M.C.E

World-class agents and assistants of Wes Hollywood’s team chit chat as they occupy a lavish conference room bordered by glass windows. Mounted high on the sound-proofed wall, a monitor displays the following message:

Host: Wes Hollywood
Meeting Name: 2025 Kickoff!
Awaiting Host…

The message changes:

Host has joined.

The team of twelve scatter to their seats at the mahogany conference table and the remaining staff of assistants utilize standing room. Wes transmits on to the screen in his golden idol glory.

WES HOLLYWOOD
Hey squad! Thanks for getting together last minute. I scheduled this because I wanted to take a moment to offer my appreciation for all the peaks we hit in 2024, b–

The room pats themselves on the back with a round of applause.

Wes’ face angrily scrunches and the self-applause simmers.

WES HOLLYWOOD
-But… you’re all fired af. 

The room shuffles around in distress.

WES HOLLYWOOD
Let me be the first to tell you that this is not, like at all, personal. No cap, I mean this straight from the heart when I say that you have all been advised [throws up air quotes] that your discharge was based on an inability to complete the job in a satisfactory manner [ends air quotes].

In case you have the memory of a god damn goldfish, you–yes…you—have tanked my wrestling career in a matter of two months. And let’s start with my acting agent: did you happen to be staring into the fucking sun when you signed a contract for me to appear in Phonk’s fake movie?

Wes holds up the first page of the contract where the words “Phonkytown Incorpsorated” are seen more clearly. 

WES HOLLYWOOD
The asshole wasn’t even hiding the fact that it was him. And he even misspelled “incorporated”. Worst part, it was you who signed it.

Now where’s my wrestling agent – oh there you are! Let me ask you real quick, did you actually go to bed feeling like you had done your job well on the day they announced me and Malo for the main event? Well for me, that was the night I realized I was the biggest joke in MASQ because they booked me against the other biggest joke, during the primetime hour, for the whole world to voyeur like freaks in the circus. Because of you, I’m forced into a full rebranding mode. I need a Brendan Fraser level comeback except eating my fatass to death isn’t gonna cut it. I need a freaking W.

And it starts at Unmasked with Malo, who is as mid of a wrestler as he is at celebrity trivia. I’m going to yeet his ass back to Paris, Texas, or whatever idiot farm he was born at. Consider that smooth-brained moron as the first victim of M.C.Emain character energy, bay-bay! 

And that’s why you’re all shitcanned. Enjoy unemployment, losers. Keep a spot warm for El Grande Malo in the benefits line… Ciao.

Host has left.