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Pay Attention, Powergodz


I will send you to the bin.
Jan 18, 2008
Aberdeen, Scotland
(A black screen coupled a faint crackling sound and the muted shuffles of two or three bodies.)

COLE (V/O): “Are you done screwing around yet, boy? We have messages to deliver, minds to expand…”

(The first voice is mid-pitched, impatient in tone, and spiced with a Canadian accent noticeable enough to identify the speaker’s origins, but not so strong as to create a stereotype. A second male voice responds: deeper, closer and, by the sounds of things, on the other side of the microphone.)

CAMERAMAN (V/O): “Almost there, Mr. Cole. Just a couple of tweaks…"

SCOTT (V/O): “Thank God. These knowledge darts aren’t going to throw themselves, y’know.”

(FADEIN: a private library. Deep mahogany shelves house an endless number of leather-bound books from floor-to-ceiling, and the only light comes from a smouldering open fire, crackling with burning wood and coal. LAURENT COLE sits on a maroon armchair with an open book across his lap and a glass of scotch on his hand. He looks up to the camera, feigning surprise.)

COLE: “Oh, hello friends. Didn’t see you there…”

(SKYLAR SCOTT sits to his left, holding a copy of The Brothers Karamazov (that he’d been pretending to read) close to his chest. He wears a totally ironic Iron Maiden t-shirt and has left his ridiculous half-buzzcut, half mullet hair completely untouched all-day. “Bed head” is so subversive, you know.)

SCOTT: “Snuck up on us again, hey? Sneaky devils, these cameramen. Sneaky, sneaky devils.”

(COLE closes his book and sets it on a small table to his left. His black hair is combed immaculately to the right, and his well-groomed beard/moustache combo adds at least half a decade to his twenty-something years. A pair of black-rimmed glasses that he may or may not need sit on his face, and he wears a navy dress shirt beneath a neatly-pressed black cardigan.)

GOLD: “Welcome, sycophants, to our personal library. An odd place to find a pair of professional wrestlers, perhaps, but you see: Les Enfants Sauvage are far from your average tag team.”

SCOTT: “While the competition is out dragging knuckles and chugging protein shakes, we’re here. See, contrary to mainstream belief, this sport isn’t just a physical endeavour. Bicep curls and bench presses aren’t going to make a champion of you if you’re not working on your mental game. Punching and kicking is all very well, but studies show that 90% of the time, the battle is won and lost up here…”

(SCOTT taps his temple.)

SCOTT: “... 100% of the time.”

(SKYLAR slinks back in his chair and smirks broadly, as if watching a sea of onlookers’ minds get blown simultaneously.)

COLE: “We are the barons of the BRAIN CURL, the EXPERTS of the INTELLECT PRESS, and that, dummies, is what makes Les Enfants Sauvage the premier fighting force in New Frontier Wrestling TODAY!”

SCOTT: “So what if you can bench press 600lbs?! My MIND can deadlift DOUBLE THAT. We are the cultured warriors, the chin-stroking badasses, the genius bruisers…”

COLE: “We are the sole bottle of vintage single malt in a sea of rancid, watered down blends: perfectly distilled, matured and refined in every possible way. When you get a taste of us, NFW, you’ll never reach for a sip of Chivas Regal again, and it starts at RELOADED 22…”

SCOTT: “Powergodz, we know who you are. We’ve watched your YouTube videos, we’ve studied your performances, and frankly, we’re not impressed.”

COLE: “Powermaster, Ryan Oracle: are these titled supposed to intimidate us? Are we supposed to tremble in the presence of the almighty POWERMASTER, bow to one knee, and swear fealty to our new Powergod overlords?”

(COLE laughs.)

COLE: “I think not. I mean, really, we should be pretty insulted that the NFW brass have decided to sully our good name by even placing ‘Les Enfants Sauvage’ next to ‘Powergodz’ in the first place! This isn’t your daddy’s professional wrestling, dear audience. The meathead era is over, and its long, slow death starts when the Powergodz step into the ring with two artists whose grasp and mastery of the craft is too great for them to even comprehend.”

SCOTT: “You know, Powergodz, it’s like they say: the proof is in the pudding, and the pudding, in this case, is a wrestling ring. Why don’t you think about that for a second.”

COLE: “See you in Miami, goofballs. Arrivederci.”


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