Down the wide corridor of the Phillip Morris Corporation Tokyo Headquarters, briskly walks a man carrying a thick manila folder. His snakeskins boots echo with each step. The older gentleman, aging gray hair from a slight noticeable blonde, walks like he owns the place because... he does in fact own the place. The janitors and mid-level executives stop as he passes to acknowledge the man, but the gesture is not returned in favor. He is too busy and does not know who any of these people are. He figures his name is on their paycheck but also knows if they were to leave today his business will be fine and they will be replaced within the week. Phillip Morris Sr, father of Marlboro Man and Owner/CEO of the Phillip Morris brand, stops in front of a closed door that looks much like the rest. The only difference being their lies a plaque to the left of this door that reads Phillip Morris Jr, Head of Acquisitions.
Phillip Morris Sr licks the padded portion of his thumb and shines the title first and then his sons name next before opening the office door.
When Phillip Morris Sr walks into a room of one of his buildings he expects ticker symbols scrolling across the bottom of a muted television screen while his employee losses himself through the ticker-tatter of the keyboard. This time he sees not a ticket symbol scrolling across the screen but wrestling highlights from the week prior. And no ticker-tatter keyboard, but a young man, his son, sitting forward in his chair in shock.
Marlboro Man doesn't hear or notice his father enter his office. Phillip Morris Sr shakes his head as he walks to his sons desk and slaps the folder onto his desk creating a loud thud.
Phillip Morris Sr: I heard it boy and didn't believe. I said to myself there's no way in hell my son is dumb enough to get himself mixed up in some kind of shit like this.
Marlboro Man opens his eyes when he hears that southern drawl and sees his daddy with his firm look. He doesn't respond.
PMS: Say something boy. What kind of madness has got you tangled up with grown men in their underwear?
Marlboro Man: It ain't like that pop. This is business.
Phillip Morris Sr. looks at the same screen his son, watching his old friend Rupert Mudcock thrown down a wrestling ramp in front of millions.
He makes an audible scoff.
PMS: You trying to get caught up in THIS kind of business boy? I spent good money on that education and you showing me I didn't spend enough. How much more money I gotta spend to make that brain of yours work right?
MM: This is business Paw, listen; Do you think more people are smoking today or less than 30 years ago?
PMS: 30 years ago? Son-
MM: We can't do commercials, we can't do TV ads, we can't even do god damn road signs anymore. All we gots to our name is word of mouth. This company grew to the top when we had a symbol, an icon, that the world was able to recognize and associate with us... and people smoked.
PMS: Mother fucker they did, bunch of pussies crying about their health these days.
MM: Less are smoking now than ever... so we need a symbol again. We need The Marlboro Man.
Phillip Morris Sr. begins pacing around the room.
PMS: So you thought you'd just reach out to my people and automatically get into a competitive wrestling company? Do you have any idea how fucking asinine this sounds boy? Did you even WATCH what just happened? These Japanese don't fuck around son. They will cut off their own god damn thumb just to avoid embarrassment. You gonna cut off your thumb for me boy? You gonna do it for Rupert?
Marlboro Man gets cut off before he's able to respond.
PMS: The only word outta your mouth right now outta be fuckin' 'No.' Now I've been nice and letting you live out here thinking you're "stuck"... but I got us a plane that'll get us the hell out of here and let these Chinamen Sudoku themselves.
MM: I ain't doin' that.
PMS: The hell you are son. Look at me.
The two lock eyes.
PMS: I get what you're trying to do here son, I really do... but look at us. Are we wrestlin' people? Look at where we are and our humblin' beginnings.
Phillip Morris Sr. takes a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, pulls a cigarette out of the pack with his teeth, and lights it taking a slow, long drag. His father exhales and calmly holds it head level between the two of them.
PMS: It's the only thing that matters. This right here. We're not wrestlin' people son. We're tobacco people. We make a loved product enjoyed all across the world. It's a good business son. We're villainized because it's considered unhealthy... but we're not so different than Seed Oils, Alcohol, or Pesticides are we? Noooooo. Let's quit all this wrestling business, if that's what you want to call it, and get back to making the best damn tobacco from the best company in the best country of the god damn world.
MM: I'm the Marlboro Man now dad and I'm going to make this company the titan it once was again.
Phillip Morris Sr.'s skin quickly turns a shade of red.
PMS: You're gonna be a fucking joke is what you'll do! You're gonna turn yourself, this company, your father into a fucking joke.
MM: You're the god damn joke, this company has been steadily decreasing since you took it over from Grandpa. Maybe you ain't got what it fucking takes to do what needs to be done... up there with your corporate boys. How many of them know how to gild a horse? We both know those boys up there ain't gonna be able to stomach it. Can you even anymore?
Phillip Morris Sr normal shade returns and is starting to look at his son in a way he never has before.
MM: I'm gonna turn this ship around and everyone is gonna know it's because of me and you were as useless as tits on a Turtle.
PMS: I'm glad to hear that son, because I reached out to Rupert after I heard what the hell you got yourself into and he's not saying no to anybody right now. That fat piece of shit is scared shitless and he's already tossing your name around hoping it'll slow down whatever the fuck it is HE got himself into. You're in it rather you want to or not now and while we don't see eye to eye on the way to do this... the board feels the exact same way you do. You got eyes watching you now boy... don't fuck it up.
MM: I won't. I've been watching some of these matches and they ain't too good none. I was told they was gonna put me with someone new... like how you supposed to keep a new fish in the bag it came in for a little bit easing it to the temperature of your tank.
PMS: That's because that sonofabitch Mudcock don't trust you none. He's frightened right now, keep an eye on him son.
Phillip Morris Sr nods to the folder he brought inviting his son to open it up. Phillip Morris Sr starts pacing while his son reads what's in front of him.
PMS: The board created this scouting report for your next wrestling match. General Oluwa from the Nigeria. Real name is Titan Oluwaka or some shit, I don't know. They say he fights dirty.
MM: He a real General?
PMS: Who knows with what's going on out there... he might be a private outfit. They're brutal out there boy. When you was running track in Nike's, boys like him were chasing food barefoot.
MM: I ain't afraid of some fake ass army boy playing guns in the jungle... Imma read all this and tell the board I ain't gonna let 'em down. Imma send his ass back to Nigeria or wherever it was he came from and you watch cigarette sales increase out there.
PMS: You damn sure better boy. Your stunt has the board riled up. Rupert already leaked all this shit and there's no backing out now and they're gonna take full advantage of it. We got a lot of marketing money being shoveled into this match. We givin' away a free pack of cigarettes to each of these wrestling fans that show up. We're even eatin' the fine we're gonna get from that surgeon general bastard we gonna get because we gonna be replacing the smoking warning label and replacing it with a wresting you as the warning.
MM: You really gonna give cigarettes to kids?
PMS: Absolutely boy. Kids these days don't know what they're supposed to do after sex anymore. This is a public service we're providing here son. They can't buy or watch cartoons about cigarettes but I'm damn sure they can get them as gifts. Now I got shit to do and you better stop watching this shit and figure out how you're gonna win.
Phillip Morris Sr briskly leaves as he entered leaving the door open after ashing his cigarette on the floor.