The camera approaches a door backstage bearing a sign that says “CAUTION! HEAD WRITERS’ OFFICE!!!”. The door slowly opens and the camera enters. Inside are five men:
CC McBastard: Dressed in all black with black cowboy boots and Oakley sunglasses, this writer glares at the pool table he’s standing by. He looks surly as he scans for a shot.
Jason: Clad in a black Misfits T-shirt, jeans, and motorcycle boots. He walks away from the bar with two large glasses of whiskey in his hand, one of which he puts in the hand of…
DOC: Slumped across his desk, fast asleep and snoring loudly. Jason puts one of the glasses in his hand and, reflexively, it closes around the booze. There are TONS of empty pitchers and glasses spread around his desk…
Finndawg: His Red Sox baseball cap is on backwards and his glasses are slightly askew as he writes feverishly on some paper. He looks like a fratboy trying desperately to finish his pop quiz with seconds left. His desk is covered with notebooks, novels, and foreign beer bottles.
Mr. Bradley: He looks the most professional of the group in his button-down shirt and khakis. His small oval glasses are perfectly straight on his face. His desk is the most orderly of them all, and he’s writing something with an almost serene look on his face.
Finndawg slams his pen down with a “HAH!” and then grabs the papers he’s been writing on and runs over to CC McBastard. CC looks at the papers, bellows “Shite!” at Finndawg, and slams the papers at his chest. Finndawg smiles at what apparently is a compliment. Just before walking away, he points to the 7-ball and says “Side pocket”. He walks towards Mr. Bradley as CC yells “CUNT!!!” at him.
Finndawg: Check it out…I think we’ve got some gold in this promo…
Mr. Bradley: Cool. I’ll give it a once-over.
The camera pans back to the door and Billionaire Vince is standing in the doorway.
BV: Gentlemen! How nice to FINALLY meet some of the brains behind this great promotion!
Jason: Look guys! It’s the man who’s letting his son-in-law ruin HIS once-great promotion!
CC: Poof!!!
DOC: Zzzzzzzzzz…Davros!…zzzzzzzzzzz…
BV: Heh heh…well-played, my good men. It’s good to see some loyalty around here. Loyalty is an all-too-rare thing in this business, eh?
Mr. Bradley: Kinda like when you screwed Bret?
CC: And Matt?
Jason: And anyone from Hillbilly Championship Wrasslin’?
BV: Uhhhhhhhh…Listen guys, we could banter back and forth all night, but that’s not why I’m here! I want to discuss with you what your favorite WWE matches were!
CC: Armageddon 2000!
Mr. Bradley: Any Hardy Boyz match was GOLD!
Jason: Submission Match at Wrestlemania – Bret Hart vs Steve Austin!
Finndawg: Wrestlemania 18. ‘Taker vs Flair!
Jason: Seriously???
Finndawg: Arn Anderson delivers a textbook spinebuster. It’s the last match I ever saw where I jumped out of my seat cheering.
BV: Well, gentlemen, how would you like to be the brains behind matches just as epic as those?
DOC: …mmrbble glbbb…K9!!!…*snort*
Jason: What’re you talking about?
BV: I’m talking about leaving this small pond, where you are all huge fish, and coming over to my very large pond…
Finndawg: Where we’ll be nothing but small, unused, overworked, underpaid, ignored fishes. No thanks!
CC: Fuckoff!!!
BV: Gentlemen! You’d be my crown jewels! With you working for me, there’d never be another…
CC: Six-Man Hell In A Cell!
Mr. Bradley: Every Hurricane squash match!
Jason: “New Generation” era!
Finndawg: Another year like every one since you “acquired” Hillbily Championship Wrasslin’!
DOC: Jon Pertwee…ZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
BV: Uh…yeah. Exactly! And what’s all this about being “underpaid”??? I’m a Billionaire! A big sell-out of a BILLIONAIRE! I’ve got plenty of money to go around!!!
DOC: Zzzzz…not after tonight…zzzzzzzzzzz
BV: WHAT WAS THAT???
Jason: Don’t worry about him. He’s drunk and sleeping it off.
BV: Oh. Well, okay then. My good men, I’m offering you a boatload of money to leave the RDCW and work for me! Fat paychecks, full benefits, your own offices instead of having to share this one…whattaya say?
The writers confer for a minute. Vince tries to listen in, but can’t seem to catch what’s being said. CC points to the pool table at one point while Jason motions to the very well stocked bar. Finndawg motions just to the left of the bar, but Mr. Bradley slaps his hand down. Jason walks over to DOC and lifts up his head – he mutters something about “jelly babies” and Jason lets his head drop to the desktop. The group then turns back to Vince.
Jason: Sorry, Vince. No deal.
BV: WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?!?
Jason: Well, it’s just that your promotion sucks! I mean, Christopher Daniels has more talent in his little finger than roughly 90% of your entire roster! Plus…
CC: You’re a big stupid cunt!!!
Finndawg: Rob’s gonna win all your money tonight, anyways! Plus, who wants to deal with your son-in-law and his fucking whining?
BV: Mr. Bradley…I haven’t heard YOUR answer! And I KNOW you still watch the show…why don’t you leave these poor, deluded morons and join up with a REAL federa…un, promotion?
As Mr. Bradley answers, “America The Beautiful” plays in the background…
Mr. Bradley: Because I'm tired of cookie cutter body builders who can't wrestle. I'm tired of pointless squash matches that could easily be replaced with good mid-card filler. I'm tired the shows always being about HHH and JBL. I'm tired Rick Flair being forced to suck HHH's dick. I'm tired of RVD being held back. I'm tired good wrestlers being shown the door, like the Hardys. I'm tired of the Undertaker wasting his time on new crap when he should own the championship. I'm tired of Divas who are only there to look good when there are plenty of hot women who can actually wrestle. I'm tired of Chris Jericho being held back. There was a time when he was heir to the Rock but WWE squashed him when he won the championship. I'm tired JR calling everything the Sternum. I'm tired of the downfall of tag team wrestling after the demise of the Hardy Boyz. I'm tired of a lot of other shit, but I think that's enough for now.
There’s a lull as Vince silently fumes. The other writers are staring at Mr. Bradley, then at each other.
Jason: I think that about sums things up.
CC: Couldn’t’a said it better m’self.
Finndawg: Ummm, yeah. I can’t add anything to that.
DOC: Zzzzzzzzzz…Daleks an’ Kaleds!…zzzzzzzzzzz
Finndawg: Well, except for THAT.
BV: Well, boys, if you want to commit career suicide, that’s YOUR choice! But I guaran-DAMN-tee that my wrasslers will carry this night! And, when this genetic jackhammer in front of you gets in the ring with your boss, he’s gonna crush him and win not only the match, but this whole stinkin’ promotion! So let me give you a preemptive “YOU’RE FIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRED!!!”
Vince stalks out of the room. After the door slams and the writers are sure he’s gone, they collectively bust out laughing.
Finndawg: What a TOOL!
Jason: He truly is a dick!
Mr. Bradley: I thought he’d be taller…
CC: CUNT!!! POOF!!!
The writers go back to what they were doing. Then…
Finndawg: Hey, Jason? Is it time now?
Jason: *sigh* Yes…go ahead…
Finndawg walks to the spot next to the bar that he’d been motioning to earlier. He presses a button under the bar top and a panel slides open. Out walk about a dozen gorgeous women, all naked. They enter the office, and then separate off to join the writers.
DOC: Zzzzzzz…Teela…zzzzzzzzzz
CC: I knew it was a great idea to negotiate with Rob for this perk!
Finndawg and Jason grab themselves drinks at the bar, and then walk to their desks. A pair of women sits on each of their laps. Mr. Bradley sits back at his desk. Two women come over and start rubbing his shoulders.
Mr. Bradley: I love the RDCW!
