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Hello.

I am Wevv Mang, former owner, and current holder of the 2006 Owner’s Cup. I believe you all have heard of me.

I would like to take this time to inform my so-called “competitors” that I fully intend to repeat my stellar performance last year, and once again emerge from this contest as the winner of the 2007 Owner’s Cup.

Now, due to time limits, I am unable to go into painful, degrading details about each of you, so I will simply show you all en masse why you will not win.

The camera fades out, and then fades in. The scene is a dark and dingy crowded barroom. Burly and mean looking cowboys are hunched over their drinks, and glower at one another. In the background, some twangy music can be heard. On the alls hang Western paraphernalia. The camera zooms in to two out of place people. They stand out due to the fine cut of their designer clothing. A man and a woman. The bar is nervously looking around the bar, while the woman drains a shot glass. She slams the glass on the bar and lets out a loud “YEE-HAW!” with a British accent.

David Beckham: Vickie, darling, I think we’re in the wrong place.

Victoria Beckham: DAAA-VID! Relax! This is America! It’s just different! You’ve GOT to try and fit in! Have another drink! Bartender! Two more!

David: I think 14 is enough –

The bartender places two shots in front of the couple. He smiles at them, and seems glad that they’re here. He quickly eyes the rest of his patrons, and grins nervously again.

Victoria downs the two shots, lets out a very unladylike belch, and then staggers to her feet. She then grabs David.

Vicki: You’ve…hic…you’ve got to dance on the bar. And take your top off. Tee-hee! Oh, this will get us some press! Here, help me.

David: Honestly love, I don't think you should be doing this. Let’s get out of here!

Vicki: Don't be such a fuddy-duddy!

Victoria has climbed on the bar and started to dance. The rest of the patrons hoot out some catcalls.

David hears one voice that makes him stiffen up.

Man: OOOH! Look at the cute guy! He’s got a great tushy!

David: Excuse me, did you say “he?”

Victoria has started to sing.

Victoria: If you wanna be my lover! You gotta get with my friends!

Man: I’d like to get with your friend! He’s cute!

David tries to grab Victoria, but she dances away. She starts to unbutton her blouse. David frantically leans over and yells to the bartender.

David: Excuse me! What’s the name of this place?

Bartender: Damn that Ang Lee! I told them! What happens on the mountain, STAYS on the mountain, but no! Had to make a damn movie and ruin a whole genre! Huh? Oh, you’re in Coyote Fugly.

The crowd has become more rowdy. A man holds up a fistful of bills.

Man: HELLLOOO! SAILOR! I GOT 14 DOLLARS FOR A LAPDANCE! OVER HERE CUTEY!

David: You mean Coyote Ugly?

Bartender: No sir, Coyote FUGLY! It’s the newest gay bar in town! You better get your girlfriend down from there. Once these guys find out she’s a woman, there could be trouble! CLETUS! GET DOWN FROM THERE! HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU, THIS IS NOT AMATUER NIGHT! THAT’S SATURDAY! PUT THOSE CHAPS BACK ON RIGHT NOW!

The bartender ducks as something flies by his head. The music has changed to a thumping techno beat, and “Cotton Eye Joe” starts to play. All the men start to dance with one another suggestively.

Bartender: Pudding! This is bad! You two better high tail it out of here! This going to get messy and I don't want another Pacman incident!

Fade out.

That should do it.

Now, I understand that we’re going to have a battle royal, and that I will enter #14. While I am not so naïve as to believe that I will personally be able to throw you out of the ring, since you will probably eliminate yourself before I arrive, and I fully expect more than one of you to eliminate yourselves when your number is called, rather than face me.

I just wanted to let each and every one of you know what you face, so that you will know.

I am Wevv Mang, and I am going to win.

Now that you are through soiling yourselves, go clean up, and at least try to make this look like a challenge will you?

Good night.

Losers.

Word Count: 772

*August 7, 2007

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