Is This A....challenge!?!?!?!

[jediPREZ]

(FADEIN: An empty circus tent...all the clowns have gone home, the tigers and seals sleep quietly. But the spotlight shines on one man, wearing Ringmaster's red, white and blue pants, a 'BUSH AND DICK 2004' campaign t-shirt with Dick Cheney asscramming G Dubya...the man, he's got long brown hair, with a thick beard to boot. Blue-tinted, hippieish, circular sunglasses rest on the lower bridge of his nose - a gigantic spliff dangles from his lips. All this topped off, with a red, white and blue ringmaster's tophat with one giant star; 'Legalize it' written in pen.)

"It's been a long time my friends of GWE. Ages ago when called upon one of my many benefactors, Erik Zieba - I returned to the sport of professional (f)wrestling to teach a lesson on the fruits of knowing the finest midget cocaine dealers in Eastern Europe or South America. I exposed the boundaries of his federation, skyrocketing to the top of the Television Title division only to watch merger upon merger and address change upon address change really confuse the **** out of me."

(he exales a waft of spliffiness...)

"In those years, I grew...'FREEDOM FIGHTER' MARC ROBINSON joined crusades, cults and many fine institutions. But now, Erik Zieba has called me back for one final mission. An exploitation that NEEDS to be rectified before his time is done. He told me, "Freedom Fighter - I'll get you lots of drugs, if you expose this ****ing hypocritical bastard..."

(another exhalation of reefication...)

"And I do NOT turn down drugs..."

"ICE TRE, I know you're out there fool! I know you're in some Encino Valley suburban condominum eating Cheetos and watching an Everlast video! I know about you Tre! I know that you got into all this because you liked that Vanila Ice song...I know that your parents were FARMERS! You can't hide who you are! And by the order of AMORICA...I CHALLENGE YOU to a match!"

(FADEOUT)

 

[blackshire]

"Damn ... why they wanna stick me for my paper?"

(FADE ON IN: It's your boy. You know his name. He's the one y'all want to be, deep-diggity-down. This is the cat you came up with. The young buck who helped you get your feet wet in the game. He's the King of the Streets. The Straw that Stirs the Drink. The Pimp With No Limp. The winningest wrestler to have never, OFFICIALLY, won a match. He's Ice Tre. And it looks like your boy is back.)

"Why's it gotta be like this? Why they hatin'? ... Hatin' on ME, of ALL people!?! People fail to realize the impact that the Ice Age has had on the wrestling industry! Everybody want a piece of me! They all want some of what I got. And I can't blame 'em. Because I got plenty."

(Awwww, YEAH, he does. Decked out in a strictly-PIMP off-white blazer, with a grey starched bowtie, the man has never looked better. But don't think he's sold out. He's still rockin' the immitation platinum, seventeen-pound Crucifix (or his Pimp-Juice-ifix, as he calls it) and so, naturally, Tre is hunched over slightly, seated at the bottom of a short set of concrete steps. Behind Tre, we see that the stairs lead to what looks like a rundown apartments front door ... in a very, VERY bad part of town.)

"They want my money, son. But they ain't gon' get a DIME from the King of the got-day'um STREETS. What they WILL get from Ice Tre, without a DOUBT ... is a half-hearted, poorly executed ass-whoopin' the likes of which they ain't ever thought could be probable in AAAALLLL their WILDEST imaginations! But it ain't just my MONEY that peoplez is after. Some fools think that I am ... what was the word? Hypothetical?"

(Someone off camera corrects Dr.Tre.)

"Hypocratical. That's it. Some people think I'm hypocratical. That I'm fake, or some sh_t. This ONE cat even said my parents were farmers. Shee-it. I knows something about HOES, but that don't mean I grew up usin' 'em out in no field! ... well .... hol' on, now, HA! Maybe I did, once or twice. But I digrizzle..."

(Tre puts on his trademark bulky, obnoxious, and altogether unflattering pair of black sunglasses. Somehow? He pulls it off.)

"Mr.Robinson, with all due respect to a former Champion of Television, allow me to respond to your rather ... auspiscious challenge."

(Tre clears that golden throat of his. You KNOW you love that voice. Come on now, don't play.)

"Not only do I accept."

(He stands up, arms folded in desperate defiance.)

"But I mother-F___in' accept! And I HOPE and PRAY that you bring your D-game to the ring on that night. Because ... honestly? (confidence breaks) ... I'm a little out of practice."

(FADE ON OUT.)