Title: Prize Giveaways & The Name Game
Featuring: The Masked Dollar
Date: February 7th, 2010
Location: The Masked Dollar's Hotel
After learning of the DREAM mini-rumble booked for the upcoming show, TMD went right to work coming up with a special marketing campaign. With a match of such magnitude, with the vacated DREAM Title on the line no less, TMD wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to kick-start his floundering sales.
Situations like that usually call for a calm, calculated approach, but The Masked Dollar was too excited to even stop and think about what he was doing. Naturally, the first idea to pop into his head was, by his standards, the best idea possible.
PRIZE GIVEAWAYS!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Come again?" the voice on the other end of the line mutters after a long pause. The Masked Dollar sighs as the voice of William Caribou, his trusted financial advisor, is filled with scepticism.
"Keep up, Willy!" TMD shouts into the phone. "This is very serious business, so you need to pay attention."
"I am paying attention…" Willy assures him, "I just can’t believe what I’m hearing…"
TMD’s left eye begins to twitch, and his teeth clinch tightly. He quakes as frustration and rage well up from deep within. Taking a moment to calm himself, TMD bites his tongue to keep from screaming at Willy. "What’s not to believe?" he asks calmly, "This mini-rumble is my ticket to success, both in the ring and in the stores. When I become the next DREAM Champion, the shit is going to hit the fan. It’ll be like my own, personal ‘Black Friday’!"
The other end of the line stays silent for a few moments, and only after a sigh of frustration does Willy speak. "Listen, I applaud your enthusiasm. Wiring twenty grand to your account is no problem, but lets not get ahead of ourselves. For starters, you’re merchandise is crap."
"CRAP???" TMD exclaims.
"You pay bottom dollar to make the stuff," Willy retorts. "Inferior products, made with inferior materials. We both know your ‘TMD Brand’ Toilet Paper is made from recycled Chinese newspapers… and don’t even get me started on the Tic Tacs you pass off as ‘TMD Brand’ Birth Control Pills."
Thinking on Willy’s words, The Masked Dollar can only agree, albeit with great disappointment. "This is all true, but what the public doesn’t know, won’t hurt them."
A small chuckle can be heard on the other end of the line. "Oh, the toilet paper will hurt them eventually… what with the rectal paper cuts and all… trust me… I know."
"Yeah… I probably should have warned you about that," TMD says apologetically, "I’ve been meaning to upgrade to American newspaper."
Both men find the humor in the conversation’s turn, but the laughter soon fades as they remember the point of all this chatter.
"But honestly, Ji… I mean… Masked Dollar…" Willy catches himself before using TMD’s real name, "Do you think people are really going to put money down to enter a prize giveaway contest, based on chance that you might actually win the rumble match? I mean, sure, society has turned everyone into brand name whores, but most folks still have some sense of financial security. I just don’t want to see this all blow up in your face."
"How could this possibly blow up in my face, Willy?" Once again, frustration and anger rear their ugly faces as The Masked Dollar continues to speak. "People will jump at the chance of winning an official, ‘TMD Brand’ Prize Pack… especially a prize pack filled with every ‘TMD Brand’ product imaginable. People see the word ‘prize’ and they’re all over it like cake at a fat camp."
The Masked Dollar stops and giggles at his own pun. Oh, how TMD loves puns. However, as he sits there laughing, something clicks in the back of his head.
"Wait a minute…" TMD stammers, "I get it… you don’t think I can pull this off, do you?"
"I didn’t say tha…" Willy tries to respond, but it quickly cut off by TMD.
"I’m one of twenty-five men in this match. Sure, the odds are against me, but they’re against twenty-four other guys all the same," TMD snaps, "All I have to do is bide my time, and make the best of every opportunity that comes around. There’s a guy hanging on to the ropes for dear life… I eliminate him. There are two guys duking it out near the ropes… I push them both over. It comes down to me and two other guys… I let them do the dirty work, and then toss that last son-of-a-bitch over the rope for the win. It’s a simple and effective game plan that has been a proven success in the past. And when it works for me, then everything I’ve ever dreamed of will come to fruition."
"But… what if it doesn’t?" Willy retorts, bursting TMD’s fragile, little bubble. "What then? You spend all this extra money on producing merchandise that will only be given away if you win. You think people are willing to take that risk? And even if you do win, they ticket holders would still have the odds against them with all the tickets you want to give away. For the average consumer, that’s a lot of risk taking with the odds stacked so unfavorably against them." Willy gets nothing but silence as a reply, forcing him to further justify his opinions on the matter. "And if you don’t win… who is going to buy merchandise from the guy that didn’t win? People only like winners, and in a situation like this, there are going to be a lot of guys gunning to be number one."
"So, what you’re saying is, I’m a loser?" TMD responds, sounding rather hurt by Willy’s lack of faith. "Considering I’m 2-0 since joining DREAM, I’d say that constitutes me as being a winner… … … … … P.S: This is where you agree with me!"
"First off…" Willy barks, defending his position, "Not once did I ever call you a loser. And secondly, those two men that you beat… Castor Strong, and Jimmy Riley… who are they? DREAM’s top dogs? The two biggest up-and-coming stars in the industry? No… they were, and continue to be, nobodies. Now, if you consider those two matches as career defining, then I’m sorry, but you’re sorely mistaken. Hell, I could have beaten them, and I’m drunk almost every waking moment of my life!"
"Yeah, tell me about it," TMD jests, "I hear the alcohol talking to me right now. You need to lay off the sauce a bit, so you can quit saying stupid things to me on the phone."
"You think I’m the one that sounds drunk?" Willy shouts into the receiver, nearly deafening TMD’s right ear, "Do you have any idea about the competition you’re going to be facing in this match? For example… Mike Polowy…"
"The guy is a former Women’s Champion," The Masked Dollar snickers. "If that’s his greatest accolade, then he should be more worried about proving he doesn’t have a vagina than winning his matches. Speaking of which, the only reason he won his match at Scrambled Dreams is because of some silly re-enactment of this ‘French Screw Job’ I’ve been hearing about lately."
"Also speaking of which… what about Talon?" Willy’s question has merit. "The guy is a freaking legend in the wrestling industry. A hero to the masses… you think with the fans eating out of his hands, the company won’t be backing him?"
The Masked Dollar thinks on this for a moment, but with a smile, he shakes his head no. "Lately, he’s been more focused on scoring chicks than scoring pin falls."
Willy continues down the list of names participating in the mini-rumble, stopping on an all-too-familiar name. "What about Doozer?"
"More like Snoozer!" quips TMD.
"Psymon?" Willy questions.
"Simon who?" TMD replies, actually sounding confused.
"Psymon is his name… his whole name!" Willy says with a sigh.
"OHHH…" The Masked Dollar exclaims, finally putting a face to the name. "That guy is one of the most bizarre people I’ve ever seen. But again, I think he’s too concerned with death and torture to really be a threat. I mean, I’ve never really heard him talk about anything that actually had to do with anything. Got anymore names to throw at me?"
"Chris Bladez?" Willy keeps going with the list of possible, future DREAM Champions.
"Anyone that has to put a ‘Z’ at the end of their name is just compensating for their lack of toughness," TMD rationalizes, shrugging off the superstar’s talent. "He’s probably an even bigger pussy than the one Mike Polowy has hidden in his wrestling trunks. And while we’re on the topic of names with Z’s…" The Masked Dollar thinks back to this past week’s Slaughter, and what transpired backstage in the vendor’s area. "You don’t even have to bring up that little puke, Chris Jamez. The whole world saw me kick his ass backstage last week, so I doubt anyone will be taking him seriously for a while."
A long, drawn out sigh fills TMD’s ear as Willy has become tired of hearing about the incident, considering The Masked Dollar has brought it up in every conversation the two have had since Wednesday. "What about Ozric Mortimer? The dude is a monster!"
"Pfffft…" is TMD’s lackadaisical reply. "Sure, he’s a monster alright… but, he’s a monster in clown makeup. I doubt he’ll even show up for the rumble match… probably has to work a gig at some kids birthday party that night."
"Jesus… you’ve got something to say about everyone, don’t you?" Willy mumbles in annoyance. "Well, what about Adrien Cochrane, B.R. Ellis, Bishop Steele, Casey Pierro-Zabotel, Castor Strong, Charlie Blackwell, Clarence Williams, Dark, Locke Helms, Jared Borchard, Jimmy Riley, Johnny Legend, Klash, Michael Byrd, Muru, Sabin Richards, and Terry Spruhen?"
TMD raises an eyebrow underneath his mask as he processes all the names coming from the earpiece. "Castor Strong, Jimmy Riley, who, who, who, who, who, who, who, who, who, who, who, who, who, who, and who?"
"Come on man, you gotta be taking all these guys seriously," Willy begs of The Masked Dollar, "From curtain jerkers to main eventers… all these guys are going to be hungry for the big win, and you shouldn’t be counting any of them out, no matter who they are, and no matter how good you think you are."
"What’s to take serious about them… seriously?" TMD demands to know, obviously not as concerned as his financial counterpart. "The fact remains that I’m undefeated in DREAM. How many of those chumps can say that? And lets not forget, I’m pretty sure I’m the only one in this match that has a lick of marketability. You think the big wigs at the DREAM head office are going to consider putting their top prize around the waist of one of those undeserving fools?"
"FINE…" Willy shouts as he has finally had enough, "you think you know everything, then go ahead and do this ‘prize giveaway campaign’. But don’t come crying to me when you find yourself flat broke."
"I highly doubt I’m going to be walking out of Slaughter declaring bankrupt… wait a second… did you say ‘no matter how good I THINK I am?" Just as it did earlier, TMD’s left eye begins to twitch as the anger builds up within him. "That’s it, isn’t it? You really don’t think I can win, do you? You don’t think I have what it takes to be the most dominant champion in the history of the DREAM Wrestling Federation?
Another sigh from the other end of the line. "I didn’t say th…"
"You know what Willy? Just wire me the damn money and I’ll take care of the rest. I don’t need this kind of downer talk before the biggest match of my career." The Masked Dollar raises his phone into the air and is about to send it flying across the room. However, he stops himself before he does any damage to his hotel room, and brings the phone back to his ear. "Willy, as a financial advisor, you are a complete genius. But when it comes to career advice and moral support… you’re a total fuck up!"
With that, The Masked Dollar slams the phone down so hard that it shatters the phone’s base. "Great… just great. I wonder how much that is going to cost me?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
With the DREAM mini-rumble only a few days away, the last thing The Masked Dollar needs floating around in his brain is doubt. Luckily for him, he has his own ‘TMD Brand’ Relaxant For Nervousness and Anxiousness. Of course, the relaxant is one of his biggest flops, as it causes explosive diarrhea.
This Wednesday, The Masked Dollar will step into the ring with twenty-four other men, and in the end, only one will survive. And ever the optimist, The Masked Dollar has already started drawing up plans for a celebration fit for a champion.
So please remember… pick up your ballot and sign it. You don’t want to have to watch someone holds their YOUR prize while they stand beside The Masked Dollar and his.
Featuring: The Masked Dollar
Date: February 7th, 2010
Location: The Masked Dollar's Hotel
After learning of the DREAM mini-rumble booked for the upcoming show, TMD went right to work coming up with a special marketing campaign. With a match of such magnitude, with the vacated DREAM Title on the line no less, TMD wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to kick-start his floundering sales.
Situations like that usually call for a calm, calculated approach, but The Masked Dollar was too excited to even stop and think about what he was doing. Naturally, the first idea to pop into his head was, by his standards, the best idea possible.
PRIZE GIVEAWAYS!
"Come again?" the voice on the other end of the line mutters after a long pause. The Masked Dollar sighs as the voice of William Caribou, his trusted financial advisor, is filled with scepticism.
"Keep up, Willy!" TMD shouts into the phone. "This is very serious business, so you need to pay attention."
"I am paying attention…" Willy assures him, "I just can’t believe what I’m hearing…"
TMD’s left eye begins to twitch, and his teeth clinch tightly. He quakes as frustration and rage well up from deep within. Taking a moment to calm himself, TMD bites his tongue to keep from screaming at Willy. "What’s not to believe?" he asks calmly, "This mini-rumble is my ticket to success, both in the ring and in the stores. When I become the next DREAM Champion, the shit is going to hit the fan. It’ll be like my own, personal ‘Black Friday’!"
The other end of the line stays silent for a few moments, and only after a sigh of frustration does Willy speak. "Listen, I applaud your enthusiasm. Wiring twenty grand to your account is no problem, but lets not get ahead of ourselves. For starters, you’re merchandise is crap."
"CRAP???" TMD exclaims.
"You pay bottom dollar to make the stuff," Willy retorts. "Inferior products, made with inferior materials. We both know your ‘TMD Brand’ Toilet Paper is made from recycled Chinese newspapers… and don’t even get me started on the Tic Tacs you pass off as ‘TMD Brand’ Birth Control Pills."
Thinking on Willy’s words, The Masked Dollar can only agree, albeit with great disappointment. "This is all true, but what the public doesn’t know, won’t hurt them."
A small chuckle can be heard on the other end of the line. "Oh, the toilet paper will hurt them eventually… what with the rectal paper cuts and all… trust me… I know."
"Yeah… I probably should have warned you about that," TMD says apologetically, "I’ve been meaning to upgrade to American newspaper."
Both men find the humor in the conversation’s turn, but the laughter soon fades as they remember the point of all this chatter.
"But honestly, Ji… I mean… Masked Dollar…" Willy catches himself before using TMD’s real name, "Do you think people are really going to put money down to enter a prize giveaway contest, based on chance that you might actually win the rumble match? I mean, sure, society has turned everyone into brand name whores, but most folks still have some sense of financial security. I just don’t want to see this all blow up in your face."
"How could this possibly blow up in my face, Willy?" Once again, frustration and anger rear their ugly faces as The Masked Dollar continues to speak. "People will jump at the chance of winning an official, ‘TMD Brand’ Prize Pack… especially a prize pack filled with every ‘TMD Brand’ product imaginable. People see the word ‘prize’ and they’re all over it like cake at a fat camp."
The Masked Dollar stops and giggles at his own pun. Oh, how TMD loves puns. However, as he sits there laughing, something clicks in the back of his head.
"Wait a minute…" TMD stammers, "I get it… you don’t think I can pull this off, do you?"
"I didn’t say tha…" Willy tries to respond, but it quickly cut off by TMD.
"I’m one of twenty-five men in this match. Sure, the odds are against me, but they’re against twenty-four other guys all the same," TMD snaps, "All I have to do is bide my time, and make the best of every opportunity that comes around. There’s a guy hanging on to the ropes for dear life… I eliminate him. There are two guys duking it out near the ropes… I push them both over. It comes down to me and two other guys… I let them do the dirty work, and then toss that last son-of-a-bitch over the rope for the win. It’s a simple and effective game plan that has been a proven success in the past. And when it works for me, then everything I’ve ever dreamed of will come to fruition."
"But… what if it doesn’t?" Willy retorts, bursting TMD’s fragile, little bubble. "What then? You spend all this extra money on producing merchandise that will only be given away if you win. You think people are willing to take that risk? And even if you do win, they ticket holders would still have the odds against them with all the tickets you want to give away. For the average consumer, that’s a lot of risk taking with the odds stacked so unfavorably against them." Willy gets nothing but silence as a reply, forcing him to further justify his opinions on the matter. "And if you don’t win… who is going to buy merchandise from the guy that didn’t win? People only like winners, and in a situation like this, there are going to be a lot of guys gunning to be number one."
"So, what you’re saying is, I’m a loser?" TMD responds, sounding rather hurt by Willy’s lack of faith. "Considering I’m 2-0 since joining DREAM, I’d say that constitutes me as being a winner… … … … … P.S: This is where you agree with me!"
"First off…" Willy barks, defending his position, "Not once did I ever call you a loser. And secondly, those two men that you beat… Castor Strong, and Jimmy Riley… who are they? DREAM’s top dogs? The two biggest up-and-coming stars in the industry? No… they were, and continue to be, nobodies. Now, if you consider those two matches as career defining, then I’m sorry, but you’re sorely mistaken. Hell, I could have beaten them, and I’m drunk almost every waking moment of my life!"
"Yeah, tell me about it," TMD jests, "I hear the alcohol talking to me right now. You need to lay off the sauce a bit, so you can quit saying stupid things to me on the phone."
"You think I’m the one that sounds drunk?" Willy shouts into the receiver, nearly deafening TMD’s right ear, "Do you have any idea about the competition you’re going to be facing in this match? For example… Mike Polowy…"
"The guy is a former Women’s Champion," The Masked Dollar snickers. "If that’s his greatest accolade, then he should be more worried about proving he doesn’t have a vagina than winning his matches. Speaking of which, the only reason he won his match at Scrambled Dreams is because of some silly re-enactment of this ‘French Screw Job’ I’ve been hearing about lately."
"Also speaking of which… what about Talon?" Willy’s question has merit. "The guy is a freaking legend in the wrestling industry. A hero to the masses… you think with the fans eating out of his hands, the company won’t be backing him?"
The Masked Dollar thinks on this for a moment, but with a smile, he shakes his head no. "Lately, he’s been more focused on scoring chicks than scoring pin falls."
Willy continues down the list of names participating in the mini-rumble, stopping on an all-too-familiar name. "What about Doozer?"
"More like Snoozer!" quips TMD.
"Psymon?" Willy questions.
"Simon who?" TMD replies, actually sounding confused.
"Psymon is his name… his whole name!" Willy says with a sigh.
"OHHH…" The Masked Dollar exclaims, finally putting a face to the name. "That guy is one of the most bizarre people I’ve ever seen. But again, I think he’s too concerned with death and torture to really be a threat. I mean, I’ve never really heard him talk about anything that actually had to do with anything. Got anymore names to throw at me?"
"Chris Bladez?" Willy keeps going with the list of possible, future DREAM Champions.
"Anyone that has to put a ‘Z’ at the end of their name is just compensating for their lack of toughness," TMD rationalizes, shrugging off the superstar’s talent. "He’s probably an even bigger pussy than the one Mike Polowy has hidden in his wrestling trunks. And while we’re on the topic of names with Z’s…" The Masked Dollar thinks back to this past week’s Slaughter, and what transpired backstage in the vendor’s area. "You don’t even have to bring up that little puke, Chris Jamez. The whole world saw me kick his ass backstage last week, so I doubt anyone will be taking him seriously for a while."
A long, drawn out sigh fills TMD’s ear as Willy has become tired of hearing about the incident, considering The Masked Dollar has brought it up in every conversation the two have had since Wednesday. "What about Ozric Mortimer? The dude is a monster!"
"Pfffft…" is TMD’s lackadaisical reply. "Sure, he’s a monster alright… but, he’s a monster in clown makeup. I doubt he’ll even show up for the rumble match… probably has to work a gig at some kids birthday party that night."
"Jesus… you’ve got something to say about everyone, don’t you?" Willy mumbles in annoyance. "Well, what about Adrien Cochrane, B.R. Ellis, Bishop Steele, Casey Pierro-Zabotel, Castor Strong, Charlie Blackwell, Clarence Williams, Dark, Locke Helms, Jared Borchard, Jimmy Riley, Johnny Legend, Klash, Michael Byrd, Muru, Sabin Richards, and Terry Spruhen?"
TMD raises an eyebrow underneath his mask as he processes all the names coming from the earpiece. "Castor Strong, Jimmy Riley, who, who, who, who, who, who, who, who, who, who, who, who, who, who, and who?"
"Come on man, you gotta be taking all these guys seriously," Willy begs of The Masked Dollar, "From curtain jerkers to main eventers… all these guys are going to be hungry for the big win, and you shouldn’t be counting any of them out, no matter who they are, and no matter how good you think you are."
"What’s to take serious about them… seriously?" TMD demands to know, obviously not as concerned as his financial counterpart. "The fact remains that I’m undefeated in DREAM. How many of those chumps can say that? And lets not forget, I’m pretty sure I’m the only one in this match that has a lick of marketability. You think the big wigs at the DREAM head office are going to consider putting their top prize around the waist of one of those undeserving fools?"
"FINE…" Willy shouts as he has finally had enough, "you think you know everything, then go ahead and do this ‘prize giveaway campaign’. But don’t come crying to me when you find yourself flat broke."
"I highly doubt I’m going to be walking out of Slaughter declaring bankrupt… wait a second… did you say ‘no matter how good I THINK I am?" Just as it did earlier, TMD’s left eye begins to twitch as the anger builds up within him. "That’s it, isn’t it? You really don’t think I can win, do you? You don’t think I have what it takes to be the most dominant champion in the history of the DREAM Wrestling Federation?
Another sigh from the other end of the line. "I didn’t say th…"
"You know what Willy? Just wire me the damn money and I’ll take care of the rest. I don’t need this kind of downer talk before the biggest match of my career." The Masked Dollar raises his phone into the air and is about to send it flying across the room. However, he stops himself before he does any damage to his hotel room, and brings the phone back to his ear. "Willy, as a financial advisor, you are a complete genius. But when it comes to career advice and moral support… you’re a total fuck up!"
With that, The Masked Dollar slams the phone down so hard that it shatters the phone’s base. "Great… just great. I wonder how much that is going to cost me?"
With the DREAM mini-rumble only a few days away, the last thing The Masked Dollar needs floating around in his brain is doubt. Luckily for him, he has his own ‘TMD Brand’ Relaxant For Nervousness and Anxiousness. Of course, the relaxant is one of his biggest flops, as it causes explosive diarrhea.
This Wednesday, The Masked Dollar will step into the ring with twenty-four other men, and in the end, only one will survive. And ever the optimist, The Masked Dollar has already started drawing up plans for a celebration fit for a champion.
So please remember… pick up your ballot and sign it. You don’t want to have to watch someone holds their YOUR prize while they stand beside The Masked Dollar and his.
