((FADEIN: MICHAEL MANSON, people's champion and procurer of fine cheeses, sits on a green leather couch in black t-shirt and jeans, along with a black cowboy hat.))
MANSON: Now there's an interesting thought. You understand, Hawk, most people around are either too proud or stupid to actually come out and say something like I had to be born in hell or in fire, something along those lines. I know you can hear that on the 700 Club every week since they now do my profile every last 15 minutes of the show, but around here, people just refuse to come out and say what they're thinking. No one but me, of course, but I am the people's champ.
Now I'm announced as from Chicago, and yes, I do live there. But of course some of the things I do, the things I think, do seem to come from a normal Midwestern. Look at our noble friend and proud commissioner, King Krusher. A complete failure at his job, but a Chicagoan...polish..his brother was not only a cop but also a failure judging what happened to him. And I'm sure KK went to the voting polls and helped put Richard Daly into office so that he na tear the airport down that I used to use.
But he can't admit that I'm the reason he still has his job. The mystery of why I am still employed in this fine institution goes above KK and to the owner. If I wanted KK fired and placed in unemployment, I just have to ask. But then, there's no enjoyment in that. Worst of all, what would KK do with his life if he didn't have my weekly antics to get around?
He would never admit all of this of course..like Maelstrom who admits to basically nothing....like Rabesque who can't admit his own superior when he sees him....not Poe who can't seem to grasp the fact that morality and fair play have no context here. They all know the truth, they know the deal. They don't admit that I am the center, the eye of the hurricane in the GLCW. Of course in all their promos they do nothing but talk about me and the announcers amuse themselves during dull matches by bringing me up, but this is all to be expected. Because I am protected from on high, by the prince of darkness. This promotion needs me and it shows.
You don't have to like me, Hawk. But you will worship me as the rest of this promotion already does. By just stepping into that ring with me, you are elevated above the rest of the bottom feeders, the Jared Wells, the Larry Tact's, the Jared Justice's. Whether I break your neck and leave you to be conquered by Sexual Cowboy Bueno Excellente, or I fall down from a heart attack and let you win, this is the time when you matter. This is the only time in which you will be remembered.
Maybe KK wants you to have your moment, even if it is a painful loss, thinking you'll amount to much. Perhaps you're the latest in a line of would by mercenaries trying to end me. But I go on, and I'll win the GLCW title again eventually, if only when Maelstrom has tormented and tortured the audience to the point that they pull his limbs off. But thats neither here nor there. You and have Wired, and this is your only chance. Because I don't tend to screw around unless I'm bored, Rabesque bored, and I have a perverted luchador in leather and holster waiting for his ride. And I'm not talking about a horse.
And I don't let my faithful, or my lackies down, Hawk. Perhaps after I've bludgeoned you, you'd like to apply. I insist on resumes now after Golem's refusal. It's all right to sign in blood, you are from Texas. I'm really from hell right, which is sometimes New Jersey.
But to others, it's Texas. Why? The Alamo? The specter of John Wayne? Being on the border of Mexico? I like to think its because of the atrocious accents, the white trash riding horses to their football games, and most of all, the westerns. New Mexico was always a greater place in the Old West, everyone always thinks of Texas though. When I think of Texas, I think of a toilet. I think of New Mexico, I think of immigrants passing through. A fine line, yes, but I'll take Paco.