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According to Shane, this is a farce.


Hex Angel

"He said it before Battle of the Belts, and it rang off my ear in a very unpleasant way."

FADEIN on Eli Flair, sitting outside his condo in Los Angeles. He's got the o-fish-al CSWA15 T-shirt on, and a pair of black cutoff sweatpants. He looks fairly healthy considering he just wrestled in a high profile pay per view match, but the (for the most part) lack of foreign objects against Evan Aho was a welcome change.

"Shane Southern said someone up there wanted Eli Flair to be the number one contender. Who was that, Shane? God? Allah? Merritt? Santa Claus?"

"Eli Flair wanted it, that's who. And I don't know if Aho was distracted, if he was intentionally holding back, or just didn't have his heart in things, but I want him to know that any time - any time he wants another go, I'm all for it."

"But this isn't about Shane Southern, and this isn't about Evan Aho. This is about Mark Windham and Eli Flair. Two men who have nothing to prove to each other, to anyone else in the CSWA, or to the fans in general. But two men whom fate has tapped to face off once more for the biggest prize in the sport."

"It was the match you and I had last year, as well as the match you had with Eddy Love, Mark... that prompted Merritt to give you your shot at Evan Aho. And I'm willing to bet, Mark... you shocked everyone in the wrestling world when you came out on top."

"Everyone but me. I knew you still had it in ya. Y'don't wrestle someone as good as that and not get a sense of what they still have to offer."

"But somewhere along the way... you lost your passion again. Call it a by- product of the Awakening, call it apathy for a wrestling promotion that takes three months off to plan its new season, call it whatever you want. But it's obvious to me that your heart just isn't into it."

"You said once, a long time ago... that 'The Awakening' has begun. But look what it's gotten you. Ostracized from your daughter. Ostracized from your brother. Ostracized from your best friend. You've got Sunshine... but where is she, Mark? Was it worth it?"

"Was any of it worth it?"

"I look at you, Mark... and I know what I looked like three years ago. Two years ago, even... before my own awakening. I wonder what it'll take for you to find your way home, and I wonder if you have the strength."

"No. I know you have the strength. I wonder if you have the desire to find your way home. Keep looking for it, Mark..."

"... but while you're looking, get ready. Because I don't plan to hold back a bit in Anaheim. And by the look of things... there will be precious little you can do, at all, to stop me."



League Member
Jan 1, 2000
{{...FADE-IN: Shane Southern. Nothing else...}}

SHANE SOUTHERN: " Hey, look at it like this Eli, at least Hornet didn't show up...if he would have, I'd be pukin' on yer shoes right 'bout now.

{{...FADE OUT...}}


the EX-QUEEN of FW~!
Jan 1, 2000
Greensboro USA
I Owe You

(FADEIN on Mark Windham standing in front of a blue-screened CSWA backdrop located inside the media room at CS Towers in Greensboro, NC. Windham’s dirty blonde hair has been cut short, slightly spiked on top. He’s wearing black jeans, sandals, and a gray (with navy blue trimmings on the sleeves) BOY TROY T-shirt. The World Title is tied around Windham’s waist. A white post-it-note with “I Owe You” is stuck in the middle of the belt)

“It’s been a year? They all seem to run together. The lives I’ve led, that is. Once the passion for walking a path has dried up and morphed into something eternally foul, the trick is to just to tear it at the edges and write a new one. It’s easy to be a legend like that. Constantly keeping on the move to avoid getting old. So a few souls who could help are ostracized while I shed an old skin. So what."

"What’s it gotten me? For the sake of commercial appeal I’m paid to say it’s gotten me YOU again, Flair. Maybe I’ll stay in this skin for a touch longer. Luck hasn’t started to run yet."

"It’s been a year. Look at what beating Eli Flair has done for me. You’re a wonderboy, King. If you could bottle and sell the effects you’d have something worth going public with."

"Have you brought anyone else this much luck or am I a charity case?"

"Not that I’m complaining, Flair. I took the handout in spite of really caring. I thought maybe wrestling with an overpriced belt on my waist a few times every year would tempt me to settle down and have kids."

"But, charming as you are...you’re not that good it appears."

"At PRIMETIME the two roads meet. You set me in motion Eli, and twelve months later the spin out of control stops. It was an open-ended commitment was it not?"

“ 'I help the poor bastard back off the ledge, if he is smart enough to begin paving my wave out in gold when I call for it.' ”

"Yes, Eli. Come. Come put me out of my misery."

"While the fight with Aho may have been a welcome change, PRIMETIME with me won’t."

"It’s been quite a ride since we last met. (Mark smiles) Don’t worry. I know it’s my turn to pay off some DEBTS.”


Hex Angel

(FADEIN: Eli.)

"Sarcasm don't become you, Windham... you do better as the guy in the corner of the coffeehouse with the screenplay and contempt for everyone and everything around you."

"But to answer your question... Yeah. I bring everyone around me this much luck, all the way back to the days when I held the IntraContinental championship and made Scotty Michaels my bitch on a regular basis, only for him to come back some time later as Merritt's hand- picked EN World Champion. To Kevin Powers and the mess of glass and tacks I dropped him on, only to come back and become United States Champion at Fish Fund XII. To Austin Canon in the TCW, who pinned me once and carried that accomplishment around like the hammer of Thor for the next two years. To the fact that every single one of those men had a huge surge of success after wrestling me, and are now members of the Where Are They Now club."

"But this isn't about last year's match, this is a whole new ballgame. A year ago you were looking for 'revenge' for what I did to Troy, and now... apparently you and Troy are on the outs yet again, and you're trying to make this look like one gigantic cycle between you and I. Pulling you off a ledge in return for the gold. Putting you out of your misery. Bla, bla, bla."

"I just want your belt. I'm not ashamed to say it. With the belt comes the payoffs, and that's the bottom line. To quote GUNS, I too stopped measuring my life in three second increments a long time ago, as well."

"I don't want to be a hero for the CSWA any more than you've been. I don't want to be on top for the ego rush. Trust me on that one, Windham, I've got as much of a legacy to leave behind as I ever wanted, and to be honest... beating you or getting beaten by you again won't put much of a plus or minus on it."

"Put you outta your misery, Windham? If you were really that miserable, you'd have put yourself outta your own misery a long time ago. If you're not having a good time, go and scrub toilets for a living and leave the wrestling to the people who still have fun at work."

"So why are you still here again? Having wrestled a handful of matches in the past six years, CSWA schedule notwithstanding, it can't be because you need the money. It can't be because you enjoy the business... if you did you would've wrestled as often as you can."

"The 'Lost Soul' is as old hat as they come, Marky Mark... so when I take the belt from you at PRIMETIME, just go on home and sit in the basement with your eyes closed listening to anti- establishment rock with a very non- trendy clove cigarette in your mouth."

"Otherwise, stop wasting my time with the mock- martyrdom... it stopped selling a long time ago."



the EX-QUEEN of FW~!
Jan 1, 2000
Greensboro USA
(FADEIN: Windham smoking a Cigar, World Title belt tied over his left shoulder. He's wearing a sleeveless King Of All-Media T-shirt, and faded denim jeans.)

I tell ya <b>Flair</b>...

Wait...that name still sells doesn’t it?

Thought so.

Eli despite it all you’re still stuck on stupid. Must be to have missed the day when I graduated to Cigars.

(Windham takes a puff)

Nothing quite like a good Cuban. GUNS can attest to that.

Fire the second-city castoffs that are writing for you and cut promos with your wit alone. You’re not entertaining me yet. With ratings what they are, we need variety. So let’s try this again. Put on your best torn shirt, bloodied jeans, grease the hair back, and get Marvin to cut in close on one of those scars, and let’er rip.




This is what I get for mock-martyrdom, I guess. A slow descent into becoming my brother.


Why should I ditch the Lost Soul mantra when I can get one more brilliant t-shirt push out of it? Hell, six more months of holding this title and I might be able to finagle a local Sweetwater Taco Bell tie-in for FISH FUND.

It’s all about the payoffs, right?

Don’t try and mock me when you’re fighting the apparent no-win situation of walking into the ring. The man who has nothing to prove, and nothing to gain.

“I don’t need this...I don’t need the ego boost. I don’t...I don’t...I don’t.”

Geez, Flair how much fun to you really have at work?

I wonder. You seem to be approaching delirium there, kid. Back off and give the thrill seeking part of your brain a rest.

Thanks for the heads-up that I no-longer sell. Your friends don’t have to question your loyalty. Who else but a true mate would break it to me like that? I never knew. Thanks.

Here’s a “The More You Know” moment to ponder yourself.

You’re sorta goin’ have to live in three-second increments to take the title and steal the benefits.

Unless you plan on making me say “I Quit.”

And if you couldn’t make Troy say the words, you da*n sure aren’t going to get them out of me.

(takes another drag)

You’re nearing a match with The World Champion and you’re talking about Scotty Michaels being your bitch? Were you that blind to what was going on in the locker room?

Michaels was everybody’s bitch.

I’m supposed to find a good stopping point in my writing and get serious because some day, long before I was getting “Enlarge Your Penis By 3-4 inches” emails on a consistent basis, you caved Scotty Michaels head in an extra inch?

Son, do us a favor and pull your head out of your ass, or for the sake of those in attendance, no-show like Hornet did, so Merritt can pull two more names out of the sorting hat.

Two-thirds of the men you claim to have made answers to trivia questions would have met the same end regardless of your charming effects.

You know, sitting at home watching on my Plasma TV the last couple years, I imagined an encounter with Eli Flair to be more awe-inspiring that it has been to this point.

Crap, Flair if you can’t at least hold my interest for more than thirty seconds fill out an application and go to work for Troy. You can teach him how to read, and he can do all the writing.

(throws the cigar to the floor)

If you’re not sure whether you really want this, you know not living in 3-second increments and it not mattering whether you win or lose, stay at home.

I don’t want to misquote you here, so I’m going to go on with the belief that you really do care.

May I?


Why am I back?

I don’t know Eli. Maybe the memory of the handful of matches I’ve had in the last decade started to run and I questioned whether they were real. When you stop living, your past becomes a dream. Maybe because I knew, even half-hearted I could make the short walk to the top and cash the big checks you’re hoping to clear.

I carried the CSWA with the Windham name I got ‘by birth.’ And if you didn’t catch the circus coming back in town at BOB, you weren’t paying attention.

It’s a name that’s constantly been disgraced every waking moment it’s lived in professional wrestling. To get any use out of it you’ve gotta be a serious talent.

(Imitating Troy) I was the sh*t for over ten years in spite of being a Windham. It’s not a badge of honor. It’s a freakin’ curse. But, I’ve never thought of becoming a “Williams” or Mark “Smith.” I am what I am. For worse, I’m a Windham. So be it. We all have crosses to bear.


One day you woke up and realized nobody gave a hoot about the Eliminator and decided to become a Flair.

But no relation, right? Yeah, it was billed more as a stroke of luck.

“I twisted this bottle cap and became a Flair? Should I use it?”

And you’re calling me a phony.

Everything you are in this business is a fake, Flair. Right down to your girlfriend’s ‘slit your wrists’ I was abused as a child Goth rock band.

Merritt’s got a marginal ear for music now. What a blast.

As a whole Flair, you’ve been done before, and so much better. You’re the guy that was stuck in the comedy clubs in the ‘80s doing a Robin Williams impression for high five figures a year. You got the voice, the mannerisms, and even the quick release right. But, everybody paying knew...you weren’t the real thing.

When Randalls drove a stake through GUNS’ knee, you bought the VHS the day it was released and sat in your room imagining some poor sap doing the same thing to you. Maybe you even drove a broken off 3wood into yourself until it drew blood. Whatever you could do to be real, to be The Boy That Would Sell.

King Of Extreme.

Pins and needles, and a table full of tacks.


You’re the late afternoon wreck on I-40 that the working class stops and stares at on their way home.

“Honey you’ll never believe what I saw.”

There’s nothing original about you Flair. So you’re a tough bastard. Great. Who isn’t who does this for a living. But don’t ever talk to me like you’re some sort of Extreme God, or on par with Mark Windham.

Troy might have respected your show enough to follow suit and break his neck, but then again he’s been sniffing glue since he was two.

To me you’re just a kid who could barely run or jump well, who decided to take a dare way too far.

Glass. Tacks. Chairs. Tables. The baggage that comes with being a shock and awe show.

That’s not respect you’ve earned Flair, it’s pity. Somewhere along the lines some idiot bought you a drink afterwards and you thought, “I’ve made it.”

In the third grade a group of us bought lunch for the kid who’d eat a dead bug, but it never made me want to learn his name.

PRIMETIME you get sent back on your merry way.

In the meantime, live for those three seconds again. Care.



Be that hand as it comes down for the third time.

Otherwise, follow your chic around on tour and dream it all up again.

You’ve spent the last couple years tearing my little brother a new one, while Merritt had no one else to hold top bill. Troy can hardly walk because of you.

But all that to me just plays as time management.

You saved me from doing something I dreaded doing myself.

There’s nothing I fear about getting back in the ring with you. Before I went off to hide in the woods behind my old house, and kept a limited schedule, I broke a string of men like you broke The Boy Troy.

Along the way though, it got old. When I ceased to be proud of my work, the Windham name snuck up and bit me in the rear.

Something tells me after PRIMETIME I’m going to be da*n happy with my handywork. It’s a feeling worth relishing, again.

(fade out)

Hex Angel

(FADEIN: Eli Flair, on the steps just oustide his condo. He's wearing a white wifebeater and cutoff jeans. He's holding something that looks like a shirt in his hands.)

"I think you hit 'em all, Windham."

"Untalented? Check."

"Boring? Check."

"Ask me about the past and then criticize me for simply answering? Check."

"Insulting my family? Check."

"Insulting my age? No... being older than me you let that one slide, but partial credit for the implication that I lost whatever shred of ability I ever had a long time ago."

"Of all the people I've wrestled who fit into the Standard Eli Flair Opponent mold... you're the last person I expected to be a near perfect match. Just goes to show what happens when you give a man too much credit."

"It still amazes me how a man can go from a 'Lost Soul' to the 'Joey Melton School of Arrogant Champions' honors student in less than half a tick and still expect to be treated with integrity and credibility. No... none of that is a publicity stunt, right?"

"I'll tell you what's a publicity stunt though, Windham. Me. Eli Flair, Total Elimination himself... is nothing more than a shock-em and wow-em steal of publicity for a greedy lil' bastard who can't even hold the World Champion's attention for more than thirty seconds. So I thought I'd toss you a bone, show you there's no hard feelings."

(He pulls the shirt on - and the slogan reads I WRESTLED THE LOST SOUL AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS LOUSY T-SHIRT on the front.)

"All about the payoff, Windham... for one event and one event only I can leech off your untouchable box office appeal."

"It's not a no- win situation for me, Windham... quite the opposite. Here I am, this untalented, uncharismatic freakshow with a World Title match. Main event money no matter what happens. I win, and I've just beaten one of the greatest wrestlers of at least ten of the past fifteen years, and become the CSWA World Champion, to boot. I lose... and yeah, how the hell can an untalented, uncharismatic freakshow like myself beat the Champ? I'm lucky to simply be in the same building as you, wrestling on your card. I... have nothing to lose."

"You, on the other hand... what're you doin, Windham? Forget about the top contender's match at Battle of the Belts. What's it do for the integrity of that title belt to defend it against someone who based their entire career on the Driver's Ed Safe Driving filmstrip? How can you even comprehend what this loser's done to earn a title shot? Man, all you're gonna do is wrestle a piece of absolute garbage. Man, I must bring nothing to the table. You said so."

"Course... I beat you, you've been beaten by a talantless piece of garbage. You win, all you've done is beat that same piece. How's a Windham to deal?"

"Pity? I'm pitied every time a fan buys me a drink in a bar after I bust my ass out there in the ring. Pity, mistaken for respect."

"News to me."

"It's not pity to be congratulated on a brutal match that only fifty insane fans saw. Or five hundred. Or a thousand. Or five thousand. Or nineteen thousand. Or fifty six thousand. Or one hundred and three thousand, eight hundred and forty two. It's not pity, it's not respect, and it's nothing at all inbetween."

"That's business."

"Pity is to take a man who helped put a wrestling promotion on the map and let a cuban refugee give him a World Title over a man he apparently can't beat. Pity is to broadcast that same man's descent into depression that revealed his cousin is his brother and his brother is a muppet, all for the sake of letting him appear on camera and be the center of attention one more time."

"Because the only difference between suicide and martyrdom is press coverage. If you were gonna committ suicide at home with nobody watching, nobody makes money off it."

"Pity is throwning this same shell of a man a bone with a series of matches against the same people he wrestled in his heyday, plus one or two new faces to the main event with the talant to hang... and pity is assuming that good showings against them is reason enough to give this man, who had previously not been on any form of television for over a year, the main event at one of the company's biggest annual events."

"But we won't talk about that, because it implies that there's the slightest chance that, sarcasm aside, I did give you something of a boost last year. And we can't have that, can we? I'm a nobody, not even fit to give my Robin Williams impression at the local comedy club. I certainly don't have the tools necessary to give someone a boost. Too busy returning my study guides - Best of Mike Randalls and When Animals Attack 2."

"Grizzly bears can sure throw a punch."

"Nobody ever accused me of claiming originality as one of my strong points, Windham... unless it was at being a nobody. I never said I was original. You said I was a ripoff. Hell, you said my very name was a ripoff. That's why I didn't speak of it for three years. That's why nobody knew it until I was gone. That's why you were born a Windham and I couldn't possibly have been born a Flair - because you're Mark Windham and you say so. But what am I saying? Nothing orginial here - I might as well go the full nine and at least get an oscar nomination."

"My name is Gladiator."

"At least my daughter recognizes me, Mark."

"Ooooooh, was that a cheap shot? S'all well, you're still winning, thirteen to one."

"Seriously, Windham... put me out of my overhyped, barely- walking misery. Send me back to the family I didn't initially bring up with a lesson to be learned - Eli Flair is all... not good... and... stuff."

"Cut out the double talk and the macho junk- waving, and that's what it comes down to."

"In all seriousness, Windham... thank you for helping me realize what a waste of space I am. Thank you for helping me see nine years of blood, sweat, and broken bones for what it really is - a cry for help from a confused man who just wanted Mike Randalls' autograph."

"Those three seconds mean a lot, Mark... they can spell the end of your Title Reign. They can take every single statement you've made in the past few days and beat you over the head repeatedly with them, as you realize you were just beaten by a man you likened to a car accident on the freeway. Conversely, those three seconds don't mean a damn thing to me as far as what I'm getting paid that night. I earned a shot at the top prize in this sport, if I don't capture it then I don't capture it - life will somehow, mysteriously, go on."

"Not for a moment, have I lived for those three seconds."

"For your sake, for being so much more genuine, entertaining, talented, bla, bla, bla... you'd better put me away in under ten minutes. Anything else will be an insult to the Rocket and his will to win. Least you don't have to worry about losing your 'Living Legend' monicker this time. I'm not interested in it."

(He cracked his neck and withdrew a piece of paper from his back pocket.)

"I hope I've entertained you a little bit more today, Windham... if the champ isn't happy he won't go out and play the shill. Which means nobody is gonna watch him on television, beating the tar outta his Driver's Ed opponent. But because you thought it was a smart move - or a publicity stunt - to talk about Angel for no reason beyond the fact that you can... she lent her lyrical talents to me, and we've prepared a little something that I hope is what you were looking for."

(He cleared his throat.)

"A Windham tapped me on the shoulder
'Take your shot, 'fore I get older!'
I might have said this all before
But for your sake, I'll say some more"

"The Lost Soul thinks that I'm a fake
A faux- extreme, for heaven's sake
But where were you for nine past years
Through broken bones and pity beers?"

"A few short days from now will be
The end of this pathetic me.
I'm glad, see, to be finally free
Of all my baggage, A to Z."

"So pin me quickly, Windham, Mark
Because I have no bite, just bark
Of course, if you should somehow lose
I cheated, lied, I know the news."

"It's been the same thing every night
I'm not allowed to win the fight
For reasons that I still don't know
'Cause Troy and I would steal the show?"

"I lost to you a year ago
And gave you much respect, y'know
It's fitting that we stand abroad
A legend - you, and me - the fraud."

"So take me out and beat me, kid
And tell me how you always did
As if it's big to beat this bum
This Eli Flair - chewed out like gum."

"You've got no exits, no way free
You have to win decisively
Or you can't even beat this chump
Newsflash, Windham - number's up."

(He put down the paper and gave a sarcastic nod of the head)

"If there's nothing further, I need to go watch some REAL TV to prepare for this match. All I need to do now is figure out how to get Windham in a moving car with two tons of cocaine in the trunk..."

(Eli stood up, turned around, and walked into his house. For just a split second, the words on the back of his shirt are visible: AND HIS BELT)



the EX-QUEEN of FW~!
Jan 1, 2000
Greensboro USA
(CUT TO: Mark Windham in his media room.)

You liken me to Joey Melton?

Come now, the man’s spent the last three months walking Asia by foot, carrying a tape measure to rings and outlawed clubs, in search of short work.

But I guess we all go our own kind of crazy.

Joey’s pushing height requirements to revolutionize the sport, and you bring in reinforcements to flesh out a personality.

Good boy. You listen. If I can teach you how to sit, roll over, play dead, and clean up after yourself you’d make an enjoyable pet.

Whether I let you in the house or not after PRIMETIME remains in the air, but make no mistake about it Flair, ownership starts there.

(Mark pulls out a <b>I WRESTLED THE LOST SOUL AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS LOUSY T-SHIRT</b>, shirt for the camera)

Well done. After PRIMETIME you’ll be allowed to roam the arenas, shirts in hand, and solicit. I’m thinking ten percent after ‘cost of’ money is made back sounds fair.


So Merritt’s pity is what garnered me a crack at the nation’s highest paid crash test dummy?

Help Windham take a breath, before the cameras time out and he shoots himself.


Take notes, this is our next shirt.


Dummy, you hit the nail on the head. The Windham Saga means nothing if I can’t turn a hard-earned dime. IN CASE the shirts either don’t catch on, or if salesmanship is hurt by being a bore, I have this title run.

You know me, Eli, my self-destruction has to be caught on cam. Like those da*n animals that mesmerized you, it’s important to wait for a good cue.

“Ah, an unsuspecting man now safely across the bridge.”


The Horror.
My Leg.


Somebody get help.
Didn’t see bear coming.


Pay attention Dummy.

Hidden beneath the Windham that propped his feet up for years, feigning pity to draw checks, is a man better known to Sweetwater socialites as Captain Excitement.

Behind every frown I endured through to push a buck, is a good ol’ fair skinned Texan that likes to giggle.

Purely going through someone, after three years without being pinned, got old. You’re living proof I couldn’t count on the others in the locker room to keep me entertained so I had to do it myself. I set out to go around people.

You see, Dummy, “NO ENGLISH” is funny because Manuel could actually speak some. Not because GUNS was giving me the time of my life.

But afterwards I realized that match ruined my well earned reputation as the stiffest guy in the business and eh...I just couldn’t cope.

I’m Troy’s brother, no? By heredity an entertainer.

While you spilt blood and broke some bones in front of a number of folk that varied dependent on location and two-for-one beer nights, I was beating and hideously embarrassing a man. If anything, respect me for learning the value of maximizing effort.

But your way was nobler. Your way shamed The Lost Soul.

Yeah. Those fans serving you after the show, that’s not a sign of respect, Dummy, it’s a brazen attempt to see how much fun you’d be drunk. See how much of a bigger ass you could make of yourself.

Maybe that first bear attack, or the disappointment of Randalls blowing you off, lead to the notion that a target group, clean or not, was calling to you.

I’ll give the Dummy his due. You took the ball and ran with it.

Try as you might, you never could steer from being The Boy Who Would Never Sell.

That’s why for years you let a pair of nice breasts fit into a tight skirt and carry a stick.

Sudden innuendo sells.

Now Angel. I’m guessing she’s around because you sensed the market wasn’t right for clever gothic art coming from an eight-foot dope.

Point being Dummy, you’re wrestling’s straight man, the worst in history at that.

Rest assured, when you’ve popped a number it’s been paired with someone who’s already made his name, or a pretty-boy who’d scream well locked in the cage.

But there’s hope for you, don’t despair.

Captain Excitement’s allowed to take on sidekicks for the run.

<i>The Underachievers.</I>

The thrill when I win won’t be in accomplishing a feat expected, but in watching The Boy Who Would Never Sell evolve into a test dummy that can.

Windhams Gone Wild Summer Tour ’03.

The Lost Soul’s blaze of glory.

Merritt’s pity brought me out of hiding to finish what marketability I have left.

I’m out to earn a buck Eli. You seem too caught up in why I’ve returned, and whether I really care enough to put one foot in front of the other.

There’s genuine concern that barely of legal age kids won’t be able to buy you a beer in the not too distance future. When The Franchise loses his spirit and calls in sick, and the ratings hit a new low, I was warned dark and moody doesn't bank.

Thus Captain Excitement returns.

I’m a team player.

With luck, Dummy, after PRIMETIME you’ll be selling.

(Windham holds up a T-shirt for the camera. The front reads “<b>Captain Excitement and His Underachievers</b>”. A second later Mark turns it over, the back claims: “<b>Property Of</b>.”)

Manuel still works here, right?

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