Low pair.
Just like your mother’s tits.
She’s dead.
Just like your father’s dick.
The scene opens to a large, smoke filled room. At the center lies a large, round table surrounded by cigar smoking old white men, as well as Samuels and Fairchild. The two are engaged in an intense stare down as Samuels looms over the table, staring directly into Fairchild’s eyes. One of the eldest men at the table has a pair of 2’s laid down in front of him and is looking very distressed. Samuels’ eyes dart back-and-forth from Fairchild to her stack of neatly stacked poker chips. Finally he lets out a small smile and pushes his smaller stack of chips into the center of the table.
Samuels: Not this time, Annie. I’m all in.
Fairchild nods her head at the move and quickly throws her cards down on the table.
Fairchild: Well played, sir. i fold.
Samuels: Smart move. Smart move.
Smiling, with his cigar hanging out of his mouth, Samuels reaches into the middle and drags all the chips in the center of the table towards him, not bothering to stack them like Fairchild. This is met by a collective groan from the rest of the men at the table. The man seated directly next to Samuels begins to collect the discarded cards, muttering under his breath.
Dealer: What a bunch of horseshit!
The dealer reaches for Fairchild’s discarded cards and angrily flips them over, revealing two ace cards. The men’s heads all snap towards Fairchild who slinks down in her chair.
Fairchild: I... I thought I only had one.
The men all begin to laugh heartily as they puff away at their cigars and swill away at their glasses of liquor.
Fat Man 1: Hey Johnny! What’s the matter, you have to have your she-hound throw the game for you? Come on, why don’t you play like a man!?
Samuels: Get bent, Jules. I didn’t tell her to throw a damn thing for me. I expect her to play to the best of her abilities.
Jules: Whoaaa easy there, Mr. Attitude! I realize you’ve been having a tough time with “work,” lately.
The rest of the group begins to snicker to themselves as Jules uses air quotes around the word ‘work,’ drawing the ire of Samuels. Fairchild looks on with concern as Samuels’ face immediately drops to a look of sheer anger and disgust.
Samuels: I’m sorry... What was that?
Jules: Relax tough guy, I was just saying that I’ve heard that your new job has been stressing you out lately.
Samuels: Are you mocking me?
Jules: No I’m not mocking you. It’s just that... Well, c’mon Sammy, wrestling? For real? Who do you think watches that shit? Not people that are going to help you get re-elected when the next cycle comes through. And definitely not people that who are going to put you into the white house. Just what the hell do you think you’re doing? Honestly. You’re just playing a game, man. You’re trying to live out some convoluted fantasy you had when you were a kid, trying to be the big, muscled, oiled-up super hero. There’s more serious things going on out there, and we need you. You’re one of the last guys we’ve got that actually has the balls to stand up for our ideals.
Samuels leans back in his chair and takes a long puff from his cigar, tapping his fingers at the edge of the felt-lined table.
Samuels: And what exactly would you like me to do?
Jules: Quit this wrestling nonsense. Leave that world up to those steroid junkies and gutter tramps. Then you come rejoin the actual world and resume your real job. We need you John, now more than ever. Things are getting worse by the day and we need someone to be the face of our charge back to the top! And I think you’re the perfect person to be that face. What do you say?
Samuels: I say you don’t know your ass from a hole in the ground. Who do you think you are? Showing up to my favorite establishment and criticizing me for the business I do. You think I need to explain myself to you? Guess what, Jules, I have more name recognition than this entire room now. You think I’m doing this to walk around in my underwear and flex my arms so the little girls in the audience can scream and shout? I could not care less about all those fans. And yet here I am, possibly the most easily recognizable person in the entire industry. I’m doing this for each and every one of you in this room, and frankly you should all be on your knees thanking me. Without me, you guys would still be scrambling around trying to find your next superstar, your guy who could finally bridge that gap between the rich and poor. Guess what? The key demographic for the XWF is people in an income bracket far, far lower than our own. And love me or hate me, these fans are willing to pay their hard earned money to watch me headline their favorite rasslin’ shows. And just like in this ‘actual world’ that you speak of, I’m somebody important around here. I’m an XWF champion, and I may have made the fastest leap from newcomer to champion that the XWF has ever seen.
Jules: Yeah, yeah I hear what you’re saying but you’re not listening. You’re living in some fantasy land where 300 pound men run around in Speedos hitting eachother with steel chairs!
Samuels: And therein lies the problem. It’s idiots like you who take our ideas and flush them straight down the toilet. This stupid stance that our grandfathers had is what’s leading to our downfall. You aren’t adapting, you’re just here taking up space and slowing the progress that people like myself are making. C’mon man, I’m surprised you haven’t suggested slavery as an option! I’m the new generation of this party, and things are going to happen my way. If you want to move forward you’re going to have to do it on my terms, so either get behind me or get out of my way, because the XWF has become an integral part of our new plans.
Deflated, Jules leans back into his chair, sighing loudly. He takes a long gulp from his drink, nearly finishing it before nervously lighting up a cigarette.
Jules: Well when you put it that way, I guess I can see your point. So what’s next? What does this ‘XWF’ big star do next to impress the people?
Samuels: Well, that’s an easy question to answer. This coming Monday I get to prove that the show I’m apart of is indeed the best one that the XWF has to offer. I will be placed in two seperate main event matches, one with a partner against two others trying to prove something, and then a match against my tag partner to prove who is actually the best representative for the XWF.
Jules: That sounds... grueling.
Samuels: Yeah, you’d think that. Luckily for me, the other guys in this match don’t exactly represent the best-of-the-best. Wednesday Night Warfare’s representative is some newbie who’s claim to fame is beating up a feeble bodied, and even more feeble minded, boss of his. Hell, he couldn’t even beat some mute ninja last week, there’s no way he’s going to survive against three of the top guys in the XWF. And then you’ve got the one-armed, one-brain celled freak from Saturday Shove-It, who somehow became it’s champion. What a piece of work, he prattles on-and-on about nothing every time he gets in front of the camera.And what the hell kinda name is Mr. Satellite anyway? Why not Mr. Cereal Bowl or Mr. Test Tube? This guy is a walking joke, and I’m going to take an extra amount of enjoyment in beating some sense into the weird little prick. And then there’s Mister Mystery, apparently he’s some free agent, so unlike the rest of us he has nothing to prove. That works out well since the only thing he’s going to prove is that he’s just a husk of a once great wrestler. When I arrived, all the talk was about Mister Mystery and how dangerous of a man he was. And then I saw him firsthand, looking just as beatable as the rest of the roster. What a letdown he turned out to be. Put down with no fight like the stray dog he is. As you can guess, I’m losing absolutely no sleep over this match. There’s nothing going on here that I can’t handle. Davids is a never-will-be, Satellite is the flavor of the week, and Mystery is a has-been. Not a single one of them has the longevity that I have. I’m at the top of the XWF food chain, and I’m going to stay on top for a very, very long time.
Jules: What kind of sadistic asshole would put one of their top stars in something like that? Despite your confidence, that still sounds like one hell of a brutal match.
Samuels: The ‘sadistic asshole,” that you speak of, is Paul Heyman--and he’s the closest thing to a friend I have in the XWF. I trust him almost as much as I trust dear ol’ Annie over there.
Jules: Then why doesn’t he give you an easy ride?
Samuels: Haven’t you been paying attention? He has. On the surface, this looks like one hell of a big time event. It looks like a Pay-Per-View quality main event, and all the stupid mouth breathers are going to flock to it like stink on a monkey. But look closer, see it how Paul Heyman sees it. He’s got a match on HIS show pitting HIS champion against guys from other shows that are bigger names than they are talent. He knows exactly what he’s doing in this match. He’s making it look like this is a dangerous scenario for everyone in the match... but really, he knows that I’ll carry whoever my partner is into the final portion of that match. Whether I get stuck with Davids and have to haul his ass into the final stanza on my shoulders, or I get stuck with Mystery and sit back and let him do all the work for me, or I let Satellite show just how he became a title holder--it doesn’t matter. The tag team portion of the main event is nothing more than a formality, a way for Heyman to sell the idea that his very own champion could very well be scratched from the main event. He’s smart enough to not let that actually happen. The real main event comes after, and that’s where the brilliance of it really comes into play. Everyone, EVERYONE, will be expecting it to be a brutal slugfest--two guys who just got done dispatching two of the best that the XWF has to offer, and then they have to fight each other? Again, at face value it looks like something that could be the headliner of a major event, but we know better than that now don’t we? I can beat any of those three average Joe’s any day of the week, under any circumstance. Hell, I already beat the toughest of the trio with ease. And if I’m not worried about him, then I see absolutely no point in paying any attention to the other two. Although, for personal reasons I would absolutely love to wipe that shit smear Mr. Satellite all over the floor, and seeing as how I’m not a huge fan of Wallace Witasick, I think it’d be quite fun to beat the man who assaulted him last Wednesday... It’d be an ironic, almost poetic, way to add insult to injury. But let’s be real, Mister Mystery is going to be my partner on Monday night, because the fans get to vote for the match and the fans want to see me go down--and who better to take down John Samuels than the big, bad Mister Mystery? What idiots, falling right into the plan. This is going to be the moment where John Samuels and Monday Night Madness are able to claim superiority over the entire XWF, and it’s one more stepping for me and my eventual run as King of the XWF. That’s right, King. As we all know, gentleman, the strongest play to make is to always reach higher, always go for more. And this match is the perfect platform for me to begin my next climb, this time to the highest level.
Jules: Speaking of, let’s see this fancy belt of yours. Why haven’t you been throwing that into the pot, ya cheap bastard?
Samuels: I... I don’t have it. On me, that is.
Jules: What? I thought that was supposed to be some kind of badge of honor among you guys.
Samuels: It is. The European title is what signifies that I’m the greatest champion amongst the three shows. As far as I’m concerned, it’s second only to the crown that John Madison holds. But last week, some anonymous freak stole it from me and left me laying out-cold in the middle of the ring right after I had a match. Sucker-punching little bitch won’t get the best of me again, I can guarantee you that. I might be a little preoccupied with this little intra-company pissing match coming up, but my main focus is retrieving my title belt. And believe me, when I find this chump I am going to make him pay. Dearly. Nobody steals from John Samuels. What I earn, I keep, and nobody is going to take that away from me. So after the match on Monday, I’m going to find my belt and I am going to take it back.
Jules: I like the way you’re handling your business. And I think that the rest of us here could really take some of your new ideas to heart.
Samuels: Quit kissing my ass, I’m still not going to let you win.
The tense moment is broken up my laughter as the men at the table all pat each other’s backs and smile to one-another. The senator raises his glass and tips it in the direction of Jules, who meets this gesture with a nod of approval. Samuels takes a drink and looks back at Fairchild, beaming proudly and giving Samuels two thumbs up.
Samuels: Deal ‘em up.
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