The scene opens in Los Angeles, California, at a photo shoot. This shoot is taking place inside a studio that have yet to be identified. It's a typical shoot. Tables, chairs, and dim light surround a very impressive and well it set. Also, a few guys at a table with a surplus of doughnuts, and a few models in their very own section of this studio, dressing and getting prepared for their shooting. The set is quite remarkable. It's a complete replica of a beautiful bedroom, with a bed with satin sheets, flowers, etc. However, this is not the most impressive part of the shoot. The most impressive part would have to be the young lady posing in nothing more than a silk white night gown. The photographer is coaching her from in front of the set, while taking an abundance of shots at her with the camera. She's truly a natural, as she poses and smiles as if it were second nature for her to be in front of the camera. Such beauty has not been seen in the wrestling world since the likes of Sable or Tammy Lynn Sytch a.k.a. Sunny, and she may top them both. She's a beautiful, well built blonde, who's the type of girl who stops the flow of traffic. As she continues her posing, the doors of these studios swing open, and strike a few crates sitting to the right and left of the double doors. The figure has yet to be identified, as the sun from behind is being blocked by his body, bringing a shadow over his face and body. This figure is carrying two bags to his side, that he drops to the ground, thus gathering the attention of everyone in the studio, including the model, and the photographer. The photographer, a lanky young man, who looks no older than Rick himself, wearing a barrett, with black pants, a shirt, and suspenders, tosses his barrett to the ground, sighs, and says...

Photographer: Nick! You bastard! You're three hours late!

The figure steps into the studio, as the shadow fades from his face. He snaps his fingers towards the castodians to his right, who are lounging in steel chairs, signaling for them to get the bags. They look at him as if he were speaking another language, as they shrug their shoulders, and continue their conversation. The figure removes his glasses, and then says...

Nick: Get my freaking bags, you morons!

They scramble to take care of his bags, closing the door, and taking them to another area. The figure then continues to make his way to the photographer.

Nick: The names Rick, you prick. Act like you know. And I'm a very busy man, I lead a busy life. Besides, it's kind of hard for me to model for your company as much as I once did since I just joined Extremely Hostile Wrestling.

Photographer: Mick, you just joined EHW? Wow, that's incredible! Just think of the exposure we could get is everyone across the nation knew about our company, through you!

Rick Matson: That would be something, wouldn't it Robbie? Yet, what makes you think that I'll promote this company in my wrestling endeavors?

Robbie: Simple, because you started this company from a loan from your dad, and he assured that if you fuck this project up like the millions before it, he'll have you killed, and buried in Greenland.

Rick Matson: Good point...

Robbie: When is your first match?

Rick Matson: Oh... Tuesday I think. Yeah, Tuesday.

Robbie: You don't sound very enthuisiastic Slick, what's wrong?

Rick Matson: I was kinda hoping that I'd actually wrestle someone with talent. I don't work well with wrestlers who just can't cut it in the ring. You remember Milfimac in the World Wrestling Alliance. Hell, after the match I had with him, I asked for my release, 'cause I knew I needed more. I mean, from my side of the match, it was perfect. It was a match fit for a main event, but from his side, it sucked. So, you put amazing and feeble together, and what do you get? Satisfactory. Satisfactory is such an ugly word, and it doesn't belong in a sentence with the words, 'Rick Matson'. I guess I'm a little worried that this will be the same.

Robbie: You know by now that you can't start at the top, Ricky. That's the game of wrestling, you know what I mean? This guy couldn't be any worse than Mil, right? I mean, Mil sucked so bad that when you look up 'sucks' in the dictionary, there's only one word for the definition, 'Milfimac'. Who is your opponent?

Rick Matson: Tazz...

Robbie: What?!

Robbie begins to laugh hysterically, as Rick comes over to pat him over to back, in fear that he make choke. Rick pulls over Robbie's chair, and has him have a seat. Robbie gets himself under control, as he looks up to Rick and continues...

Robbie: Well, I guess I was mistaking. You know how I've been watching wrestling since you got in it, and well, I've seen a lot of wrestlers, and Tazz is one of them. Let's just say that Milly could probably kick his tail.

Rick Matson: You gotta be kiddin' me. I that case, this match shouldn't last for more than one or two minutes. Oh man, what am I going to do? I have to save this match some kind of way, right? I mean, don't get me wrong, Rob, I knew this guy would probably suck. I mean, everyone sucks in comparision to me, except some of these guys actually give me an impressive match. Of course I win everytime, but still. Maybe I could get the match over with really fast, then just entertain the crowd with my charming good looks and knock out personality. I have the ability to do it, y'know.

Robbie: God you're hung over yourself.

Rick Matson: Screw you Robbie! I can't help that I look this damn good, and I can't help that I am this good. It's just natural.

Posing Model: Are you two done yet? Robbie, I need to get these shots out of the way. I'm due for a meeting in Beverley Hills for a extra tryout in the new Michael Keaton film.

Rick looks up to the set, and seeing this model for the first time was truly breathtaking for him. He takes a step back, as Robbie looks up to him with a smirk.

Robbie: With the grant we got from your father, we were able to sign her to our modeling enterprise.

Rick Matson: My modeling enterprise, Robbie. Never forget that.

Robbie: Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just feast your eyes on the newest model on the Matson Modeling Incorporated team, Trish Stratus.

Rick Matson steps into the set, and takes a seat on the bed, as Trish stands before him in her night gown, with her hands on her hips. She then throws her hands in the air, and says...

Trish Stratus: Can you please get this loser off the set so we can finish this?

Rick Matson: Loser? Loser! I'm you boss, sweatheart.

Robbie: But he's not the man. His father owns this whole thing, it's just under the care of his son. The red hed who's seated on the bed.

Rick takes the hand of Trish Stratus, and kisses her hand. Her quickly rips it away, as Rick smirks, and steps off the set.

Rick Matson: This one has a little cat in her Robbie. Make sure you meet her every desire, understand? Oh yeah, and...

Rick walks over to where Robbie is seating, and lands a vicious right open hand to the back of Robbie's neck. He then whispers...

Rick Matson: Don't ever tell a soul I'm under my father in this project. Don't even mention it. I swear, if you do, I'll have your ass back on the street where I found playing "Peeping Tom" it'll make your neck spin. Got it ?

Robbie: Uh... uh...

Rick Matson: I didn't think so...

Rick walks away, to the back area of Matson studios, as Robbie holds the back of his head, trying to ease the pain by rubbing. Trish steps off the set, and has a seat by Robbie.

Trish Stratus: Robbie, are you okay?

Robbie: I've been better, hun.

Trish Stratus: God, that asshole! Robbie, I don't think I want to work here much longer. I joined this modeling team, because you were so sweat to me at the Sizzler where we met and I didn't think I'd be working for an ego-stistical pig headed asshole like Rick Matson.

Robbie: Trish, please, don't go. I need you here. Rick is my cousin. He's stubborn, and down right annoying, but he's a good guy at heart. His father is giving him one chance to make something out of himself, and right now, it's going to be either wrestling or this. Just in case he doesn't do as well as he hopes in wrestling, he needs this to fall back on. Without you, I assure you this modeling thing will not work. So please stay...

Trish Stratus: You're a sweet guy, Robbie... ... Yeah, I'll stay. Just keep me away from that guy as much as possible, Rob.

Robbie: There's a little problem with that Trish. I need you to be his valet in Extremely Hostile Wrestling.

Trish Stratus: You gotta be fucking kiddin' me Robbie!

Robbie: I wish I were... He'll grow on you. Please, just do me this favor. How's ten thousand big ones sound to you for your trouble.

Trish Stratus: This trouble is priceless, but I'll do it for... twenty thousand dollars.

Robbie bites his lip, and thinks it over.

Robbie: ... ... Fine, you got your twenty thousand, but you had better do one hell of a job on EHW television, sista'.

Trish Stratus: Who do you think you're talking to? Hello, it's Trish, Robbie. Let's go ahead and get this shoot over with. I'm beginning to get a little cool.

Robbie smiles, and says...

Robbie: Yeah, and nippy...

Trish Stratus: What was that?

Robbie: Oh, nothing. Nothing at all...

The scene shifts into the upper floors of the studio. Here we find Rick Matson, sitting in his office, looking through the mirror at the beautiful Los Angeles scenery. He stands, gazing out of the window, with a look of peace. This facial expression changes dramatically, as a frown comes over his face when he says...

Rick Matson: This place sucks! Where are all the skyscapers? Where are all the people walking the streets. Where is the homeless person on the corner asking for a quarter or a cup of coffee? Los Angeles has nothing on New York City! Heh, interesting. It's just like Tazz has nothing on me. He's going to step into the ring with the top wrestler in the industry, 'The Wildthang'. Are you ready? Tazz, I said, are you ready? Are you ready for the ass kicking of your life?! Man, you can't imagine what's going through my head right now. You can't even begin to imagine who bad I'm going to kick your ass. If I were you, I'd call in sick on Tuesday, just to avoid a bad situation. That bad situation is me! I see you have been mighty quiet as of late. Good boy, that's a good tactic. Try and use my words to fuel your agression in the ring come Tuesday. This may work on the mid-carders in this federation, but not a main-eventer like myself. You see, you are truly one of a kind, kid. There is no one in this industry as untalented as you, except Big Poppa Jim, but even that's arguable. He's the kind of guy you should be fighting, not a superstar like me. In the first two days here, I have left my mark on this federation like no one before me. I'm the talk of the Big Apple, and so to be the talk of the nation after our match.

I know you may think you have a chance Tuesday. The truth of the matter is, you have no chance in hell. Don't even attempt to try and defeat me, just leave the match to me. 'Cause if you try, I assure you, it will hurt more than it has to. I don't want to make this too painful. After all, it's my debut. I just want to get my point across. That point is I own you, and the rest of the federation too. Just thought I'd point that out. Here's another reason why you lose. I know everything about you, yet, you know nothing about me. I know you have a variety of suplexes, but you don't know what the hell I got. I know you have a very aggressive attitude in the ring, but you don't know how I wrestle. I'm not a guy you want to test. I'm not a guy you want to fuck with. Just come straight forward. No games. Let's do this Tazz. Me and you. Get ready. Get prepared, because rest assured, I'm more than ready. Got it? I didn't think so. You're not that bright. I could tell be your mediocre promo at the fourway dance for the number one contendership for the World Title. You told your opponents that they'd only survive if you let them. Well, you let them, but you almost didn't. Man, you got knocked the hell out! It's going to be that much worse for you when you get in that ring with me. You see, I can beat you, and I will survive, like it or not. Don't disgrace our federation by trying to be the World Champion. You bring the prestige of our federation down when you do that. Just stick to the lower calibre belts, got it? I recomend you go after Kurt Angle, another loser with some gold. Or Jeff Hardy, an even bigger loser with some gold. Just stay away from The Rock, the biggest loser with some gold. You see, he's mine.

Suddenly, the door swings open, and slams into the wall. Trish Stratus storms through the door, and stops at the head of Rick's desk. She now in casual dress, wearing a blue tank top, with skin tight blue jeans, and designer sandals. She looks forward, not even taking a look at Rick. Rick takes a seat in his desk, and she finally looks him in the eyes.

Trish Stratus: Look Playboy, I just came to let you know that we're going to be working together in EHW. I'm not that excited about it. Well, let's face it, I don't want to do it, but you wouldn't believe how much money I'm getting paid to do this. So, I'm your new partner, valet, or whatever the hell they call it.

Rick Matson: Wow, you look good in casual clothes. Excellent!

Trish shakes her head, and storms out of the office.

Rick Matson: Welcome aboard!

The scene fades with a close up on Trish's ass as she walks away. Then it switches to Rick who has binoculars, also checking her out for himself. When he realizes the camera is on him, he tosses them out of his hands, acting as if he wasn't doing anything.