The FIERCE and DEADLY Coldsnakes have called this meeting to order...

[Quillz]

***The scene opens backstage at the PWA Arena in the generator room lair of the FIERCE and DEADLY Coldsnakes. Junior (King) Cobra and Giant Anaconda (II) are sitting dejectedly on their couch. Junior Cobra lounges, spread-legged with an open bag of Cheetos resting on his bare stomach. Next to him, Giant Anaconda sits with slumped shoulders and a half-full 7-11 grape Slurpee in one ham-sized mitt. Across from them, sitting on a ratty-looking brown futon, are PWA ‘journeymen’ Wyatt ‘5-O’Clock’ Sharpe and ‘Steam Engine’ Lance Steamer. They are shifting uncomfortably in awkward silence, each holding a solo-cup of room-temperature RC Cola. The room is silent except for Giant Anaconda’s heavy breathing. Sharpe clears his throat.***

SHARPE: “Um... what did you guys invite us here for agai...”

COBRA: “I NOW CALL THE MEETING OF THE PWA JOBBERS TO ORDER!”

***Sharpe and Steamer glance at each other uncomfortably.***

STEAMER: “Wait, what now?”

***Cobra lurches depressingly to his feet and holds one gloved mitt high in the air.***

COBRA: “Let the meeting records show that I, Junior Cobra, Captain and commander of the Coldsnake legion, solemnly acknowledge our new status as lowly ham-n’-eggers in the heavenly hierarchy of the PWA roster.”

SHARPE: “Hey hang on now...”

COBRA: “With our defeat and unceremonious elimination from the PWA Beat the Clock Tag Team Tournament, the once FIERCE and DEADLY Coldsnakes have been reduced to associating with the lowest of the low... our new brethren, the jobber.”

***The door to the boiler room opens and ‘Mauler’ Mitch Garrison pokes his head in.***

GARRISON: “Hey there’s a sign in the hall that says chips and soda are being served down here. Mind if I...”

***Sharpe and Steamer make a throat slashing gesture at Garrison and shake their heads, a look of growing panic in their eyes. Garrison takes one glance at the disheveled lair at the bottom of the staircase and backs slowly out the door, closing and locking it behind him. Cobra dramatically gestures toward the door.***

COBRA: “Et tu Garrison? Even our slimy, lowlife brethren abandon us in our hour of need! Oh, how have the Coldsnakes fallen so low? Once, we were on the tippy top of the highest mountain! We were literally dripping in grade-A, premium, 24 karat, Derrick Arzon. We were CHAMPIONS and quality henchmen to the stars! But now... look at us. Slumming in the catacombs of despair with the lowly nine-to-fivers.”

SHARPE: “Now uh... hang on just a minute. Me and Lance... we aren’t ‘jobbers’. We’re decorated veterans. We’ve got aspirations here in PWA.”

***Sharpe slaps Steamer on the shoulder. Steamer nods, but has a troubled look in his eyes.***

SHARPE: “And you guys... I mean... you guys shouldn’t feel down. You’re just in a slump! I mean, you won some matches in that tournament. Ya just... ya know... need a fresh outlook.”

***Cobra sniffs and wipes his gloved hand across his face, leaving a runner of cheese powder and snot streaming diagonally across his mask.***

COBRA: “You... you guys really think so?”

STEAMER: “Oh you bet. Trust us. Wyatt and I are experts at reframing catastrophic losses into moral victories. You guys just need to stay positive.”

***Cobra pats Anaconda on the head with his snot covered glove.***

COBRA: “You hear that big guy? We just need to stay positive! These guys are smart! We just gotta change our outlook! Reframe failure as success! With that mindset, the Coldsnakes literally CAN’T lose!”

SHARPE: “Uh... yeah. Glad we could help. We’re just gonna... leave now okay?”

COBRA: “Wait, you guys can’t go yet! You’re our new life coaches! We need your help to stay positive! Teach us your shamanistic ways! Show us that abject and complete failure is actually amazing success!”

STEAMER: “Uh... no... that’s not what we meant. I mean, we WANT to win matches. We just mean you can’t give up when life...”

COBRA: “We can pay you!”

***Steamer and Sharpe look at each other. Cobra dives under his couch and drags out a steel Halliburton briefcase. He punches in a combination on the lock and the case swings open, revealing dozens of stacks of neatly sorted and banded 20 dollar bills. Steamer and Sharpe drop to their knees and examine the obscene amount of money in the case.***

SHARPE: “How did you... I mean... how much money is in here?”

COBRA: “No idea. We aren’t so good at counting. We just collect our Andrew Jackson’s and put em in cases like this. Can never have too many ya know? Like Pogs.”

SHARPE: “Cases... like these?”

COBRA: “Ya, ya know. Can’t just leave that kind of stuff lying around. It’s untidy.”

***Cobra gestures to a nearby closet that is jammed full of various suitcases.***

SHARPE: “You... have... suitcases... full of money... just stuffed in a closet?”

COBRA: “I mean, we want to eventually save up for a trophy case or something to display em on but for now, ya know, we make due.”

STEAMER: “Trophy cases? Why would you... wait, couldn’t you just spend some of the money to get all the cases you want?”

COBRA: “...spend?”

***Steamer and Sharpe exchange a look.***

SHARPE: “You know what? Lance and I think that maybe we CAN help you guys after all.”

COBRA: “Aw yeah! Now that’s what I’m talking about! The Coldsnakes are back in business baby. And with the help of our new image consultants and life coaches, we will be back on top of the world again in no time!”

***Cobra high fives Sharpe, leaving a sticky stream of cheese snot all over his hand and forearm and upper arm and shoulder and face.***

SHARPE: “My God... how do you have this much mucus in you...”

***Steamer grabs a roll of paper towels and begins dabbing at Sharpe’s sticky face as the scene fades to black.***