Scene: CBWL Booking Room – Full Emergency Meeting
The large conference room is packed. All 29 members of the power structure are either physically present or dialed in on the screens around the room. The usual casual energy is gone. People are quiet, some looking at their phones, others staring at the table.
Cowboy Watts sits at the head. Jim Ross is to his right. You’re seated near the head of the table as well.
Cowboy lights a cigarette, takes a long drag, and looks around the room before speaking.
Cowboy Watts: Alright. Everybody’s here. Good.
He exhales smoke and leans forward, resting his arms on the table.
Cowboy Watts: First off, before we get into anything else, JR and I wanna say something.
Jim Ross nods and speaks up.
Jim Ross: What happened with Sterling… that was an accident. A bad one. Nobody in this room could’ve predicted or prevented it. He was doing his job, same as always. What happened on the road that night was out of our control, and we’re not gonna sit here and pretend otherwise.
Cowboy Watts: That’s right. But here’s the other part — it don’t matter whose fault it was. It happened. And now we got a show to run in less than two weeks. Sterling’s in the hospital, and from everything we’re hearing, he’s gonna be out for a while. Maybe a long while. So instead of sitting around feeling sorry for ourselves, our job right now is to figure out how we put on the best show we possibly can with the hand we’ve been dealt.
He looks around the room, making eye contact with several people.
Cowboy Watts: We’re already looking into a replacement for Sterling on the transport and logistics side. That’s being handled. But until we get somebody in place, we’re gonna have to figure out how to make this work in the short term. That means everybody in this room needs to be ready to step up where they’re needed.
He takes another drag off his cigarette.
Cowboy Watts: That’s all I got for now. If anybody wants to speak, now’s the time. Say what you gotta say.
The room stays quiet for a few seconds as people look around. Some shift in their seats. A few glance at their phones or at each other.
Cowboy waits, smoke curling up from his cigarette.
Cowboy Watts: No? Nobody got nothing to say?
After Cowboy opens the floor, the room stays quiet for a few seconds. Then a couple of people start to speak.
Tony Soprano: (leaning forward, hands clasped) Look, we need somebody who can actually do the job, not just some warm body. If we’re gonna bring somebody in from the outside, it needs to be somebody who’s done this before — touring, logistics, moving big groups of people and equipment. We don’t have time to train nobody from scratch with a show in less than two weeks.
Stanley Kubrick: (cold and direct) Production cannot be affected. If transport and load-in are delayed, everything else falls behind. I need guarantees that whatever solution we land on, it won’t impact my ability to do my job. I won’t accept delays because of this.
Sheri L. Dew: (adjusting her glasses) And we need to be mindful of the cost. Bringing in an outside replacement on short notice is going to be expensive. We’ve already spent a significant amount on talent recently. I’d like to see some numbers before we commit to anything.
A few others murmur in agreement or nod, but nobody else jumps in right away.
Cowboy Watts listens to all of it, then looks back around the table.
Cowboy Watts: Alright. We got some concerns on the table — finding somebody who can actually do the job, not fucking up production, and keeping costs reasonable. That’s fair.
He looks over at you again.
Cowboy Watts: Anything else before we start narrowing this down?
You (Mr. Nasty): I want to hear what our doctors and medical staff have to say about Sterling’s condition.
The room quiets down. Cowboy Watts nods and looks over at the medical group.
Cowboy Watts: Fair enough. Let’s hear it. Conrad, Doc, Phil, Jordan — what are we looking at here?
Conrad Murray is the first to speak. He’s calm, clinical, and speaks with that same detached professionalism he’s always had.
Conrad Murray: From the preliminary reports I’ve seen, Mr. Marlin sustained significant trauma. Multiple rib fractures, internal bleeding that required surgical intervention, and what appears to be spinal compression at the thoracic level. There’s also concern regarding possible nerve damage. It’s too early to say with certainty how permanent any of this will be, but the possibility of reduced mobility — including the use of a wheelchair in the short to medium term — is very real. We’re looking at a minimum of several weeks of recovery, possibly longer depending on how the spinal swelling responds to treatment.
Dr. Phil speaks next, in his usual calm, measured Texas drawl.
Dr. Phil: Beyond the physical injuries, we also have to consider the psychological impact. A man in his position — someone who’s spent his life on the road, in control, and suddenly stripped of that — this kind of trauma can take a serious toll mentally as well. We’re not just talking about whether he can walk. We’re talking about whether he can mentally handle being sidelined for an extended period while this company tries to function without him.
Jordan Peterson adjusts his glasses and speaks in his usual intense, professorial tone.
Jordan Peterson: There’s also the question of responsibility. A man whose job it is to ensure the safe transport of dozens of people was himself involved in a serious accident while under the influence. Regardless of fault in the collision itself, that fact cannot be ignored. It raises questions about competence, judgment, and whether he should be returned to a position of such critical operational importance even if he does recover physically.
Hunter S. Thompson hasn’t said anything yet. He’s just sitting there with his arms crossed, staring at the table like he’s only half-listening. Eventually he speaks, voice low and raspy.
Hunter S. Thompson: The man got crushed in his own truck at a red light. Whether he was drunk or not doesn’t change the fact that the universe decided to fold him up like a cheap lawn chair. If he walks again, it’ll be a miracle. If he doesn’t… well. That’s just how these things go sometimes.
The room is quiet for a moment after that.
Cowboy Watts looks around, then back at you.
Cowboy Watts: Alright. That’s the medical side of it. Sterling’s in bad shape, and even in the best-case scenario, he’s not gonna be back anytime soon — if ever.
He leans back in his chair.
Cowboy Watts: So now we gotta figure out what we’re doing about it. Replacement. Short-term coverage. Long-term plans. Who’s got ideas?
After the medical staff finishes speaking, the room stays quiet for a moment. Then Sheri L. Dew speaks up from her seat near the middle of the table. She adjusts her glasses and speaks in her usual calm, corporate tone.
Sheri L. Dew: If we’re being serious about replacing Sterling — even temporarily — then I believe we should bring in someone from outside the current structure. Someone with actual professional experience in large-scale logistics and event transport. Not another personality. Not another… colorful character.
She glances briefly in the direction of Tony Soprano and Dan Schneider before continuing.
Sheri L. Dew: We need someone who understands contracts, scheduling, insurance, and compliance. Someone who can step in immediately and run this side of the operation like a business instead of whatever this has been. I’m not saying we need to spend a fortune, but I am saying we should stop pretending that just because someone has a famous name or a strong personality, they’re qualified to handle something this important.
Tony Soprano: (leaning back, smirking slightly) You sayin’ we should bring in some suit from UPS or something?
Sheri L. Dew: (calmly) I’m saying we should bring in someone who won’t end up in the hospital with a DUI two weeks before a major show. Whoever we choose needs to be reliable, professional, and focused on doing the job — not on causing additional problems.
She looks over at Cowboy.
Sheri L. Dew: I can have some names and cost projections by tomorrow if that’s the direction we want to go. But I strongly recommend against pulling someone from inside this current group. We already have enough… unconventional personalities involved in critical operations.
Cowboy Watts: (taking a drag off his cigarette) Noted.
He looks around the room again.
Cowboy Watts: Anybody else got thoughts on who should step in — inside or outside — or are we all just gonna sit here and hope Sterling magically heals up in time for the PPV?
The room is already tense after Sheri L. Dew suggests bringing in an outside professional. Before Cowboy can respond, a few more voices jump in.
Butterbean: (sitting up straighter, arms crossed over his massive chest) I’ll drive the truck.
A few heads turn. Butterbean shrugs like it’s the most obvious solution in the world.
Butterbean: I’ve driven bigger shit than some of these buses. I don’t mind doing it. Put me behind the wheel and I’ll get the boys where they need to go.
Tony Soprano: (raising an eyebrow) You wanna be the bus driver now?
Butterbean: Why not? I’m already here. I ain’t scared of driving, and I don’t need some suit coming in and fucking everything up.
Before anyone can respond to that, Arnold Palmer speaks up from his seat near the middle of the table. He’s been quiet most of the meeting, but now he leans forward slightly.
Arnold Palmer: Before we go making any big decisions… I think we should hear from Jack Black. He’s one of the referees. He’s been around. Maybe he’s got some ideas. Or at least some perspective.
A few people look confused. Sarah Silverman immediately shakes her head.
Sarah Silverman: No offense to Jack, but I don’t think the guy who plays the devil in Tenacious D movies is the one we should be taking transport advice from right now.
She looks over at Sheri L. Dew.
Sarah Silverman: And with all due respect to Sheri’s suggestion about bringing in some outside corporate guy… I think we’re overcomplicating this. I can get Jewish financing for this. I know people. We can handle this internally without bringing in some random logistics bro who’s gonna charge us an arm and a leg and still fuck it up.
Cowboy Watts: (immediately, sharp) Sarah, shut the fuck up.
The room goes quiet for a second.
Cowboy Watts: (staring her down) We’re not doing that. We’re not turning this into some ethnic favor-trading bullshit. Keep that shit to yourself.
Sarah Silverman leans back in her chair with a slight smirk but doesn’t push it further.
Then, from the far end of the table, Elena Ceaușescu speaks. Her voice is cold and matter-of-fact, like she’s suggesting they reorder the office supplies.
Elena Ceaușescu: If we are concerned about Sterling needing a wheelchair… we could always lure Stephen Hawking here under the pretense of a speaking engagement. Once he arrives, we simply… remove him from the chair. Permanently. Then Sterling can use it. It would solve two problems at once.
The room goes completely silent.
Even Tony Soprano looks over at her like she just suggested they nuke the building.
Jim Ross: (quietly) Jesus Christ…
Cowboy Watts: (rubbing his face with both hands) Jesus fucking Christ.
He looks around the room at the sea of faces — some stunned, some trying not to laugh, some clearly wondering how the hell they ended up in this meeting.
Cowboy Watts: Nobody can decide on a single goddamn thing without it turning into a circus. We got one guy who wants to drive the bus, another one who wants to hear from Jack Black, one who wants to rob Stephen Hawking’s wheelchair, and somebody else trying to turn this into a goddamn ethnic bake sale.
He leans back in his chair and exhales.
Cowboy Watts: This is why nothing ever gets done around here.
The room is still buzzing with awkward laughter and disbelief after Elena Ceaușescu’s suggestion to rob Stephen Hawking’s wheelchair. Most people are trying to move past it when Elena suddenly speaks again — her voice cold, sharp, and clearly irritated.
Elena Ceaușescu: I am offended that none of you are taking this seriously.
The laughter dies down quickly.
Elena Ceaușescu: (staring around the table) You all act like this is some outrageous idea. Like it is beneath us. Let me be very clear — I have done far worse things than take a wheelchair from a dying man. Much worse. Back in Romania, under the old regime, I arranged for people to disappear. Not just political enemies. Anyone who became inconvenient. Scientists. Artists. Even children of officials who asked too many questions. Some were sent to labor camps. Some were given “accidents.” Some simply ceased to exist. Their families were told they had run away or committed suicide. And I slept very well afterward.
She pauses, letting the weight of her words settle.
Elena Ceaușescu: Compared to that, rolling an old man out of his chair and giving it to someone who actually needs it is nothing. A minor logistical solution. You people act like morality is involved here. It is not. This is business. Sterling needs a wheelchair. Hawking has one. Problem solved.
The room is dead silent.
Tony Soprano: (quietly, almost impressed) Jesus…
Before anyone can respond, Colonel Parker speaks up from his seat, adjusting his glasses with a small, greasy smile.
Colonel Parker: Actually… I could probably make that happen.
A few heads turn toward him.
Colonel Parker: Hawking. I could get him here. He’s done speaking engagements before. I still have some connections from the old days. I could frame it as some kind of high-profile appearance — maybe even tie it to the show somehow. Make it sound prestigious. He’d come.
He leans back in his chair, that same slimy smile still on his face.
Colonel Parker: And between you and me… I think he’d love to meet some of the girls around here. Man’s been stuck in that chair for decades. You put a few of these young ladies in front of him, smiling and being friendly… he’d probably sign whatever we put in front of him just for the company.
Jim Ross: (visibly uncomfortable) Colonel…
Colonel Parker: (shrugging) I’m just saying. It wouldn’t take much. A little charm, a little attention. He’s still a man.
Cowboy Watts: (rubbing his temples) This meeting is getting more fucked up by the second.
He looks around the room at the sea of faces — some disturbed, some amused, some clearly wondering how the hell this became a real conversation.
Cowboy Watts: Alright. We got one guy who wants to drive the bus, one who wants to hear from Jack Black, one who wants to steal Stephen Hawking’s wheelchair like it’s a used car, and now Colonel here offering to pimp out the girls to close the deal.
He lets out a long, tired sigh and looks over at you.
Cowboy Watts: Boss… what the fuck do you wanna do here? Because if we keep letting everybody talk, we’re gonna end up with Hawking in a body bag and Butterbean driving the goddamn buses to the PPV.
Jack Black: Uh… hey. Quick question.
The room quiets down a bit as people turn to look at him.
Jack Black: (deadpan, but with that signature chaotic energy) Did we even get to hear from me yet? Because Arnold over there said he wanted to hear what I had to say like… twenty minutes ago. And then we went straight into “Let’s rob Stephen Hawking’s wheelchair” territory and I kind of got lost in the sauce.
A few people actually laugh at that.
Jack Black: Look, I’m not saying I have the perfect solution or anything. But if we’re really this desperate for someone to handle transport and logistics… I mean, I do have a CDL. I used to drive a tour bus back in the Tenacious D days. I’m not saying I want the job full-time, but if we’re in a pinch and nobody else has a better idea… I could probably figure it out. At least until we find somebody who actually knows what they’re doing.
He shrugs.
Jack Black: Or we could just keep arguing about stealing wheelchairs from famous physicists. That seems to be going great so far.
Tony Soprano: (grinning) Kid’s got a point. At least he’s not suggesting we murder Stephen Hawking.
Joan Rivers: Yet.
Cowboy Watts: (rubbing his face) Jesus Christ. This is what we’ve come to. We’re actually considering letting Jack Black drive the buses.
He looks over at you again, exhausted but still trying to keep it together.
Cowboy Watts: Alright. We’ve now heard from Butterbean, Arnold Palmer, Sarah Silverman, Elena, Colonel Parker, and now Jack Black. Anybody else wanna throw their hat in the ring before we completely lose the plot here?
The room looks around again.
Jack Black leans forward, hands up in a calming gesture.
Jack Black: Whoa, whoa, whoa — hold up. I’m not saying I’m gonna drive the buses. Relax. I’m not trying to take Sterling’s job. I’ve got other shit going on. I’m just saying… I know a guy.
He pauses for dramatic effect, then adds with a little smirk:
Jack Black: Actually… I know a guy who knows a guy. And that guy? He’s solid. He’s done this kind of thing before — big tours, moving crews, equipment, the whole nine. He’s low-key, he’s reliable, and he doesn’t ask a lot of questions. If we need somebody fast, I can make a call. It’s cool. Trust me.
There’s a brief silence as people look at each other. Surprisingly, nobody immediately shoots it down. Even Tony Soprano just shrugs like “eh, could be worse.”
Tony Soprano: As long as the guy can actually drive and doesn’t show up drunk or try to fuck the talent, I’m listening.
Cowboy Watts: (suspicious but curious) You sure about this, Black?
Jack Black: (nodding confidently) Yeah, man. It’s handled. I got you.
Before anyone can dig deeper into Jack’s mysterious connection, Steve Jobs speaks up from his seat, looking unusually animated.
Steve Jobs: While we’re figuring out the logistics side… I think we should also put together a video package. Something clean. Professional. We post it across all our social channels — wishing Sterling a speedy recovery, showing support from the entire CBWL family. It’s good optics. It shows we care about our people. And it gives us a chance to humanize the company a little after everything that’s been going on lately.
Joan Rivers: (snorting) Humanize? Honey, we’re one step away from suggesting we rob Stephen Hawking. I don’t think a “get well soon” video is gonna fix our image.
Steve Jobs: (ignoring her) It doesn’t have to be long. Just a short, well-edited piece. Some nice footage, some of the talent saying a few words, maybe a message from Cowboy or Jim Ross. Keep it tasteful. Controlled. We control the narrative instead of letting the internet run wild with whatever rumors are already spreading.
Sheri L. Dew: (nodding slightly) It’s not a bad idea. At the very least, it shows we’re aware of the situation and that we’re not completely heartless.
Cowboy Watts: (rubbing his chin) A video, huh…
Sheri L. Dew: I think we’re overcomplicating this. Sterling Marlin was a mistake. We brought him in because he had a recognizable name and some experience on the road, but clearly that wasn’t enough. Now he’s in the hospital with a DUI and serious injuries, and instead of trying to figure out how to keep him involved, we should be treating this as a clean break.
She looks around the table.
Sheri L. Dew: Give him the persona non grata treatment. Cut ties. Wish him well privately if we must, but publicly and internally, we move on like he was never part of this. It protects the company image and stops us from pouring more resources into someone who clearly can’t handle the responsibility. We have too many other problems to solve to be sentimental about one man who got himself into this situation.
A few people shift uncomfortably. Before anyone else can respond, Arnold Palmer speaks up from his seat. His voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it.
Arnold Palmer: I’ve seen this kind of thinking before. Back on the PGA Tour, there was a guy — big name, lot of talent, lot of baggage. He got into some trouble. Legal stuff, personal stuff. The tour had a choice. They could’ve cut him loose right then and there. Washed their hands of him. A lot of people wanted to. They said he was a liability, that keeping him around would hurt the image of the tour.
He pauses, looking around the room.
Arnold Palmer: But they didn’t. They kept him around. Gave him space to get his shit together. And you know what happened? He came back stronger. Won a couple more tournaments. Became one of the faces of the tour for years after that. If they had cut him loose when it was convenient, they would’ve lost all of that. And more importantly, they would’ve looked cold and disposable to everyone else on the tour. Sometimes you have to think long-term, even when it’s messy in the short term.
He looks directly at Sheri.
Arnold Palmer: Sterling’s been with us through some of the crazier parts of this whole operation. He’s not perfect. None of us are. But if we throw him away the second he becomes inconvenient, what message does that send to everyone else in this room? That we’re only as good as our last good day?
The room goes quiet again.
Cowboy Watts: (taking a slow drag off his cigarette) Well… that was a hell of a lot more diplomatic than I expected from you, Arnold.
Mr. Nasty: Jack, just work on getting in contact with your guy. That’s your only job right now.
Jack Black nods.
Jack Black: Got it. I’ll handle it.
You turn to Steve Jobs.
Mr. Nasty: Steve. Get a camera crew to the hospital. I want footage of Sterling in the coma — tubes, machines, open wounds, the whole thing. Then send five of our hottest girls down there. I want them standing around his bed, gently sobbing, kissing his hand while he’s out cold. Make it emotional. Then back here in the studio, I want more girls on camera telling stories about how much they love and miss him. Babyfaces and heels. Super over-produced. Soft lighting, slow music, maximum sex appeal. I want it to feel like a memorial tribute, even though he’s still alive.
The room goes quiet for a second… then the pushback starts.
Jim Ross: (uncomfortable) That feels… a little much, don’t it?
Sheri L. Dew: (coldly) It’s manipulative and in poor taste. We should be distancing ourselves, not milking this for sympathy.
Tony Soprano: (shrugging) It’s fucked up… but it’ll probably work.
Before anyone else can pile on, Larry David suddenly speaks up from his seat near the middle of the table. He says it completely deadpan, like he’s commenting on the weather.
Larry David: It’s a great idea.
The room turns to look at him.
Larry David: (shrugging) What? It is. It’s tasteless, it’s exploitative, it’s completely on brand for this place. At least it’s honest about what we are.
Cowboy Watts, who had been sitting back quietly, suddenly leans forward like the idea just came to him.
Cowboy Watts: You know what… yeah. That’s actually not bad. We should do that.
He nods to himself, like he’s been thinking about it the whole time.
Cowboy Watts: Steve, get the crews together. I want this done right. Make it emotional, but not too emotional. We want people to feel bad for him, not think we’re trying too hard. And make sure the girls look good. We’re not sending down a bunch of jobbers for this. I want the hottest ones we got. This has to look real.
He turns to you, but he’s already in full project-manager mode.
Cowboy Watts: We’ll shoot the hospital stuff first, then knock out the studio segments tonight or tomorrow. I’ll have someone put together a rough cut by the end of the day. We can drop it on socials tomorrow night, maybe do a little follow-up on the next Friday Night Filth.
He looks around the room like he’s been running this idea the whole time.
Cowboy Watts: Anybody got a problem with that?
A few people glance at each other, but the moment has already passed. Cowboy has claimed ownership of the project.
Jim Ross: (quietly, to himself) Unbelievable…
Larry David: (deadpan, to no one in particular) See? Great idea.
Cowboy claps his hands once.
Cowboy Watts: Alright. Let’s keep moving. We still need to figure out who’s handling transport while Sterling’s out. Jack, get on that call. Steve, start putting the video crew together.
Scene: 3 Days Later – CBWL Production Truck
It’s late afternoon. The big production truck is parked behind the arena, humming with equipment. Inside, the lighting is dim, mostly coming from the wall of monitors. You, Cowboy Watts, Jim Ross, and Steve Jobs are all crammed into the tight space.
Steve Jobs is sitting at the main editing station with a tablet in his hand. Cowboy is leaned back in one of the swivel chairs with his boots up on a console. Jim Ross stands behind Steve with his arms crossed, looking tired. You’re sitting off to the side.
Steve taps a few keys.
Steve Jobs: Alright. This is the final cut. Kubrick oversaw the whole thing personally. He made sure it was shot clean, even if the content is… what it is.
He hits play.
The screen comes to life.
Steve Jobs hits play.
The video opens with high-quality CGI. A much younger Sterling Marlin is racing a period-correct NASCAR before cutting to him drinking with Hank Williams Sr. A smooth timelapse ages him into the present day, where he’s behind the wheel of a transport truck on a sunny highway. In the passenger seat, a woman resembling Angelina Jolie leans over, head in his lap. Through the open trailer doors, the wrestling ring can be seen secured inside.
Without warning, another transport truck violently crosses the median and slams head-on into Sterling’s rig. The camera lingers just long enough to show the other driver catching fire before being violently thrown forward, smashing through the windshield in flames, and hitting the pavement as a burning corpse.
The screen goes black.
After a few seconds of silence, the image fades in on the cleavage of one of the women standing beside Sterling’s hospital bed. Bold, video game-style text slams onto the screen:
“WE MISS YOU, MARTIN!”
A warm, overly sincere male voiceover begins:
Voiceover: “Every day, men like Sterling Marlin climb into their trucks not knowing if they’ll make it home. Just like a cop walking the beat, these men put their lives on the line so the show can go on…”
The video then cuts into the hospital and studio footage.
Several named women stand around Sterling’s hospital bed while he lies unconscious and heavily bandaged. They’re dressed in tight black outfits. Some gently cry while holding his hand. Others lean down and kiss his knuckles. The camera lingers on their bodies as much as their faces.
It transitions into the studio segments, where a mix of babyfaces and heels sit on a sleek, over-lit set and deliver emotional, clearly scripted lines — though their natural cadences bleed through:
- Ariana Grande speaks softly and sweetly, almost whispering: “You always made me feel safe out there…”
- Jenna Ortega delivers her lines low and serious, barely blinking as she says, “He didn’t deserve this…”
- Mila Kunis speaks in her usual raspy, slightly dry tone: “Come back soon, okay? We need you.”
- Florence Pugh is direct and firm with her natural accent: “He’s one of the good ones. We’re not losing him.”
- Nicki Minaj leans into the camera with a half-smile and says in her signature cadence, “I know you loved my big fat black ass… if you get up, I’ma sit on your lap all the way from Buffalo to Pittsburgh.”
The whole piece is glossy, over-produced, and deeply insincere. The emotion feels manufactured, the sexualization is blatant, and the whole thing walks a very strange line between tribute and exploitation.
It ends on a slow zoom into Sterling’s unconscious face with the same game-style text:
“GET WELL SOON, MARTIN.”
Then it fades to black.
Inside the production truck, it’s quiet for a few seconds.
Cowboy Watts: (staring at the screen) …Nicki really said that shit on camera, huh?
Jim Ross: (uncomfortably) She sure did.
Steve Jobs: (scrolling through the timeline) Kubrick said he wanted it to feel personal. He got what he asked for.
Cowboy takes a slow drag off his cigarette and looks over at you.
Cowboy Watts: Well? You wanted this. What do you think?
Jim Ross and Steve Jobs both turn to look at you.
The finished video sits on the screen, waiting for final approval.
You stare at the screen for a second longer, then nod.
You (Mr. Nasty): It’s great. Post it. Now.
Steve Jobs doesn’t hesitate. He clicks a few keys, and the video uploads across all official CBWL social channels at once.
Steve Jobs: Done. It’s live.
For a few seconds, the only sound in the truck is the low hum of the equipment.
Cowboy Watts: (still staring at the monitor, cigarette burning between his fingers) Well… we just did that.
Jim Ross: (shaking his head slowly) Lord have mercy.
Steve Jobs leans back in his chair and checks his phone.
Steve Jobs: It’s already getting views. Comments are… mixed. Some people are saying it’s touching. Others are saying it’s the most fucked up thing they’ve ever seen.
Cowboy lets out a low, tired chuckle and takes a drag off his cigarette.
Cowboy Watts: Yeah, well… that tracks.
He looks over at you.
Cowboy Watts: You sure you don’t wanna pull it back? We can still delete it and say it was a mistake.
He’s giving you one last out, but he doesn’t sound like he expects you to take it.
The video is already out in the world.
You look around at the three of them and speak.
You (Mr. Nasty): We just need to focus on the show next week. That’s it. Let’s all take the rest of the day off. We’ll come back tomorrow — just me, Cowboy, JR, and the agents. We’ll sit down and actually book the on-screen product.
Cowboy Watts nods slowly, flicking ash into an empty coffee cup.
Cowboy Watts: Sounds good to me. We’ve done enough damage for one day.
Jim Ross lets out a tired sigh and rubs the back of his neck.
Jim Ross: Yeah… I could use a break after all that. Tomorrow then.
Steve Jobs stands up and starts shutting down the editing station.
Steve Jobs: I’ll make sure the video stays up and monitor the reaction. If anything blows up too badly overnight, I’ll let you know.
Cowboy pushes himself up out of the chair and stretches.
Cowboy Watts: Alright. Go home, get some rest. We’ll pick this shit back up in the morning. Just the core group.
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