WFW Scars & Stripes Forever: McMillan vs. Luster

[PaulNJ21]

This match is part if a mintournament to determine who will face Manson or Eian at the PPV for the North American Title. The RP deadline is July 3rd 11:59 PM. Send all angles to PaulNJ21@aol.com .

 

[coolmint21]

No more ladies.

[updated:LAST EDITED ON Jun-24-03 AT 00:05 AM (EST)]FADEIN: Luster's Apartment in Atlanta. The sound of "Eye of the Tiger" is playing in the background. P. Nut is yelling and shouting.

P. Nut: Harder, Faster, Yeah B**ch. Thats how you does it, playa.

P. Nut: Yeah thats how it goes, playa. Yeah right there. Faster.

The camera shifts to show Luster hitting a punching bag while P. Nut yells.

Luster: Luster gots it goin on, mandingo. Luster be trainin for his match at Bars and Pipes. Luster is givin up ladies till his match with Macgellan, mainsqeeze. Luster also is not going to have the late nights and P. Nut ain't gonna be buying no mo' gold, damn. Luster gots to gets it together. Luster has to get focused. Luster gots to move up in this Fede'ation.

P. Nut: Okay, take a break, playa. Stop hitting the BAG.

P. Nut is wearing some strange outfit while training Luster. It's not quite Halloween.

Luster: P. Nut what the F**K are you wearing. Luster knows it ain't no Halloween. Your outfit ain't no Wear Luster. Your outfit is stupid. You ain't riding back to Funkytown with me in that outfit.

P. Nut: I know its early for Halloween but this is my costume. I'm Senor Dread.

Luster: Who the hell is Senor Dread?

P. Nut: I gots it at a thrift store, playa. I gots a deal. I traded a gold toof fo it, damn. I'm Senor Dread I will hurt you.

Luster: Anyways, Luster gots to send a special shout out to my bi**ch Macgellan. Luster gots to drop the package on you, mandingo. Don't be scared. Luster is focused. Luster will be North Canadian Champ. No mo ladies, no mo long nights, no dollar here, no dollar there.

Meanwhile, P. Nut runs to door because the doorbell is ringing. He then begins shouting for Luster.

Luster: What P.Nut?

P. Nut: Come here, playa. You gots a guest.

Luster: Really...No mo Ladies, though.

Luster moves to door and then smiles to the camera. He looks happy. You, of course, cannot see who is at the door. He turns to the camera.

Luster: Well maybe one more lady. Come on in Mrs. Macgellan, nice to see you again.

Luster and P. Nut accompany Mrs. McMillan to the bedroom. The doorbell rings again.

Luster: Damnit, this better not be another lady.

Luster runs and opens the door. Another lady is at the door. Luster seems happy, again. He turns to the camera again.

Luster: This definitely be the last one.

Luster turns back to the door.

Luster: Oh good to see you. Luster's Choice is what we will call you, Mrs. Michaels. Your son had lots to say about Luster but Luster is sure he had the last word. Lets go shine the package.

FADEOUT: Luster takes Mrs. Michaels back to shine the package.

 

[Mister Dread]

Huh?

[updated:LAST EDITED ON Jun-29-03 AT 03:15 PM (EST)]::FADEIN on the rickety, sagging ring at the Basham-Schultz Wrestling Academy, the dim and unsavory haunt of "The Wolf" Chris McMillan. McMillan sits perched atop a turnbuckle, attired as usual in jeans, harness boots, and a "Dogs of War t-shirt::

THE WOLF: I gotta be honest with you, Luster. I didn't understand a single damn thing you were saying there. I watched your bit three times, and I'm still completely lost. I suppose it doesn't really matter, though. I'm sure you didn't have anything worth hearing anyway, and I've already expended waayyy too much of my time trying to decipher your meaningless grunting. I don't really care what you and your little buddy there have to say, because it isn't going to affect the outcome of the match in any way. You're like a mosquito buzzing in my ear, droning on about God only knows what.

::McMillan hops down from the turnbuckle and stalks around the ring::

THE WOLF: See, now I've got a pivot point, a focus in my endeavors. I've got the North American title in my sights. I'm not about to let that annoying droning in my ears to distract me from that goal. And so, like any other pest, I'm going to swat you. Believe me, it isn't anything personal. It's just that I've developed an intense dislike for your incoherent mumbling. What are you, some sort of glue-sniffing mongoloid? I mean, I could see that you were considering the possiblity of thinking about attempting some stab in the general vicinity of using your lips and tounge to form the grunts coming from your throat into a semblance of some sort of verbage that might concievably be strung together to form a sentence, but you fell miserably short. Truthfully, I pity people like you. Condemned to go through life a drooling vegetable, unaware of anything and everything around you.

::The camera comes in close on McMillan as he grins solicitously, speaking in a conspiratorial tone::

THE WOLF: In case you missed it, which wouldn't surprise me, I was calling you a retard. We've been thrown together in this little tourney for the ... "North Canadian" title, as you put it. I'm loathe to share a ring with the likes of you, but I suppose it can't be helped. Let me break it down for you, (sneering) playa ... meet me in the ring. Bring your little buddy with you. Prentend like you can wrestle, or something. I don't care either way. I'll step on your throat, and you'll lose. Simple. Elegant, in a way. and inevitable. And ... who in the blue hell is this Macgellan guy you keep talking about? Well, I suppose it's irrelevant. Bring him along, if you like. It won't matter one way or the other. You're outclassed. You're not half the wrestler I am. You don't have half the intellect I do. And you sure as hell don't have anywhere near the heart that I do. We're all a little worse off for having to associate with you, Luster. And I personally am all the worse for having to get into the ring with you. You embody everything that's wrong with the sport today, and with society as a whole.

::McMillan turns to leave. He reaches the ring ropes and stops, turning bacl to the camera::

THE WOLF: Oh, Luster ... do me a favor. Let me know when you're ready to have the next White Boy Challenge ... playa.

::FADE TO BLACK::

 

[coolmint21]

Luster gots Magellan.

FADEIN: Luster's seedy apartment in the city of Atlanta. Luster is being oiled up for by his main girl for the month.

Luster: For all the ladies out, Luster gots his new trainer, Skittle. She gots what it takes to shape Luster up for his match with Magellan. All the jealous spectators listen. Magellan, Luster is coming for you, mandingo.

(P. Nut enters the scene)

P. Nut: Luster..Luster. I gots some mo gold before the match. I know you said no mo gold but I hads to get the gold.

Luster: Damnit P. Nut. Luster said no mo gold before the match. Luster gots to train. Eat his viagara and say his swears, main squeeze.

P. Nut: I know, playa. I gots you a belt to wear to the ring. The Playa Belt. You gots to represent, playa. You are the one and only playa, playa. Magellan ain't no playa thats why you goin win that match.

Luster: Luster likes that idea, mandingo. Luster gots the train from Funkytown, he gots the ladies, and now he gots the belt that only playas can wear.

Luster: Alright now Magellan, Luster gots to studin yo moves. Luster knows yo every move. Be ready for Bars and Pipes. Luster is gonna smack your bi**ha** up. See ya soon, mandingo.

FADEOUT: Skittle continues to oil up Luster.

 

[Mister Dread]

Explorers

::FADEIN on a cheap, dingy motel room. A super single bed, a small vanity, a circular table, and a single chair make up the room's decor. "The Wolf" Chris McMillan occupies the chair, his feet resting on the table. A cup of coffee steams close at hand, while a cigarette smolders in a nearby ashtray::

THE WOLF: I must be missing something. I mean, call me stupid if you will, but once again I’ve failed to understand a single thing you said, Luster. As best as I can figure, you’re spending your time preparing for our match by getting oiled up by some bimbo while eating a bizarre ghetto trail mix consisting of peanuts and skittles. And what’s the deal with this Magellan fixation? I assume you’re referring to Ferdinand Magellan, also called Fernão de Magalhães. He commanded the first expedition to sail around the world, but was killed by natives in the Philippines before the completion of the journey. What I fail to understand is what a sixteenth century explorer has to do with wrestling, and where your unhealthy fixation with him comes from. It’s odd, and more than a little disturbing.

::McMillan drops his feet to the floor and leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees::


THE WOLF: It’s really sort of sad, Luster. The sad thing is that you’re not even a real person. You’re a caricature of an actual human being. A walking, talking, breathing stereotype, and I don’t even think you know it. That’s the saddest part of all. You’re a pathetic little joke, and the person who finally puts you out of your misery should be given a medal, or something. Every time you open your mouth, Luster, I get angrier. It horrifies and enrages me that society spawns worthless fleshbags like you, and furthermore that you and people like you are quickly becoming the norm. Socially acceptable, driving our culture, dictating the consumer market, and ruining this country. At least I have an outlet, one small means of venting the rage that’s been seething in my heart. It’s in the ring, Luster, and you’re the lucky sumbitch that’s going to be on the receiving end.

THE WOLF: You talk a lot, Luster, but you ain’t said a damn thing. Well, let me say something. I am one of the best pure wrestlers in the sport today. I have spent years perfecting a mix of lucha libre, puroresu, martial arts, and shoot wrestling. I have wrestled in cages, on ladders, on the streets, on thumbtacks, barbed wire, and through fire. For five years I have lived this sport. I have spilled my blood, I have broken my body, and I have given my soul. And you, do you really think that I’m going to let some cookie-cutter, mass-produced little punk like you stand in my way, even for a second? You think about that. You think about me. Forget about your oil-bearing little bimbos and you think about me. Then take a good, long look at yourself. Are you happy with what you see? Are you happy with who you are? Have you ever been taken to the absolute limit, broken, bloodied, battered, and begging for more? I have. Are you ready for that?

::FADE TO BLACK::