleeeed but Castor I’ve been cut by the best. I’ve been taken to the limit by legends and yes, I’ve been the lesser man on many occasions, but you’re not a God. You’re not a legend you’re just a petulant child trying on his dead father’s favorite jacket to see if it fits. You I get you in the ring Castor you’re going to understand finally that all these names you’ve been chasing don’t mean shit because the one right in front of you hits back and just needs a few seconds to shred every ligament in your knees! And when you’re on the mat, screaming in pain, then…then you’ll understand why you’re the pet in the storefront window that never sold, that nobody wanted. After you tap, after you submit to Joey Melton nobody will ever buy you as anything in this business unless you’re sold as some sort of damn package deal…then….then you sonofabitch you’ll dream about one day making your own Cameron Cruise.”

“You are nothing in this business!!”

“NOTHING!”

“And Eli Flair. The great Eli Flair puts his beer down long enough to catch his breath in the gym and thinks he’s ready to write the epilogue to his career. But what you don’t realize you idiot is it was written years ago.”

“The Original Nobody.”

“You don’t roll out of bed Flair and rewrite your legacy.”

“You don’t get to take MY trophy because Angel wants you ass out of the house. I told you people to get me early. But you didn’t. You let Joey Melton reach this stage, and now you’re gonna find out there’s a price to pay! All the talk before this tournament and nobody picked Joey Melton to win! Everybody laughed about the idea of bounties but I had the balls to do something you three SHOULD have done and that’s put a price on the most dangerous man’s head. “

“ME!”

“I’ve paid people to beat me all tournament but nobody can. And now Flair I’m in a groove, and I’m gonna do what I failed to do twice before and win my THIRD ULTRATITLE! And when I do when I retire ON TOP OF THIS BUSINESS you’ll realize all these years you were watching a different kind of greatness!”

“One not made by the politics of the business or the bottom line of toy assembly lines. One made by passion and talent.”

“I’m two wins away from proving at any time and any place Joey Melton can play you all like puppets. “

“Greensboro is my city.”

“The ULTRATITLE is my legacy. I’m older, but smarter.”

“No, it’s not 1995 Harmen, which is a glorious thing because I don’t have to deal with Hornet, Randalls, GUNS, or giants of this business that can stand beside me… I only have to deal with you three!”

“I’m ready for the last show of my career. But are you ready for Joey Melton?”

Joey throws down the mic, sweat pouring off his forehead. It may not have been what Merritt wanted, but at least it’s not inappropriate contact with a minor. Evans looks at him then to the stunned crowd.

Adrian looks at a ping bong ball in his hand. “G-52.”

A few seconds pass before an old woman squeals, “BINGO!”

 

[User Poets]

The End

ELI FLAIR (V/O): "Joey Melton thinks that he deserves to go out on top: winning his first Ultratitle in twenty years."

"Castor Strife thinks the entire world wants to see him win this tournament; that a room comprised of mannequins and several carefully placed plants comprises the entire world."

"Well."

"The NFW had Bracket North and Bracket South, Bracket East and Bracket West."

"Castor and Joey are both hours away from declaring the earth to be flat and the middle east to be stable, because they've been pretty hard advocates to this point to be Bracket Wrong About Everything."

​

(FADEIN: The middle of the empty recording floor of Nobody's Bitch Studios, Ground Zero for Valerian's Garden. Eli Flair is sitting in a high - backed office chair, dressed in a pair of heavy boots, black leather pants, and a black T-shirt with the Type-O-Negative logo on the front. He's moving back and forth in the chair, like he has a lot of nervous energy to burn off.)

FLAIR: "Castor, you did have one thing right on the money. How may people signed the petition to bring back Joey Melton? How many contacted me or McGinnis before things kicked off, asking for me to give it one more go?"

"The number is an easy one: zero."

"Nobody thought about Eli Flair since Triple X and I stole the show at Cyberslam with the best match of two thousand nine. I'd be willing to wager that - World Title matches aside - nobody'd thought of Joey Melton as anything but a creepy uncle since his last hurrah in the last Ultratitle."

"It's a fact of life, Joey, that when we leave the spotlight, our memories quickly erode into the mass of history that encompasses this sport and compares every athlete to the ghosts of everyone that has ever stepped between the ropes."

"So, in that, Castor was right: there was no great movement to see either of us in this spot, because none of the fans thought it was a possibility."

"But, since my name was used as part of the initial recruitment drive?"

(He waited a moment.)

FLAIR: "Ivy?"

(From the darkness behind the camera view, 'Poison' Ivy McGinnis walked into frame with a slice of paper in her hand, she was dressed in a knee - length casual skirt and black tank top, along with ever-present combat boots. She pushed a chair of her own into view and collapsed comfortably into it with her legs crossed.)

IVY McGINNIS: "According to my database, since your name was used as a hook for the initial push, we've got one million, six hundred and forty thousand, two hundred and twelve separate emails telling us that they're glad you're wrestling again, even just for a little bit, and that they want to see you win."

FLAIR: "Thank you, Ivy."

(He turned back toward the camera, while Ivy saluted and got comfortable.)

FLAIR: "Your problem, Castor, is that you have no sense of perspective or objectivity when it comes to this business. You present carefully - produced segments that you hope make yourself look like the popular antihero on the outskirts of society, but the truth is actually much more fun."

"The truth is that you're exactly like Joey Melton."

"What you see, Castor, is the vision of the business that your handlers have presented to you in order to, I dunno... keep your fragile ego from crackin' under the thought that more people can't stand the sight of you than love you?"

"It's just the way the business works: statistically, more people in the world will like someone better than you."

"But how can you see that, perched in your mansion, isolated from the world? How do you see the business through an unfiltered gaze?"

McGINNIS: "You can't."

FLAIR: "You can't."

"You're surrounded by lackeys and yes - men, Castor, surrounded at all times in your house on the hill that I'm sure you won back from Donny in a Lynchian-style mess that was needed to interest the fans. Did any of them truly believe you were going to lose to him, Castor?"

"Did any of them care, whether or not you got your house back - a house none of them would ever even see the outside of?"

"When you set yourself high above the rest of the world, you have nothing to do but fall."

"You say you've grown bored sitting in your ivory tower? I see a man who's grown complacent - a man who won the Championship to hold the Championship, and has little interest in being the Champion."

McGINNIS: "When you treat the belt like a prop, it does, in fact, become nothing but a prop."

FLAIR: "Say what you will about Melton, but when he won a title, or it was handed to him during a press conference, he had the decency to defend it."

McGINNIS: "Or give us some severe douche chills with his seranading. Seriously, Joe... have some self respect."

FLAIR: "But you, Castor? Why should any of us believe that you'd fight for the Ultratitle when you won't even fight to defend your own home?"

(He laughed.)

FLAIR: "Seriously, it was over a year - you'd think the NFW World Champion would want to defend it against the Windhams. Or are you hoping that I'll come back and take care of that for you?"

"Again."

"You're just like Melton, Castor, when you declare this business to be yours now, and out of reach of us old men."

"Well, yeah."

"Not only are you an active wrestler, but you're World Champion of the most influential wrestling promotion of the past decade, two things that Melton and I aren't."

"This is your time. This is supposed to be your time. Melton had his. I had mine. The difference between us is that Melton is obsessed with winning the Ultratitle for a third time to somehow cement his own legacy as being, I dunno, the guy who held on for far too long, lucked into a shitty Ultratitle bracket, and found enough left to win two matches against legitimate opponents."

"I don't give a good flying fuck if I win or lose, Castor."

(Smirk. Back and to the left, Ivy spun in her chair.)

FLAIR: "Does that surprise you?"

"Whether I win one match at Survivalism, two matches at Survivalism, or go home before the final bell, none of it changes a single moment of the past eighteen years. None of it can do a thing to rock what I've left behind."

"And what I've left behind is beyond debate."

"I didn't show up for one last moment of glory, or the chance to fill in the only empty space on The Wall, or to prove to anyone that I could still go when I wanted to."

"I'm here because I want to be here, and because I've decided to take the Ultratitle. And there's nothing you can do about it, Castor."

(Eli leaned back.)

FLAIR: "I figured the direct approach would work best, seeing as you've been talking yourself up for the past week, I don't know if it's been to impress us with how awesome you are, or if you're trying to psyche yourself up for what is going to be, without question, the most trying evening of your professional life."

"You talked about dominating NFW for the past three years, Castor?"

"Right now, in the Ultratitle... you are walking amongst Gods."

"And somehow, you manage to be the lackey who just wants to convince the rest of us that you can be a starter, even while you're the only one of us with a belt around his waist."

"My parting advice to you, Castor?"

"You're a Champion. Start acting like it instead of the whiny little codependent bitch that you've been showing us, and maybe, if you're good enough, you and I will have a late day appointment."

"Otherwise, someone with a lot more experience than you is gonna be takin' that belt that you've held for more than a year now, and show you how to wear it."

McGINNIS: "Long as it isn't Melton, I hear he has a thing for belts."

(Eli stopped moving for a second, looked at Ivy, and shook his head.)

FLAIR: "That's f'king disgusting, Ivy."

McGINNIS: "I just hear 'em, and report 'em."

(He turned his attention back to the camera.)

FLAIR: "And for all my disappointment over how little you've given us in the way of substance, Joey, I at least thought you'd understand how this business operates."

"Way back at the beginning of this diatribe, you made some kind of comment about how the moment I broke Troy's fingers, you knew there was as part of this business that was lost to you forever."

...

"What's your point?"

"Was this really the same business you entered in 1988? Or the same business that I entered in 1994?"

"Is the NFW, now, the same as it was when you and I last stepped between its ropes a half decade ago?"

"The business is always changing, Joey. It's always evolving into something else and moving in a different direction. You don't have to like it, you don't have to agree with it, but when you don't accept it, you find yourself on the outside, looking in."

"Speaking of which, that's pretty much how you ended up married to Lindsay Troy and teaming with Cameron Cruise, isn't it?"

"A sad, last - ditch attempt at relevence."

(He shrugged, while Ivy pulled a lighter out of a pocket and started absent - mindedly flicking it on and off.)

FLAIR: "From wrestling in the Firehouse match my first night in Greensboro, to latching onto Eddy Love and Kevin Powers when they were taking over, to kowtowing to Ivy when she saved your ass from the unemployment line, to the Project, to the Marriage, to the Prodigy Classic..."

"You were there for all the big ones, Joey... and you've taken a lotta credit for things that happened in the big moments... but they never happened because Joey Melton made 'em happen."

"So what was this ever really about, Joey? Jealousy over the fact that, unlike you, I could step out of the spotlight and find peace as a civilian? Jealousy over the fact that, as the business shifted and you tried your best to remain relevant to it, I was able to stay the course and the fans loved me for it?"

"Jealousy over the fact that, after we were both reduced to a memory, I had the luxury of ignoring the offers that came in while you had to seek them out?"

"I don't know, Joey. You've sent a lotta barbs my way since this tournament started, and the best I can figure, particularly with your opening salvo about how I could've held this business by the balls if I'd just tried... is that I did just that. But I did it far away from Joey Melton, so he couldn't take the credit for it."

"Maybe you'll win, Joey. Maybe you'll go home to your empty apartment with your third Ultratitle and your demons will rest."

"Maybe not."

"It'll last just long enough for your name to disappear again, and then you'll be back, looking for another ego boost in an ever-increasing line of desperate attempts to recapture something that was never yours to begin with."

"It's ironic, though... the only other man in the Final Four with the right perspective is Jack Harmen, and he's gonna have to deal with me in the semifinals."

(Eli crossed his hands behind his head.)

FLAIR: "Glad you've had a good time, Jack... just pardon the mess. I'd apologize for these idiots, over the fact that this was my backyard for a large chunk of my career, but you know just as well as I do: you've been dealing with it for a few years."

"There's not much to say that hasn't already been said, Jack: you've always had the right perspective on business."

"It's business, and if you aren't having fun with it then you're an idiot."

"Castor and Joey are clearly not having fun with it."

"But you are, Jack. So am I."

"You've had a good run of it, Jack. Troy, Sagawa, Waubash. You've taken down the three little pigs."

"And now, here comes the Big Bad Wolf."

McGINNIS: "With apologies to Mikey."

FLAIR: "I will say one thing, Jack - the same thing that I said to your partner a half decade ago: whoever wins this match is going to win the Ultratitle."

"I was right, too."

"But I don't think you'll be quite as big a fan of the secondary punchline as Nova was."

"It's all good, though, Jack. Wait 'till next year."

"Or do yourself a favor. Take a shot at Castor Strife in the NFW and give 'em a Champion they can be proud of."

"At the very least, you couldn't do any worse."

(With that, Eli stood up and walked out of frame. Ivy stayed in place for a few seconds, before turning her back to the camera and, we presume, walking into the darkness.)

(FADEOUT)

 

[Ford]

JACK HARMEN (O.S.): Making a star out of Cameron Cruise?

(CUTTO: Jack Harmen, standing next to the ULTRATITLE. The reflection of Harmen's “Superfly Express” shirt bounces off the encased glass mausoleum.

XCU : Harmen's lips, as he licks them.

CUTTO: Medium shot. Jack Harmen trails his fingers down the glass protecting the Ultratitle, leaving a smear.)

JACK HARMEN: Out of all the things you have done in this sport Joey, Cameron CRUISE... is your GREATEST ACCOMPLISHMENT?!

(Harmen shakes his head and laughs.)

JACK HARMEN: In your twenty year plus career, I would have thought the highlights would have been your CSWA title reigns, your TWO Ultratitles... even the Windham TEA BAG incident ranks higher on your legacy than MISTAH CRUISE.

(Harmen catches a glance with the Ultratitle and lingers. He doesn't move, as the corner of his lips upturn in a sneer.)

JACK HARMEN: The Ultratitle? That will be MY legacy. By hook or by crook, by blood or by soot, by CHAOS AND DESTRUCTION, the ULTRATITLE will be MINE.

(Harmen smiles. He still doesn't look away. He begins to circle the glass case, never taking his eyes off.)

JACK HARMEN: But what to do with you once I have you? Do I proudly display you in my foray? Do I carrying you to the ring week after week waiting for someone to use it as a baseball bat against my skull? I think I'll call you Steve. You look like a Steve.

(Harmen RUSHES to the glass case and SLAMS his palms on it. SIRENS go off as he's triggered the alarm.)

JACK HARMEN: OR DO I DESTROY YOU JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE MINE?!

(Harmen leans forward and literally LICKS the glass case. Two security guards rush into frame and wrap their arms around Jack's waist, pulling and tugging him away, kicking and screaming.)

JACK HARMEN: I'll be good! Steve! Call off your goons!!

(A third security guard walks up to the camera and jostles the tripod. After a moment, CUTTO: STATIC.)

(MULTIPLE BURSTS OF STATIC. CUTTO: A dutch tilt on Jack Harmen. He stands in the middle of the very ring the Ultratitle finals will take place in. Crew members and workers are still hustling to get ready for the show. But Jack Harmen refuses to leave.

A young trainee attempts to adjust the tensile strength of the bottom rope, before Jack rushes over and KICKS him, shaking the ropes in the process. Harmen paces around the ring in a WIDE SHOT.)

JACK HARMEN: THIS IS MY RING! GET OUT! Get out-Get-Out-GetOut-GETOUT!

(Most of the crew quickly disperses. One member continues to finish setting up the time keeper's table. Harmen leans over the top rope and shouts.)

JACK HARMEN: PEDRO! I will MOLOTOV your BABIES!

(Startled and freaked, the worker quickly jumps over the guardrail and runs into the stands.

Harmen continues to pace in the ring.)

JACK HARMEN: I feel ALIVE! And that's WITHOUT a hundred thousand fans screaming for me to knock off Eli Flair's head, to make Castor Strife eat his own tongue, to make Joey Melton SHATTER into a million pieces.

(Harmen kicks the bottom rope.)

JACK HARMEN: Joey Melton puts a bounty on his own head? He's the only one with the grapenuts the size of Lindsay Troy's BALLS to put a hundred grand on his own demise. (laughs) Joey. (Shakes head) Joey Joe-Joe-Shabadoo. This ISN'T about MONEY. I don't think ANY of the four of us CARE about a MEASILY one hundred grand when ETERNITY is at stake.

(Harmen shrugs.)

JACK HARMEN: If I get the chance to pin Joey Melton in the Ultratitle finals? I'm going to take that hundred grand and give it to that old folks home where you people felt pushing an old man in a wheelchair down a staircase was entertainment.

(Harmen laughs.)

JACK HARMEN: Just consider that an investment in your future Joey.

(Harmen laughs. He turns away shaking his head.)

JACK HARMEN: But Castor's gonna take that money and make The Rape : Redemption. For all the depraved things you've done to the Ultratitle Joey, you would look like a BOY SCOUT when compared to what the Artist would do with the ULTRATITLE.

(Harmen licks his lips.)

JACK HARMEN: I was so close tonight. I could literally reach out and GRAB it. And I WANTED to. More than I wanted to hold my first born son. More than I wanted to hold the FWO World Championship. MORE, than everything I've done in my TWENTY year career.

The Ultratitle is the pinnacle. It is the zenith. It is WORTHY, of buying a thesaurus, to describe just how STUPEFYING it is being in it's presence.

(XCU: Harmen's trembling fist.)

JACK HARMEN: I think I may need it after all...

(CUTTO: Wide Shot. Harmen stops. For a moment, he reflects. He takes a deep inhale.)

JACK HARMEN: I need to DESTROY it!

(Harmen snarls. He quickly coos, tilting his head to the side like a lovestruck teenager.)

JACK HARMEN: Or love it.

(Harmen's eyes go BUGGY.)

Or both.

(Harmen nods.)

JACK HARMEN: Best of both worlds for the best in the world.

(Harmen smiles. He backs into the turnbuckle padding and lifts himself up, sitting on the top rope.)

JACK HARMEN: I just wanna see Joey Melton cry at the sight of his legacy being smashed to bits. I want to see Castor's jaw drop like one of his cum sluts. I want Eli Flair to see his hopes and dreams SHATTERED.

(Jack raises his head and looks the opposite direction.)

JACK HARMEN: I... I can't... I can't destroy the Ultratitle. It's so... soo shiny.

(Harmen pauses.)

JACK HARMEN: Maybe I shouldn't try to win it after all... it's turning me into Gollum. I feel like if I win it now, in fifteen years? I'm gonna leave my managerial position at Burger King and desperately, valiantly scratch and claw my way to DISAPPOINTMENT.

What did Nova say to me about winning the Ultratitle?

(Harmen thinks.)

JACK HARMEN: He said it was the best night of his life.

(Harmen pauses.)

JACK HARMEN: Which means that every night since then has been WORSE.

(Harmen hops off the turnbuckle and begins to pace.)

JACK HARMEN: Nah, nah. I've fought, bleed, CHAOS BOMBED myself into the final four, and will NOT lose my resolve now. The Ultratitle finals will be the NIGHT OF MY LIFE.

And EVERY day after will be a disappointment.

(Harmen smiles.)

JACK HARMEN: I'm looking forward to it.

(Harmen pauses. He shakes his head and makes a weird face.)

JACK HARMEN: That was my logical side. I don't like that side. That side is boring and stupid. But irrational psychotic Jack Harmen? He knows what I want. And he doesn't demand anything. He just lets me TAKE!

And in the vile Hellmouth of the Earth, Greensboro North Carolina, I will be crowned the Ultratitle champion. I will hug it, hold it dear, and then SMASH it over Castor Strife's head.

Won't THAT be fun?

(The camera DOLLIES away from Harmen into a large wide shot, revealing Harmen in his usual warehouse/sound stage. FADE OUT.)

**


**


(MULTIPLE BURSTS OF STATIC. CUTTO: Jack Harmen is in a local radio station in Greensboro. He is being interviewed by a fast talking DJ. The same who interviewed him before his match with Pat Gordon Jr. The DJ speaks a mile a minute.)

DJ: Jack Harmen, the Neighborhood Lunatic, NFW superstar, final four competitor... What will it take for you to walk out of Greensboro with the Ultratitle?

(Harmen looks up. He doesn't say anything. Above the DJ's shoulder, a red blinking “Live” light flashes red. The DJ goads Jack to speak up.

Jack stands to his feet. He snarls, LEAPS over the audio console and begins to slam FIST after FIST into the Radio DJ's skull.)

DJ: HELP! HELP ME PLEA--

(MULTIPLE BURSTS OF STATIC. CUTTO: BLACK.)

 

[LQJT86C]

Being Castor Strife Final - feat. WAKA FLOCKA WINDHAM

(SFX: Studio toggling, headphones picked up, microphone tapping)

VOICE: “The Devin Millwood Podcast is brought to you by the Commander Erection Enhancer from California Exotics. Go to California Exotics dot com to get all your pleasure products, including the brand new Enhancer with it’s stretchy two-handled silicone erection ring. Remember, that’s California Exotics dot com, and when you get there, type in coupon code: MILLWOOD to receive an extra twenty percent off your purchase. Castor Strife is in the house, people, don’t go anywhere…it’s the podcast.”

(MUSICUP: “Let Me Drown” – Soundgarden)

(WHITE LETTER TITLE: ESEN Presents, Being Castor Strife: Ultratitle Endgame)

(CUTTO: Podcast studio split-screen. To the right is host DEVIN MILLWOOD, wearing a vintage “jWo: You Don’t Get It, We Don’t Care” t-shirt. To the left is CASTOR STRIFE, one side of his blonde hair combed back with gel, the other side hanging in his face, wearing 80’s style dark rectangular sunglasses, brown v-neck t-shirt, with the NFW World Heavyweight Title folded on the desk in front of him. The music dies down and Millwood begins the show)

MILLWOOD: “CASTOR STRIFE…welcome to the show, my friend. It is definitely an honor to have you here, especially on short notice, and I can tell you that of all the personalities that people request to have on, your name is right at the top of the list.”

CASTOR: “By the way, Doc Silver just marked out for your t-shirt.”

MILLWOOD: “Did he? You have Doc Silver ESP?”

CASTOR: “The universe called to me and said Doc loves the t-shirt. So…there you go.”

MILLWOOD: “I was a huge jWo guy back in the day. That shit was amazing. Those guys literally shut down two organizations on an inside joke.”

CASTOR: “That might be my favorite catchphrase.”

MILLWOOD: “Not Hornet Wins?”

CASTOR: “Oh, Hornet…right. Yes, Hornet always wins. (takes sip of Monster energy drink)

MILLWOOD: “Let’s talk about your match. Possibly the biggest, most important match in the history of the business…”

CASTOR: (laughs) “Not even close.”

MILLWOOD: “Why do you keep saying that? It’s interesting to me that a guy like you who has a good shot at winning the Ultratitle would keep degrading it in public. Don’t you want it to mean something when you win?”

CASTOR: “That’s my problem with the whole thing right there. Yes, it’s going to mean a hell of a lot when I win it, but let’s say, for example, I sustained an injury, and Panther won it.”

MILLWOOD: “Jaguar.”

CASTOR: “Jaguar. Let’s say Jaguar won it. Do you really think we’d be sitting here right now talking about how Jaguar is the man to beat? No, because he brings nothing to the table. Even Yori Yakamo a few years back, Ultratitle dodged a bullet when Nova won, because Yori being the champion would have made it absolutely worthless. Nobody gave a shit about Yori Yakamo.”

MILLWOOD: “Did they give a shit about Nova?”

CASTOR: “Absolutely. He was already a champion, people knew he was going to be big in NFW, and he only got bigger after winning. Same thing with Manson – Mike Manson was an established name when he won Ultratitle. Now you brought up Doc Silver before, let’s take him for example. When he won Ultratitle, he was a nobody. After he won, CSWA thought so highly of the new Ultratitle champion that they basically screwed him over and banned him from the organization for life. So AAWC picks him up, he becomes a star there winning multiple championships, and now people look back and say, “Oh yes, Ultratitle, such luminaries as Doc Silver won it.” Right…Ultratitle, the retrospectively important title. The more its past winners achieve, the more important it becomes. Well in reality, a truly important title bestows meaning to its winners and not the other way around. Because you know that on a running basis, the champion has to beat an established list of contenders to win and keep that belt.”

MILLWOOD: “Another way of looking at it, is that Ultratitle brings a diverse collection of athletes together and therefore helps build the sport.”

CASTOR: “Great, then throw a company picnic and invite everybody. Do a block party. Throw a “Come over my house and fuck my wife in turns” party. Don’t invent a fake trophy with a fake aura and a bogus history, and expect me to promote it. Because the reality is, Devin, I am the best in the sport and there’s not even a close second. And when I rip through your shitty little tournament like Gravedigger on Super Sunday, I’m not going to give a teary eyed speech and tell the kids I did it for Susan. Castor Strife is Castor Strife – he’s not Eli Flair-mart, G.I. Joey Melton, or Michael McManson. He’s not the toy in someone else’s Happy Meal. You either deal with me on favorable terms, or try and fuck me like CS Enterprises did and get fucked right back.”

MILLWOOD: (looking at his laptop) “The chatroom is going crazy right now. So you’re not on good terms with Manson any more? You guys used to be tight.”

CASTOR: “Corporate Satan? Fuck him.”

MILLWOOD: “Well you have Castor Strife Productions, don’t tell me you’re not a capitalist.”

CASTOR: “Oh no, I love capitalism. That’s why I’m independent; that’s why I cut the puppet strings. You want to be my puppet? Come, be my puppet. I hope you like to fuck on film, dirty girl. And nobody’s taking a bigger cock on camera than Ultratitle when I win it. It is known, Khaleesi.”

MILLWOOD: (laughing) “I have you in rare form today. Game of Thrones fan?”

CASTOR: “Clearly.”

MILLWOOD: “Uhh, somebody in the chatroom wants to know why you bring the NFW title with you everywhere you go.”

CASTOR: (sips his drink) “That’s an easy one: I like it.”

MILLWOOD: “Jack Harmen was on TV today talking about the entitlement mentality, and how he’s the only one who understands…that you have to grab it, you have to take it…want it, not need it, and all that.”

CASTOR: “Oh, BRAVO Jack. You’re so COOL. You’re so ABOVE THE FRAY. Remind me again why Jack Harmen is lecturing us on positive action? This coming from the Tony Robbins of NFW, who couldn’t be motivated to perform at peak level if you had ten carrots for every stick.”

MILLWOOD: “I think Melton and Flair had something on ESEN today too…”

CASTOR: “Oh, well a little birdie told me that Melton was seen at a restaurant with Lindsay Troy, proposing marriage and singing duets with his man servant.”

MILLWOOD: “You heard? I think that’s what was shown…”

CASTOR: “Can we admit to seeing his promos now? Is that…is that being done? Is he cool with everybody acknowledging what they saw on television in plain sight, or are we still pretending that his video diaries aren’t happening?”

MILLWOOD: “I was never instructed on that one way or another.”

CASTOR: “That’s cool; I was. Until you brought it up, I was just going to say I heard it on TMZ, but since you went ahead and exposed him, I’ll follow your lead.”

MILLWOOD: “I think Zero had an issue with that too.”

CASTOR: “Right. There’s a camera, dickhead, I can see you. Even the Kardashians have the decency to acknowledge the audience.”

MILLWOOD: “I’m surprised Melton brought Lindsay out of the woodwork.”

CASTOR: “The batteries in her Doc Johnson must have died. Melton read the signs wrong, got on one knee and all. Sad, but at least all the new fans who didn’t get my comments about the two of them now have a point of reference.”

MILLWOOD: “Back to the match for a second…would you at least acknowledge that it’s important?”

CASTOR: (clears throat) “It’s a good match. It’s a one-night elimination series between four guys who have all contributed to the sport, all are or were important at one juncture or another. But to act as if it’s some barometer of relevancy, or a test to determine who’s on top of the industry, is ridiculous. It’s LAUGHABLE. It’s going to end in bitter disappointment for them (and especially Eli) when I crush it, and unfortunately it’s going to be the end of their world. All I can say to them is, Eli, Joey, Jack…you’ve all had great careers. Losing to me in the Ultratitle is nothing to be down about. Not being able to walk properly the rest of your life, that’s what you should be concerned with. But that’s nothing compared to what I do to the institution of ULTRATITLE when I went. For that, for IT, there is no recovery.”

MILLWOOD: “Watching a video right now of Eli and Ivy. Eli says the NFW title is your prop…”

CASTOR: (smiles) “It’s a pretty good prop though, isn’t it? I like it, anyway.”

MILLWOOD: “Person in chat wants to know what you think about your popularity in the black community.”

CASTOR: “I will never understand that one. The hip hop guys, the rap guys, they all love me, and I’m at a loss for reasons, but I’ll take it.”

MILLWOOD: “Did you see this guy Waka Flocka Windham?”

CASTOR: “WHO?”

MILLWOOD: “There’s a rapper, popular one, called Waka Flocka Flame. Well this guy from Greensboro is calling himself Waka Flocka Windham, and he did a rap video based on a Flock Flame song about you and the Ultratitle.”

CASTOR: “That is funny. Can you bring it up? I have to see this. All devotion to me is a positive thing.”

MILLWOOD: “Yeah it’s up in another window, hold on. Let me get it on the main screen…”

(CUTTO: Full-screen of YouTube video featuring hip hop dudes from Greensboro swinging towels over their heads and spraying bitches with hoses over Lambos. WAKA FLOCKA WINDHAM pops out in a white tanktop with a black Atlanta Braves hat over long brades)

FLOCKA:

I GO HAAAARD IN THE MAH-FUCKIN’ PAINT, WINDHAM
I LEAVE YOU STANKIN’ WINDHAM
WHAT THE FUCK YOU THANKIN’ WINDHAM?

I WON’T DIIIIIEEEEEE FOR THIS SHIT THEY CALL THE ULTRATITLE
YOU TASTE MY PISS SINCE THE GOLD RUSH IT HAD BEEN A WHILE

CASTOR V. IS ONE WINDHAM-ASS STRIFE
WE FUCKIN CRUNK, THIS IS GREENSBORO HOOD LIFE

JOEY DIDDLED LINDSAY JUST TO KEEP HIM ON THE PROMO TRACK
THAT WINDHAM’S OLD, SHE DONE SUCKED HIS DICK ON HORSEBACK

WE SHITTIN BRICKS ON THE MUH-FUCKIN BRACKET TRICKS
I SPREAD MY BATWING OVER JOEY MELTON’S TURKEY LIPS

LEBRON WINDHAM JAMES GO HARD IN THE FUCKIN PAINT
FLOCKA FUCKIN WINDHAM SHOOTIN OFF LIKE A BOONDOCK SAINT

STRIFE GLOCK PULLED AT HARMEN IF YOU WANT THAT BEEF
DIRECTOR’S CUT POINT BLANK RANGE’LL PUTCHA ASSSSSS TO SLEEP

MERRITT RUN PLANTATIONS LIKE IT’S 1848
I’M THE LINCOLN-ASS WINDHAM COME TO MUTHA FUCKIN LIBERATE

HOPE YOU GOT YOUR ELI WITH YOU
HOPE HE GOT HIS IMPULSE WITH HIM
HOPE HE GOT HIS IVY WITH HIM
THEY GON’ FUCKIN’ MISS YOU, WINDHAM

FLOCKA WINDHAM BUST A NUT LIKE RAMBO
GREENSBORO WINDHAMS RIDIN’ SLOW IN THEY LAMBOS

SEE PETER? THAT’S MY MUTHA FUCKIN WINDHAM
CASTOR-ASS WINDHAM-ASS STRIFE IN THE TRAP, WINDHAM

GETTIN’ BRAINS IN THE BACK OF MY S.K
SHOOTIN’ SPIDEY WINDHAM WEBS ON POISON IVY’S FACE

WE RUNNIN’ GAME, WINDHAM
IT’S ALL THE SAME, WINDHAM
MY CHILDREN’S DRAINED, WINDHAM
IVY FUCKIN’ DRANK ‘EM, WINDHAM

JTP VOICE CLIP: "UGGGHHHHHHHHHNNNNNN!!!!!"

(SFX: Click)

(CUTTO: Return to the studio with Millwood and Castor)

CASTOR: (clapping) "That was...amazing."

MILLWOOD: "Isn't it?"

CASTOR: "He is now an honorary Guild member. YOU'VE BEEN ACCEPTED, FRIEND. He also just cut every JTP promo of the last five years. I love it."

(FADEOUT)