A Word From the Office of the Big Cheese…

Made with Leonardo.ai


Country Mouse the 11th, resplendent in pinstripes and puffing away like a steam engine at full chuff, regarded the list with the kind of squint you might use for a suspicious-looking cheese.

"Ellie, darling," he began, his voice rough as sandpaper on bark, "this list reads like the 'who's who' of people who punch faces for a living. We need faces that don't look like they've met with a fist!"

Ellie Thumann, a young Renee Zellweger with blonde hair and squinty eyes, sits uneasily across from Mouse. As a bikini model, even her tiny mini dress made Ellie feel like she was wearing a hefty sized trash bag. As Mouse spoke, she crossed her long, shapely legs in a small, almost self-contained way.

She brushed a strand of hair out of her face standing her ground on the list. “Mouse, Rhonda Rousey is a household name, these women are warriors. She’s a brand, a legacy—.”

Country Mouse scoffed, a small cloud of smoke accompanying his derision, his laughter rough as gravel. "A legacy fades, Ellie. I sell the sparkle, not the dust.

“But-“.

"Old news, Ellie. She's wrestling now, which is as much about fighting as cheese is about dieting!"

"And Amanda Nunez," Ellie persisted, "is practically combat royalty."

"Royalty, schmoyalty!" Mouse retorted. "I'm looking for queens of the catwalk, not the cage!"

Ellie played her next card with a confident smirk. "Why not bank on Miesha Tate? She's got the knockout factor, inside and out."

Country Mouse leaned back, swiping through images on his tablet with a dismissive flick.

"Miesha's cool and all, but she’s 'been there, done that.' Now Carmella Rose," he paused on a picture of her mid-workout, "she's fresh. Only 28 and already killing the Insta game!"

Ellie's patience frayed like the hem of an over-worn dress. "You realize, Mouse, we’re not casting for a pageant. These are fighters."

Mouse leaned back, his chair creaking alarmingly under the weight of his ego. "Pageantry is the fight, my dear. It’s war painted in lipstick and heels. You want to go back to posing on beaches in Arizona, or do you want to make stars with me?"

Ellie's eyes narrowed. "Beaches in Arizona?"

Mouse flicked through the polaroids with the finesse of a DJ at his decks, stopping abruptly at a snapshot that seemed to have struck gold. "Bingo! Gabby Epstein, now there's a contender if I've ever seen one, Ellie!"

Ellie glanced at the image, her skepticism as clear as day. "Those abs might break Instagram, Mouse, but I doubt they've ever met a real punch. She'll end up like Ariana Grande in that boxing meme—."

"Exactly!” Mouse exclaimed with a grin that was all business. "Ariana's meme made bank! That's the ticket!"

Ellie folded her arms, her sigh almost a physical thing. "Yeah, until she takes a hit to the gut and the only thing she's making is a beeline for the exit."


Mouse flicked to a photo of the dark-haired Rose Williams, his tone rising with excitement. "Look at this one! Gorgeous! And she’s always getting a punch in the stomach in her movies!"

Ellie shook her head, her voice dry. "Right, because nothing screams 'profit' like your star getting socked in the gut."

Mouse's eyes lit up at the sight of Rachel Cook. "Look at that body! We could set up a tag team—Rachel and Epstein, or maybe Rachel and Carmella. Imagine the draw!"

Ellie raised an eyebrow, her tone a mix of skepticism and disbelief. "Tag team boxing, Mouse? Really?"

[/i]
Mouse zoomed in on Brielle Robillard's image, his voice bubbling with enthusiasm. "Check her out! The audience eats up these hot little blondes. Not a single muscle on those abs! She'd get absolutely wrecked in an AMD match!"

Ellie exhaled a long, exasperated sigh. "Mouse, come on! We're not trying to be a jobber stable. I'm bringing you legit fighters, not just... cannon fodder. What about Maika Monroe?

“What about her?” Mouse puffed.

Ellie, seeing an opening, pitched her idea with a hopeful tone. “She's young, gorgeous, and has that athletic background. Pure upward momentum!"

Mouse peered at Maika's picture, mulling it over. "Hmmm, chin like Stallone—.”

“But with those captivating Bette Davis eyes…” Ellie pressed, “She will sell hundreds, no millions of seats!”

"Exactly!" Mouse bellowed, his logic leaping like a salmon upstream—against all odds and reason. "Now, find me more like her, or it's back to cacti and sand for you! Now let’s find some cheese shall we?”

Ellie mused over the job market for cartoon mice with delusions of grandeur. It was, she suspected, a very niche sector. Ko