No bullshit.

Flee with the lottery...possibly they spotted me.

Like whoa....*laughs*

Didn't think it was gonna be like that, did ya?

~[~ Speaking of this...let's do it. The scene explodes on the screen from what you see front of you, you can't make out the people. The smoke slowly clears and the sounds of a party comes into focus. Now the sights, clearing out. The fan cuts on and the smoke clears must faster, as the laughter can be heard. You walk through the crowd. You recognize no one. You recognize nothing around you, as a matter of fact...but that's ok. You walk on and up a tall flight of stairs. The crowd screams, and you turn to find out why, but you can't see anything. You continue upstairs. The doors at the top of the stairs open up and you see a few men inside, with some very scantily clad women inside as well. The men have masks on. The women are naked, except for a gold necklace on each one of them. You continue on past it. One of the women catches your eye. You smile. Her expression doesn't change as she bends down in front of one of the men, then you're around the corner. ~]~

Dark, ain't it?

~[~ You round the corner and come upon a man sitting at a large oaken desk alone. His head is down and you're about 50 feet away, so you don't recognize him until he speaks to you in a voice so calm, it frightens you. ~]~

You know I wasn't gonna let it go on much longer before I showed up, right?

Matt McLean : : You...are late.

~[~ And with that, you know. He raises his head and looks at you with eyes that could melt steel. ~]~

King Royce : : I know...I....I.....was having trouble finding the place....and then, getting in wasn't easy....McLean, what was that I just past out there?

Matt McLean : : None of your concern. Now, I brought you here for a reason, so I assume your friend here is recording, am I correct?

~[~ King Royce nods as McLean stands up and breathes deeply before he continues. ~]~

Matt McLean : : Matt Vargas....and Brian Watts. A couple of thorns in my side. First, I will address the virus known as Matt Vargas. *pauses, deep breath* Welcome back, you punk mother fucker. I can't believe that you actually had the balls to show up at my show and run a shoot like that. I give you credit, Vargas, you did it, and I didn't think you had the balls. I guess I was wrong as far as that's concerned....but one thing I hit right on the head....you haven't changed a bit. You're still the grade A loser you always have been. It's somewhat comforting to know that even though the rest of the world evolves, potheads like yourself pride yourself on whallowing in your self-pity and sinicism....what is the argument this time, Matt? Oooh, I held some wrestlers down, they never got the push they deserved....oooh, I held you back because I didn't like you....grow up, Vargas. The world doesn't revolve around men like you, it goes THROUGH men like you...like a train wreck. HOW DARE you come on MY show and take up MY time like that!! You have some nerve to even rear your butt ugly face again in my company, and now, what is it you want? Me. Plain and simply put, you want me, and guess what, Vargas? You ain't gettin' shit. Without a GFWA contract, you will NEVER, and I mean NEVER face anybody from this company in any kind of match, and you will NEVER, and I mean NEVER get paid for working here. So if you want to continue coming to my shows and interrupting them, then I'll be forced to continue to arrest your punkass until you learn that there is NOTHING, and I truly mean NOTHING you can do to control this situation.

~[~ McLean wheels around in his large leather-back chair and stands up, revealing what he's wearing; an all-black suit, with a white cotton dress shirt underneath. He walks around to the front of the desk and props himself against it, as if ready to pounce towards the camera. ~]~

Matt McLean : : Oh, Vargas...I wanted to also correct you on a few things....first off, you claim that you became the "Franchise" in another company....if you mean the UWC, then please....spare me the horror stories, ok? That place is run about as good as a leaky submarine, and now, as you can plainly see, it's gone down for the count. Closed indefinitely. In fact, I called down there the other day and got a recording....then Burton picked up and I asked him what happened, and he just hung up on me. Figures. The UWC is dead, and so everything you accomplished in that piece of shit organization is dead. Do you hear me, Vargas? Dead! Gone! Like it NEVER EXISTED! And so here you are, back in the GFWA, without a welcome and without a contract, and you bust up my show, kill my ratings....well, Vargas, you picked the wrong time to make a dramatic comeback, kid, because the GFWA is MY stomping grounds, and nobody gets to play on my playground without permission, punk. So, you can feel free to show up anytime and get IMPOLITELY escorted the fuck out....but know this. There's only so much bullshit I can take before I take care of problems myself, and I think you know what I mean. So test me...and see who breaks first. I dare you.

~[~ McLean stands up and returns to his desk, sitting down and breathes in deeply. ~]~

Matt McLean : : Speaking of dares, guess who has become a thorn in my side again....Mr. Watts himself, Primetime....well Brian, if you won't sign a contract, then you can also be IMPOLITELY escorted out of the arena...because I'm not gonna allow you to bust up interviews and matches like you have been....no way. Things are done a certain way in the GFWA, and if you don't wanna adhere to the rules, then the rules can make you adhere. You and I have a storied past, and I don't mind reliving it or recreating it, punk. I don't need to remind you of my record against you, do I? Not again....surely not. Surely the numbers are burned into your brain. So take my advice and either sign the contract or get the fuck out of my company....your days of fence-stradling is over.

King Royce : : Fence-stradling...? That's a new one...you running for office?

Matt McLean : : No, King. Just shut up. Now, did you get all that?

~[~ Immediately, the scene fades out. ~]~

Well, I think that went well....hey Vargas...Watts....nobody runs McLean...McLean runs everybody...and you KNOW this.