(we find ourselves in a spacious cabin in a commercial 747 jet. The massive seats and wide, spacious rows are dead giveaways that we are obviously in the first-class section of the airplane. The cameraman does a good job of getting shots of almost every passenger in the cabin. The cabin is rather empty, as the early afternoon Delta connection flight from Cincinatti isn't necessarily a popular one. Here and there, we see a few business men dressed in dark suits, typing away on laptops or chatting in hushed tones on their expensive cellular phones. As the camera moves closer to the front of the first-class section, we see a few younger passengers strewn about, either napping or watching their personal television screens with unwavering attention. A man dressed in a pastel-colored sweater and slacks motions for the flight attendant to come over and requests a pillow in a voice that's almost too quiet to hear. All in all, it seems to be a relaxed affair and the only sound that really fills the scene is the faint hum of the cabin's air conditioning system. The camera finally stops in the first row of the first-class section, where in the two left-most seats, two passengers are chatting pleasantly. The man closest to the window appears to be in his early twenties and most likely a college student, as evidenced by his t-shirt with the Alpha Tau Omega Greek lettering written across it. In the aisle seat directly adjacent to the college student is none other than The Danbury Dreamboat, himself...Chris Bennett. Bennett is wearing a black 'Nike soccer' T-shirt and white track pants, with a pair of gray Air Max 95's. He is also, of course, sporting his trademark Dreamboat Edition Ray-Ban aviators, which hits stores early this fall, but are already available on Bennett's online store. As the sound begins to come into the feed, we can hear Bennett telling his new friend one of his famous stories.)
C.B.: ...And when I got back, I had to deal with this damn annoying rash for an entire week, which meant no drinking, no partying, and obviously, no sex. So, as you can imagine, Dan, it was right at that point that I promised that I'd never go back to Tijuana again. Once was enough.
Dan: That's some story, Mr. Bennett.
C.B.: Please, we're all friends here...call me Chris.
Dan: It sounds like you live quite the crazy life.
C.B.: It's all right, I suppose. Sure, I've slept with more supermodels than I can count and I've been to some of the craziest parties imaginable, but...
(At this, Bennett gets a faraway look in his eyes and dazes off a bit.)
Dan: But what?
C.B. (snaps back out of his daze): What?....oh, sorry, I really had nothing to add to that. I guess I do know have a good time when the situation warrants it.
Dan: I'm sure you do, you went to Florida, right?
C.B.: That I did...four years of Florida sun, Florida women, Florida football, it was the life my friend. And you know what, everything I have I'd give it up just do it all over again. Those were the days.
Dan: U. of F. parties are legendary.
C.B.: What about you, though, man? Colorado College isn't the same party ass atmosphere that guys like you and me love so much? You have to be having a good time, being in a frat and all.
Dan: It's not all it's cracked up to be. Our parties are complete sausage fests and the only girls that ever show up are the foreign exchange students...and they usually don't speak English.
C.B.: Nothing wrong with that...the only English words a girl needs to know are those three magic words I say to her in the morning, "see ya later."
(they both have a good, spirited laugh at this.)
Dan: I just wish that just once, we ATO boys could outclass those Sigma assholes and throw the party of the semester. You know, the kind that people will talk about well beyond graduation.
C.B.: Colorado College is right in Colorado Springs, right?
Dan: Yeah.
C.B.: You might be in luck, my friend. The next GoldPush is in Colorado Springs, I'm gonna be in town for about a week and a half or so. I just might be able to help you out.
Dan: I don't follow.
C.B.: Well, you've got a frat house, right?
Dan: Sure we do, it's right on the main street.
C.B.: And all your boys are gonna be around tonight with nothing to do, besides another Friday night of playing Mario Kart and watching late-night Cinemax porn, right?
Dan: Right.
C.B.: So all you need are girls and a ton of booze. I'll take care of both, so you guys are in luck. I'll lay down like a couple of grand for the alcohol when we land, because, and correct me if things have changed in the past seven years, but it's not a college party when the kegs are filled with Sprite.
Dan: And what about the girls?
C.B.: We'll take of that right now. Take notes, because you're about to see something that not even Rico Suave could pull off.
(Bennett reaches up and pushes a button above their seats, signaling for the flight attendant's attention. A few seconds later, a curvaceous brunette flight attendant stops at the two guys' seats and returns Bennett's smile when he looks up at her. On a scale of 1 to 10, she's a 9 by Dreamboat standards. Ordinarily, he wouldn't even consider anything less than a 10, but this is his charity for the day. Bennett's eyes lower to read her name tag, which tells us that her name is Stacy. He smiles again and looks right back up at her pretty face.)
Stacy: Can I help you gentlemen with something?
C.B.: Why, hello there, lips-legs-breasts-and ass.
Stacy (looking extremely offended): Excuse me?!
C.B.: I'm sorry, my friend here asked me to say that to you, just to gauge your reaction. He turns twenty-one today and he doesn't have much experience talking to women who have blossomed beyond puberty. Stacy...that's a lovely name, by the way.
Stacy: Thanks.
C.B.: My name's Armando and this strapping young lad next to me is Daniel.
Stacy: It's nice to meet you guys. Armando, huh? That's an interesting name, where are you from?
C.B.: Ecuador...I'm Armando Salvador, son of Diego Salvador...the biggest oil baron in all of South America. Well, what am I thinking, you've probably heard of us and I hate babbling about the oil extraction industry, a lucrative one to say the least. You're probably wondering why someone of my wealth and social stature is on this flight right now. To answer your question, I go to college out here. And, to answer the second question that's probably on your mind, no I do not currently have a girlfriend.
Stacy: Good for you...Colorado Springs is a long way from Ecuador, huh?
C.B. (looking her up and down with a suggestive grin): It is, but I've been fortunate enough to find a lot in the States that have made me feel right at home.
Stacy (winks): You're quite the romancer, Armando, but when I asked if I could do anything for you, I was thinking more along the lines of a drink...or maybe a warm towel.
(At this, Dan frowns, thinking all is lost, but Bennett settles his concerns with a knowing nod, completely unbenownst to their lovely flight attendant.)
C.B.: Yes, I'll have a Seven and Seven, no ice. My friend here will have the finest single-malt Scotch that you've got back there. As you can probably imagine, he's the classier of the two of us.
Stacy: Sure.
(before she can leave, Bennett motions for her to come a little closer, which she does. He moves close and whispers in a quieter tone, audible to Dan, but quietly enough for Stacy to think that he intends his words to be just for her.)
C.B.: Like I said before, today's Dan-o's 21st and it's a pretty big day for me as well, because this guy, down at school, is one of the biggest partiers I've ever come across. In fact, sometimes, I feel kind of like a loser, because I just can't keep up with the guy. So this is what I need you to do for me, in addition to the Seven and Seven. If you could and it's no trouble to you, take it back to coach class and to all of your flight attendant girlfriends that tonight, two high rollers in first class are throwing a pool party at the A.T.O. house down at Colorado College. It's gonna be one for the ages, babe...we're going for a real rap video kind of vibe. I'm talking champagne, hundred dollar bills getting thrown around, celebrities, it's gonna be the tits. The music's not gonna stop until the break of dawn and the last person to leave wins a Mustang. That's how Armando Salvador does things and you're in the fortunate position of being able to find out firsthand. And you know what's especially money?...you girls are the guests of honor. Just make sure to dress for success, as I'm sure you can.
Stacy: That sounds like fun. I'll go get you that drink.
(she gets up and walks briskly to the back to get the drinks. Dan looks at Bennett dubiously.)
Dan: I don't think it's gonna happen, Chris.
C.B.: Just wait and see.
Dan: And what was all that "lips-legs-breasts and ass" talk? You made it seem like I was some kind of an asshole.
C.B.: Dude, girls love guys that are pricks. Believe me, I should know...I'm an asshole and I get tons of women. If I'm wrong, and we're not partying with the hottest women of Delta Airlines tonight at your frat house, I will give you fifty thousand dollars and have no problem doing it. I'm not even kidding, I've got my checkbook in my backpack. That's how confident I am, my man. And you know what the best part is? Once we get all these honeys down to the party, everyone in a skirt at your college is going to be dying to get let in, so this is what you do. Get a guy at the door and have him turn away half the people that show up. All those unlucky bastards that don't get let in will be pissed, but I can guarantee you that the next time Alpha Tau Omega has a party, they'll be coming in droves. Exclusivity is a crazy notion, Dan-o.
(Just then, Stacy returns with the two beverages. She sets the Scotch on Dan's tray table and carefully places Bennett's cocktail in front of him, before winking at the Dreamboat and walking back to the coach section.)
Dan: No go, huh? Looks like someone just paid my tuition.
C.B.: Don't go telling your parents to cancel the check just yet.
(he lifts his glass and a slip of paper is lying where it stood. Bennett lifts it up triumphantly and holds it before his new friend.)
Dan: Is that her number?
C.B.: It ain't a map of the Vatican.
Dan: I must say, I'm impressed.
C.B.: Don't be...you haven't seen anything yet. (he raises his glass) To the inaugural Salvador Birthday Bash.
(Dan raises his own glass to meet Bennett's and the two clink, before taking long sips of their beverages. The camera fades to black as Colorado Springs' two finest eligble bachelors talk about how great life is when you're flying with the Danbury Dreamboat.)
(the scene opens in the main terminal of Colorado Springs Airport. There is an unusual amount of hustle and bustle in the terminal, probably resulting from the nation's WPW fans flying in for the massive GoldPush event. Through the gigantic bay-styled windows we can see planes taking off and landing, after long trips from every corner of the country. Colorado Springs Airport is the second-busiest airport in Colorado, but on this particular mid-summer afternoon, it is playing host to a special guest. After a few seconds of us watching the day's fliers scurrying to and fro, with bags and children in tow, an announcer's voice blares over the terminal's p.a. system.)
Announcer: Ladies and gentlemen, Delta Airlines flight 702 from Cincinatti/Northern Kentucky has just landed and the passengers are currently deboarding the plane. Once again, Delta flight 702 has just landed, thank you.
(the audio feed ends with an annoying chirp and a few seconds later, a swarm of people enter the terminal from one of the runway gates. They scatter about the terminal, but the camera focuses on one man, "The Danbury Dreamboat" Chris Bennett. Bennett is wearing a backpack and he seems to be oblivious to the chaos of the airport, choosing instead to devote all of his attention to the music coming through his iPod's headphones. He gives a blonde college-aged kid a high-five and utters a few words to him, before turning and heading for the exit. Just then, WPW interviewer rushes to meet Bennett. When The Dreamboat sees Scooter, he frowns, having no problem showing his frustration at having to do an interview. He looks at Scooter, then to the cameraman, and then back to Scooter, before removing his headphones and speaking.)
C.B.: Goddamnit, Scooter, how long have I been around the WPW?
Scooter: I don't know, two years if I had to guess...
C.B.: And in those two years, how many times have I been interviewed by WPW staff?
Scooter: I'm gonna go out on a limb and make an educated guess. Zero?
C.B.: That's right, Scooter...zero. I hate doing WPW interviews and you want to know why?
Scooter: Because you're too clever and/or good-looking to sink to that level?
C.B.: No, but I appreciate the flattery. However, the real reason that I don't do WPW interviews is that everyone does WPW interviews. I turn on my television every morning and I see your that goofy grin of yours and you're always in some new fucking place in the country, interviewing one of this company's clowns. So I figure, I'm better than that and I usually do my own promos or hire my own personal interviewers.
Scooter: How about just this once? This is your first match back on the scene and it'd only be fitting if your first WPW interview back was a 'Scooter Special.'
(Bennett notices a well-dressed man in a black suit, holding a placard with "DREAMBOAT" written on it. Bennett makes eye contact with him and the man leads them out to their limo.)
C.B.: Just this once...I'll do your interview. But make sure to keep the questions coming. I didn't have 'hanging out with Scooter' in my plans for the day.
(the automatic doors slide open and the driver takes Bennett's backpack, tossing it into the open trunk. He then opens the door, with Scooter climbing in first. Before Bennett can follow him into the back of the limo, a pair of stewardesses stop behind the Dreamboat and get his attention.)
Stacy: So, Armando, see you tonight, right?
C.B.: Not if I see you first.
(she smiles seductively and tiptoes up close to Bennett, before leaning in and French kissing him for a few seconds. She then licks her lips, winks at him, and walks away with her friend. Bennett stands there, dazed for a bit, before a smile crosses his face and he steps into the limo. The driver closes the door behind him and climbs into the driver's seat, easing the limousine onto the road that leads out of the airport. The camera settles in and focuses on Bennett and Scooter sitting across from each other in the back of the limo.)
Scooter: I couldn't help but notice that hottie you just made out with. What's happening tonight?
C.B.: There's gonna be a little party tonight, Scooter. A birthday celebration for a friend of mine that I met on the plane.
Scooter: Can I come?
C.B.: You most certainly may not. But don't feel too bad, I hear SlayBack and Mike Sensation are having a little soiree at Chuck E. Cheese's and it's gonna be all the pizza you can eat. I'm sure they'd love to have you along.
(Scooter looks genuinely excited about this completely fabricated Ego-Driven party.)
C.B.: All right, we're not here to play grabby ass. You've got questions and I have answers. Ask away.
Scooter: Okay, the first thing I wanted to ask...and this might be a bit premature, what do you think of Mike Sensation?
C.B.: Why?
Scooter: Well, if you win the gauntlet, it's probable that you'll be facing him at HeatWave.
C.B.: Fair enough...he's a cock. If I see him at Heatwave, I'm gonna wipe that perma-smile right off his miserable face. Next question.
Scooter: Great, what we'll do is run through each of your opponents for your matchup at GoldPush. First, we have Kenny Carter, a man who seems to lack experience, but is as excited as any to prove his worth in the ring. Do you think you can handle his high-octane aerial assault at GoldPush?
C.B.: Can I handle it? I won't need to handle it. Kenny Carter's going to find out real quick that the higher you fly, the farther you fall. And all those hopes and dreams that he's staking upon this match are going to be flattened just like he'll be when he drops down from the stratosphere and lands face-first on the mat. I'm no high-flyer and I'd never pretend to be. I've been at this long enough that high-risk styles of wrestling usually reap little reward, if any. I've seen more than a few 5 foot 8 pieces of shit scurry up to the turnbuckle as if they've got feathers and as soon as they take flight and I'm no longer where they thought I'd be, shit turns ugly for them in a New York minute. I'm going to laugh my ass of when the kid's smile disappears and is replaced by a frown. But I'll be laughing even harder after I've picked his sorry ass up off the mat and lock him up in the Game Theory, making him squeal like the little runt that he is. It'll be only a few seconds, but it'll feel like an eternity for him, because that little voice in his head that should be telling him to get out when he has the chance will be completely drowned out by the immense, unbearable pain that I'll be putting him through. I'm not gonna show him mercy just because he's small and looks like he just got a Cub Scout badge. If anything, it'll make me more inclined to give him the beating of his life, because everything that happens to him, every wound inflicted on him and every bone broken, it'll all be his fault. He can blame it on me all he wants, but the real culprit is whichever lunatic it was that gave Kenny "Air Max" Carter the ridiculous idea that he could hack it in a wrestling ring, much less one that is occupied by someone as good as me.
Scooter: Ouch, but enough of Carter. One guy who had a lot of hype coming into this match was Ozzy Justice, who made it a point to take shots at your sexual orientation. Do you think that you'll be distracted by that at all when you show up to GoldPush?
C.B.: I won't be distracted by that because I haven't paid any attention to that kid the entire time leading up to the match. I don't know a thing about him, but as he said, he knows a good deal about me. He knows that I've been around the block more than a few times and he knows that I've got "great in-ring talents." That should help him, but it probably won't. He, like so many people before him, is going to go into GoldPush thinking that he's the exception to the rule...that he's going to be the guy that sinks The Danbury Dreamboat. That's great for the confidence, but if a guy like that underestimates me, it usually ends in disaster. If he values his health at all, he would head down to Blockbuster Video and take out the latest Best of Bennett highlight video and see what I'm all about with his own two beady little Canadian eyes. Only then would he realize that he'll never be the exception. He'll be just another example of how good men get hurt, simply by thinking they've got Chris Bennett all figured out. He says that I'll be looking like Freddy Krueger when he's done with me. That's pretty funny, but he's got it all wrong. I'm going to be looking like Freddy Krueger to him as soon as that bell rings, because when he looks at me and my million dollar smile has completely faded, he'll see standing before him his worst nightmare. Yes, Scooter, even worse than the Boogey-Man and the wraiths from Lord of the Rings. Because unlike those spookies, I'll be real, completely flesh and bone. And also unlike them, it'll take more than daddy and a flashlight to erase visions of my terror dancing through Ozzy's head. It's gonna take a steep hospital bill and about 50cc's of painkillers to forget about what I did to Justice. And by then, I'll be long gone and well on my way to a title shot. I can taste it already...Chris Bennett versus Mike Sensation, with Ozzy Justice as special guest towel-boy. It's going to be a night to remember and it's going to be brought to the world, courtesy of The Danbury Dreamboat.
Scooter: Then we have Jeff Hollywood, a man who made the jump from the silver screen to the squared circle. He seems to be pretty comfortable in the WPW already.
C.B.: I'm sure he does...there's a certain parallel that makes acting and professional wrestling quite similar. That parallel is the fact that both businesses are filled with premadonnas. In acting, you've got the guys that fall head over heels to be seen in front of the camera, both on and off the screen. Attention-seekers like that are a dime-a-dozen in the WPW and Jeff Hollywood is no different. I can almost guarantee you that he made the jump to this industry so as to stir up some public interest to recover from how terrible of an actor he is. He's probably thinking that if he can get the WPW fans to take kindly to him, they'll not only buy tickets to see him wrestle, but they'll also buy tickets to see his movies. Both of those two things are never going to happen. For as long as I'm employed by this great company, those poor, worthless, clock-punching fans are going to hate my guts, but they'll still shell out what little money they have to see me in action. They'll empty their bank accounts and drive their families to the brink of starvation, just to see what I'll do next...just so that they can say that they were there when Chris Bennett did whatever it was that he did. Is it worth it, Scooter? No, don't answer that. I don't care what you have to say. Of course it's worth it, because I'm the best pure talent that has ever graced not only this company, but this industry in general, with its presence. And I'm not going to horde that talent like anyone else would if they were in my shoes. I'm going to use it at GoldPush to give Jeff Hollywood the spark he needs to jump from the Sunday afternoon UPN matinee to the next big hollywood blockbuster. How am I going to do that, you ask? Well, let's just say that at GoldPush, I plan on unveiling my own little film project. It's going to be called "The Ballad of Jeffrey Hollywood" and it's going to detail the curtain drop that officially signals the end of Hollywood's career. Obviously, it'll be written, directed, and produced by none other than "The Danbury Dreamboat" himself, but just this once, for the first time, Jeff Hollywood will be the headlining the star. He'll be the protagonist in my little film project and when it's all said and done, even the harshest of critics will be lauding his performance as the plagued anti-hero, whose one shining moment of grace was the night he lost to the bad guy...the night the hero died.
Scooter: And if this match wasn't already intriguing enough, we've got a new woman that has been taking the WPW by storm. Why, just last week she hit me in the face. Can you believe that? Anyway, she seems to have you all figured out, but-
(before he can finish the sentence, he is abruptly interrupted by Chris Bennett.)
C.B.: You know, my issue with Rain isn't that she dresses like she lives in a motorcycle garage. Hell, it isn't even that she thinks that she can intimidate someone like "The Danbury Dreamboat" Chris Bennett. No, the real problem that plagues me whenever I see Rain's skanky ass on t.v. is that she's just so goddamn smug about it all. She really thinks, for some strange reason, that she's the odds on favorite to walk out of GoldPush the winner and I think she's actually surprised to see that the other five competitors in this match just don't quite agree with that. I can't really blame her though, because after all the pot she's smoked in the last month alone and all the embalming fluid she's chugged down at the graveyard, she probably can't even see straight, much less try to collect her bearings as to what will really be taking place on the night of GoldPush. Smokers are jokers, as my father always used to tell me. Now, of course, back in my college days, I dabbled in the reefer here and there. But the difference between Rain and me is that unlike her, I used marijuana, I never let marijuana use me. Finally, after I graduated from the University of Florida with 3.9 GPA and three varsity letters in football, I put the joint down altogether. Because I realized earlier than most that drunk, high, and stupid is no way to go through life. That's probably why I'm so damn successful today. Rain, on the other hand, never learned that lesson, or if she did, she was too high to be able to tell whether it was a coherent thought or not. That's why her only claims to fame are that she can shoot ping-pong balls out of her 'feminine region' and get an entire cucumber into her mouth without gagging. As soon as the referee gets things underway at GoldPush, the world will see what happens when you don't say no to drugs. Parents across the nation will be bringing their kids to World Arena just so little Jimmy the Stoner can look at Rain getting beaten from pillar to post and promise to himself that he'll never touch dope again. Hell, I might have it sponsored by D.A.R.E. and McGruff the "Say No to Drugs" dog, just so that even though I'm doing a terrible act of gratuitous violence by ripping Rain apart in the middle of that ring, at least I'll be doing my good deed for the day by doing my part towards a drug-free America. Next question, Scooter, I'm on a roll here.
Scooter: Well, I saved the best for last, because the one opponent that, in my opinion, will be your biggest competition is SlayBack. We've heard what he's been saying for the last two weeks and it all adds up to him just not respecting you. He even goes as far as to say that you're jealous of him. What are you out to prove to SlayBack at GoldPush?
C.B.: To be honest, Scooter, I'm not really planning on proving anything to anyone. If it happens, it won't be because I intended for it to. All I really care about is putting all five of those clowns through the worst punishment of their lives. But if they do learn a lesson about me along the way, it will be an added bonus. The one thing that I do want SlayBack to know right now is that through it all, with all the filth he's been spewing from that miserable mouth of his, I haven't taken him seriously a single goddamn time. He talks and talks, but all I hear is "blah, blah, blah, I'm in love with Mike Sensation, blah." I turn my television up, thinking I'm mishearing him or my t.v. is acting up and beneath all the white noise, SlayBack is actually saying something that could be somewhat coherent or hell, perhaps even eloquent. I had high hopes, so I called the cable guy to come take a look at my t.v. He came over, I popped on a tape of one of your promos, he took one long look at the 60 inch, he looked right at me and you know what he said? He said, "Mr. Bennett, your t.v.'s fine. This guy's just talking out of his ass. That's why you didn't hear him clearly." He was right and there I was, expecting more out of SlayBack than I should have been. So now, I'm going to lower my standards in regards to that douche bag by just a few levels, so that when he's being wheeled away by paramedics after it's all over, I won't be disappointed by how easy the whole ordeal was. I'll be realistic enough to go in to the match with the knowledge that SlayBack is just another kid who went into his dad's room while he was at work and tried on his dad's size 15 steel-toed boots, only to find out that they were too big for him. SlayBack will never, and I mean ever, be man enough to fill my shoes, because under the make-up and behind the pretty hookers that he hires to make himself look like a ladies' man, he's an insecure, outclassed, outwitted, and outmanned fart-knocker who's loud mouth has finally caught up with him in the worst of times. He'd probably hoped that when his luck finally ran out, he'd be in a casino or at the racetrack. That way, he could just cut his losses, save up some money, and try again later. No, if only he were so lucky...in this case, there is no later. There is no second time in the saddle. Once I've put him away for good, mark my words, it'll be for good. I'm not going to take it easy on the kid. I'm not going to stop swinging until I'm being pulled off of his corpse by Colorado Springs police, the SWAT team, Rambo, the FBI, the Ghostbusters, and the entire starting defense of the Denver Broncos. And by that time, there'll be nothing left to save of SlayBack. There'll be nothing but a beaten, bloody mass, whose face will be battered beyond recognition. So, I just hope that Mike Sensation knows that when he's fighting the tears on his way to collect SlayBack's corpse from the Colorado State coroner, he'd better have a stiff upper lip and maintain the clear presence of mind to think back to all those balmy autumn nights when he and SlayBack embraced as lovers and kissed deeply...because all he'll have to recognize his partner and lover by will be the dental records from that mouth that he knows so well. And you know what else, Scooter? I'm not even going to stop there. I'm going to really drive the point home that I'm more than a hop, skip, and a jump better than Slay. After another successful GoldPush has drawn to a close, I'm going to drive out to Reno, Nevada and shell out enough money in SlayBack's hometown to have a street named after him. It'll be the one with all the pawn shops where the city's gamblers sell everything they own just so they could have a chance to keep on rolling the dice. That way, everytime someone walks down SlayBack Boulevard, they'll see the street sign and think of the man as the greatest example of a man who, like their possessions, was bought and sold so a man could keep on playing. But unlike them, Slay's transaction won't be at a pawn shop in Reno. His ass is going to be pawned off live at the World Arena in Colorado Springs by the best in the business, "The Danbury Dreamboat" Chris Bennett.
(the limousine comes to a stop on the shoulder of a busy Colorado Springs highway. Bennett opens the door and pushes Scooter out, before slamming it. He lowers the window to hear the WPW interviewer's plea to be let back into the car.)
Scooter: Why are you leaving me here?!
C.B.: Because this interview is over.
Scooter: But how am I going to get back to the hotel?
(Bennett throws a few crumpled hundred dollar bills out the window, which Scooter scrambles to scoop up.)
C.B.: Take the change and use it to get front row seats for GoldPush. It's going to be a spectacle that you won't want to miss. Trust me.
(he bursts into uncontrollable laughter and the limousine peels off down the highway. The camera fades to black as Scooter stands at the side of the highway, trying to piece together what he did wrong.)
