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Triple D

**As the screen image comes into focus, the familiar office of GXW Chief Executive Chad Dupree is in full view. Rich, dark mahogany bookshelves engulf the western wall, filled with books, large 3-ring binders bearing labels ranging from "Prospects" to "1999 Taxes," and various nick-knacks which occupy the shelves at eye-level. A heavy, dark oak desk with quarter-inch thick glass-top sits as the centerpiece of the room; behind it a lavish black, leather executive-chair, and further behind a smaller, slightly less-impressive desk which is home to Dupree's computer. On the northern wall, which ultimately backs Dupree's desk, numerous framed awards hang, the centerpiece of which is his degree. Dupree sits, slightly reclined in his chair, his royal blue dress-shirt unbuttoned at the collar, with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Across the desk from him, in a chair not nearly so excessive as his, sits a well-endowed man, easily 250 pounds in weight, his commercially-tanned skin nearly reflecting the overhead flourescent lighting. His brown hair is cut and style in a very textured sort of way, with a staggered, heavy blonde accent spiked up in front, slightly ajar towards his righthand-side. The stranger's choice of t-shirt, which reads "Got Balls?" in three-dimensional yellow lettering, the trademark logo of a California-based BMX racewear company of similar name, and black nylon snap-pants, Adidas brand with yellow tri-stripes down the length of the leg, speak worlds about this meeting. This is obviously well-past the interview-process, or else GXW's Chief Executive would have sent this or any other man packing were to he to come asking for a roster-spot sans necktie.**

Dupree: "Well, Mr. Dawson, I believe all that's left is the ink on the line, as the saying goes."

Dawson: "Funny, I've never heard any saying like that."

**Dupree pivots his chair 90 degrees to face the desk at which his computer sits. Noticeably, a stapled stack of crisp white sheets of paper rest atop his keyboard. He collects the stack and loosely knocks the bottom of the stack against te keyboard, assumedly to sort them all into one uniform pile, but this seems rather redundant since they are already stapled. He returns his chair to face Dawson once more, now sliding the stapled stack across the desk in front of the new recruit.**

Dupree: "I think that you'll find everything in order for a star of your calibre."

Dawson: "Well hold on just a second there Chad..."

Dupree: "That's Mr. Dupree."

**Dawson looks at him with a half-blank, half-challenging expression.**

Dawson: "...Chad.. there's still the discussion of fringe benefits."

Dupree: "I don't see where there are any reasons for fringe benefits. Those men who have remained faithful to my company for lengthy periods of time receive the benefits."

Dawson: "I'm sure they do, Sparky. But you are about to have the Delicious One, the man with the biggest balls in the industry, in your employ. And that man is asking... scratch that... TELLING you that he requires a little added incentive before he takes your little pen and signs Delicious Dane Dawson and your little contract there. Now make with the incentives."

Dupree: "The contract is already written, and I can't authorize any changes to it without first consulting with my board of directors."

Dawson: "Don't hand me that horse*BLEEP*. Your the Chief *BLEEP*ing Executive of GXW. Now grow some balls, so that I'm not the only one at this table with a pair, and wise up. That contract is what you worked out with my agent, and maybe you need glasses, but I'm not my agent. My agent is smaller, slightly overweight man... looks a little like Jon Lovitz. Does Triple D look like Jon Lovitz to you, Chad?"

Dupree: "The obvious answer is no."

Dawson: "The obvious answer? It's the only *BLEEP*ing answer there is, Chad. Now start dealing..."

**Dupree is hesitant at first, but with a sigh finally gives in.**

Dupree: "Full limosine service from airports, hotels, and venues."

Dawson: "Why don't you just offer me a Christmas ham? This kind of stuff is child's play, Chad. Don't insult me, or I'll walk my Delicious *BLEEP* right out of here."

Dupree: "Well what do you want me to do? Fly in a hooker from Singapore?"

**Dupree appears legitimately frustrated by this point.**

Dawson: "You said it... not me."

**Momentary pause.**

Dawson: "But I get the feeling you can do better than that. Let those creative juice flow, Chad. Come on now. Wow me!"

**A much lengthier pause ensues, until Dupree looks as if struck by a bolt of lightning, though rather its a jolt of inspiration. He spins quickly in his chair back to face his computer. He extends a finger and holds down a button on a device that looks like an answering machine, but on closer inspection is part of an intercom system.**

Dupree: "Molly... page Danny Archer and send him to my office on the fly."

**A voice responds through the device, loudly coming through... Dupree must be *BLEEP* near deaf if he has to have this thing that high. Dawson cringes at the volume as well.**

Molly **via intercom**: "I'm on it, sir."

Dupree: "Now, Mr. Dawson... would you be willing to sign if I were to offer you say... you're own personal narrator?"

Dawson: "You mean, like my own private *BLEEP* or something?"

Dupree: "Not exactly the choice-word I would have used. But, just listen. I'll pay this man to set the scene in your promos... take care of all the dirty work for you."

Dawson: "Does he do floors?"

Dupree: "I suppose that's up to, Mr. Archer. But... yes... if you can convince him to do your floors, then I will PAY him to do your floors."

**Dawson looks visibly impressed. He cracks a smile, half... as-always... full of himself, and half devilishly-mischevious.**

Dawson: "Sparky, you've got yourself a deal! Just slide the Delicious One one of those pens."

**Dupree reaches over to retrieve a click-pen from the computer-desk, and hands it to Dawson. Dawson, in turn, flips to the final page of the contract and signs his John Hancock on the dotted line.**

Dupree: "Welcome to Global Xtreme Wrestling, Mr. Dawson."


**The knocks come at the door, on the southern wall of Dupree's office. The door opens and in walks a very anal-retentive looking fellow: About six-foot tall, but a whelp of a man at only a shade over 170 pounds, and appearing to be in about his mid 20's. Shaggy brown hair hangs in his face... in fact... he bears a striking resemblance to Shaggy from the Scooby Doo cartoons... were shaggy to have worn a egg-shell blue polo-shirt and khaki Dockers.**

Archer: "You wanted to see me, Mr. Dupree?"

Dawson: "Well... he certainly looks like a little *BLEEP*."

Archer: "Beg pardon?"

Dupree: "Danny, I'd like to introduce you to Delicious Dane Dawson, godson of Shane Douglas. You're going to be reassigned as Mr. Dawson's personal narrator. Got that?"

Archer: "Good grief..."

**Dawson kicks back in his chair, and won't even look at Archer as he speaks to him.**

Dawson: "Nice to meet you, *BLEEP*. You can call me Delicious One... or better yet.. God All-Freakin' Mighty. By the way, I hope that scrawny back of yours is stronger than it looks, because my floors need some serious waxing."

Archer: "Floors?!"

**Fade to black. Fin**

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