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Glamorama revisted


League Member
Jan 1, 2000
Boston and other places.
(CUTTO: midway through The star studded hype tripping VMAs. Courtney Love and John "Uncle Jesse" Stamos stand behind the podium, preparing to present the next award...)

COUNTRY LOVE: So John, I see your career's taken off again, now that the Olsen twins are like...totally getting pushed as legitimate celebrities. Must've sucked to be over shadowed by two stupid kids for all those years.

JOHN STAMOS: Eat my ass!

(Stamos shocks Courtney with a tazer. She screams and convulses for a while, then dies, smoke rising from her corpse.)



STAMOS: And now for some reason here are the nominees for GLCW's most unorthodox wrestler...

(CUTTO: crazy bumper graphic of robot pigeons adorned in punk garb, cuz they're "unorthodox"...)
(CUTTO: "Michael Manson" facsimile sitting on Santa's lap at the Mall. Manson receives a case of new liquid pez from Santa. Santa gives "Manson" a big cozy hug...)
"MANSON": I love you Santa..
STAMOS V/O: Michael Manson....
(CUTTO: "Anarchy" watching the end of "A walk to Remember." He's weeping despite himself, his badass face paint running all over...)
STAMOS V/O: Anarchy....
(CUTTO: "Jarod Poe" spreading pink frosting on cupcakes...)
STAMOS V/O: Jarod Poe...
(CUTTO: MWG in a sundress and combat boots sitting in the crowd between a clearly uncomfortable Amy Lee and a sleeping James Duval. MWG's got 8 fingers crossed, sweating profusely, mouthing the words
STAMOS: M.W. Grossard....
(CUTTO: The 50 cent video where he raps about being a pimp P-I-M-P...)
STAMOS: 50 Cent...
(CUTTO: "Minion" taking ballet lessons in a leather trenchcoat and leotard...)
STAMOS V/O: And Minion...
(Back to Stamos on Stage...)
STAMOS: And the winner is...(opens the envelope) 50 Cent!!!
(The crowd goes ape poopee as fiddy swaggers up to the stage. CUTTO: MWG in the crowd)
MWG: Aw, WHAT THE F(BLEEP)K?!?!?! (sighs)...So Amy dear, we simply MUST trade beauty tips...
(Amy Lee maces MWG...)

(Metalica takes the stage, lip synchs "St. Anger" and busts choreographed moves with 150 back up dancers....)

(CUEUP: Pick your favorite Evanescence song...they're all kinda the same...)

(CUTTO: Frankie Munez's slammin' VMA afterparty...Strobe lights blare as MWG, eyes still red and watery, sips a martini with a cigarette in one hand and another hanging out his mouth, causing him to have to
constantly trade off smoking a speaking...Abby the Nazi flits with Vin Diesel in the corner, while Vin shoots come hither glances to Bostwick B. Maximized...)

"the surreal"
M.W. GROSSARD: over and over and over again, I'm called a sideshow, a joke, walking shock value with no legit chops, And just look what keeps happening. It's not so much that Jean Rabesque deserves to be taken seriously. Just that he is. Now, so am I...The Jarred Justice's and Rage of Fire's of the world needn't feel inadequate any longer. The number two (makes quote marks with fingers) "fan favorite," in this company, couldn't get me off either...He tried as hard as he could, bless his heart. In the end he was throwing Mariah Carey esq. hissy fits...Cuz it just wasn't enough, and in all seriousness, it never really is.

(Ashton Krucher walks over, flanked by Demi Moore and Tom Arnold and that horrible little kid from Punked...)

ASHTON: Hey M.W.!! Enjoying the party, buddy?

MWG: Sure am. (Extinguishes a cigarette on Ashton's eyeball.)

ASHTON: OW!! Gee that smarts. Well, see you later guy.

MWG: Uh, yuh. Later.

(The Never phased Krucher and Co wander off...)

MWG: Yeah. Thanks for interrupting my segment, a$$hole. As I was saying, Jean Rabesque is the best technical wrestler alive...and technically I shoved his punk card up his sweet little tuckus. I'm on my way. You're all be forced to love me soon...

You, Rage of Snuckums, will be my number one fan...You put your hands on me without my consent. You made threats, I think. I can't exactly let you get away with this, can I? Life is a popularity contest after all, and I have a reputation to consider. Was it illogical for me to cost you the TV title knowing I'm to face you on the Pay Per View? Duh. But if causing you misery is wrong, then baby, I don't wanna be right. After they pry me off of you, and Jared sweetie, they will have to pry me off, you wont want to look in the mirror anymore. I mean, yuh, eye guess partially from all the disfiguring scars. But mostly you'll just prefer to turn on the TV so you can look at me instead. You'll Buy all my merchandise. You'll cut my picture out of Tiger Beat and scotch tape it to your wall. You'll own a DVD AND VHS copy of any films I make and TV I'm on. You'll spend every waking second thinking about what and who I'm doing, yearning to be near me. When your delusional psychosis drives you completely sideways, you'll dare to masturbate, envisioning wonderful
your life would be if you were me...You will admire, er ah, I mean idolize, oh F(bleep)k it, YOU WILL WORSHIP EM DUBAYA GEE, and unfortunately, I will have to file for a restraining order. I'm not a piece of meat. I'm entitled to my privacy. I don't owe the public anything. Oh, but I do love my fans...just s'long as they...y'know, don't try to touch me. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to shove a gerbil up Vin Diesel’s ass...

(Abby is hauled off by security, screaming something anti-Semitic, after clubbing Ashton Krucher in the back of the head with a whisky bottle. His skull is cracked open like an over ripe watermelon, but don't worry boys and girls, nothing can kill famous people...)

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