MEW needs TV on PPV

[New York, New York. The city of Sin, some would say. Probably those from the Middle East. Ah hell, I'll say it too. New York sucks. We open in a neighborhood. A neighborhood that will look very familiar to one man. Mike Savige. The rest of you can go to hell.]

Trey: This neighborhood look familiar Mike? It should. It's yours. In case you don't know what Trey Vincent is all about, when he's not giving losers a reason to live when I'm on their TV every Sunday night sports entertaining on "Fury," I am a private investigator. As a matter of fact, I have a deal on the table from The Learning Channel. It's only a question of money at this point. But forget about the Trey Vincent TV show. Which will be called "TVPI." Forget all about the show that will air on The Learning Channel, hopefully at the start of the Fall season 2002. With the backing of the genius Damian Graziano.

Trey: Mike Savige. Hey Mean guy. Let's see what's going on in this neighborhood, shall we?

[Cut to...a front door. Trey rings the doorbell of the home. He looks around off camera. Then looks back at the camera and stares at it. He's looking professional today. He's wearing a sweet dark gray three-piece suit and a long brown trenchcoat. And of course, his black winter hat. After some time passes, he rings the bell again, repeatedly. RINGRINGRINGRINGRINGRINGRING until...finally, someone comes to the door. It's a woman, probably in her early 40s. She is wearing a brownish/gray sweater, black jeans and white socks. She has shoulder-length black hair with some gray highlights. Not bad looking, but you know how age works, right? A 40-year-old chick with shoulder-length black hair with gray highlights walks into a bar. Bartender says 'why the long face?' BWAHAHAHAHAHA.

Get it?]

Trey: Hi. No, you haven't won any money. Trey Vincent, private investigator. (He extends his right hand. She shakes it.) I'm filming this for The Learning Channel. Do you mind?

Horse-face: No. I guess not. Do you have any ID?

Trey: ID? Sure do. (He reaches under his winter hat and pulls out something that looks like a wallet. He flips it open to reveal his credentials. She seems satisfied. With his identity. As for the rest of her life? Couldn't tell ya. He returns the ID to his pocket and straightens out his cap as he begins talking again.) So anyway. You know that house across the street (he says pointing behind the camera, to Mike Savige's so-called "large and expensively furnished house")? Do you know the couple who lives there?

Horse-face: Sure do. Such a shame really.

Trey: A shame? What? That he is allowed to cut promos?

Horse-face: No, no, I meant, about his whole history. The car accident.

Trey: Car accident? Yeah, I heard about that. Do you know what the story is behind it?

Horse-face: Well, them two, the tough guy and his slut, well, they like to act like they're so great and all. But from what I hear, they have a VERY shady past.

Trey: Really?

Horse-face: Those two may be all lovey dovey on camera, but it's all an act. You see, when the cat's away, the mouse will play. And play and play, if you catch my drift.

Trey: Mike cheated on her?

Horse-face: Well, let's just say it went both ways. Both ways. (She chuckles.) I didn't even mean it like that, but yet....hmm.

Trey: Are you saying, both of them are batting for both teams?

Horse-face: It's all just talk you know?

Trey: Sure. But what about the accident.

Horse-face: Well, there was that whole steroids thing too.

Trey: Steroids? Hmm. (He looks at the camera.) Are we allowed to talk about that on TV? Oh right, this isn't the WWF. OK, no problem. Go on darling.

Horse-face: Well, apparently back before he got into his car wreck, he was supplying wrestlers with steroids. I forget which company. It was something like IHOP I think.

Trey: I don't think IHOP is a sports entertainment company. Does IWO sound right?

Horse-face: Well, I don't remember the exact letters. There are so many, hard to keep track. But anyway, he went to that company after he had a blowup with management at his last company. They were trying to run a clean company without steroids, but Mike was a pusher. He promised the guys it would make them bigger and stronger and faster.

Trey: Oh, he didn't mention the roid-rage and small...uh, I don't mean to offend you ma'am, but, you know how that stuff shrinks the uh...

Horse-face: It's OK, I know all about small packages.

Trey: I'm sure you do. Married?

Horse-face: Ten of the most miserable years of my life.

Trey: You watch sports entertainment?

Horse-face: A little bit.

Trey: Please, continue with the story honey.

Horse-face: You know, you are a very handsome man.

Trey: I'd bang you too darling. But can we finish the story?

Horse-face: (She blushes.) Sure. So, that first place, I think was called the SWL or something like that. So, he got caught pushing steroids on all the guys, making some of the money he now has to buy his fancy house, furniture and expensive entertainment systems. Then he went to the IWO. Same deal. Management eventually found out. And the rumor is, instead of firing him, they decided to get rid of him completely. Rumor is, they pulled a O.J. on his brakes. Then, besides having his body broken, well, he was blackballed from wrestling.

Trey: Blackballed you say? Hmm. Didn't mention THAT in his biography.

Horse-face: Oh no. And while he was busy healing up at the hospital, Sinnamon was busy doing everybody. She's a nymphomaniac. She started running an escort service. $1,000 to sleep with her? Insane. But somebody had to pay the bills. Why do you think she calls herself 'Sin'-namon?

Trey: What about his drug business? Has he stopped that?

Horse-face: I'd be curious to see. If you see any wrestlers suddenly develop a physique who never had one before, I think you can pretty much figure out who the dealer is in the locker room.

Trey: Well, do you see any strange cars come and go from his place?

Horse-face: No. Just the occasional limo, but he's never home when the limo comes by. I don't know how or why he got back into wrestling, but he did.

Trey: And now we're all suffering because of it. Can I show you something?

[Trey reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a piece of paper. It is a still photograph taken from a Mike Savige promo. If you don't remember the scene it was taken from, maybe this will help you:

{One photo album has landed open, and it's opened to a shot of a bloody Mike Savige standing in a cage holding a title belt over his head, the caption under the picture reads "Madison Square Garden, Sept 1988".}

Now do you remember?]

Horse-face: What is that crap?

Trey: Whatever do you mean?

Horse-face: Anybody knows that unless you're in the WWF, you can't wrestle in Madison Square Garden. And unless I'm mistaken, Mean Mike was not in the WWF in 1988. Let alone September 1988.

Trey: You know that? You are one smart woman.

Horse-face: Well, I'll be honest. My son is the wrestling fan. He's on the Internet all day long chatting about wrestling and all that nonsense.

Trey: So, to review. We've learned that Mike is an idiot. We've learned that he was a steroid dealer. We've learned that his wife was, and possibly still is, a madam. Somebody tried to off Mike, and then when that didn't work, blackballed him from the industry for a few years. And we've learned that he is making up dumb captions to photos and living in a fantasy world. Darling, is there any way I can repay you for your time?

[The woman wiggles her index finger at him, motioning for him to come inside the house. Trey looks back at the camera. He motions for the camera to follow with his index finger. Once inside, the woman shuts the door and pins Trey against it. The woman is a bit shorter than Trey, probably abour 5-5 or 5-6. She grabs his head and forces herself on him. She kisses him on the lips, on the neck, moves up to the cheeks, roams around and bites at his ear, then licks his lips playfully. She stares up at him and he stares down at her.]

Horse-face: My husband won't be home for about three hours. Me, you, upstairs. What you think?

[Trey suddenly looks to the right and notices her kid staring at them. He is sitting in front of a lit computer, hands frozen above the keyboard. His mouth is hanging wide open. Trey then returns to looking at the hungry woman.]

Trey: Sure.

[Some time has passed.

Trey saunters back toward the camera, which is still hanging out in the front hallway. The kid, after hearing the footsteps, returns his gaze to the new man of the house.]

Kid: I can't believe it!

Trey: What, that I just banged your mom?

Kid: No, Trey Vincent is in my house. Dude! I'm your biggest fan! I totally marked out when I saw you debut on Fury! You're the best, man!

Trey: No shite Sherlock.

Kid: I've got to tell all my buddies you're here.

[The kid turns around and starts furiously pounding away on his keyboard. Instant messenger. AOL. ICQ. All claiming Trey Vincent is in his house. After about a minute of solid typing and some clicking to go between his various buddies, he turns back to Trey.]

Kid: None of them believe you're here.

Trey: So? And why am I still here?

Kid: Can I get your autograph? (He knocks over a stack of papers and pulls out an EWS Magazine. 'EWS had a magazine?' you may be asking yourself. Either that, or you're asking, 'what the f*** is EWS?').

Trey: You want Trey Vincent's autograph? Sorry, my pen's all out of ink. Maybe you can go ask your mom for my signature. I only sign autograph for chicks. Get it?

[With that, Trey opens the door and heads outside. Where is he going? I don't know. The screen is too black to see. Oh, show must be over.]

NEXT CHAPTER: TBA, you bastard, you're mine! >>

© 2001 John Leary