WCW: Clueless

[Smarky]

[I]Ring...ring...ring...[/I] "For god's sake", I muttered. I decided to let the phone ring. No chance in hell was I going to get up at 2 AM to answer the phone. I didn't care if I had just won the lottery (God knows I've tried). I didn't care if my girlfriend was calling me from another man's house. I didn't care if my mother had just spontaneously burst into flame. I am not going through the effort to talk to someone this late at night. After a few more seconds of ringing, it finally stopped. After a minute, my answering machine sprung to life. "Hello, David, this is Eric Bischoff, owner of WCW. I just received your resume in the mail, and I must say, you seem to be quite qualified. I'd like to meet with you in two days time, at the Time Warner building to discuss business terms." "That's cool..", I thought, sinking back to sleep. Five minutes later, I sat bolt upright in my bed, with one thought burning a hole in my mind. [CENTER][B][SIZE="4"]"What the hell is WCW?!"[/SIZE][/B][/CENTER] To be continued...

[angeldelayette]

Very intriguing. Reminds me of some of the people described in Eric Bischoff's book. LOL.

[Smarky]

Thankfully the Time Warner building was about an hour away from my apartment. Sometimes life is convenient. I pulled into the parking lot and informed the receptionist about Mr. Bischoff's phone call and she pointed me in the right direction. In retrospect, it probably would have been a good idea to ask her for her number. She was much more attractive than my current girlfriend...but I'm getting ahead of myself. While I was in the elevator, I reviewed all the facts I knew about WCW. Luckily, my nephew Jimmy was a wrestling fan and told me all he knew about the company. I walked into the room and entered. Inside stood Bischoff and several shady looking men in nice suits. "How are you Mr. Anderson?", asked Bischoff, extending his hand. "My name isn't...I mean..uh...nice to meet you, Mr. Bischoff", I replied. "Keep your cool", I thought to myself. I'd have to keep my cool if I wanted this job. All I had to do was BS my way through it and I was well on my way to the cushy lifestyle I'd always wanted. "Now, Mr. Anderson, I'm sure you know why you're here", Bischoff began. "Of course, just let me know the specifics", I countered. I gave myself a mental high five for that. Excellent wording. You sound like a businessman already. "Well, of course, if you sign with us, you will, effective immediately, become head booker of our organization. That means you're in charge of putting all the matches and angles together, writing storylines, signing new workers, et cetera. You'll also be dealing with all of our performers during contract negotiations and extensions", he explained. I nodded, "I just hope I don't have to work with that Scott Steiner. He might put me in the Steiner Recliner!" I gave myself another mental high five. I remembered what Jimmy told me about Steiner. Bischoff frowned. Oh god, did I say something wrong? Please don't tell me that was the wrong thing to say! Maybe he liked the bad guys. I immediately went "Ha ha!" to indicate that I was kidding. Bischoff made an odd little half smile, so that seemed to satisfy him. I made a mental note to stay cool for the rest of the interview. I also made a note to choke Jimmy next time I saw him. Little bastard didn't warn me about this. The negotiations continued with no more major slip ups. I nodded, frowned, laughed, and Uh-huh'd at the right times, and before I knew it, I was signing a written contract, effectively making myself part of WCW. Till death do us part. Once the ink was dry, Bischoff grabbed the contract, smiled (That man must brush 15 times a day. No one can have that perfect of teeth), shook my hand, and wished me luck. He began gathering his things and was halfway out the door when he looked back at me. [b]"Be sure to be at the arena at 4 p.m. with all your booking plans for tonight's Nitro!", he said.[/b] He slammed the door behind him, leaving me holding a stack of information about finances and contracts. Oh. F***.

[Smarky]

I arrived at the arena in a panic. I didn't know the first thing about pro wrestling, let alone booking it. All I remembered about wrestling was watching this bleached blonde pretty boy on cable in the 80's, walking around the ring, strutting and saying "WOO!". I wondered what he's doing nowadays. Maybe a car salesman... As soon as I entered, I immediately scanned the area for someone who I could tell my secret to. I was gambling with my job, reputation (what am I talking about, I don't have one!), and god knows what else. After a quick few minutes of jumping from room to room, hoping I wouldn't draw attention to myself, I zeroed in on a candidate. "Hey, you must be David Anderson, the new booker around here", he said, shaking my hand. "The name's Arn." "Um yeah, Arn, can I make a confession to you real quick? And if I tell you, you've got to promise you won't breathe a word of this to anyone else." "Sure thing" And so I told him. I told him about the late night phone call, the realization that I could make a packet doing this, the interview, and everything else leading up to that moment. Arn stared blankly at me for a few seconds before chuckling a little. "Wouldn't be the dumbest thing we've done", he laughed. "Like what?" "I'll tell you a second. Now, why are you telling me all this?" "It's simple. Mr. Bischoff wants an entire episode of Nitro laid out, and I don't have any idea what to do. So I need you to book this for me. Just this show, and then you can teach me everything I need to know. If you do that, I'll pay you back in whatever way I can later on." Arn thought for a moment, then grinned and slapped me on the back. "You got a deal. Oh, and by the way, to answer your question..." Arn motioned for me to get closer. As I did so he whispered into my ear. I drew back and stared at him, bewildered. "DAVID ARQUETTE?!"