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The REAL Steel City Icon


Jan 1, 2000
(CUT TO: The back of a stretch Humvee. Sitting in the back is Troy Windham, hipstered out, rocking a jean-jacket over a White Stripes World Tour T. Troy is on a cell-phone.)

TROY: Cardiff? Wales? You've got to be kidding me! What, you couldn't book me on a show in Afghanistan? You couldn't find an open spot for me in Baghdad? What, you want Hollywood's Biggest Star to tour ALL of the world's most horrible sh*tholes? Well, you'd better just make sure that I have omelettes as part of my continental breakfast or else you're going to be washing windows the rest of your career!

(Troy hangs up the phone and puts his hand to his temples, feigning a headache.)

You know, I've been around this industry for years and have, quite frankly, outgrown it. I can sit back and watch my Carlisle Group mutual fund grow and grow and grow. I can await the casting calls from the Lifetime network for movies like A TREE GROWS IN HINGHAM-- where I played the older brother to an autistic pre-teen and won a Cable Ace Award for Best Supporting Actor.

I don't NEED to be a pro wrestler. But I CHOOSE to be. Why? (Troy smirks.) Because, frankly, you people *NEED* me. Why, if it wasn't for Troy Windham, the consumate entertainer, the consumate professional, the biggest name in this industry, this sport would have collapsed YEARS ago. And then where would that leave you people-- the unemployable riff-raff who buy my foam fingers and scream my name when you hear the opening chords to Song 2 by Blur?

Now, as big a star as I am to you people sitting in your thrift-store bought Barca loungers at home, I am a bigger star to the people in this industry. And why not? After all, if it was not for my 10-10-ATT commercials with Uncle Jesse, if it was not for my ill-fated romance with Courtney Love, if it was not for the fab restaurants I own in Soho and South Beach... these people would not have careers. Like I've said MILLIONS of times... wrestling fans are pathetic sheep who spend their food stamps buying tickets. But *MY* fans are the masses who have the disposable income to FUND large Fortune 500 enterprises like the CSWA. *MY* fans are wealthy people who enjoy the good life that I lead... or they're young girls who want me to give them their first orgasm.

I'm not expecting too many of *MY* fans to show up in Wales... but that's okay. Because I am expecting to have the red carpet treatment from all the boys in the back, especially people in the GXW, who want to be caught in the same presence of a real-life international multi-media superstar.

But some GXW wrestlers are taking things a little too far. Case in point, the so-called champion of this so-called promotion. The "Steel City Icon" John Miller.

Yo-- Johnny Boy... can't say I've had the pleasure of an introduction. Actually, I can't say that I've even heard your name before. That was, until you stated to text message me non-stop.

Johnny, I heard the voice mails already. You can stop calling me. I got the point-- you, the GXW World Champion, would really like to own a sweaty work-out T-Shirt of yours truly. And as much as I like to give to charity cases... I'm going to put that on e-bay and watch it sell for $25 K easy. So, you can set up an e-bay account, if you can even read, and try and bid for it like one the other thousands of worshipping groupies that I have... or you can continue your actions and watch me pull out of the match so you can perform in front of the 300 fans that you GXW guys are used to doing.

I mean, after all, I'm doing YOU the favor of a lifetime, Miller. You and all the rest of the minimum wage workers in this promotion have a chance to come on out of your sewer-like locker rooms and you can watch, live and in color, Troy Windham as he defeats his rivals, proving yet again that he is pro wrestling's greatest living hero. That way, Johnny Boy, you can tell your grandkids that you once wrestled on the same card as Troy Windham... yes, *THE* Troy Windham... the greatest of them all.


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