Post by jasonbartles on Sept 28, 2011 18:42:54 GMT -5
(The scene begins in a bustling office. The phone ringing in the background along with the shuffling of papers and machines copying creates a noisy environment without talking or music. The scene settles into a cubical, that of Gerald Schwartz, a young Jewish journalist, who, against his fathers wishes, skipped Yale Law School and took a position researching-and occasionally writing-for an online wrestling magazine: The Slamsation.
The Slamsation is relevant to the following story because it is the online wrestling magazine written by WCF’s resident lead reporter, Hank Brown. Hank’s been in the wrestling business a very long time-not just with the biggest wrestling promotion in the world, but with various independent outfits, as well. Hank’s what they in the business call a “lifer”-he just loves the business too much to stay away.
But there are very few people who make enough money in wrestling to feel successful. Hank learned this early on, after the WCF closed after it’s fourth reboot. Hank realized then that if he was going to be a lifer, he needed more means of income. He knew that the independent promotions couldn’t help him: they were for the divorced alcoholics or the up and comers, of which he was neither. He had a family. A stable one, at that. But the only thing he’s ever been good at is, well, wrestling. What to do?
Hank did the only logical thing a man with his capabilities and experience could do: start a publication. All things wrestling. He named it, in honor of the WCF, “The Slamsation”, a horrible play on of the word “sensation” and the weekly show that made the WCF the most powerful wrestling conglomerate in the world, Slam. You can’t blame Hank for his lack of creativity: he’s a journalist. He only hears and reacts. If he were any good with a pen, he’d be holed up in some cheap motel in Wyoming writing literature.
The Slamsation has been a relative success: it’s the most popular internet wrestling site in the world. Hank uses his connections masterfully to provide information to the masses. Anytime you read a wrestling rumor on Twitter, you can be positive that it came from The Slamsation.
So Gerald joined The Slamsation. He’s a diehard wrestling fan and is actually a good writer. But Hank has him buried in his cubicle, sorting through various independent promotion videos and taking phone calls. It’s his job to sort the shit from the treasure-and let’s just say there’s a lot of shit. At first, he didn’t mind. He was happy to be involved. But now, the shit is starting to take it’s toll on him, and he contemplates daily going back to Yale and specializing in copyright law. In the middle of his latest contemplation, the phone rings, and Gerald sits up from his swivel chair and answers it.)
Gerald: Slamsation, this is Gerald.
Male voice: Yeah, I’ve got video of Nickelback lead man Chad Kroeger wrestling naked with another man. I’ll sell it to you for $5 grand. American.
Gerald: I’m sorry sir, but I think you meant to call TMZ or Perez Hilton. This is a common mix up. Let me grab you their numbers-
Male voice: No, I meant to call you. Isn’t this the wrestling site?
Gerald: Yes.
Male voice: Then why wouldn’t you want this?
Gerald: That’s really not the kind of wrestling we cover. I can also give you Pornhub’s number, but I don’t think they pay for videos-
Male voice: I think it’s Greco-Roman style.
Gerald: Really? Greco-Roman? Huh.
(There’s a pause.)
Male voice: …so, do you want it?
(Gerald mulls the offer over. It’s not his place to purchase videos or information; it’s his job to sift through the presentable information to Hank. Gerald contemplates whether or not Hank would want this video. On one hand, The Slamsation doesn’t deal in these kinds of videos. On the other, Hank is a big Nickelback fan, and Gerald has entirely ruled him out as a closet homosexual.)
Gerald: You know what? Send us an e-mail with your info, and I’ll get back to you. Bye.
(Gerald hangs up the phone. He leans back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. How did he go from the creator of an underground, alternative student newspaper at one of the world’s greatest universities, to taking phone calls about celebrity sex tapes? Just then, a colleague of his, Rodney, walks into his cubical.)
Rodney: Knock, knock, ho! Nyahahaha!
(Rodney takes one gigantic smack of his Cotton Candy Bubbalicious bubble gum.)
Rodney: Sup with you?
(Rodney has a bushy Jew-fro, and is a bit overweight. He wears a white dress shirt and a vomit colored tie. Rodney is a smart, capable man, but his downfall lies in his habit of watching too many 3Oh!3 videos on YouTube. As such, he has a crisis in regards to his social identity, and thinks he’s a douche.)
Gerald: Do you ever get overwhelmed here, Rodney? Do you ever feel like you’re not doing anything, or that it’s just too much? I’m getting stuck in a rut, man. This…just isn’t what I expected.
(Rodney fiddles with his stapler. It’s unclear if he’s been paying attention to anything that’s been said.)
Rodney: My old coach used to tell me: “rub some dirt on it.”
Gerald: What old coach?
Rodney: I forget what sport it was. I was six. But it stuck with me. And you should take that advice, homie.
(A paper comes through Gerald’s fax machine. The fact that fax machines are an outdated technology is irrelevant. Gerald picks up the paper, reads, it thoroughly, and lets his jaw drop wider than a porn star trying to fit an Africans unit in her mouth.)
Gerald: I can’t believe it! Look at this! He’s coming back!
(Gerald shows Rodney the paper.)
Rodney: Is this the…that one guy?
Gerald: Yup! I didn’t even think he was alive! God damnit, that’s great news!
(Gerald stands up and shouts to everyone.)
Gerald: Hey everyone! Guess what?!?
(The scene fades to black.)
The Slamsation is relevant to the following story because it is the online wrestling magazine written by WCF’s resident lead reporter, Hank Brown. Hank’s been in the wrestling business a very long time-not just with the biggest wrestling promotion in the world, but with various independent outfits, as well. Hank’s what they in the business call a “lifer”-he just loves the business too much to stay away.
But there are very few people who make enough money in wrestling to feel successful. Hank learned this early on, after the WCF closed after it’s fourth reboot. Hank realized then that if he was going to be a lifer, he needed more means of income. He knew that the independent promotions couldn’t help him: they were for the divorced alcoholics or the up and comers, of which he was neither. He had a family. A stable one, at that. But the only thing he’s ever been good at is, well, wrestling. What to do?
Hank did the only logical thing a man with his capabilities and experience could do: start a publication. All things wrestling. He named it, in honor of the WCF, “The Slamsation”, a horrible play on of the word “sensation” and the weekly show that made the WCF the most powerful wrestling conglomerate in the world, Slam. You can’t blame Hank for his lack of creativity: he’s a journalist. He only hears and reacts. If he were any good with a pen, he’d be holed up in some cheap motel in Wyoming writing literature.
The Slamsation has been a relative success: it’s the most popular internet wrestling site in the world. Hank uses his connections masterfully to provide information to the masses. Anytime you read a wrestling rumor on Twitter, you can be positive that it came from The Slamsation.
So Gerald joined The Slamsation. He’s a diehard wrestling fan and is actually a good writer. But Hank has him buried in his cubicle, sorting through various independent promotion videos and taking phone calls. It’s his job to sort the shit from the treasure-and let’s just say there’s a lot of shit. At first, he didn’t mind. He was happy to be involved. But now, the shit is starting to take it’s toll on him, and he contemplates daily going back to Yale and specializing in copyright law. In the middle of his latest contemplation, the phone rings, and Gerald sits up from his swivel chair and answers it.)
Gerald: Slamsation, this is Gerald.
Male voice: Yeah, I’ve got video of Nickelback lead man Chad Kroeger wrestling naked with another man. I’ll sell it to you for $5 grand. American.
Gerald: I’m sorry sir, but I think you meant to call TMZ or Perez Hilton. This is a common mix up. Let me grab you their numbers-
Male voice: No, I meant to call you. Isn’t this the wrestling site?
Gerald: Yes.
Male voice: Then why wouldn’t you want this?
Gerald: That’s really not the kind of wrestling we cover. I can also give you Pornhub’s number, but I don’t think they pay for videos-
Male voice: I think it’s Greco-Roman style.
Gerald: Really? Greco-Roman? Huh.
(There’s a pause.)
Male voice: …so, do you want it?
(Gerald mulls the offer over. It’s not his place to purchase videos or information; it’s his job to sift through the presentable information to Hank. Gerald contemplates whether or not Hank would want this video. On one hand, The Slamsation doesn’t deal in these kinds of videos. On the other, Hank is a big Nickelback fan, and Gerald has entirely ruled him out as a closet homosexual.)
Gerald: You know what? Send us an e-mail with your info, and I’ll get back to you. Bye.
(Gerald hangs up the phone. He leans back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. How did he go from the creator of an underground, alternative student newspaper at one of the world’s greatest universities, to taking phone calls about celebrity sex tapes? Just then, a colleague of his, Rodney, walks into his cubical.)
Rodney: Knock, knock, ho! Nyahahaha!
(Rodney takes one gigantic smack of his Cotton Candy Bubbalicious bubble gum.)
Rodney: Sup with you?
(Rodney has a bushy Jew-fro, and is a bit overweight. He wears a white dress shirt and a vomit colored tie. Rodney is a smart, capable man, but his downfall lies in his habit of watching too many 3Oh!3 videos on YouTube. As such, he has a crisis in regards to his social identity, and thinks he’s a douche.)
Gerald: Do you ever get overwhelmed here, Rodney? Do you ever feel like you’re not doing anything, or that it’s just too much? I’m getting stuck in a rut, man. This…just isn’t what I expected.
(Rodney fiddles with his stapler. It’s unclear if he’s been paying attention to anything that’s been said.)
Rodney: My old coach used to tell me: “rub some dirt on it.”
Gerald: What old coach?
Rodney: I forget what sport it was. I was six. But it stuck with me. And you should take that advice, homie.
(A paper comes through Gerald’s fax machine. The fact that fax machines are an outdated technology is irrelevant. Gerald picks up the paper, reads, it thoroughly, and lets his jaw drop wider than a porn star trying to fit an Africans unit in her mouth.)
Gerald: I can’t believe it! Look at this! He’s coming back!
(Gerald shows Rodney the paper.)
Rodney: Is this the…that one guy?
Gerald: Yup! I didn’t even think he was alive! God damnit, that’s great news!
(Gerald stands up and shouts to everyone.)
Gerald: Hey everyone! Guess what?!?
(The scene fades to black.)
