Fade in: PRIME Headquarters…Wherever the hell that is. The pimped out theater where Richard and Nick are sitting in plush leather chairs staring into the camera waiting on this historic show to start.

Three…Two…One…Go

Nick: Welcome ladies and gentlemen to a very special edition of PRIME television. I’m Nick Stuart along with Richard Parker.

Richard: Hey, hey.

Nick: Tonight we are going to take a look back at the year 2007 in what was another stellar year for PRIME. However, this is not going to be like any compilation show you have seen before. We aren’t going to give you the top five matches-

Richard: Nobody reads them.

Nick: Still can’t break the fourth wall.

Richard: Bollocks

Nick: Federations around this circle are known for their backstage happenings. PRIME does not fall outside of that demographic as we have a plethora of backstage interaction-

Richard: I want Silver to cash in that No Dusk for One Revolution card.

Nick: Why does everybody dislike Dusk?

Richard: You have not seen the security footage outside of Lindsay Troy’s house, truly a disturbing sight to see my friend.

Nick: That doesn’t really exist.

Richard: He steamed up all the windows watching her eat breakfast.

Nick: Bull.

Richard: He had an orgasm watching her read the newspaper.

Nick: …

Richard: His entire argument for why they should be together was because her name was opposite on a love compatibility webpage.

Nick: …

Richard: I RIGGED THE PAGE!

Nick: You try too hard. Anywho, tonight fans, PRIME presents to you the 25 Funniest Segments of 2007 as voted on by…Who voted on these?

Richard: Some moron who needs to desperately get laid?

Nick: We’ll go with that.

Richard: The timeline for these segments goes from Kings of Kings 06 to Revolution 147.

Nick: Kicking off our show tonight is the very first segment of that December Pay-Per-View featuring the original communist, Sun Tzu, celebrating the Christmas season in her own special way.

Richard: Our recruiting department must love small boobs if they allowed her into this place.

Nick: I really don’t think we have a recruiting department due to Chainz getting through.

Richard: Point.

Nick: The Reason for the Season, take it away Sunny.

DING DONG! DING DONG!

‘Tis the season for caring… and sharing. Alas, everybody’s favorite commie cutie failed to get the memo.

Sun Tzu: By the souls of my ancestors, what is going on here?

Since she’s not booked until later at King of Kings, PRIME Intense champion Sun Tzu is wandering downtown instead of being at the arena. Yeah, she’s not exactly the most dedicated member of PRIME’s roster. Hell, Sun Tzu doesn’t even watch ReVolution. She has someone at the Chinese embassy read the results online and tell her if anything happened that she should give a rat’s ass about. So at this moment, the Artist of War is outside of a Wal-Mart (thanks for the tron) and glaring at some guy volunteering as Salvation Army bellringer with a disgusted look on her face. Kinda the look she always has unless she has that blissful expression she gets after kicking someone in the back of the head.

Sun Tzu: "Salvation Army?" I knew it! You Americans use your fear-mongering religion to rationalize your imperialistic military actions! Your deceitfulness makes me want to vomit! And your bloodlust makes me want to… just dry-heave a little. I have a little bit of that myself.

Bellringer: Uh… what?

Sun Tzu: And you call yourself a soldier, boy? Look how out of shape you are! There is an old saying… "An army travels on its stomach." It’s just a saying, you bovine abortion! And what about that uniform? A red apron, a sweat suit, and a ludicrous furry hat? I would be ashamed to go into battle like that!

Of course, this comes from a soldier that goes into battle on live television dressed in shorty shorts and fishnets. But as her legendary namesake once said, "If ya got it, flaunt it." Which explains the jacket covering her chest.

Bellringer: I just collect money for the poor, lady.

Sun Tzu: You must be jesting! Is it because your government is too heartless to care for its citizens or because so many of you Americans are too lazy to contribute to society and expect a hand-me-out? Either answer makes me want to vomit! I think both are true, which makes me want to vomit then spend a few minute standing above the toilet in case I have to vomit again!

Well, at least we know how Sun Tzu keeps her svelte figure… every facet of American culture induces vomiting in her. Hmmm, she’s hot, she pukes, she talks like a limey, she’s taken questionable substances, and she really likes hitting people. Sun Tzu is the Chinese Naomi Campbell! Just replace "cell phone" with "9mm slug" and they could be twins!

Bellringer: Ah… I… I just ring the bell, lady.

Luckily for him, a mother and her young son come up to his bucket.

Boy: Mommy! Can I have some money to give to the poor?

Mother: Of course, son!

She hands him a dollar, which he cheerfully puts in the bucket.

Boy: Merry Christmas, mister!

Bellringer: Merry Christmas to you , too!

The boy looks up at Sun Tzu and gives her a smile that belongs on a greeting card.

Boy: Merry Christmas, ma’am!

With a gentle look on her face, Sun Tzu looks down at him.

Sun Tzu: Foolish child… I am a Chinese communist elite warrior.

Boy: What does that mean?

Sun Tzu: It means the only lord and savior I believe in is semi-automatic and holds fifteen cartridges in a clip.

Boy: Do you know karate?

Sun Tzu: Why? Because I’m Chinese then I must know karate?

Boy: Yeah.

Sun Tzu: … Actually I do. But not because I’m Chinese. I just like hitting people.

Boy: Do you know kung fu?

Sun Tzu: Yes.

Boy: Do you know tae kwan do?

Sun Tzu: Yes.

Boy: Do you know…

Sun Tzu: Listen, you short bus passenger… if it involves one of my body parts striking one of someone else’s body parts with the intent to do severe harm and injury, then I know it. I could demonstrate…

Her maternal instincts kicking in, the mother wraps a protective arm around her child.

Mother: Let’s go, son. You shouldn’t bother people from backwards countries, they just don’t know any better.

Wow, it just got colder outside.

Sun Tzu; Backwards… country… That’s it. For weeks I have been insulted and belittled by the people in this so-called super-power. But that ends now. I may not have the holiday spirit, but I am making a donation of my own… to the gene pool!

The Artist of War takes out her PLA-issued handgun and fires a shot into the forehead of the young mother. The back of her skull explodes from the exit wound. Bits of brain race her lifeless body to see which hits the concrete first.

Bellringer: Holy shit!

Sun Tzu: And I hate bells.

With a casualness that chills the soul, Sun Tzu fires two shots to the chest of the poor guy just giving his time to a good cause. His corpse falls to the ground, his bell jingle briefly as it escapes his dead hand. Sun Tzu turns to the boy, who just stands and looks at the body of his mother in silent horrified shock.

Sun Tzu: Poor child. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to grow up with the memory of witnessing your mother’s murder. Luckily you won’t have to.

A final shot ends a young life that had so much life ahead of it. The Artist of War looks down had her grisly handiwork with no expression. Then a small grin appears on her face. It grows until her mouth opens and Sun Tzu lets out a laugh both childlike and demonic.

Sun Tzu: Finally! It had been so long! Having to deal with these retarded chimps week after week! I finally got to let it all out! And it felt soooooooo GOOD!

Bringing the gun up to her face, Sun Tzu runs the barrel along the soft skin of her cheek until it reaches her pink lips. Her tongue slides out from behind her teeth and delicately tastes the steel. As she gives the hard and hot metal a long slow lick, Sun Tzu glides her hand down her taut belly and into the front of her waistband, pushing deeper and deeper…

Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!

A golden beam of light shines down from up above. Its intensity is blinding to all that look upon it. When the golden brilliance fades, there stands none other than…

Sun Tzu: Queen Amidala?

Yes, it appears to be the legendary young and nubile ruler of Naboo in all her glory, including funky headdress and KISS makeup. She gives the Artist of War a warm and benevolent smile.

Queen Amidala: Actually, I am Jesus Christ, Lord and Savior to Man and the Son of God.

Sun Tzu: Why do you look like you a George Lucas wet dream?

Queen Amidala that’s actually Jesus: As King of Jews, I have chosen to take the form of the most talented Jew alive today.

Sun Tzu: Natalie Portman? But what about Woody Allen?

Queen Amidala that’s actually Jesus: Well, most talented and cute. Besides, Woody gets disqualified for that whole icky stepdaughter thing. Moving along… Sun Tzu! I have come back to Earth to show you the true power of Christmas!

Sun Tzu: Like I care.

Queen Amidala that’s actually Jesus: Gee, a bad attitude. Soooo scared. I got plenty of that from the Romans, sweetcheeks. You don’t impress me. But check this out!

With an "I Dream Of Jeannie" style nod and blink from the disturbingly hot savior, the three corpses slowly stir. Like sleepers awakening from a dream, they sit up and stretch. Sun Tzu stares with open-mouthed amazement.

Sun Tzu: That’s amazing! An actual Christmas miracle!

Queen Amidala that’s actually Jesus: No too shabby huh? So how does this make you feel, Sun Tzu?

Sun Tzu: I’ve never felt so much joy in my entire life!

Queen Amidala that’s actually Jesus: So are you ready to convert to Christianity?

Sun Tzu: What? Hell no! I’m just happy I get to kill them all over again! This is the best day ever!

Sighing deeply, the Queen of Naboo and King of the Jews looks perturbed.

Queen Amidala that’s actually Jesus: Not really the reaction I was going for. But I’m afraid I’m going to have to disappoint you, grumpbutt.

The Artist of War feels something cold and wet in her hand. She looks at it and is stunned to see that her trusty semi-automatic has been turned into a fish.

Sun Tzu: What did you do to Fluffy!?!

Queen Amidala that’s actually Jesus: Fish… always a classic.

Sun Tzu: Grrrr! I hate Christmas! So glad I’m a vile commie atheist!

She pivots on her heel and storms off. Sun Tzu tosses the fish over her shoulder. It lands in the Salvation Army bucket with a loud PLOP~!

Bellringer, Mother, Boy, and Queen Amidala that’s actually Jesus: GOD BLESS US EVERYONE!!!

Sun Tzu: Bah! Humbug!

Richard laughs while Nick stares at the screen in shock.

Richard: Ah, now I remember why she was a treat to have in our esteemed federation.

Nick: She became a serial killer on Pay-Per-View and you are applauding her?

Richard: She was helping the itty bitty titty committee get some much needed pub.

Nick: You just chastised her for that same reason!

Richard: My fetishes change rather frequently. I ever tell you about the time that I got with this woman who had green hair, nose ring, and really hairy leg-

Nick: AHHHHHHHHHHHHH! NO! NO! WE DO NOT NEED THAT ON THIS SHOW!

Richard: What a party pooper.

Nick: I’d rather save our viewers from horrible nightmares. Moving on in a seamless segue-

Richard: It was Lindsay Troy.

Nick: …You have nothing to back that accusation up with.

Richard: Actually I do. Those pants she wears…They start out real small in the waist and are FWABOOM at the feet. Tell me something isn’t up with that. She got some straight forest legs son, word!

Nick: …

Richard: Way to mack it out Dusk.

Nick: Can we just skip to the next segment?

Richard: Sure

Nick: The original Fuck You consisted of Angelo Deville, Jason Snow, Rich Rollins, and Nova.

Richard: Greatest stable ever.

Nick: They certainly made a mark on PRIME in early 2007 that won’t be forgotten. Many consider this to be their finest gem on camera.

Richard: Even though you must never speak to Snow about being the elf, EVER!

Nick: We can call this a bonding experience if you will…Merry Christmas-

Richard: AND FUCK YOU!

Nick: Alright folks, we’ve got some footage from earlier in the week...

You think Angelo Deville and Rich "The Renegade" Rollins are larger than life in the ring? Surrounded by giants and the madmen of their profession? Walking through a mall in every-town, USA, they might as well be kings. That’s right. Kings. There is a presence about them, undeniably - a static that comes off them that every passerby can feel. It doesn’t matter where they are, they’re always the most dangerous men in the room.

With Christmas on its way, the mall is a traffic jam of human bodies. There are more children around than usual as well, with Santa Claus in town. Deville and Rollins share a smirk when they catch a peak of Santa seated on what can only be described as a throne, a child bouncing on his knee.

Santa Claus: Ho Ho Hoooo!! M-eeeeerry Christmas!

The child on his lap, being young, begins to cry, prompting full blown laughter from Rollins. Angelo Deville, however, has his eyes darting from face to face, and his smirk is gone.

Angelo Deville: Where the hell is he? He called us to meet him here.

The Renegade: He’s probably asleep on his couch with his face planted in a bowl.

Obviously, they’re talking about Nova. And indeed, there’s no sign of him in the crowded mall.

"Guys! Guys! Over here!"

Deville and Rollins perk up, exchange a glance, and start looking around for Nova. They don’t find him - but Santa is leaning over the railing of his artificial winter wonderland. As they approach, they find that it’s not Santa at all, but rather Nova in the middle of some good-hearted identity theft. He looks jolly enough, with his beard and hair colored white, and his suit stuffed comedically full.

The Renegade: ... What the fuck is this?

Nova, in his Santa get-up, looks over his shoulder where a line of children are impatiently waiting for him to return. Deville and Rollins step over the railing to enter the artificial winter wonderland.

Nova: Here, put these on.

The Renegade: What?

Nova hands them each a pair of furry reindeer antlers to wear on their head. Neither of them look to keen on the idea.

Angelo Deville: You’ve got to be kidding me.

Nova: No way, dude. I’ve been up for days watching "My Name is Earl," and I realized that it wouldn’t hurt to work on my karma. You know, after beating up Chet Worth, betraying one of my best friends, and hanging around with you fucking ethlicless bastards all day - I figured I’d better make up for all my bad karma by doing something good. And what’s better than spreading Christmas cheer with kids? Put the antlers on.

Angelo Deville: There is no way I’m wearing these.

Nova: The hell you’re not! I’ve got the match of my life coming up later this week, and I’m not having your bad karma fuck it up for me.

Nova snatches the antlers from Deville and takes matters into his own hands, strapping them onto his head. Deville looks none-too-pleased about it. Rollins, on the other hand, is positively beaming at the sight of Angelo Deville, wrestling legend and all around bad ass, with reindeer antlers sticking crookedly up off the top of his head - that is, until Nova does the same thing to him. They look all the more absurd on top of his red bandana.

Angelo Deville: How long is this going to take?

Nova: As long as it takes.

The Renegade: Didn’t you call Snow too? Did he not show up?

Nova: Oh no, he’s here. He’s getting dressed.

Deville raises an eyebrow, and all three of them turn their attention to a nearby janitor closet. Nova leads them over and knocks on the door.

Nova: Snow? You’ve been in there forever. Come out so I can get back to work.

From the other side of the door, Snow does not sound like a happy supreme being.

Snow: No!

Nova: Come on, Snow! The kids are waiting.

Snow: Fuck you, hippy!

Nova frowns.

Nova: It can’t be that bad.

To everyone’s surprise, the door bursts open, and we find Snow glaring at Nova with hard eyes and clenched teeth. Normally, Snow’s a pretty intimidating guy - he has eyes that can freeze hell and a knack for firing laser beams with them. But today, despite his best efforts, he simply looks like a ridiculous, angry elf.

Deville and Rollins’ eyes go wide, and immediately they forget all about the antlers on their heads. Snow points a finger in their direction.

Snow: Not. One. Word.

Rollins crosses his heart with a finger, but his eyes are making a trail on Snow’s elf get-up, from the pointed rubber ears to the curled toes of his (yes) snake skin elf-shoes.

Nova: Good - I was afraid it wasn’t going to fit. Now come on, you have to usher the kids up to me.

Snow: If you think I’m doing anything dressed like this, hippy, I’ll have you know that-

Nova: Hey! Our karma depends on it, man! You’ve got a big match too.

Snow fumes silently, his eyes lingering on Nova as the Rising Star waddles back toward his throne. Grudgingly, Snow follows him, and a moment later, so do Deville and Rollins. After he’s seated, Nova adjusts his fake gut and tugs his newly white beard.

Nova: Alright, bring the kids up one at a time. I’ll signal you when I’m finished, and then they’ll go to you two.

He turns to Deville and Rollins and hands them a basket of candy canes.

Nova: Give them a candy cane and send them on their way. See? Easy. A fun afternoon with some kids and all of our karma turns around.

Rollins raises an eyebrow toward Deville.

The Renegade: I liked him a lot better when all he did was get high.

Nova: Ho! Ho! Hoooo! M-eeeerry Christmas!

The first child in line is smallish for his age, perhaps six or seven. He stares thoughtfully up at Jason Snow, the angriest elf in the history of Santa’s employment, and gets only a glare in return.

Snow: What do you want, plebe!?

Child: I want to see Santa.

Snow: Santa doesn’t speak to inferior peasants like yourself. Your mother’s likely bound to her welfare cheques and her trailer park as we speak! STOP LOOKING AT MY EARS!

The child’s eyes go wide.

Nova: Ho! Ho! Hoooo! Elf, why don’t you bring the next little boy up here? He looks like he’s been especially good this year! Ho! Ho! Hooo!

Snow: Have you no eyes, hippy!? This peasant child reeks inferiority - no doubt passed down to him from his parents. The mother, more specifically, since in her sluttery and whoredome she undoubtedly has his father narrowed down to a football team or two. This child’s been doomed to a life of inferiority from the moment he crawled out of her hairy, flopping c-

Nova: HO! HO! HOOOO!

Snow takes the hint, begrudgingly steps aside, and points the child in the direction of Santa’s chair - glaring suspiciously the entire time.

Snow: I’ve got my eye on you!

Confused, and perhaps a little frightened, the young boy slowly treks toward Nova, but can’t help but peek over his shoulder a few times to find that the bitter elf, indeed, has his eye on him. With his gaze still lingering back there, the little boy absently climbs up onto Santa’s lap.

Nova: HO! HO! HOOO! What’s your name, little boy?

Child: Tommy.

Nova: HO! HO! HO! Santa knew that already! And what would you like for Christmas, Tommy?

Tommy leans in and whispers in Nova’s ear.

Tommy: That elf won’t stop looking at me.

Nova glances up at Snow and gives him a hard eye.

Nova: Yeah, he can be a real dick sometimes.

Tommy: A real what!?

Nova: HO! HO! HOOO!

Snow (from afar): STOP LOOKING AT MY EARS!

Nova takes Tommy by the chin and turns his head away from Snow. He looks him in the eye.

Nova: So what would you like for Christmas, Tommy?

Tommy: I want an i-pod with a three hundred mega-pixel screen and sixty mega bites of RAM. And I want one of the turquoise ones - the kind with the headphones that can handle more decibels than the red ones. One of the ones I can check my e-mail on too.

Nova stares blankly at him.

Nova: A bike?

Tommy raises an eyebrow.

Nova: A bike it is! HO! HO! HOOO! Merrrrrrry Christmas!

Nova nudges the child off his lap and toward Angelo Deville and Rich Rollins, who are surprisingly still wearing their reindeer antlers. Without words or emotion, Deville reaches into the basket and pulls a candy cane out. Tommy goes on his way, but then stops and looks up at The Renegade with a curious look on his face.

Tommy: Santa’s beard smells funny.

The Renegade: Kind of like B.O. and pine trees?

Tommy: I guess so.

The Renegade: Yeah, that’s Santa’s Christmas spirit.

Nova: HO! HO! HOOO!

And that’s where we’ll leave our unlikely do-gooders of Fuck You, with Nova on his throne, dressed as Santa. With Snow berating a young mother about looking directly into him, regardless of the rubber ears and green spandex. With Angelo Deville and Rich Rollins taking the scene in with amusement. Merry Christmas and Fuck You

Richard and Nick are munching down on some popcorn. Nick shaking his head while Richard chuckles in delight.

Richard: What brilliance courtesy of my peoples.

Nick: Nova must have done some Facey weed to come up with that idea.

Richard: Snow brought the elf costume back into style with that single appearance. I saw it flying off the handle in a lot of sex shops.

Nick: Why do you go into sex shops…Wait, I don’t want that answered.

Richard: You really don’t. I’ll tell the story of how I was in a back alley with this woman who looked exactly like Nova circa early 2007: 256 pounds, muscular, bald head, really pale skin…

Nick: How do you encounter all these fugly looking women?

Richard: I do a lot of drugs, man.

Nick: That doesn’t surprise me. Alright, now we’re going to move onto the romantic portion of the program. PRIME doesn’t get that many couples, but when they do is it sure some interesting television. We’ll feature two of them here and they involve the same woman, Sun Tzu.

Richard: In my research for this show, I remember a meeting with Deville in which she said she had no gag reflex and could put her legs behind her head.

Nick: Speaking of Deville, this segment is from Culture Shock 2007. For the longest time, Sun Tzu had herself believing that Deville and her were dating.

Richard: We know they were dating. Remember Ferguson almost took a bullet for assuming that they weren’t, and we haven’t seen her in months. She could be lurking.

Nick: …Ok, fine, they WERE dating.

Richard: Just looking out for you man.

Nick: Yeah, I appreciate that. This was just moments before their scheduled match at Culture Shock for the 5 Star Championship. Unfortunately for their fans, what you are about to see is the end of the road.

Richard: These kids had some serious potential, so, so sad.

Angelo Deville isn’t happy about being in China. For one thing, having to show up before nine in the morning for this damn event just so the geeks back in the US can watch it live at prime time. Totally unacceptable. There is only one solution to this situation… coffee. In the catering room, the Cadillac of Wrestling has just poured himself a cup of joe and turn to get some breakfast when he nearly collides with someone who had been standing very, very close to him.

Deville: Watch it, you retarded waste of… oh. It’s you. Great.

While Angelo Deville doesn’t seem very thrilled, Sun Tzu seems quite ecstatic to see her opponent in the 5 Star title match.

Sun Tzu: Gooooood mooooooorrrrning, lover bums! Aren’t you happy to see me?

Deville: The only way I’d be happy to see one of your kind at this time of day is being woken up by a blowjob. But unfortunately I’m already awake, which means really don’t have the energy for your slant-eyed Amy Fisher act.

Sun Tzu: Awww, poor grumpy bear! You’ll be in a better mood when you see who I brought with me!

The Artist of War turns to the doorway and barks something in Cantonese. An elderly Chinese couple slowly steps through. Sun Tzu motions them to come over and they nervously comply.

Sun Tzu: Angelo… meet my mother and father!

The elderly couple gives Angelo Deville strained smiles which the Devil’s Don doesn’t return.

Deville: And I should care about them because…

Sun Tzu: Because you’ll want to ask for their blessing, of course!

Deville: For what? Beating you senseless in front of a few thousand of your fellow rice eaters? I don’t need anyone’s blessing for that, girlie.

Sun Tzu: No, silly! For when you ask me to marry you!

Slowly, Angelo Deville raises his hand to his temple and rubs it an attempt to combat the headache he knows is coming.

Deville: OK. That’s it. Listen to me, you deluded basket case… first of all, you were raised by the military. I don’t know who these two relics are, but they aren’t your parents.

Sun Tzu: You’re right. They’re just a couple I… persuaded… to accompany me. I was just trying to make everything perfect for this special time…

KRAK! An elbow from the Artist of War knocks the elderly lady out cold. Then Sun Tzu grabs the old man by the ears and gives him a head butt that sends blood gushing from his nose. The Rabid Panda lets go of his ears and he slumps to the floor. She turns back to Angelo Deville, oblivious to the red liquid staining her forehead.

Sun Tzu: …but that was just not meant to be. I’m sorry, passion monkey, I did not mean not deceive you. I hope this magical moment hasn’t been ruined for you.

Deville: Magical... moment? You actually think I want to propose to you, nutcase?

A mournful expression falls over the face of Mao’s Little Red Bitch.

Sun Tzu: Sometimes… sometimes I don’t know, Angelo. I get this feeling that I care more about this relationship more than you. Like there are moments that I get the impression you would rather be with the boys than with me. And maybe I’m just sensitive because of the deep feelings I have for you and I know you have for me, but I still feel taken for granted. Like you know my love will always be there for you, so you don’t have to nurture it. I knew from the start we would have to work hard to make it happen, but we both need to put in the effort. As much as I care about you, I can’t do it on my own. We have to be equal in commitment if we’re going to build a future together, my dear and sweet Angelo.

Angelo Deville looks deeply into her dark eyes and sees the beginning of tears there. He reaches out and takes her hand into his.

Deville: Sun Tzu… I mean this from the bottom of my heart… you are goat-fucking insane. We’re not in a relationship. I barely talk to you. Hell, I didn’t even get a half-chub from those pictures you sent me. Get it through that piece of rotting mu shu pork that you call a brain… there is no us. In fact, I wish there wasn’t a you. At first, your crush-on-crack was cute, kind of amusing. But now you irritate me like sand in my jock strap. So stop acting like we’re a couple. Stop going around calling me "sweet baboo." Stop showing up at my place. Stop sending me little presents. Stop being an annoying little psycho bitch, got it?

The tears that had been pooling in Sun Tzu’s eyes now flow down her cheeks. She pulls her hand away from Deville’s to wipe them away.

Sun Tzu: We’re… not in love? Do you really mean all of that?

Sighing deeply, Angelo Deville covers his face with his hand then runs his fingers through his hair to control his exasperation.

Deville: Yes!

Sun Tzu: You think I’m psycho?

Deville: Yes!

Sun Tzu: You think I’m annoying?

Deville: Yes!

Sun Tzu: You think I’m irritating?

Deville: Yes!

Sun Tzu: I get under your skin?

Deville: Yes!

Sun Tzu: More than any other woman?

Deville: Yes!

Sun Tzu: Even more than Karina Wolfenden?

Deville: Yes, you crazy cunt! Yes!

Sun Tzu: WAAAAHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Jumping over the unconscious elderly couple on the floor, Sun Tzu begins bouncing around the catering room like Ling Xiaoyu being controlled by a six year old with ADD and one too many bowls of Count Chokula.

Sun Tzu: YOU HEAR THAT, WOLFENDEN?!? I GOT UNDER DEVILLE’S SKIN MORE THAN YOU EVER DID!!! ONCE AGAIN I PROVE I’M BETTER THAN YOU!!! I’M ALL UP IN YOUR GRILL, BEEEEYOTCH!!!

Deville: "All up in your grill?"

Sun Tzu: And now there’s just one thing left to do…

Suddenly, the Artist of War sprints over and kicks the cup of coffee out of Angelo Deville’s hand.

Deville: Hey! I was planning on drinking that, you know.

Mao’s Little Red Bitch goes right up to the Devil’s Don and stares him right in the eye… after she tilts her head up. Did you know that Sun Tzu is the only female in PRIME under six foot? Freakin’ amazons…

Sun Tzu: I’m going to do what Karina Wolfenden fail to accomplish at King of Kings. And before that she couldn’t get the job done at Colossus II. Angelo Deville, I’m going to defeat you in that ring. Today. In front of thousands of my countrymen. Then everyone will know that the 5 Star champion fills nobody’s shoes!

Spinning on her heel, Sun Tzu storms off. She is halfway to the door when she suddenly turns back towards Angelo Deville.

Sun Tzu: And I’m breaking up with you, you insensitive and unromantic capitalist creep!

And with that, the Rabid Panda leaves the room. A groaning sound draws Angelo Deville’s attention to the floor. The old man is beginning to stir. He raises his head out of the pool of his own blood.

Deville: That’s some little lady you didn’t raise there, Pops.

Stomping the old man’s head back into the floor, Angelo Deville fixes himself another coffee.

Richard is crying on Nick’s shoulder like a little kid who just lost hold of his balloon. Nick facepalms and shoves Richard’s head away.

Richard: THAT WAS LOVE MAN!

Nick: I don’t think Deville lost any sleep over getting dumped, not to mention Sun Tzu didn’t lose any potential suitors over suddenly becoming single.

Richard: How could I forget? The next contender, Mr. Emo himself, made it cool to get shot and you really can’t say that about a lot of people.

Nick: I think even you were mortified when he got shot.

Richard: It showed Sunny cared enough not to kill him.

Nick: How can you even sleep at night?

Richard: Elephant tranquilizers.

Nick: …Anywho, Devin Shakur and Sun Tzu were the other prominent PRIME couple of 2007. For the longest time, Shakur chased Sun Tzu around desperately trying to get in her pants.

Richard: It worked didn’t it?

Nick: Sadly it did. In the midst of his pursuit: He got shot as, converted to communism, devoted an entire Revolution to her, amidst a whole bunch of other crazy shenanigans.

Richard: I give him an A for effort.

Nick: What you are about to see…I really can’t say anything about it. From 121 Ladies and Gentlemen…Love Triangle Choke.

If this were anybody else in any other situation, the term stalker might be applied to this person.

Oh wait, standing outside of the ladies room waiting for a woman who doesn’t even know you exist doesn’t constitute as stalking?

Anywho, Devin Shakur, the Insane Emo Wonder, is standing outside of the ladies room waiting on one Sun Tzu. Any minute now he is going to come face to face with the woman he has a crush on, and he can’t wait.

And then it hits him dead in the face like a ton of bricks.

Devin Shakur: Oh Christ, what am I going to say?

Say she’s hot
No, say she’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen
No, try to make small talk, you know Chinese.
No, go get an Angelo Deville mask and hope she fucks you

Ah, so many choices.

FWWWWAAAASSSHHH!!!!

The door to the restroom opens and PRIME's 5 Star champions steps out. Don't worry... she washed her hands. Sun Tzu spots Devin Shakur and reacts just like any woman would to seeing a very nervous man standing outside a ladies' bathroom.

Sun Tzu: What in the name of Mao do you think you're doing out here, you perverted decadent freak?!? Get your hands out of your pockets and answer me before I cut off your genitals, stuff them in your mouth, and watch you bleed to death!

OK, maybe not every woman would react like that.

Devin Shakur: >=)

Yeah, a TV antenna popped out of the back of his head too, or maybe they were Playboy bunny ears, who knows, but Shakur seems to be able to shake the comment off. He’s going to try and play this one cool, let’s see how well this works.

Devin Shakur: That’s getting frisky if I do say so meself. Anywho, greetings, the name is Devin Shakur and I think you are very beautiful.

*blink*

The Artist of War stares at him in silence. Shakur smiles at her weakly and slowly moves a hand in front of his crotch, just to be safe.

Sun Tzu: Wait... you are Devin Shakur?

Devin's eyes dart both ways quickly because of the pause but eventually focus back on Sun Tzu's eyes

Devin Shakur: Indeed I am. Something the matter?

Sun Tzu: It's just... I thought you were black.

Devin Shakur had run this scenario through his head many different times...

But that was one sentence he didn't think he would hear coming from her. He can only pause and blink a couple of times before responding.

Devin Shakur: Because of what, the last name?

Sun Tzu: Well, yeah. "Shakur." Just like Tupac.

The Rabid Panda thumps her chest twice, points to the heavens, and then flashes a "westside" gesture.

Devin Shakur: ...

The Home Viewing Audience: ...

The crowd: ...

Devin Shakur: What does me being black have to do with anything?

Sun Tzu: I'd be more receptive to your clumsy overtures if you were a gentleman of color.

The argumentative button inside of Devin Shakur's head is begging to be pushed, but his mind has been thrown completely off course. Sun Tzu is down with the westside?

Ah well, least she hasn't tried to shoot him...Yet

Devin Shakur: Isn't that putting unnecessary emphasis on a negative stereotype?

Sun Tzu: Nothing of the sort. As a proud communist, I empathize with the African Americans and their struggle against oppression by the exploitive white capitalists. And I love the feeling of being pounded by massive black cock.

Suddenly, Steve Urkel of "Family Matters" fame pops up out of a nearby trash can.

Urkel: Heheheheheheheheheheh!

And just as quickly, Urkel vanishes back into the trash can. Sun Tzu doesn't even bat an eye.

Sun Tzu: But you, silly rabbit, are just another white American boy with a "thing" for Asian women. A limp, impotent thing. I know you want me to be all "sucky sucky, fucky fucky" and "me love you long time,," but that isn't going to happen. Why don't you find some underage slut here in Japan that'll let you give her a facial in exchange for a Hello Kitty handbag?

The following words come out of Devin's mouth before he is able to put them through the appropriate filter.

Devin Shakur: Then why exactly are you all lovey-dovey over Angelo Deville? Last time I checked, he wasn't black.

Sun Tzu: My sweet Angelo is one of a kind. He exceeds his unfortunate background in every way. Maybe he was Chinese in his previous life.

Devin Shakur: Then why does he seem to reject you at pretty much every turn? I mean I saw the clip on youtube and he didn't exactly return the romantic sentiment.

Sun Tzu: He was focused. My sweet baboo had a big match and the win gets him a chance aginst me, the love of his life and 5 Star champion. Obviously my support gave him the edge he needed to be victorious,

Devin Shakur: So will you let him win the match if he wants to, thereby demoting your Championship status?

Sun Tzu: You really are an imbecile. The love between my Angelo and myself is based on mutual respect. Neither of us would dream of "letting" the other come out on top. Well... not in the ring, anyways.

Devin Shakur: Be that as you might say, I'll believe that when I see you two do a cheerleading routine together.

"CALIFORNIA LOVE"

A funky beat begins to play in Devin Shakur's left pocket, causing him to look down and hear the one song that he wish did not play at this particular time. He mumbles something under his breath, takes out the phone, and stares at it for a second before shaking his head.

Devin Shakur: I have to take this. I'll holla at you on the down lo.

Sun Tzu: Let me guess... your urologist with advice on male enhancement. Well, don't let me keep you... especially since I can't stand to breathe the same air as you. Besides, I’ve got real business to take care of, capitalist curtain-jerker.

Mao's Little Red Bitch sneers at Devin Shakur as she rubs her hand on her crotch and then flicks her fingers at him. With a snarl farewell, Sun Tzu turns and walks away. He stares at the hips shimmying down the hall until he remembers that ringing thing in his hand. Devin Shakur flips the phone out and talks into it

Devin Shakur: You seriously could not have worse timing...Yes, I encountered the (Whisper) rabid panda... (Normal voice) ...You did not just throw a bamboo stick sex joke at me did you? ..Let me just put it this way, if she thinks she's seen the last of me she's out of her mind...I gotta run, I'll call you once the show is over...Right, YAYAY!

Shakur brings the flap down on the phone and promptly exits the scene, but then he realizes what he just said and stops.

Devin Shakur: I've become the new Facey, fucking hell

And we go elsewhere…

Nick looks into the camera and mutters the phrase "Yayay" without speaking. He shakes his head and continues on with the show.

Nick: What guys will do when they are infatuated with a woman…Yeesh.

Nothing out of Richard. Nick assumes there is peace and quiet.

Nick: Now we move onto a section of this show that is all about superstars returning to action. We’ll see three returns that were shroweded in controvers…What in the hell are you doing?

Richard is dressed like Jesus.

Richard: It is time to praise Hoyt.

Nick groans and puts his head down into his hands.

Nick: Why must you do this? Why can’t we just go through the show without any of your tomfoolery?

Richard: Because a lot of our viewers out there need to see the light.

Nick: They’ll be seeing darkness and turning this show off if you don’t knock it off.

Richard: To the sinners, homeless, and Rosie O Donnell…

Nick decides that to save the show he needs to talk over Richard…NOW

Nick: Hoyt Williams had not been seen in a good long while before the biggest Pay-Per-View of PRIME, Colossus IV, rolled around. He decided to make his return in-

Richard: Let us read from the beginning of the Bible to the end of it.

Nick: -Grand fashion. Let us go to that clip now.

Richard: WHAT? PAT ROBERTSON HELP A BROTHA OUT!

Nick looks into the camera and mutters the phrase “Yayay” without speaking. He shakes his head and continues on with the show.

Nick: What guys will do when they are infatuated with a woman…Yeesh.

Nothing out of Richard. Nick assumes there is peace and quiet.

Nick: Now we move onto a section of this show that is all about superstars returning to action. We’ll see three returns that were shroweded in controvers…What in the hell are you doing?

Richard is dressed like Jesus.

Richard: It is time to praise Hoyt.

Nick groans and puts his head down into his hands.

Nick: Why must you do this? Why can’t we just go through the show without any of your tomfoolery?

Richard: Because a lot of our viewers out there need to see the light.

Nick: They’ll be seeing darkness and turning this show off if you don’t knock it off.

Richard: To the sinners, homeless, and Rosie O Donnell…

Nick decides that to save the show he needs to talk over Richard…NOW

Nick: Hoyt Williams had not been seen in a good long while before the biggest Pay-Per-View of PRIME, Colossus IV, rolled around. He decided to make his return in-

Richard: Let us read from the beginning of the Bible to the end of it.

Nick: -Grand fashion. Let us go to that clip now.

Richard: WHAT? PAT ROBERTSON HELP A BROTHA OUT!

SURPRISE
Nick: We've about fixed the ring and we have a brand new tag team here in PRIME, and they requested some time to come out here tonight and say hello.

Richard: Why don’t they just send an e-mail, or a fax, or something?

Nick: That’s a bit impersonal and cold.

Richard: But it would save so much time, and we wouldn’t have to sit through this crap.

Kids are munching popcorn, parents are looking at their watches, and excitement is in the hearts and minds of every fan. Outside of the arena the sky is gray from a storm moving in from the north. It’s a bleak world full of war, genocide, and reality television; but inside the arena none of that matters.

Nick: I hear these guys are supposed to be fun!

Richard: Wheeeeeeeeeeeee!

"Happy Jack" by the Who starts to play as the house lights dim and the rampway lights up with multi-colored bright lights. From the back pulls in a microbus full of long haired, Tye-dyed T-shirt wearing, bushy bearded hippies. A funky cloud of smoke billows from the windows no doubt from the pot in their pipes. The van folk are flashing peace signs from their windows, waving to the squares in the crowd. A large hippie with a "Bush Blows" t-shirt steps out and makes his way to the ring. The other members of the van get out and start passing out daisies to the fans in the front row.

Richard: What a damn circus.

Happy Jack: Hey Dudes, we are the PRIME SEVEN and we are here to end the corporation’s hold on you. The way they enslave you with merchandise and worth a dollar sold at a two hundred percent mark up. We’re getting screwed and not being kissed man. How much is a giant foam hand to make? Certainly not ten bucks. George Herbert Walker Bush was a CIA CRIMINAL, MAN!! His Satan spawn, our current leader Shrub Bush is destroying who, and what we are. Whom agrees?

The crowd goes wild.

Happy Jack: President Bush can kiss my balls!! My big, stinky, LONG, FLESHY, hairy, doobie smoked, BALLS MAN!! BALLS!

Nick: Oh my.

Richard: BALLS!

Happy Jack: We need to pull out of this war like a young man who doesn’t want to be a daddy and doesn’t believe in rubbers. You know what I mean?

Richard: Yes.

Nick: No.

Happy Jack: Let us not let another body fall for the oil of the rich. What happened to the love? What happened to building up instead of tearing down? GOD REALLY FUCKED US OVER!! You know?

Nick: That language isn’t needed.

Richard: Well I agree with him. God really fucked you over Nick. Look in a mirror for Christ’s sake.

Nick: Please.

Happy Jack: I mean this is a sport based on war? We need to end this and have pay-per-views of people playing mind games like dominos. God and the CHRISTAN RIGHT SHOULD NOT TELL US WHAT TO DO!!

The crowd cheers wildly as the tall man lights up a funny cigarette and thinks deeply about his next words. Crowds tend to cheer anything loudly, even with out really thinking it through.

Happy Jack: They can’t tell us what to do! What has God done for you lately beside start wars and limit your freedom? You know? I mean You KNOW? Ummm "they" say, you can’t say fuck anymore, while I say fuck that! Obscenity? A word is obscene? But a health care system in shambles is acceptable? The idea of a world where we all share GIVES ME A HARD ON!! Thinking about a better tomorrow makes my dick hard and it should make yours as well!! Does peace and togetherness make your dick hard?!?!?

The crowd goes nuts as Happy Jack smiles in the center of the ring as the other six hippies play drums outside the ring. The sight is something straight from the pen of Richard Brautigan, and much like Richard you need a hole in your head to truly understand it.

Happy Jack: Let it be known from this day forward PRIME will be changed. Let it be known that this day forward we will no long accept the Status Quo and his horrible trash talk. Let it be KNOWN that we shall live free or die protesting the Presidents, Chairman, and other titles of entitlement which plague this federation and shackle our hands in this so called land of freedom. Take this pledge with me as we sing a song of freedom in the stylistic integrity of Mr. Country Joe McDonald on Friday August 15th 1969. GIVE ME AN F!!

CROWD: F!!!

Happy Jack: GIVE ME A U!!!!

CROWD: U!!!!

Happy Jack: Give me a…..

The microphone cuts out as the house lights turn on as a large assembly of men dressed like Seattle’s finest come rushing out in riot gear. They throw a gas bomb into the ring causing the tall hippie to choke and fall to his knees. The cops pull out their nightsticks and begin beating down the hippies around the ring as the crowd watches in horror. Punch and kick after punch and kick hit the hippies like the realization of a child watching his grandmother buried. We’re not going to live forever, life isn’t fair, and most of all its often painful and perplexing. The hippies do not fight back.

Nick: Why are they beating these men down?

Richard: They are hippie they have no value and are wasting out time. I’d join them but I’m a journalist.

Nick: Disgusting.

Richard: No, I really am.

Nick: I’m not talking about your qualifications.

The cops drag the hippies away from the ring by their hair as the crowd lets out a massive jeer. The big hippie in the ring is still on his knees as the cops take the hippies to the back just leaving him alone and gasping for air like Americans gasp for a change of the political landscape. The lights go off except for a single beam which shines on Happy Jack as he struggles in the smoke creating an eerie atmosphere. A deep booming voice blasts from the speakers.

VOICE: Genesis 7:21-23 "And all flesh died that moved upon the earth, both of fowl, and of cattle, and of beast, and of every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth, and every man: All in whose nostrils [was] the breath of life, of all that [was] in the dry [land], died. And every living substance was destroyed which was upon the face of the ground, both man, and cattle, and the creeping things, and the fowl of the heaven; and they were destroyed from the earth.

Nick: What the hell?

Richard: A giant rock is blocking the entrance way?

‘Redemption Song’ song by Johnny Cash begins to play as the rock starts shaking as if somebody is trying to move it. The crowd just watches on waiting to see what’s behind it.

Nick: I think I see where this is going?

Richard: Rock Sterling?

A well built man pushes the rock out of the way and enters the entrance way where he pauses for a moment and poses as if he is Jesus on the Cross. The man with a long beard is wearing a white jumpsuit covered in golden images of crucifixions and doves. Around his neck is tied a golden handkerchief, while his fingers sparkle of diamonds.

Nick: Is that who I think it is?

Richard: ELVIS LIVES!! You owe me twenty bucks.

Nick: Well the outfit is all Elvis that man is all Hoyt Williams.

Richard: Hoyt Williams? My Savior?

Nick: I thought he was never coming back after a nasty contract fall out.

Richard: Thee Hoyt Williams?? Your Personal Jesus? The Pontiff of PRIME? The Holy man of the Hall of Fame? God’s Champion?? King of Kings? The strongest Jew in wrestling? God’s son…..

Nick: Are you done yet?

Richard: Hero of the Holy Land? The Biblical Body slammer of Sinners? The Apostle of the Arm bar? Earth son of the Duke of PCW? Husband of Mary with her Cherry? THAT Hoyt?

Nick: Oh no my mistake it’s Hoyt Friedman.

Richard: Damn.

The camera moves in on the man in the jumpsuit to reveal it is indeed Hoyt Williams. The fans start a massive jeer of biblical proportions. Hoyt waves to them proudly as he strolls to the ring.

Richard: You lied to me! That is Hoyt Williams!! WE ARE SAVED ALL PRAISE BE TO HOYT!! WHAT WOULD HOYT DO?

Nick: Quit and bitch about management.

Richard: Besides that.

Nick: Troll a message board?

Richard: Stop it or Hoyt will send you to hell.

Nick: I already have a timeshare there.

An old lady in the front row passes away to the horror of those around her. Hoyt calmly walks over to her untying the golden handkerchief around his neck. He places it over her and she jumps up and does a few jumping jacks for Jesus as Hoyt smiles on. Hoyt then grabs a mic and slow walks into the ring.

Hoyt Williams: (singing) You Better kiss me cus you gonna miss me when I’m gone.

Hoyt dances a soulful James Brown style dance as he enters the ring. He blows kiss to his adoring fans which number somewhere between none and Dean, whom loves everybody. The fans tell him to ‘blow them’ but kisses are not their request.

Hoyt Williams: Thank you and may you fear God tonight because Abie Hoffman I am not; rather Julius Hoffman I am.

Hoyt smiles his famous tooth paste ad smile as the crowd boo’s get louder.

Hoyt Williams: You see I made a grievous error when I with drew before the mission of Christ was complete. You see I was bamboozled by my the beat of the repetitive drum which said day in and day out that I could not win the war against the sinners. Everybody told me Hoyt you are wasting your time and your body on a war that can’t be won. So I made the ONLY mistake I have ever made in my life as a GOD on earth. I withdrew. What happened? Satan spawns like Killean whom I sent straight to hell returned. The boredom of his melodrama and sinful life corrupted more mind. This place slide down worse then it was when I entered! MY GOD how could you sinners have let that happen?

The crowd now lets out a massive boo.

Hoyt Williams: That is right repent and boo yourselves for allow this crap to happen. I take responsibility for leaving but I left you with a functional constitution of what God wanted and you rejected it. You didn’t change and now you have a WOMAN as a champion. PRIME with a dame as champion?

An "asshole" chat breaks out as Hoyt pauses to listen to it for a moment before laughing.

Hoyt Williams: Again I agree, although I disapprove of the language. An fist full of A-hole’s is what this roster is made of to let a bean poll yeast infection desecrate the title I christened in the name of God. You have stoners, perverts, pedophiles, psychopaths, malcontents, mental midgets…but enough about Easton Hall.

Hoyt laughs as he notices Happy Jack standing up with a mic.

Hoyt Williams: You going to join me in some jumping jack’s for Jesus?

Happy Jack: These people aren’t calling the roster an asshole man, they are calling you one.

Hoyt Williams: Man?

Hoyt takes a deep breath.

Hoyt Williams: Not any man; but the son of man. You are a disease. You represent what this world has become and that’s a GODLESS nation of cry baby’s whom what but won’t seek. Whom deem respect from others but don’t give it in return. You think you are higher then God and that he is just an image of authority which you find flawed.

Happy Jack: All true, but you forget the fact I seek your mothers snatch.

The hippie laughs as he lights a joint blowing it in Hoyt’s face.

Hoyt Williams: My MOTHER stepped on a rainbow a long time ago. Ashes to ashes. You want free healthcare for everybody?

Happy Jack: Like Canada.

Hoyt Williams: That’s your answer? An over taxed nation with the population of California. You can’t compare the two. You want something for nothing.

Happy Jack: Is it so much to ask for?

Hoyt Williams: Should we charge people to enter this arena?

Happy Jack: No.

Hoyt Williams: So somebody who works hard to be able to sit front row should be treated the same as the poor person whom can’t get in here or has to sit at the end of the arena.

Happy Jack: Right.

Hoyt Williams: But there are only so many front row seats.

Happy Jack: Those who need them should get them.

Hoyt William: What about title belts?

Happy Jack: What?

Hoyt Williams: Should we all be champions?

Happy Jack: Yes.

Hoyt Williams: Nothing should differentiate one or another regardless of who works for it? Well I have some bad news for you so listen up Happy Jack-off and the rest of the Wiggims in the crowd. L-O-L I know you are all computer nerds in this sinning city of cyber sex but this isn’t a website this is the gospel truth spoken from the Second Coming in his Second Coming in this federation. Heaven is real. I am the Judge. And God hates sloth and entitlement. You, Happy Jack, like the entire state of Seattle are going to hell.

The crowd is not happy with Hoyt’s judgment and they let him know it.

Hoyt Williams: Why do you morons think it rains so much here? I mean didn’t you get the fracking message? Are you people that dense. Turn off your dot demon and join the real world. Hell awaits you all and I’m the man whom is going to send you there. The first time I was here, I played nice but not anymore I don’t have tolerance for this bulldoody.

Hoyt kicks the hippie square in the balls dropping him like Rosie O’Donnell arm fat on a lazy boy. Hoyt then kicks Jack repeatedly before pulling a pair of clippers from his pants. Hoyt picks up the fallen joint and puts it out in Jack’s eye. He then cuts the hippies hair before slamming him once and for all with the Crucified and Saved finisher. Hoyt picks up the mic again.

Hoyt Williams: I’m BACK and everybody is on alert that hell is following. Sonny Silver do what you have to do to win tonight. You are the only hope of some sort of a start to redemption here in PRIME. If you can’t beat the dame playing man, she shall be struck down as will the rest of the roster, one at a time till purity and Christianity overcomes all. Sinner’s souls are not to be saved any longer but destroyed. The stupid, the fat, the druggy, the non-Americans, all shall feel Jesus’ pain from womb to the tomb. From the sperm to the worm all who fail to praise me shall pain thee.

Hoyt drops the mic as he yells at morons in the crowd as he makes his way to the back.

Richard: I PRAISE HOYT!! I want to see the gold of heaven and the not the pain of hell like Happy Jack-off and the rest of the sinners in rain city.

Nick: You are diseased. Although it appears Hoyt Williams is back in PRIME?

Richard: Greatest day EVER!

Back to Richard who is holding up a cross in front of Nick’s face.

Richard: You are SO going to hell for cutting me off.

Nick: I would apologize if I had something to be sorry for.

Richard: …I don’t know why the church puts up with you.

Nick: Well our next returnee definitely has never been to church in his life.

Richard: How dare you insult such a legendary man and a legendary smoker of THE CHRONIC!

Nick: It’s so obvious you have never smoked weed.

Richard: I only pretend to, like those kids who smoke candy cigarettes and try to pretend they are real.

Nick: How lovely. This is a return that happened at Overkill. Tchu had been talking on the phone and was suddenly confronted by Gilbert Gottfried. One thing led to another and they were supposed to meet for a throwdown in the boiler room.

Richard: I can’t believe anybody would be stupid enough to believe Gottfriend would call them out for a showdown in the boiler room.

Nick: Looking back on it, Tchu can probably say the same thing, and this is probably the moment in his career that he regrets the most.

Richard: This is the moment that would ultimately lead him to leaving PRIME if you ask me.

Nick: Nobody is. Coming Full Circle with an extended cameo by Danny Ferguson.

Tchu: I have no idea... why in the hell... I'm even doing this...

It's been a long day for the Inhuman Being, and he hasn't even wrestled a match yet. He'd need to save his strength, for tonight is set to be the Ultimate Battle between Fuck You and the Anti-Fuck You people.

Needless to say, he didn't really need the shit he's getting at this juncture.

Tchu: Hello? Anybody in here?

Tchu stands in the doorway to the Boiler Room, where only a few dangling light-bulbs illuminate the dingy, rust-encrusted inner-workings of the arena's plumbing system. Large pipes and vents protrude from the walls and ceiling, forcing Tchu to duck at certain times in an effort to keep his head intact as he navigated the labyrinth.

Though he appears to be alone in the massive room, littered with obstructions that inhibit anyone from gaining a clear view of their surroundings, the formal Universal Champion doesn't breathe easy.

He suspiciously glances and peers behind ducts and scrap metal, searching for Gilbert Gottfried.

Tchu: Aflack?

But Gilbert Gottfried is nowhere in sight.

As if a burst of wind had come through, the door to the Boiler room slams shut, and a slight shuffle in the locking mechanism can be heard.

Tchu: Gilbert, if you locked me in here, I swear to God your legs will be more broken than your career!

But no one returned his call.

Suddenly, predictably, the lights turn out.

Pitch. Black.

Tchu: Alright. Come out now, and I won't crush your voice box so you can still retain your prominent Voice-Acting jobs.

Still, no one returns the call.

He begins to feel around for the piping, careful to make sudden steps for fear that he might collide with any part of the protruding structures.

Tchu: Alright, Gottfried, this is getting old.

Tchu begins to make his way towards where he remembers the door, slowly and carefully. As he shuffles, however, he begins to hear a sound that he isn't creating. Suddenly realizing he's not alone in the Boiler Room, his heart rate intensifies.

Everything becomes a bit scarier. The noise becomes closer, honing in on Tchu in the darkness. He gets a bit nervous, slowly backpedaling in his steps away from the scuffle. As it becomes immediately close, Tchu's nerves get the best of him and he stumbles back into the darkness, his legs tripping over what was probably a pipe until he falls back.

Only he doesn't fall on his ass, he falls back in a reclining seat of some sort.

Tchu: What the...

Lights on.

Tchu: Hell?!

With the gloomy incandescent glow of the dust-encrusted bulbs, Tchu feels a set of clamps tighten around his hands and wrists before he looks down, finding himself tied down to a bench.

Only it isn't a normal bench, oh no. It's one of those high-tech benches you see in those weird porno movies. You know the ones... the ones where people wear leather masks with zippers over the eyes-and-nose-holes? The ones where sex-rulers keep their slaves tucked in chests for periods of time, until they are released for sexual punishment? It's one of those type of benches.

Bondage Stocks.

Tchu: What the hell is this...?

Tchu tries to pull himself free of the straps that hold his arms and legs down, but the bench seems to act with a life of it's own as the mechanical limbs stretch out. Suddenly, Tchu's arms are brought overhead while his legs spread very far out.

Tchu: GILBERT! WHAT THE HE--

???: That's not Gilbert doing this to you.

The voice comes from behind Tchu, and due to his tied up position he is unable to turn and see his captor. It doesn't matter, as the mystery can only remain for so long. The captor comes from around Tchu, clanking the metal of a steel chair in his hands against the pipes as he comes into full view.

Tchu: Fa-.... FACEY?



Adam Dick, the Illustrious Face-Eater, smiles, shedding a set of pearly whites we haven't seen in months.

Suddenly, the torment Tchu has suffered today makes a little bit more sense.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: I'd be lying if I'd say you didn't have this coming.

And before Tchu can muster another word, before he can plead and beg and even ask why he's doing this, the Face-Eater raises the chair over his head, performs a angled-swing...

And crashes right into Tchu's testicles.

One swift whack to Tchu's groin with the steel chair, and he's almost unconscious from the pain. But Facey isn't satisfied with one swift whack. So he raises the steel chair, once again...

And hits Tchu in the balls with it. REPEATEDLY.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: YOU.

*WHACK*

The Illustrious Face-Eater: HEAT-THIEVING.

*WHACK*

The Illustrious Face-Eater: SON.

*WHACK*

The Illustrious Face-Eater: OF.

*WHACK*

The Illustrious Face-Eater: A BITCH!

*WHACK*

Tchu's practically dead at this point, getting hit in the balls seven times with a steel chair will probably do that to you.

Okay, he isn't dead, but you try keeping your eyes open and maintaining a steady breathing pattern after you get chair-shotted to the fun-zone seven times, alright?

Facey lifts the chair overhead, preparing for one final blow, when he hears the front door of the Boiler Room being tampered with. Someone jumbles the lock, indicating that the Face-Eater has less than a couple seconds to make a clean get-away.

The door bursts open, and in comes Danny Ferguson.

Danny Ferguson: Hey Charleston, you feel like joining the team anytime soon? It's almost match time.

He steps further into the room to find it completely vacant...oh, except for Tchu strapped to bondage stocks and moaning quietly about his testicles.

He makes eye contact with Tchu, then looks around the room a little.

Danny Ferguson: Still finishing your warm-up? I'll come back.

He turns and heads back for the door.

Tchu: You...but...Dick...

Danny Ferguson: Sorry, Champ. You're going to have to save the butt-dicking for the after-party.

Producing his BlackBerry, Danny walks back toward the door, leaving Tchu behind. Unfortunately, creepiness trumps team camaraderie in this situation.

Danny Ferguson: (into phone) Yeah, security? I need you to come to the boiler room. I think Gilbert Gottfried just anally raped Tchu...Yeah, the fucking Boiler Room! No pun intended.

The door slams shut behind him.

Tchu: Worst..... Day..... Ever.....

Richard is holding an ice pack over his package and groaning in pain. Nick is hanging a noose around a pipe in the ceiling attempting to end it all right here and right now.

Richard: That had to be perhaps the most painful segment ever produced in the history of PRIME.

Richard looks over and sees Nick in his noose making ways.

Richard: See, even Nick agrees. It hurt him so bad that he’s trying to kill himself.

Nick: Actually, I’m trying to void myself of ever having to talk to you again.

Richard: I know that you care. You were also the one who covered my bed in rose petals right?

Nick: Actually no, that was Craig the janitor.

Richard: …Fuck

Nick: Folks, our next and final return on this esteemed show is that of one Danny Ferguson. There was a rather strange angle where Facey pretended to be blown up in order to frame Ferguson and get him sent off to some jail. Well after King of Kings when Facey was supposed to join Fuck You, Ferguson was pretty much let out.

Richard: I think this was just a senseless attempt to plug 24.

Nick: Revolution 117, Tick…Tick…Tick…

Instead of the regular PRIME open, a digital clock ticks, the time stopping at 1:17:05PM, before the picture fades up from black to a large airstrip, specifically, the large tarmac at OR Tambo Airport. There, US soldiers stand at the ready as Chet Worth, Lindsay Troy, and Blaine Blair pull up behind a Boeing C-17 Globemaster.

Lindsay Troy: Okay, seriously. Who are we coming to meet?

Chet Worth: Just... shut up. Okay? I liked it better when I thought you were dead.

Lindsay Troy: I didn't have to come, you know. I could have gone off to do a parody of "Catch a Fire."

Chet Worth: But you're here instead. Hooray for you. Can we do this, please? I paid a hefty price for this, and I need to make sure he's in good condition.

Lindsay Troy: Goddamnit, WHO?!

Chet Worth (waving her off): I'm done talking now.

As the three exit the vehicle, Troy balling a fist ready to punch Worth and Blair wisely stepping between the two, looking at Chet with a shake of the head and putting his hand in the air as if he's going to slap him.

The back end of the C-17 opens slowly. Dramatically. Tooooo slowly. Toooo dramatically.

Chet Worth: What the hell? I paid for smoke machines.

Blaine Blair: The South African government wouldn't let us do that at the airport.

Chet Worth: Wait, we listen to the government here?

Blaine Blair: Uhm, yes?

Chet Worth: Oh. Okay. Let's get this over with.

The rear of the airplane touches the tarmac as two men walk down the ramp, reaching out to shake hands with Chet Worth. The group waits for Blaine to make the introductions, because that's what he gets paid to do, but he's too busy trying to hide the confused look on his face. That's when Troy steps in.

Troy (sighing): Fine, I'll play hostess. Mister Buchanan, Mister Manning, this is Chet Worth, CEO of PRIME. This is Blaine Blair, Executive Assistant to Chet, and I'm Lindsay Troy, PRIME wrestler and foil for Chet.

Bill Buchanan, Special Agent In Charge, CTU, Los Angeles: Mister Worth, it's our pleasure.

Chet Worth, CEO of PRIME: Yes, it is. Mister Manning, how do you do?

Curtis Manning, Head of Field Ops, CTU, Los Angeles: Fine, sir. Ms. Troy, we're big fans.

Lindsay Troy, Queen of the Ring: Likewise.

Curtis Manning: We're ready for the prisoner exchange at any time.

Blaine Blair, Dumbstruck and In Disbelief: What... the... uhhh...

Chet Worth: What? Speechless? You think 24's a fucking TV show? It's a documentary.

Blaine Blair: R-r-really?

Bill Buchanan: Yes. It absolutely is. I only play James Morrison as a front.

Curtis Manning: Same here. Roger Cross is just a red herring. Well, until he got shot in my place.

Blaine Blair: Wait...but you said...Are you kidding?

Bill Buchanan: Absolutely.

And a good laugh is had at the expense of Blair, who wasn't feeling very much in the loop .

Chet Worth: Are we ready for this?

Bill Buchanan/James Morrison: Absolutely. Kiefer has your friend.

Chet Worth: Thank you for your help getting him into the country. We really had no other choice.

Curtis Manning/Roger Cross: Not a problem. We had the military plane already due to the international press tour, and we were happy to arrange this.

Bill Buchanan/James Morrison: Do you have what we asked for?

Chet Worth: Yes. He's in the truck. Blaine, bring him out.

Lindsay Troy: Wait a second, (she looks back at the SUV) there wasn't...

Chet Worth: Yes, there was. You didn't see him. But, he was there.

Blair removes a man in a burlap bag that says "UNKNOWN #7" over it. The bag wriggles from his grasp and tries hopping away, but Chet produces a taser gun from his coat and shoots the mystery man, felling him. Everyone looks at Chet.

Chet Worth: Christmas present.

Bill Buchanan/James Morrison: Good work, Chet. Curtis, go get the bag.

Curtis Manning/Roger Cross: "Curtis, go get the bag" You know, just because I took orders from you on the show doesn’t mean that-

Bill Buchanan/James Morrison: (stone-faced) Curtis, go get the fucking bag.

Curtis Manning/Roger Cross: (quietly) yessir

As Cross shuffles away to fetch the sacked man and commiserate with Troy, Bill/James turns to Chet.

Bill Buchanan/James Morrison: As promised, Unknown #7 will be constantly shuffled between covert American military prisons to prevent anyone from knowing his existence or identity. We’ll be able to tell people he’s Saddam or Osama or something like that.

Blaine Blair: Wait...I thought you guys were actors?

Bill/James looks at Blaine, then at Chet, then back at Blaine. He swallows hard, then suddenly turns away from them.

Bill Buchanan/James Morrison: Oh, excuse me, I’m getting hailed on my invisible ear radio which you can’t see because it’s invisible and in my ear. What’s that you say? You’re ready to bring him out? Fine, lower the ramp.

The plane rumbles and the hiss of compressed air fills the scene as the hatch at the rear of the plane opens and begins to lower. The interior of the military-grade vehicle is shadowy and mysterious, with those few visible areas being spotted with a deep red light. Once the hatch lowers to the ground and provide an exit ramp, four figures emerge from the shadows. Two are hulking men, barely able to walk in the plane without ducking at least slightly. The other two are considerably shorter. One of the short men emerges first.

Kiefer Sutherland: Mr. Worth, Mr. Blair, Ms. Troy, it’s good to meet you. My name is Kiefer Sutherland, and I play government agent Jack Bauer.

At the sight of Kiefer, Troy’s eyes grow wide and she puts a hand on Chet’s shoulder, trying to brace herself.

Lindsay Troy (whispering, only not): Please tell me I'm dreaming...

Worth, Blair, Morrison, Cross and Sutherland look over at Troy as her face become flushed.

Kiefer Sutherland: No, I'm used to this. You think Snow's the only one who can CAUSE orgasms at the mere SIGHT of him?

Lindsay Troy: Ummm...I....errrr..... [speechless]

He turns to Chet and James while Lindsay retreats to the car to sit down for a second.

Kiefer Sutherland: Listen, Chet, we don’t have much time, so-

Chet Worth: No, we’re good.

Kiefer Sutherland: I’m sure, but I don’t have much time-

Chet Worth: No really. We’ve got plenty of it. Blaine, how long ‘til showtime?

Blaine Blair: Two hours or so.

Chet Worth: See, that’s like a lifetime for you. Take all the time you-

Kiefer grabs Chet by his coat and pulls him forward.

Kiefer Sutherland: YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND, I DON’T HAVE ENOUGH TIME.

James Morrison: He’s contractually obligated to say that every time he speaks to someone.

Chet Worth: Gotcha. Sorry.

Kiefer seethes for a few seconds, then releases Chet.

Kiefer Sutherland (to James): Did he give us what we needed?

James Morrison: He did. Let’s bring out his friend.

Kiefer motions to the three remaining figures, and they moved forward, stepping out of the plane and into full view. All three faces are far too familiar to PRIME fans.

The first two men, Jim Pibb and Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas, hadn’t been seen for several weeks, but are ultimately forgettable if not for the man behind them.

Danny Ferguson, in handcuffs and an orange prison jumpsuit, and sporting exceptionally long hair and an equally long beard, steps out of the plane, takes a deep breath and sneers at Chet.

Danny Ferguson: Hey, dickface.

Having seen the Ferguson entourage, Troy stomps over to rejoin the group.

Lindsay Troy: Wait a friggin second...HE’S your secret weapon?

Chet Worth: Who were you expecting?

Lindsay Troy: JACK BAU... (she looks at Kiefer, who just shrugs). Well, actually, I don’t know who I thought it was, but anyone OTHER than him. To paraphrase Bobby Heenan, he would’ve been my second choice, with every single other living human in the world tied for first.

Danny Ferguson: Nice seeing you, too, Legsy.

Lindsay Troy: Oh go drop the soap...

Danny Ferguson: Appreciate you bringing a chick, Chester. It’s been a while since I’ve been with a woman..(he holds up his hands, nodding to the handcuffs)..as the stewardess on this flight found out.

Kiefer Sutherland: He got a little grabby. We needed to restrain him.

Danny Ferguson: Hey, the girlie said she wanted an autograph. With my penis.

Chet Worth: Listen Danny, we really need to get down to business and let these guys get on their way.

Morrison moves in to unlock Danny’s cuffs while Cross carries the burlap sack into the plane.

Chet Worth: PRIME has a problem, and...I hate to say this...I need your help.

Danny Ferguson: How convenient.

Chet Worth: We have a room prepared at the arena. You can shower and shave there.

Danny Ferguson: Get bent, Boss. You think I’d fly across the globe without a quick stop at the spa?

He tears off the beard and hair, which are both, obviously, fake. Undoing a few buttons, he lets the jumpsuit fall to the ground, revealing a pinstriped gray suit with green highlights.

Danny Ferguson: That shit was just a disguise to the South African paparazzi didn’t catch on. They thought I was just a prop for these dumbasses and their "media tour."

Kiefer Sutherland: Danny, we spoke to you about the abuse on the plane. If you can’t be ni-

Danny Ferguson: (stepping away from the plane and towards Chet’s vehicle) Take a hike, Short Stack. You heard what Tubby here said - I’ve got ‘business’ to attend to.

Kiefer Sutherland: I’m as tall as you-

Danny Ferguson: (typing on his phone, which was handed to him by Dametreyus) Not listening, Kief. Got a lot of voicemail. Two months of abrupt unfair incarceration (death stare to Chet, matching Worth’s death stare for being called "Tubby") will do that. Ciao. See ya. Buh-bye.

Kiefer shakes a little bit, doing that weird "I would cry if I hadn’t removed my tear ducts surgically" face where he looks away, then returns his gaze to Chet.

Kiefer Sutherland: We’re gonna go.

Chet Worth: Thank you for all your help. We will not forget this.

James Morrison: Neither will we. We almost owe you a bit of thanks.

Chet Worth: Why’s that?

Danny Ferguson: (from next to the car) Hey, did I get sprung from prison to sit on the fucking tarmac all day long? Isn’t there a show going on?

James Morrison: For taking him off our hands.

The men and Troy all exchange handshakes, and Kiefer and James walk up the ramp as the plane begins to warm up. Over the swell of the engine, Lindsay, Chet and Blaine confer while returning to the car.

Lindsay Troy: This isn’t a good idea. You know that, right? This is like using Britney to mediate a fight between Paris and Lohan.

Chet Worth: Which one am I? Paris?

Lindsay Troy: I don’t know, do you have a sex tape?

Chet Worth: Hmm...ok, Blaine, you’re Paris.

Blaine Blair: For the last time, that is NOT a sex tape. That’s a recording of my college a cappella group’s presentation of Oklahoma!

Chet Worth: Tell that to the people who buy it on eBay.

The three approach the vehicle, where Danny has already taken the shotgun seat.

Danny Ferguson: Have I told you suckers how well I test in South Africa?

Troy looks at Chet, who doesn’t even react to it. With that, the clock comes back up, ticks down to 08:00:00, and leads us to...

…Back to the set where Richard is looking down at his stopwatch.

Nick: Why are you staring down at your watch?

Richard: I’m trying to judge if that segment was done in real time.

Nick: Now you just aren’t even trying. I’m going to do this one by myself. Our next section which is the most prominent is aptly called The Feuds. In this you will see some of the highlights from the year of rivarlies that PRIME had. Some were some humdingers.

Richard: Do you know how immature that sounds?

Nick: About as immature as you have been all night?

Richard: Pretty much

Nick: Our first entrée for this section features a Fuck You vs Team PRIME moment. If you can believe it, at one point Sonny Silver was actually a quasi-babyface.

Richard: GET OUT

Nick: And he was on the same team as Lindsay Troy.

Richard: NO WAY

Nick: It’s true. Well with that being said folks, for weeks to start out 2007 there had been a ruckus between the two factions. Nova was leading the charge for his side as Universal Champion on the way to his dominant reign, and Lindsay Troy was kind of stuck in the middle. Sonny Silver and Tony Gamble…Well some would say that they were pawns at this time.

Richard: Fuck You is still the greatest stable ERR!

Nick: What you will see is the last time Sonny Silver was ever cheered by a fan backstage courtesy of Revolution 123.

Richard: SHORT JOKES UP IN THE HIZZY!

Somewhere near the gorilla position, Blaine Blair sits behind the desk in his office, fidgeting uncomfortably in his seat while clicking and unclicking a pen. Suddenly, the door to the new CEO's office flies open and the Risen Star stomps in, beads of sweat glistening on the receding hairline of his battered forehead. Blaine jumps a mile out of his seat as the door bangs against the wall. Nova extends an arm out to Blair in Caesarian fashion, his eyes glowing like coals.

Nova: What the fuck? What the fuck, Blaine? I needed to get some wee…um, a duffel bag of sports equipment out of my limo, and it wasn't there! WHERE the fuck is my limo, man?

Blaine holds out his arms passively.

Blair: There was nothing I could do, Nova. You were parked in a Fire Lane. They had to tow your car.

Nova directs his attention up from lighting a cigarette to stare wide-eyed at the boss of PRIME.

Nova: I did not park my limo in a Fire Lane! They parked their Fire Lane in my limo!

Suddenly the Risen Star turns to the left and jumps back in surprise, noticing Lindsay Troy standing there, intrigued.

Nova: GAH~! Lindsay!

Troy: I guess we're done chatting about me handing Steviekins' ass on a GCW sponsored paper plate, Blaine.

She shoots Nova a glance.

Troy: (chuckling) Looks likes someone'll be hoofin' it back to the Sleezebag Motel tonight.

Smoke shoots out of the champ's nostrils as his eyes narrow on Troy.

Nova: Nyuk, nyuk, nyuk. Yeah, because I'm too much of a cheap bastard to just go get another car at the rent center five seconds outside of the Lawlor Events Center, right? Is that it?

Troy cocks an eyebrow, and Blaine shrugs. Nova looks at both of them, first Troy, then Blair, Troy, Blair, Troy.

Nova: Okay. I'm too cheap to go get another car.

Troy: I'd offer to give you a ride but I'm afraid that your yellow streak will wreck the leather. Oh, and I have a "No Jackhole Policy" in my cars. Guess you're shit outta luck.

The Risen Star takes a deep drag, his eyes racing the cigarette ember to see who can smolder more brightly.

Nova: "Jackhole," that's really…that's really something. And I think I'll take a pass if it's really all the same to you. I'm not dressed warmly enough for that car ride.

Troy: Come to think of it, Caes, you could always get a ride back in Gamble's clown car. Maybe he'll even let you honk his horn.

And as the Amazon Devil speaks, who should walk into the office but "The Grin." Gamble looks at Troy, then to Nova, then to Blaine. Troy, Nova, Blai...ok, we're not doing this again.

Troy: Hey Blaine, guess what? You're officially no longer the shortest person in the room!

With a mouth full of spite, and the tongue to unleash it, Tony turns to face the Xena Warrior Princess reject.

Gamble: He's still the only one that needs to sit down to take a piss, so I wouldn't be talking Leonard.

Nova's been snickering behind Gamble the entire time, but Tony has yet to figure out which joke he seems the most amused by.

Troy: Yeah, like I haven't heard that one a million times, Papa Smurf. You pullin' a Mencia and ripping off material again?

Tony has yet to take his eyes off of her, almost focused entirely too much.

Troy: Pictures last a lot longer, Scarface. And they don't hit you repeatedly in the face.

Tony nods, while lifting his hand and pointing his finger at her.

Gamble: Yeah, but they don't catch the way your Adam's Apple moves when you talk. It's hypnotic.

Troy: I heard Violet tell Tracy awhile back that it's bigger than your balls. Care to confirm?

Gamble nods.

Gamble: It's true, but in my defense... It was cold.

Troy: You must be perpetually freezing then.

Nova just lets the laughter flow, as he's sat back and listened to the back and forth for the last few seconds.

Nova: I'm sorry man, but she's had you owned since before you walked in the door.

Gamble turns to face his "stablemate", and shoots him an uneasy glare.

Gamble: Nice to know where you stand on all of this.

Nova shrugs, then takes a long drag of his cigarette.

Nova: Who am I to argue with the truth?

Blair: Is there a reason all of you are in my office, or has this become the new break room?

The trio of top notch main event caliber stars that PRIME seems to be in an abundance of at the moment all turn to look at the man that is supposed to be in charge. We say supposed to be, because who are we kidding, we run this shit. >=)

Troy: I'm sorry Blaine. I forgot you were here.

Blaine: You all came to me! Did you forget that too!?

Troy: Well, in my defense, you asked me here.

As three of the major forces of PRIME’s Main Event scene come into the fold, ANOTHER interruption makes things worse. All eyes avert to the form standing in the doorway… that of Mr. Silver, Chairman of PRIME. The deluded faux Chairman takes note of all the attention he’s suddenly got, then folds his arms.

Silver: This is how this shit should be. All jaws drop open and recognize greatness. You may continue with your bickering, my kids, while Dad and the homosexual that thinks he’s in charge have a word.

While Troy looks on agitated at this sudden interruption and Nova focuses his attention on Blaine, Gamble rolls his eyes and shrugs.

Gamble: You’re only half right… Blaine’s not our dad.

A mock laugh erupts from the face of Father PRIME before he purposely pushes Gamble to the side. The Jewel in the Crown for 2006 shoots a death gaze that would burn a hole through his head, had he any superpowers other than being a smartass… a talented smartass, at that.

Silver: Sorry, dude. I can’t hear you from all the way up here. Spit Nova’s cum out of your mouth and speak up. (turning to Blaine) As for you, O Great Faggoteer, we have to talk business. My Smokin’ Hot Bitches division is off to a great start and we’ve got to keep the bodies going.

That’s when he turns to Troy.

Silver: YOU! AMAZON! JOIN MY PRECIOUS DIVISION! I KNOW OF NO GREATER BITCH THAN YOU AND I’M SURE SOMEBODY IN MARKETING CAN DO SOMETHING WITH THAT SKIN BAG YOU CALL A FACE!

Lindsay looks blankly at Sonny, then turns to Blaine and jerks her thumb at the CHAIRMAN of PRIME.

Troy: What is he on about?

Blair: That Women's Division...thing.

Silver: SMOKIN' HOT BITCHES DIVISION! Y'KNOW, THE DIVISION WHOSE TITLE YOU STILL HAVEN'T PUT UP ON THE PRIME WEBSITE AND MADE IT ALL OFFICIAL-LIKE?!

Troy: Oh, that abomination. Right. I try not to pay attention to things I know are going to fail miserably.

Silver: That’s everybody, my dear. THAT’S why nobody pays attention to your little one-woman crusades against FU or whenever you gun for a title.

Nova and Gamble can’t help but laugh at that joke when Sonny continues.

Silver: I mean, come on, Lindsay! It’s FU. These guys have a shittier turnover rate than Destiny’s Child! In fact, these two ought to be arrested for indecent exposure on TV because all I see are a couple of gigantic pussies sopping up MY precious airtime.

That laughter? Oh, yeah. Gone. Blaine tries to get a word in with all the bickering going amongst his stars, but Nova is none too pleased with the joke at his own group’s expense.

Nova: Is that a fact? Because all I see standing before me is a fucking has-been. Not even that, but a never-was. You’ve got to pretend to be Vince McMahon because that’s the closest thing you’ll ever have to success. You’re always ripping off one person or another because you’re a fucking leech and that’s all you ever will be.

He points to the Universal Title slung over his shoulder.

Nova: See this belt, Sonshine? This belt says that I’m the king of this castle that you claim as your own. You can go around and swing your miniscule phallic muscle at whoever you want a make outrageous claims, but until you manage to win and KEEP one of these around your waist, I suggest you close that sewer factory you call a mouth.

Gamble: That’s right. Last I checked, when have YOU ever gotten a crack at anything important? Intense? That’s fool’s gold compared to what I’ve done so far WITHOUT the need to talk a lot. I won Jewel in the Crown… you know, I even beat the guy, Shawn Stewart, that beat you. In the FIRST ROUND, nonetheless.

Silver takes a second to soak in the harsh words thrown his way, then he looks down at Gamble.

Silver: First of all, one time you stepped into the ring with me, I pinned your midget ass 1-2-3. Second time, me and Amazon over here beat you AGAIN along with Olsig, so when you’re done talking about how you’re choke artist of the year, then you can talk to me.

Then back to Nova.

Silver: Nova, you’re SO lucky that you’ve brought the ratings you have to my shows. I mean, sure, it’s not me at the top of the mountain, but what would people think if *I* was champion of the federation I ran? That’s crazy! But in the meantime, I’ll take a second to point out the fact that you smell like cabbage and I liked you better when you weren’t fisting Deville’s asshole underneath the table.

Blair: Oh the FCC's going to have ANOTHER field day.

Troy: You sound shocked by this.

Blair: Why the hell aren't you saying anything to stop him?

Troy: I find it better to just let him ramble on and get it out of his system.

As the now FOUR PRIME superstars begin to bicker amongst one another like cats staking a claim to their own territory, the real CEO of PRIME starts to feel a bead of sweat run down his forehead. He just wanted some time alone to take care of some paperwork and not have to deal with any egos tonight, but the madness was just too overwhelming.

He feels it getting hotter in the room.

No, not because of the high abundance of testosterone in the room, but of his own fearfulness for the situation itself.

He had to do something.

ANYTHING.

Blair: NOVA AND GAMBLE VS. TROY AND SILVER!

Well, it WAS something.

All eyes diverted back to a shaken Blaine Blair. The new CEO took a moment to calm himself down, then sighed.

Blair: You heard me. If you guys are going to come into my office and fight, then you guys have enough energy to exert in the ring. I suggest you all get ready VERY soon. You're on after Sun Tzu and Hall.

All four parties simple stared at one another intently, now realizing that some shit was going to go down tonight.

Tonight, we’ve got ourselves a party.

Richard chuckles in delight with the seg ending, and takes a sip of his soda.

Richard: Ah, Lindsay is so gullible. You should know never to trust an egomaniacial prick. She was asking for the turn later that night from the former Mr. Silver, CHAIRMAN OF PRIME!

Nick: As subjective as that is, you unfortunately have a point.

Richard: Damn right I do.

Nick: This would go on to produce one of the more agonizing feuds where Troy would end up dropping the belt to Sonny in their third match at Great American Nightmare.

Richard: He was just luring her into a false sense of security with the first two losses.

Nick: Yeah, sure he was. Moving on, Sonny’s friend Nova was embroiled in some hot feuds this year, but you are about to see a selection from his last one involving Danny Ferguson.

Richard: This was inevitable if I do say so myself. They were on different sides of the coin, and grew to hate each other ever since Ferguson returned.

Nick: Who could ever forget Nova and Fuck You sending a porn star that Ferguson had a huge crush on.

Richard: Both competitors around this point were waging war, and would ultimately clash at CIV. They amazingly pulled off the feat of being both loved and hated by some at the same time, Ferguson ultimately looking like the villain at the end of the feud.

Nick: He proved that for one night he could beat the man.

Richard: Brought to you by Revolution 133…We’ll just allow the segment to speak for itself.

Overhead Mic Holder Guy: I feel like we’re wasting our time perched out here in the garage in two-thousand-degree heat waiting on the hope that someone will…

Cameraman: SHUT UP! I hear something!

The team pause on baited breath as the faint sounds of wheels grinding grow louder and louder…before growing quiet again as a car passes on the street below next to the Staples Center. The cameraman sighs loudly and kicks a pebble across the concrete.

Cameraman: Damn. Oh, fuck it, you’re right. Pack it in, fel-

The echo of squealing brakes causes their heads to swivel around as a limousine rounds the corner of the parking lot up from the level below. It comes to a quick stop, and its tires gasp with relief as Jim Pibb and Dametreyus Fuqueiawtyus step out from both sides of the back. They survey the area dutifully for snipers or lust-crazed fangirls before Dam sticks his head back inside the limo and nods to its inhabitants.

Dametreyus Fuqueiwatyus: ‘Sall good, boss.

Reggie Delray steps out, cracking his shoulders and giving himself a shake, followed by none other than resident Ginger Kid sonuvabitch, Danny Ferguson.

Danny Ferguson: (Snapping his fingers) Have ‘em bring in my bags, Reg. It’s gonna be a good ni-ohhhhhh, my God…

No sooner do the newest indy star’s Greedy Genius hot-ass street kicks hit the cold concrete than the double doors from the back explode open, unleashing a veritable tidal wave of media vampires waving microphones and cameras. They descend on the unsuspecting Ferguson like a cloud of locusts.

"Mr. Ferguson, Curve magazine! Why call the pre-show press conference? What message do you have for the wider lesbian community?"

"Danny, Rick Shroeder from The Advocate! What’s the big announcement? We have a few guesses of our own! LOL~!"

"Danny, the readers of O magazine HAVE to know…do you think Oprah’s not not NOT not still pretty fat?"

As the cameras illuminate his every pore, Danny looks back at Del Ray with the classic wide-eyed "Deer in the Headlights" gaze.

Danny Ferguson: (Under his breath) PRESS…CONFERENCE?

Reggie shrugs, mouthing "I don’t know." In the face of an unexpected, expectant audience, Ferguson’s face quickly comes to resemble his fiery hair. His mouth can’t seem to form words, his tongue flopping uselessly about his mouth.

Danny Ferguson: Ah-guuuuh…uh…agh, uh…

Reporter: Danny, tell us about your new agent, Caesar Vega! Is hiring a Hollywood outsider your way of making a statement, or do you see him as your ticket back to the A-List?

Before the question can even sink in on the Irish superstar, his cell phone beeps and vibrates in his pocket. He holds up one shaky finger to the gathered media mass, and stares down at the text message that pops up on his iPhone screen:

Enjoy the cameras. Lord knows you always do. Sincerely, Caesar Vega (Your New Agent >=) )

Danny’s eyes bulge out from their sockets and he quivers uncontrollably with the kind of rage that gives you one of those "blinking white spot" headaches. He scans the room quickly, the voices of the reporters fading into the background, until his eyes fall on a figure leaned against a concrete pylon in the shadows of the garage near the entrance doors.

Nova grins widely and offers a playful wave. Ferguson’s mouth hangs open in a combination of indignation and…and…well, motherfucker’s indignant as all get out. When he can finally form words, Danny can manage only…

Danny Ferguson: YOOOOOOOOUUUUUU!!!!!~!*

He springs forward �" pundits will argue over his frame of mind in this moment later �" and immediately knocks over a woman waving a microphone frantically. Without seeing her, he stomps on, brushing past cameramen and shouting interviewers, everything seemingly caught in a molasses-like soup of slow-motion. The headlines are already writing themselves…

"FERGUSON FLIPS ON GAY MEDIA AT OWN PRESS CONFERENCE"

"DANGEROUS DANNY CHASES DOWN NEW AGENT"

"WRESTLING RIVAL FREAKS FERGUSON IN FRONT OF GAY GROUPS"

…but Danny can’t see or hear any of this now as he breaks free of the mob and charges a waiting Nova, whose fists are already curled like the smile still covering his face.

Nova: Come on, you asshole! Give ‘em the show they came to see!

The Box Office Bomb collides with the Risen Star.

Backstage…

Young Loader: I don’t know, I mean, it would ROCK to actually hang out with some of these guys, you know? Go out for a beer? Like…like colleagues or something!

Friend Nearby: You should try asking one of them. They aren’t bad people, for the most part…definitely not as snobby as you think.

Young Loader: It’s not that; it’s just…this is gonna sound cliché…they all seem so violent.

Friend Nearby: Naaaaah, dude, trust me on th-

Suddenly the double-doors are slammed open, knocking Young Loader aside into a pile of boxes…and very much unconscious. Danny barrels into the room, his arms locked around Nova’s waist as he rams the Risen Star back-first into a column of shelves. Nova howls, and Danny slings him off the rack into the adjacent wall.

Danny Ferguson: YOU’RE RUINING MY LIFE!!

Nova: DOES THE NAME KYLE LAMEN RING A BELL?!

With a wild cry he leaps forward, hands outstretched as if to strangle his nemesis, but Nova swings hard with a right, connecting to Danny’s jaw and sending him careening backwards into a cameraman filming the incident for television, knocking the shot ajar before it spins out of control down towards hard ground.

Cut to static.

Nick is chuckling endlessly at the demise of Ferguson while Richard is looking over at his partner with a “You done yet” look.

Richard: Yeah, get your laughs in punk, but just know that Ferguson ended up putting Nova OUT PRIME.

Nick: Does someone need their bottle?

Richard: Bottle of booze maybe.

Nick: Nova owns all of PRIME’s alcohol.

Richard: …GAH!

Nick: Our next feud was perhaps one of the most rewarding of 2007. Asa Fountain had returned into the wrestling world at King of Kings 06 and ran smack into one Sonny Sil-

Richard: MR. SILVER, CHAIRMAN OF PRIME!

Nick: -Ver. Unfortunately, the way that Silver got Asa’s attention was by racial remarks that really didn’t have a place.

Richard: Heels will get the heat anyway they can.

Nick: Silver at this point had captured the Intense Championship from Sun Tzu at Revolution 115.

Richard: He put a car alarm on the title at one point.

Nick: That he did Richard. What you are about to see is one of Asa’s finest moments in PRIME. A true pwning of Sonny Silver.

Richard: *pout*

Nick: RIDIN ON SPINNAZ! REVOLUTION 117!

Johannesburg, South Africa is completely agog for tonight’s PRIME show live from its very own Ellis Park Stadium.

Nick: These fans have gone completely agog for tonight’s PRIME show, eh, Richard?

You’re welcome for the lines. Fucker.

Richard: Yeah! And tonight, we’re gonna be seeing NOVA~! Kick the living hell out of some guy that these guys have picked off the street or some stuff.

Nick: RICHARD! From what I hear, Onthaal Baas is a very superb athlete and we look forward to seeing him in action representing APW when he goes against the current flagship of PRIME in what will be a very exciting encounter.

Before Richard can get in another rebuttal, the fans stand at attention as a low guitar riff cut them all off.

Nick: Oh, jeez, no, not HIM.

Richard: Is it? IS IT? IS IT?!

"No Chance" by Dope, motherfuckers.

Richard: IT IS! YES! MR. SILVER, CHAIRMAN OF PRIME, IS MAKING HIS WAY OUT HERE! HE WHO SIGNS YOUR PAYCHECKS!

Since this is an outdoor venue there are no strobe lights, but a nice little fog machine kicks up near ringside as the fans of Ellis Park Stadium start to boo the man making his way out. Dressed in some highly chic business attire (black suit, black sunglasses, expensive-looking watch) the faux Chairman does a classic Silver-Trademarked Power Walk™ to the ring. He stops in front of the steps, shows off the title and starts climbing into the ring proudly.

Nick: I can’t believe how ostentatious this guy is. His claims are bogus and this guy'ms ego could crush this entire planet if he ever gets knocked over.

Richard: SHHH! Are you TRYING to get fired?

Silver starts to position himself in the center of the ring, calling out to the sky for something.

Nick: What’s he doing? I just explained this last week, it’s an OUTDOOR arena, there’s nothing hanging from the raf---

Sure enough, an old school announcer microphone lowers from SOMEWHERE.

Nick: --ters.

Richard: This man’s power knows no bounds.

The music of Dope gets cut out with the slashing of Sonny’s hand. The King of Sports Entertainment clears his throat before he begins his speech. Before he can begin, an overwhelming amount of jeering erupts from the African fans in attendance. He shoots a small smirk to the side and puts a hand over his eyes as if he’s looking at something in the distance.

Silver: Holy CRAP. There’s a lot of jeers coming from… I don’t know where, it’s too dark to tell.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

He cackles like only the evil bastard can, as he adores his reflection in the nameplate currently placed on the Intense Title. Once he gets a look of his sexy self, he turns back to the angry crowd.

Silver: What? What are YOU guys so mad about? I spend thousands of dollars to take what my family and me have built over the last fifty years, let you all experience it first-hand, and the lot of you have the GALL to boo me? I swear I get no love from ANY of you ingrates when I lend a helping hand to a destitute species. I feel like George Bush visiting New Orleans.

And what’s that you hear? It sounds like… MORE BOOING! Sonny gives the people some time to let that jibe sink in before he continues. He sets the Intense Title on the canvas before him and continues his speech, keeping one eye on his title and the other on the fans.

Silver: I come out here for a reason. You see, I was a little pre-occupied with owning the joint last week to do what I REALLY wanted to do. Seeing as I haven’t booked myself for action tonight, what I’m about to do has been a LONG time coming for a man like myself.

Richard: He’s reached the top of Midcard Mountain, Nick! This is awesome!

Nick: Oh, brother. What’s he prattling on about now?

Sonny beats a hand on his chest and looks to the sky.

Silver: Dad… Granddad… thank you both for blessing me with the superior genes necessary to own the competition. Without you, this title win would never be possible. My career is one step closer to being complete.

Richard sniffles at ringside.

Richard: This is just… touching, man. Thank you Mr. and Mr. Silver for making this possible!

Nick: Get a grip! He’s in his own little world, don’t pander to this man!

Silver: As for the Intense Title itself…

Gazing longingly at the symbol of all that is Extreme and Hardcore in PRIME, he took it in one hand…

AND SPIT A LOOGIE ON THE TITLE BELT.

The nasty green-yellow phlegm slowly oozes off the faceplate of the title as Sonny sneers at it.

Nick: What the HELL is this maniac doing?! People bust their ass to win championships and this man is desecrating its value! He just spit on the thing.

Richard: What ARE you doing, Mr. Silver, Chairman of PRIME!? You wanted that title!

He lets the title drag across the ground while he presses on.

Silver: You people don’t see what I see when I look at the Intense Title. For you, you see a man who controls his destiny and stands in the face of adversity. You people see a man who defends a belt in the most extreme of environments where anything can and WILL happen to you if you don’t have a set of eyes in the back of your head… it used to be that way long ago… now it’s rubbish.

He Who Signs Your Paychecks paces the ring rapidly, letting the title continue to drag degradingly across the mat.

Silver: All the champions of the past can be named… Rock Startling… Ignatius Lisieux… Killean "Prag" Sirrajin… Trashcan Man or Garbage Bag Johnny, whichever one of those dirty-ass fucks came first… The Illustrious Cock-Sucker… Nova… And the longest-reigning champion, Vangelus Olsig. Well, there’s a few more, but screw them. They abandoned my federation, so they get no mentions. Winning this title meant that I had to beat up an Asian woman to win it; not the first time I’ve had a whoop some stupid Asian bitch with gold on the line.

Squared Circle fans remember that day a few years ago when he defeated Inoue Doi aka The School Girl. One of Sonny’s "many" accomplishments.

Silver: When I won it, I took it back to my five-star hotel room and I tried washing this thing off with Purell, Dial, Irish Spring, just about every cleaning concoction you can think of. I tried to get the stench of SUCK off this thing, but it did me no good. I scrubbed with Brillo Oxy-Action pads… GET THEM AT YOUR LOCAL MARKET NEAR YOU… and even they couldn’t get it off. Frustrated, I returned to my massive bed and took a nap. Then, it hit me.

Nick: …I can’t believe what I’m hearing. He’s just pissing on the legacy of a title that several Universal Champions have held, Nova included!

Richard: Well, some of them DID suck.

Silver continues.

Silver: Last week in this ring, I pinned Vangelus Olsig, the longest-reigning Intense Champion. That was a wake-up. The dark ages of this title belt being held by Emo pirates, Spanish-Canadian morons and people who get used as currency in prison came to a dead stop. What I awakened was something brilliant. I will continue to carry this title with me as a reminder of what the past held long ago. But alongside it, a NEW legacy will be born. Plus, I got money in the bank like my name was Li’l Scrappy. So I went out this week and found myself something new to show off my glory!

Several stagehands make their way down to the ring, carrying a massive display enshrouded in cloth. Fans murmured as to what it could be or what the Hell Sonny was talking about.

Richard: What’s he doing?

Nick: With him, Richard, Lord only knows.

Silver: Be careful with that! If I find a scratch on that thing, there’ll be a scratch on your asses!

They bring the display up and over the ropes and had it placed in the center of the ring right next to Silver. He smiles like a kid on Christmas morning or like Sun Tzu when she pistol-whipped her first GI. Once that’s done, the King of Sports Entertainment prepares to undo the sheet…

Silver: BEHOLD! A BELT WORTHY OF ME!

OH.

LORD.

NO.

A BIG honking golden belt is revealed to everybody. It's similar to the WCW Championship, only with several diamonds encrusted on the outer edge. The words "MR. SILVER, CHAIRMAN OF PRIME" shine brightly on the nameplate, but the biggest atrocity of all has the fans in an uproar.

Nick: Is that… what I think it is…

Richard: IT IS! THIS IS AWESOME! I’M MARKING OUT AND I DON’T CARE WHO HEARS ME! VIVA LA NEW TITLE BELT!

Nick: That belt… has…

Yes.

A SPINNER. In the form of Sonny’s own § emblem, nonetheless. He takes the title out of its case and starts twisting the spinner around to his own personal delight. Sonny takes that massive title belt and wraps it around his waist while keeping the Intense Title over his shoulder (after wiping the spit off, of course.)

Silver: What you have seen tonight is the coronation of "The Intense Hardcore Legend" Mr. Silver, Chairman of PRIME! Eat it, bitches!

Nick: I think I just vomited.

Richard: I think I need new pants!

Silver laughs maniacally in the middle of the ring, spinning that stupid fucking spinner around and around, the people of Africa booing his stupid ass like it's their job.

But not for long.

A funky beat starts to play.

And the people of Africa go absolutely ballistic.

Only it isn't the normal funky beat that PRIME has come to know and love. It's "Play that Funky Music," by Wild Cherry.

Nick: Now I think I need new pants!

Richard: And I think I just vomited!

Yeah, there was a funky singeeeer! Playin' in a rock n' roll baaaaaand! And never had no problems, yeah. Buuuurnin' down one night staaaaands!

What's weird is that the person singing the song isn't the lead singer of Wild Cherry. If you listen closely, it's the deep, old, black-man voice of Froses himself. Sonny hasn't seemed to notice, but stares up at the ramp angrily regardless.

And everything around meeeee, yeah. Got to stop to feelin' so looooooooow! And I decided quickly, yes I did. To disco down and check out the shoooooow!

At this point, instead of the Ayatollah of Funk n' Soula showing up, around ten beautiful, gold laden, absolutely jaw-dropping and funkadelic black women dance and shake their groove thangs down the ramp. The people of Africa roar and cheer as they step into the ring, Silver's mouth reaching the floor.

Yeah they was dancin'! And singin'! And movin' to the groovin'! And just when! It hit me! Somebody turned around and shouted PLAY THAT FUNKY MUUUUSIC, WHITE BOY! PLAY THAT FUNKY MUUUSIC RIIIIIIGHT! PLAY THAT FUNKY MUUUUSIC, WHITE BOY! LAAAY DOWN THAT BOOOGIE AND PLAY THAT FUNKY MUSIC TILL YOU DIE!

The girls dance around the ring, taking turns using the faux Chairman as a dancing pole.

Nick: I see no sign of Asa, but the voice singing that music sounds a LOT like him, and you'd have to be an idiot to think he has nothing to do with this...

Richard: You know what it is? This is Asa showing Sonny how sorry he is! He's thrown him a celebration to apologize for his douche-baggery! A class act! Even for a has-been like Fountain!

Silver has started to get into it, lost in the music...and the titties, dancing along with the beautiful golden girls.

Now, at first it wasn't eaasssy. Changin' rock n' roll and miiiiiiiinds! And things were getting' shaaaky. I thought I'd have to leave it behiiiiind!

Suddenly, the roars of the crowd go up a few decibals. Out of the crowd jives The Most Happenin' Cat in PRIME, the Fro-Man himself, a mic to his lips and belting out the words to "Play that Funky Music."

Nick: There he is! I KNEW that voice was Asa's!

Richard: See! He's even SINGING for Sonny and all his awesome!

Asa (singing): But now it's so much better! I'm funkin' out in every waaaaay! But I'll never lose that feeeelin', or how I learned my lesson that daaaaaaay!

Asa slides into the ring behind The Chairman, dancing right up behind him, the brightest of smiles on his face.

Asa (singing): They were dancin'! And singin'! And movin' to the groovin'! And just when! It hit me! Somebody turned around and shouted!

Asa taps Sonny on the shoulder.

Sonny turns around.

His smiles drops.

Asa (singing): PLAY THAT FUNKY MUUUSIC, WHITE BOY!

Asa drops his mic and knees Silver in the gut, doubling him over.

Richard: Oh, fuckstains!

The people of Africa blow off the already missing roof, picking up where Asa left off with the song.

Crowd (singing): PLAY THAT FUNKY MUSIC, RIIIIIGHT!

Asa throws an arm up to the crowd, then swings his right leg over Sonny's neck and drills him to the mat with a legdrop!

Nick: SOUL-TRAIN! OH HELL YEAH!

Crowd (singing): PLAY THAT FUNKY MUSIC, WHITE BOY!

Asa claps and spins, hopping onto the ropes and throwing his arms up to the adoring fans. Sonny lies broken on the floor, clutching his aching head in pain.

Crowd:(singing): LAY DOWN THAT BOOOGIE AND PLAY THAT FUNKY MUSIC TILL YOU DIE!

Asa hops off the ropes and grooves over to Sonny's new Intense Title belt. He takes iff off of the Chairman's waist as the music continues to play. He takes a look at it, then looks back to the fans.

Richard: Oh no he won't...

Nick: Oh yes he will!

The fans roar out. Asa nods his head, makes some nasty gurgling noises with his throat. Aaand...

PATOOIE!

He hocks a MONSTER loogie onto the spinner of Sonny's prized possession! The din is defeaning in Ellis Park stadium. Asa raises the belt in the air, sets it down on Sonny's back, then spins the loogie-laced spinner. All Sonny can do is try and make the little sparklies go away.

Richard: DO YOU KNOW WHAT HE'S DONE?! HE'S DEFILED A PIECE OF HISTORY! AND THESE PEOPLE ARE CHEERING FOR HIM!

Nick: Hey, I'm not about to tell a stadium full of angry people who they can and can't cheer for! We'll be right back!

Asa remains in the ring, dancing with the beautiful and funky ladies to the beats of Wild Cherry as we change scenes.

Richard and Nick have vastly different looks on their face when the camera fixates back on them. Richard is disgusted while Nick has a toothy grin.

Richard: To paraphrase what I said in the segment, that shit was a disgrace.

Nick: I think that was just one of many beatdowns that Silver had coming to him.

Richard: I’m sure he has no qualms about coming in here and belting you with the Universal strap.

Nick: I’ll make him pay me six figures right before Culture Shock or face going public if he does.

Richard: Touche

Nick: Our next course features a combination of two feuds revolving around one Karina Wolfenden. Trashcan Man came back at Revolution 115 by blowing up K-Wolf’s bike, and Sun Tzu had been on K-Wolf, stealing her Hall of Fame Championship.

Richard: No wonder why she wanted to kill people in the face.

Nick: Fortunately for our sake, Trashcan Man and Sun Tzu never formed a team.

Richard: That’s just a scary thought right there.

Nick: In fact, what you are going to see is the only time K-Wolf and Sun Tzu quasi teamed up.

Richard: Tell me that’s not a hot lesbian scene to walk in on.

Nick: Is all you think about sex?

Richard: Graduate of the Tyler Rayne Pimp Academy, first year baby.

Nick: From Revolution 117 as well, warning: The following seg may contain tazer usage and hords of violence.

Backstage, Sun Tzu is almost skipping down the corridor, verging on ‘the hills are alive’ fashion. And, by skipping, think stamping in skull-crusher boots, but with a bit of a spring to her step. The kinda spring a young girl would get from thinking about the first time she tortured a Tibetan.

There’s only one person who could ruin such a happy-bouncy-killy mood.

PRIME‘s l‘enfant terrible.

Boots skid to a halt on the tiled floor, and fierce eyes zero in on Karina Wolfenden’s face, which sports a rather conspicuous smile.

Sun Tzu: What?

Kari simply nudges her pierced eyebrows up a notch.

Sun Tzu: WHAT?

Suspicious, the Artist of War looks either side of her, then over both shoulders. Grabbing her top, she eyes it over to try and find whatever has caused the grin to dawn across the lips of the Eternal Sunset.

Sun Tzu: I DEMAND to know why you’re smiling.

Suddenly feeling self-conscious, Sun scoffs, spinning on tip-toes, then striding off the better woman.

Sun Tzu: Well, I don’t care. We both know that if I wanted to, I could smile a smile that everyone would agree was far superior to yours in both style and execution.

Her strides slow, awaiting Karina finally divulging the information desired by Mao’s Little Red Bitch. Her stride slows, then she stamps to a halt, spins back, and storms at the K-Wolf, (verbal) guns blazing.

Sun Tzu: I AM AN OFFICIAL ENVOY OF THE GOVERNMENT OF THE PEOPLES REPUBLIC OF CHINA AND IN MAO‘S NAME IF YOU DON’T TELL ME WHY YOU’RE SMILING I’LL BE ON THE LINE TO THE EMBASSY SO FAST IT’LL MAKE YOUR HAIR ALL TURN THE SAME COLOUR, AND HAVE YOU THROWN IN GUANTANEMO BAY, THE ONE GOOD THING YOUR COUNTRY HAS BUILT, UNTIL YOU TELL ME!!!

Clearing her throat, Sun calms herself back down, adjusting her collar nonchalantly.

Sun Tzu: Or… I’ll shoot you in both your kneecaps.

Having gotten her rise out of Tzu, Kari is glad to spill.

Karina Wolfenden: I was just thinking about the stonking cheque I’ll get when they finally turn my script into a movie.

For a split second, Sun’s thoughts drifted back to China, where not getting straight to the point could be punishable by removal of the tongue… and puncturing of the brain by a bullet-hot projectile.

Karina Wolfenden: It’s the touching story of a young Chinese girl who was born in a test-tube of growth hormone who escapes to the west and proceeds to play the dating game with oh so hilarious consequences.

Those with acute hearing could probably pick up the grinding of Sun Tzu’s teeth.

Karina Wolfenden: There’s this one scene, where she practically throws herself head-first down some Italian guy’s pants, only to land flat on her face when he runs to the hills.

Sun Tzu: I’d wait and buy it on DVD, that way I can watch the deleted scenes where said Chinese girl forces some ‘alternative’ American scene-following sheep to drink mercury until her eyes explode.

Just as the verbal volleys are readied for launch as PRIME’s cold war threatens to erupt, a booming voice echoes down the hallway.

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH YESSSSSS!!! OL’ JUMPIN’ JACK HEARS HIM SOME FIGHTIN’ FINE FROLICKIN’ FEMALE FUN!!!"

Both Karina and Sun’s eyes narrow in mistrust, before they turn their attention to the source of the voice, where following in its wake is the gaudy jump-suited persona of Michael Kriegman.

Karina Wolfenden: I want to look away… but… it sparkles.

Sun Tzu: Okay, that’s it, I’m out. He’s your nemesis, not mine.

Approaching them with an entrancing mixture of a strut and a prance, Jumpin’ Jack Flash slaps both hands down over his heart, pretending to faint at the sight of the two women. Wanting to leave, Sun Tzu tries to back away, but for some reason, can’t look away. Probably the same force that stops her clawing her eyeballs out.

Jumpin’ Jack Flash: Be still my beating heart... Aphrodite herself hides her face in shame at these two visions of feminine perfection. You, my deadly little killing machine...

He flashes that oh so gorgeous smile at an incredulous Sun Tzu.

Jumpin: Jack Flash: Your hair flows like an ebon waterfall. It would be pure ecstasy to run my fingers through it. And you... oh Karina, you feisty little minx... The fires of your passion light up your emerald eyes with such a spark... please allow me to try to quench those fires in my warm embrace.

He spreads his arms out expansively, his lips parted in a wide smile, confidence exuding out of his every pore despite his ridiculous words...

Jumpin' Jack Flash: Ladies, come with me tonight and let me show you the magic that only I can perform. Waves of pleasure will overcome you, crashing down on the reefs of your every orgasm, sending you into a crescendo of wild abandonment, we three sailors adrift on a sea of passion!

Feeling the taste of vomit seeping up into her mouth a little more with every words he spills forth, Karina drops her head to the side, whispering to Tzu.

Karina Wolfenden: Could I PLEASE borrow… I can’t believe I’m saying this… Mr Snugglepants?

Sun Tzu: Nobody from a country that doesn’t cull these types from their population every spring deserves to touch Mister Snugglepants or Kookoo Bear. You can use this, and only because my eyes won’t stop gravitating south, and I don’t want to have to trust these African doctors to give me a lobotomy to rid my brain of this moment.

Reaching into her sleeve’s pocket, Tzu retrieved a tazar gun, slapping it in Kari’s hand.

Karina Wolfenden: Who’s this? Binky?

Sun Tzu: Please, I’m not a child. I stopped naming my non-lethal weapons when I was 10, just like every other girl.

Jumpin’ Jack Flash: Oh, ladies, ladies, ladies… Jumpin’ Jack has his own lil’ supply of toys back at his hotel room, you didn’t need to bring your own.

Kari again drops her head down towards Sun.

Karina Wolfenden: NON-lethal?

Sun Tzu: Well, when used externally.

Not even wanting to think about whether she’d deduced it by practice or theory, the K-Wolf shoots Jack a wink. Before he can even absorb the gesture, Jack’s bare chest is punctured by two barbs, shortly followed by 50,000 volts.

As both womens’ faces sour at the smell of scorched spandex emanating from Michael Kriegman’s shuddering body. Somehow staying on his feet, the harsh shock therapy not seeming anything new, Kriegman even seems to impress Mao’s Little Red Bitch a tad.

Sun Tzu: Remind me to get some of his DNA, we could use some durable clones.

As the shock continues to surge through Michael’s system, Jumpin’ Jack Flash begins to lose his sole custody over the smouldering body. He bursts out in high pitched cackling as the manic Mr Smiley Face ascends.

Mr Smiley Face: Why do I feel like I'm a convict in a Texas prison?

The grin fades as the Smilin' Dude loses control to the Trashcan Man, clutching his head and falling to his knees.

Trashcan Man: Not again! Not the chip! The pain, the pain...

His head leans back as he screams out to the world...

Trashcan Man: MY LIFE FOR YOU! MASTER, MY LIFE FOR YOU!!!

He collapses in a heap like a puppet who's had its strings cut. Shudders wrack his frame as he weeps, hiding his face in his hands and muttering to himself.

Sun Tzu: There’s a reason so many people in your Mao-forsaken country need therapy.

As the short-circuited Trashy shuts down, Sun Tzu makes a quick exit, wanting to wash the West off of her quick-smart. Eyes watering from the smell of roasted waxed chest and second-skin jumpsuit, Karina decides that Sun might have the right idea, stepping over the shuddering Kriegman as she leaves to get ready for her match.

Nick and Richard are munching on their popcorn together. Much the same, if Blaine Blair had popcorn around these two, he’d probably try the get a girl to like you popcorn trick.

Yes, I know what I just implied.

Nick: Even I feel for Trashy after seeing him get brutalized in that fashion.

Richard: Still not as bad as Facey to Tchu, but I wouldn’t want to experience FIDDY thousand volts of pain.

Nick: Neither would I. Moving on into our next segment, we keep two thirds from the last piece. As noted, Sun Tzu and K-Wolf never liked each other, as is usually the case with women in PRIME.

Richard: I think it’s safe to say that K-Wolf in 2007 didn’t really like anybody in PRIME.

Nick: This feud went from Sun Tzu jumping around stir crazy about being more annoying than K-Wolf to Deville, as we saw earlier, to backstage rants, to Sun Tzu “attempting” to challenge K-Wolf for her Undisputed Amy Dumas Memorial Jizzbang Championship of the World.

Richard: Greatest title name ever.

Nick: All the way up to at UltraViolence where Sun Tzu got a Loser Leaves PRIME match with K-Wolf, sending the rainbow haired vixen off into the sunset.

Richard: She had it coming.

Nick: This is what led to the match.

As Silver makes his jubilant exit through the curtain, the referee helps up the groggy and beaten Karina Wolfenden. Shrugging off the aid of the official, Wolfenden unwisely kicks out at the bottom rope in frustration, leaving her wincing as she looks out into the sea of PRIME fans who’re still hurling abuse at the departed Silver.

Dropping down seated onto the middle rope, the K-Wolf goes to drop out of the ring, until…

Learn Chinese by Jin.

Nick: That’s Sun Tzu’s music… she isn’t even booked tonight.

Richard: Oh, so that means she can’t exercise her freedom to be here if she wants? Isn’t that what separates America from counties lik-

Nick: Like China?

Richard: …No… like, um, France.

The ominous cloud of red smoke engulfs the stage, but as the shadow of Sun Tzu emerges, 2 larger shadows appear either side of her.

"Ya'll gonna learn Chinese
Ya'll gonna learn Chinese
Ya'll gonna learn Chinese
When the pumps come out, ya'll gon' speak Chinese!"

Striding out through the crimson fog, there’s a sinister smile spread across the Rabid Panda’s lips as she looks down the aisle at the defeated Wolfenden.

Nick: The sight of Sun Tzu being happy about something can never be good… the things that make her smile induce vomiting in most sane people.

Richard: Oh, I suppose her eyes make her look shifty too, do they? Racist! You just keep cheering on your little blue-eyed blonde-haired Aryan race like Karina.

Nick: Um… her eyes are green and her hair is purple.

Richard: This is the 21st century, the blue-print for the master race now includes green and purple.

As Sun Tzu reaches into a holster on her hip to draw a microphone, the 4 ominous figures emerge from the smoke, revealing themselves as a quartet of Chinese Army troops.

"Ya'll gonna learn Chinese
Ya'll gonna learn Chinese
Ya'll gonna learn Chinese
When the pumps come out, ya'll gon' speak Chinese!"

Nick: Karina Wolfenden has just been in an exhausting and brutal match with Son-

Richard: MISTER Silver.

Nick: -ny Silver, and now the aisle has been blocked off by the Artist of War and 4 of her Goons?

Rightly looking a little uneasy about the quintet of Commies looking down upon her, Wolfenden rests against the top rope, looking straight back at her long-time antagonist. As Sun’s theme fades down, a mixture of jeers and wolf whistles linger.

Sun Tzu: First of all, Karina, my sincerest congratulations on another spectacular defeat. In wrestling, it’s always good to set yourself a goal, and your mission to kill a legacy in as fewer matches as possible is just about accomplished.

With the sinister grin lingering on the Rabid Panda’s lips, the PRIME fans up their volume a notch, making the soldiers either side of Tzu look a bit twitchy… not a good sign given the virtual armoury each carries on their person.

Down in the ring, Karina simply narrows her glare, deciding to hold back the fact she pinned Sun in the Halo for now.

Sun Tzu: I checked, and since Colossus III last year, your only win in a ‘proper’ match, not some caged free-for-all you’d only see in some of China’s more primitive villages to pick a new leader, came against a mentally-ill man in my home country… of CHINA!

Her attempt at a cheap pop spectacularly fails.

CHI-NA SUCKS! CHI-NA SUCKS! CHI-NA SUCKS! CHI-NA SUCKS! CHI-NA SUCKS!

As one of the troops gets a little jumpy and goes to draw his side-arm, Sun places a hand up to him, putting him back at ease.

Sun Tzu: But, as well as excel in ‘Retard Beating’, which I believe was the national sport of Hong Kong before we took it back and civilised it a bit, you did something else in my glorious homeland, didn’t you?

Her words weary, tired by both the gruelling battle with Silver and the grating words of Sun Tzu, Kari bites back.

Karina Wolfenden: Pin y-

Not letting her rival get the shot off, the Artist of War interrupts and gestures up to the WAL*Tron.

Sun Tzu: Play the footage.

For effect, the arena lights dim as the WAL*Tron begins to show some grainy footage of a sidewalk, a large star bordered by 4 smaller ones branded into the top left corner. As the handheld camera rises up and into focus, the shot zooms in on an oblivious Karina Wolfenden leaving her hotel in Guangzhou, location of Culture Shock.

Sun Tzu: Now, to most this may look like your usual, ignorant American tourist doing their best to avoid any actual culture when in a country with a history longer than the life of a Giant Tortoise…

The camera zooms in even closer as Karina folds a stick of gum against her tongue, before balling the foil and paper up, then tossing it into the nearby trashcan.

Sun Tzu: …but in reality, she has a more sinister purpose.

CHI-NA SUCKS! CHI-NA SUCKS! CHI-NA SUCKS! CHI-NA SUCKS! CHI-NA SUCKS!

The wrestling fans are American. Sun Tzu is Chinese. You had to expect it.

In the ring, Karina shoots a bemused ‘and?’ look up at the Rabid Panda.

Sun Tzu: Let’s just rewind this a little shall we…

The footage winds backwards, then replays with an extreme zoom in on the trash can… showing the gum wrapper bounce off the lip and down onto the sidewalk.

Sun Tzu: And there we have it: TERRORISM.

Naturally, the Artist of War’s claims are met with even more jeering as her posture grows into something a little more soapbox-y.

Sun Tzu: It took me all of 3 seconds off the plane to realise that nobody in the cultureless dustbowl has any sense of national pride, but in my country, littering of the peoples’ streets is considered an act of terror, punishable by a prison sentence just long enough that nobody will remember that we never actually released you.

CHI-NA SUCKS! CHI-NA SUCKS! CHI-NA SUCKS! CHI-NA SUCKS! CHI-NA SUCKS!

Defiantly, Tzu hits back at the fans.

Sun Tzu: Yes, that’s right… China sucks. China sucks away all your failing economy’s trade, China sucks away any lingering illusions that you’re still a super-power… and now, China sucks away your beloved little K-Wolf so she can spend the rest of her life breaking rocks into smaller rocks.

As the hate towards Sun Tzu whirls all around her, Wolfenden hobbles back into the middle of the ring, rightly looking more than a little nervous.

Sun Tzu: But… unlike America, where you fry retards in chairs for sport, China has a little humanity. I’m not here to arrest you, Karina… and these troops are just for show. The honest truth, Karina, is that if my people thought even a mere grain that their hard word had produced was used to keep the likes of you barely alive in a labour camp, they’d collectively vomit and drown everyone in East Asia.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

A sigh of relief is breathed by the K-Wolf as Tzu gestures for the troops to head to the back.

Sun Tzu: Just a few minutes ago, I went to Lisa Tyler and explained to her that the woman she was watching get beaten and humiliated by Son-

Richard: MISTE-

A spiteful gaze from Sun Tzu snaps around to lock onto the announce desk.

Richard: Um, as you were…

Sun Tzu: -ny Silver, was a wanted international terrorist, but I was willing to make a deal. Your freedom, until this wasteland’s primitive life-expectancy catches up with you, in return for a match…

Nick: Ever since Wolfenden came back to PRIME people have been waiting to see these two face off in singles competition.

Sun Tzu: Me, versus you.

Richard: People have been waiting, and obviously it’s been Wolfenden backing out of the match if it takes the Rabid Panda doing this to secure a chance to prove her superiority!

Sun Tzu: Tonight.

Nick: Now, wait up a minute. Karina has just been throu-

Sun Tzu: Now.

Nick: What? This is just ridicul-

Sun Tzu: Loser leaves PRIME.

CHI-NA SUCKS! CHI-NA SUCKS! CHI-NA SUCKS! CHI-NA SUCKS! CHI-NA SUCKS!

Nick: That little bitch.

Richard: As soon as we’re off the air, I’m logging onto chinesemailorderbrides.com and buying me one just like her.

Trapped between breaking rocks and a hard canvas, Karina drops her shaking head, realising that Sun Tzu has her in checkmate. Looking out the tops of her eyes at Tzu, through a lilac fringe, a look that could easily kill everyone in the arena burns into the Rabid Panda.

Sun Tzu: Of course, if your inflated sense of pride is getting in the way, I can tear up the match contract and you can add shackles and a blindfold to your usual accessories.

The Artist of War pauses for a second, her grin growing a little further.

Sun Tzu: No? Okay then. Howard, give me my intro.

Nick is shaking his head while Richard holds his arms up in victory and gives himself some fake crowd noise.

Richard: RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Nick: I still stand by my sentiment that Sun Tzu was a bitch in her prime. By the way, did you ever go on chinese mail order brides dot com and order you a Sun Tzu?

Richard: I got some 80 year old hack whose picture hadn’t been updated in about fifty years. THEY TRICKED ME!

Nick: Did she have a pair of guns called Kookoo Bear and Mister Snugglepants?

Richard: …Yeah

Nick: So what did you do with her?

Richard: I locked her in the closet.

Nick: You disgust me

Richard: Well she wants me to love her long time, bitch better wait in the closet until I’m ready.

Nick: Sonny Silver would probably be proud of you though.

Richard: Damn right he would.

Nick: Moving onto more modern feuds in 2007. Danny Ferguson could make the claim that for most of the year, in singles competition, he was lights out.

Richard: As he referred to himself, the active Mr. Clutch

Nick: Until he ran into Commie Emo, Devin Shakur. These two were soldiers in the Silver/Troy war so it was inevitable that at some point they would throw down.

Richard: What a hilarious road to the Great American Nightmare that was.

Nick: If there’s one person that can make Danny Ferguson and all of his movie references possible, it’s Devin Shakur with his communism.

Richard: Can’t hawk a man for wanting to express his opinion.

Nick: Well expressing your opinion and kicking a man in the face are two different things, as Shakur would ultimately find out.

Richard: He should go to civil court over that shit, for real.

Nick: You don’t think Ferguson should sue Shakur for emotional damage after what he did?

Richard: Hell no, that was just downright funny. Ferguson shouldn’t have bought into that again. Bruckheimer would never talk to him.

Nick: Ouch. Well in this two parter you will see Ferguson start the carnage on 142 with ‘The Beer Budget’ and Shakur retort in ‘Office Matters’ from 143.

The crowd is eagerly anticipating an encounter between two of the highest powers in all of PRIME, one via his own volition and one because of the Holy Lord. Richard and Nick believe that their microphones are off because of all the backstage shenanigans that go on before the opening match of the show.

Nick: No man, for real, before the show I saw Hoyt turn water from the water fountain into wine.

Richard: Dude, Facey GON SMOKE HOYT FOH REEZ! GANGSTA!

Nick: What is Facey’s counter when Hoyt brings hellfire and brimstone and kills him in the face?

Richard: Simple, LIGHT IT UP SON! WHOOP! WHOOP!

Nick: …Wait, we’re on aren’t we?

Richard: IT AIN’T NOTHIN BUT A G TH-

Cutting Richard off in the middle of getting his rap on is the rockin guitar rifts of AC/DC and "Back in Black". A cascade of boos rush into the atmosphere, the man who walks out to that music not even in the vicinity of the stage yet.

Richard: TWO LOCKED OUT N-

Nick: What in the hell does Shakur want? We don’t have any razor blades or Fall Out Boy CDs.

Once the vocals roll in, Shakur strolls out from behind the curtain and is immediately met by the jeering audience. He gives politician like waves to the audience and starts walking down the aisle. Shakur walks up to the right side of the audience and continues his waving front until he gets up to one little kid. He can’t be more than 6 years old, and he has up a sign that says "Shakur Sucks". Shakur snickers at the sign, makes a hammer fist with the thumb out, and makes some in the crowd he’s going to give the kid an encouraging thumbs up…

But at the last second, he flips the thumb behind the pointer finger and flips him the bird. The horrified father covers the kid’s eyes and Shakur walks on, laughing at the pwning he just did.

Richard: Well, that kid is going to be scarred for life.

Shakur rolls underneath the bottom rope, hops up to a standing position, and grabs the microphone from Vince Howard.

Devin Shakur: For far too long Danny Ferguson has been getting the star treatment and quite frankly I’m sick and tired of it. What has he done in PRIME other than spend our air time? Get rid of Nova? Just one less guy on the payroll, he was destined to go out in a blaze of his own weed smoke sooner than later. Seriously, how in the hell is he even a movie star? He has the hybrid face of Beavis and Butthead and has poisoned his body with steroids. Why in the hell would you want a man like that to represent your movie? Someone like Tony Gamble can get you the kid demographic, the 18-34 demographic, and old people because he has a face that looks like a prune.

From the back, Gamble screams

"DUDE, SAME TEAM!"

Devin Shakur: Whoops, sorry dude. Back to Ferguson, last week he got what was coming to him at my hands. I’m not going to apologize for what happened because it has been a long time coming and nobody has been able to take him down. But oh no, I’m not the one to do it because he saw me as some kind of running clown who wears black. Do I look like a joke now Danny? Perception around these parts is death kid, and if you keep perceiving me as being beneath you, then I’ll be more than glad to lay you out with a kick to the head every single week. It will keep the blood in my body instead of having it come out my ears from hearing your repulsive voice.

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHBOOOOOOOOOOO"

Richard: Some people still aren’t warmed up to Ferg completely yet.

Devin Shakur: It’s no secret that this was bound to happen at some point. Look at our associates. I roll with the best crew in the business, Gamble and Silver, whereas he runs with the local circus that is Ellidiot, and [adopts best Japanese accent he can buy] LINDZILLA! Really? When are these two going to bust out the Cinemax music, she orders a pizza, he delivers it, looking like puberty ready to explode with his acne face, and she decides to tip him in a special way-What the fu-

All eyes turned to the stage and an instinctive rumble rises up from the throats of the crowd. A cadre of well-dressed, BMW-sized gentlemen has spilled out onto the stage, each one sporting a pair of dark sunglasses in a joint homage to Larry David and Corey Hart, and each one keeping a finger to an earpiece as they scout the scene for potential danger.

Convinced that the area is clear, the guards exchange an awkwardly long series of nods before parting like the seas. In the middle of the crew, flanked as always by two fairly prominent protection experts, stands "Superstar" Danny Ferguson.

Richard: He has no business being out here!

Nick: Devin Shakur had no business jumping him last week.

Danny Ferguson: Ladies and gentlemen, it's time for America's newest game show - coming soon to NBC as a midseason replacement when Life After Dusk gets canned - "So You Want To Be A Main Eventer?" Let's me tonight's contestant, Deviiiiiiiiiiin Shakuuuuuuuuuuuuur!

A smattering of boos erupts into a full-scale deluge as Devin fumes in the ring, shouting choice bleepable words and phrases to the Superstar. Unphased, Danny presses forward.

Danny Ferguson: Since I was unable to give you a PROPER welcome to the top tier last week - what with your cowardly and only debatably-provoked attack upon my person before I had the chance - allow me to make up for lost time this week. You're going to need some orientation on what life's like at the top of the heap, partner, and I'm here to help.

With an obscene gesture, Shakur waves off Danny's so-called offer of assistance, choosing instead to lean against the ropes and wait for this to get over with so he can resume his manifesto.

Danny Ferguson: The first thing you need to know is that, as a main event talent, you must always be wary of having the tablecloth yanked out from under you in public. As a top dog, there's nothing to help you from getting your precious and hard-earned promo time hijacked by any number of erstwhile pirates, present company very much included.

He pauses to take a little bow with his hands, sort of a physical manifestation of say "I.E. this is what's happening to you right now, asshat." Shakur remains only minimally phased.

Danny Ferguson: Secondly, it's time for you to learn about another major pratfall of being a big star - selectively persecuted consequences to your decisions and actions.

Richard: Do what now?

Nick: Excuse the multi-syllabic words, folks, he's going cerebral on us...

Richard: Jesus, is EVERYONE speaking gibberish?

Danny Ferguson: My extra payroll on security isn't the only fallout from your callous actions last week, 2-Pac. Get the camera in here...

The closest cameraman pulls in close on Danny's face, and he runs a finger along a hairline scratch running down his left cheek. The mark is barely noticeable - nor is the slight bruising to either side - without someone explicitly pointing it out. But explicitly point it out is exactly what Danny does.

Danny Ferguson: Do you know what this means? For one, it means you need to cut your goddamn nails. But more importantly, this deliberate and reckless harm to my face has inhibited my ability to work in the past seven days!

Richard: Are you kidding me? He's a wrestler!

Nick: He's an actor first, Richard.

Richard: I read People Magazine, dammit! He hasn't scored a role in months!

Nick: How could he when he's getting disfigured like this!

Richard: Oh my God, this is effing ridiculous.

Nick: So is you reading People Magazine.

Danny Ferguson: I signed a waiver with my contract like everyone else, but because this vicious wound was suffered NOT in a regulated match but in some inexcusable post-bell fit of rage, PRIME can be held liable for your actions for failing to harbor a safe work environment!

It's hard to really describe Devin's reaction, but the easiest way would be to liken it to that of the CEO of McDonald's when he found out they were getting sued over hot coffee. Fans boo a little at Danny's revelation, but he calms them with a wave of his hand like Casey at the Bat.

Danny Ferguson: But I have no interest in suing Blaine or Lisa or PRIME - in fact, my legal team has already reached a very amenable settlement. Dev, you may have noticed that the paycheck you received prior to tonight's show was a little light...

Shakur perks up a little, his "Pissed-O-Meter" moving from the dark yellow of 'Annoyed' all the way to the red-orange of 'Potentially Livid'. A murmur starts in the crowd.

Nick: Oh no...

Richard: Did he really...

Danny Ferguson: You were probably a little upset to learn that you had yet to receive any sort pay bump after appearing in the main event of a PRIME Pay-Per-View. I mean, this was your main event debut as far as big shows go, and that comes with certain performance bonuses. This was your first main event pay stub...so I imagine that you were a little annoyed to learn that it was being withheld.

A roar goes up from the crowd and Shakur's blood pressure spikes with the noise level. He kicks at the bottom rope with enough force that your think it was going to tear clean off. Through the commotion, Danny smirks at his newfound nemesis.

Danny Ferguson: In fact, I KNOW you were annoyed - ROLL THE VIDEO.

Behind him, the Wal*Tron cuts to grainy and disjointed footage, with "Earlier Today" listed in the righthand corner.

"F*ck PRIME! Tell him what the f*ck I said!"

Out of focus but coming through loud and clear, Devin Shakur is throwing a tantrum outside Lisa Tyler's office, stomping up and down the hallway as Tony Gamble and Sonny Silver try to calm him down.

"I'm a former Intense champion - I lost to f*ckin' Wade Elliott last month! I'm never comin' to ReVolution again! Ya'll find Dusk! Get a real f*ckin wrestler, get f*ckin Dusk! Man, I been waiti for this for two years in a row, man! Man, I love this n*gga but DAMN, man! Give a black-wearing man a chance, man! Give a black-wearing man a chance! I'm tryin' hard, man!"

He storms down the hallway and Tony Gamble puts his hands over the lens to stop the filming. We video cuts and we go back to Danny, with Shakur still white-hot-angry in the ring and the crowd laughing at his embarrassment.

Danny Ferguson: THAT'S awkward. But what do I want with your money, right? I've got plenty. So I decided to put it to a good cause.

He steps up a little on the stage and gestures to the crowd in the Dunkin' Donuts Center.

Danny Ferguson: You people don't look nearly drunk enough.

Another roar goes up from the crowd.

Danny Ferguson: So let's see how this suits you: as of five minutes ago, every concession stand in this place just got a pretty hefty tab set up courtesy of the main event bucks that our boy Devin here is never gonna see. So from now until the end of the night, stock, New England, THE DRINKS ARE ON HIM!

The volume just gets higher and Devin Shakur just gets angrier as Ferguson's grand scheme is revealed. The Man In Black (who has nothing to do with Cash at this point by any definition) is furious in the ring, screaming and throwing shit but never thinking so much of it to charge Danny's small army of guards. 'Soul Survivor' kicks up over the arena speakers and Ferguson gives one more nod and smirk to Shakur before turning on his heel and heading to the back. The crowd, meanwhile, starts pouring out of their seats and up the aisles to get to the beer stand while this deal lasts. In the ring, Shakur glares daggers at Team Ferguson, watching the peasants and peons of Providence pilfer his pay through Pabst.

Richard is slapping his thigh while Nick rolls his eyes and looks over to the cameraman for approval to continue on with the show.

Nick: I doubt Jennifer Aniston had sex with him because of that voice.

Richard: Sun Tzu would probably hunt her down and kill her.

Nick: Sounds about right. Now we move away from the feud portion of the program into our third part. PRIME is known for its great feuds but there is the rare occurrence when the stars align and two people become friends.

Richard: About as often as Blaine lights one up and listens to 2 Pac while rolling in his cadillac.

Nick: The math will probably support you on that claim. Alright, our first selection in this comes from Revolution 116.

Richard: …Oh dear God, no! NO! TELL ME THIS ISN’T HAPPENING!

Nick: I’m afraid it is Richard.

Richard: Alright, time to get the public service announcement out of the way. Ladies and Gentlemen, we do not EVER, EVER, EVER, endorse putting Dusk on camera.

Nick: However, there are some instances in which we are forced to do such because of the company he hangs out with.

Richard: Garbage Bag Johnny is one of those times in which we have to break rank and succumb to our intuitions.

Nick: This would further continue the hot trend of carrying around sandwiches that lasted until the middle of 2007 in PRIME.

Richard: We miss ye, GBJ, come back soon.

Nick: Indeed Richard. One time for the road, SAMMICH!

Richard: SAMMICH!

Outside Lisa Tyler's office, Danny Ferguson paces back and forth and mulls his options. Earlier in the night, he'd been thrown the career life preserver he'd been waiting for since leaving jail earlier this year. Granted, it was a Jerry Bruckheimer flick, but what the fuck, right? Who could be picky?

With a deep breath, Danny takes a step toward Lisa's door...and bumps into a security guard, one of the small army that had been accompanying him as part of his legal action against Devin Shakur last week. With an angry shove, he gets his way to the door and pushes through.

Lisa Tyler: Hey, Danny.

Lisa's been sitting at her desk, legs up, waiting for a visitor, having long-since given up on working during PRIME shows since everyone just interrupts her anyway.

Danny Ferguson: You knew I was out there?

Lisa Tyler: No one else travels with a secret service unit.

Danny Ferguson: I could've been the President.

Lisa Tyler: Don't be so hard on yourself. What's up?

Danny Ferguson: Well, um...

Tyler sits forward, tenting her hands on her desk and tilting her chin upward.

Danny Ferguson: Lisa, I kind of need to...the thing is...I know Great American Nightmare is around the corner, but...

Lisa Tyler: But what, Danny? What's going on?

Danny Ferguson: I quit.

Pause.

Lisa Tyler: Excuse me?

Danny Ferguson: I, uh...

And then...the phone rings.

Both of them jump back slightly, as phones rarely ring on professional wrestling shows. Usually someone is making the call or the phone has already been picked up.

Lisa looks up at Danny before grabbing the phone receiver and placing it up to her ear. Thanks to technology, we can hear the voice on the other end.

Lisa Tyler: Lisa Tyler speaking.

Voice: Yes, hello, this is Jerry Bruckheimer the movie producer.

Lisa Tyler: Mr. Bruckheimer?

Danny motions to her with his hands to put the call on speaker. She reluctantly obliges to his request.

Jerry Bruckheimer: I believe we have some sort of a conflict in interests.

Danny Ferguson: J-BRUCK!

Jerry Bruckheimer: Hey, Danny boy, what are you doing in your boss’s office?

Lisa Tyler: Are you the reason that one of my top superstars is resigning right now?

Jerry Bruckheimer: I’m afraid, my dear, that I am the reason.

Lisa Tyler: What in the hell do you want this washed up actor for?

Danny Ferguson: HEY!

Lisa Tyler: He’s a wrestler now and is part of PRIME, not you and your folk who can’t even keep an organization running smoothly enough to avoid strike.

Jerry Bruckheimer: Offense not taken. Well, you see, I have this part for a movie and I know that deep down in my heart Danny Ferguson will make this movie millions. With the amount of publicity that he receives in PRIME, that will definitely translate over with the audience. Maybe we can even get Lindsay Troy to have a cameo.

Lisa Tyler: If it involves her resignation as well, I clearly don’t see that happening.

Jerry Bruckheimer: Relax, my dear-

Lisa Tyler: RELAX? How am I supposed to relax when a top draw for my next Pay-Per-View is handing in his papers to go work on your piece of garbage flick?

Jerry Bruckheimer: Heh, that’s because my dear you are assuming that this is real.

…

Danny Ferguson: What are you getting at J-Bruck?

Jerry Bruckheimer: I said, Danny, you both are assuming that this is legitimate.

The realization has not yet hit Danny Ferguson when the back door of Lisa Tyler’s office slowly swings open, everybody in the room looks back to see the man walking down the small corridor into the main office area.

Lisa Tyler: …What the hell?

Jerry Bruckheimer: Yes, you see, Danny Ferguson is the biggest moron that I’ve ever encountered in my days. He’d be perfect to star in my next flick…

A voice converter, ala Scream, is thrown to the floor and the man’s real voice is revealed.

"Great American Nightmare: The Pwnamentry of Danny Ferguson."

Devin Shakur stands there and has a giant smirk on his face.

Devin Shakur: Danny Boy, Danny Boy…Man, I didn’t think you were as gullible as you turned out to be. Hell, I didn’t even think that this would end up working for the SECOND time. Gamble told me about how this little shenanigan was once successful against you, and now it appears success doesn’t fall far from the tree.

Shakur steps closer toward Tyler and Ferguson, with the latter becoming more enraged by the second.

Devin Shakur: You want to take my money and turn it into the beer budget for a crowd? Screw that. You want to perform an act of racism against me just because I wear black? Screw that.

Ferguson finally can take no more and lunges forward at Devin Shakur. Much to his surprise, the bodyguard detail that beat up Shakur last week now is holding him back from his victim this week. Shakur just snickers and leans up against the wall.

Devin Shakur: Ah, ah, ah, now we wouldn’t want to get the next big movie star hurt right before his big role would we? I heard what you said earlier Danny about not having any intelligence on the other side of the ring…Yeah, looks like I’m the one who should be saying that since you are the one who is so damn ignorant and naïve.

Danny Ferguson: You aren’t going to get away with this Shakur…

Devin Shakur: I already have. I’ll see you out in the ring tonight Chucky, say hi to your horrid looking Bride for me while you are at in your next shitty sequel where you kill more kids.

Shakur picks up his voice modifier and talks into it again as Jerry Bruckheimer.

"I wonder if I could get Jennifer Aniston to bang me with this voice…HOOHA!"

Richard and Nick are shuddering in their plush leather chairs, creeped out by the sight of such a horrifying man on camera.

Richard: Is…Is it over?

Nick: I believe so

Richard: …And he’s not coming back right?

Nick: I don’t believe so.

Richard: Man, Dusk needs to stop trying so hard.

Nick: First thing all night I’ve actually agreed with you on.

Richard: Now we get to move onto another tender Fuck You moment.

Nick: How much are those guys going to clog up the show?

Richard: Would you rather have it be them or Dusk clogging up the show?

Nick: You always have to revert back to that point.

Richard: You know I’m right, get on with the backstory.

Nick: Overkill 2007, a night that will be remembered as Team PRIME vs Fuck You v 2.0. This was the culmination of months and months of hatred: Sonny Silver, Jason Snow, Tony Gamble and Nova vs Danny Ferguson, Lindsay Troy, Killean, and Tchu. Everybody in both groups hated the other side with a passion and the facton tag match orchestrated the third version of Fuck You and generated the Nova face turn.

Richard: One of his last acts as a heel…Sweeeeeeet.

Nick: We also found out in this that Sonny Silver can make a speaking device appear out of no where.

Richard: Fuck Oklahoma City, Silver and Nova, one of the last ‘Fuck You’ moments with The Risen Star. TAKE IT AWAY!

Garbage Bag Johnny is wandering around the hallway backstage, hiding behind vending machines and plants and basically anything that is in his way. He is trailing two men far ahead, but with each object Garbage Bag Johnny hides behind, he finds that Horace Tully and Ethan Knight have slipped further and further down the hallway. GBJ peers down the hall with a hand over his brow line. As everyone knows putting your hand flat across your brow line helps you see further.

Garbage Bag Johnny: I think that's them. Better keep walking slowly down the hall and hiding behind things.

Garbage Bag Johnny hides behind everything he can find; trash cans, open doors, some movers carrying a sheet of glass, even people. One of those people, in particular, is his opponent from earlier in the night; Dusk.

Dusk looks around, a little lost as to what his opponent from earlier that evening is doing trying to use him as a shield. In his left hand is a sandwich as he’s trying to unwind from a long first night. Yet, the surprise visit from Garbage Bag Johnny has made the evening just a little more interesting.

Dusk: Um, Johnny, what the hell are you doing?

Garbage Bag Johnny shushes Dusk and starts pushing him forward while whispering and tiptoeing behind him.

Garbage Bag Johnny: It’s top secret, and I can’t let my cover get blown. Just keep walking, and pretend that there’s nobody hiding behind you.

Dusk: Oh. Okay. Sure.

Dusk keeps walking down the hall with Garbage Bag Johnny just simply hiding behind him as if it was a game of Hide and Go Seek, but much weirder and no one counting or anything. But, it was the Garbage Bag Johnny way. As they walk down the hall, Dusk looks around and notices people looking at him weirdly. All Dusk wanted to do was eat his sandwich. Tired of the games with Johnny, he turns around and looks at Johnny.

Dusk: You know what, no! Get up. This is weird. People are looking at us weird. Just because you’re used to it, well, people look at me weird too. But, that’s beside the point. Explain yourself!

Garbage Bag Johnny: Look you’re drawing too much attention to this. I’m just trailing a couple of people. I think there’s some kind of conspiracy going on. Facey mentioned that he called in a bomb threat to Chet Worth earlier. I think the Covenant might have some hand in this. Now, give me that sandwich. I need it if my plan’s going to work.

Dusk looks down at his sandwich and then back at Garbage Bag Johnny who looks anxious about the entire situation and as if he really wants his sandwich.

Dusk: My sandwich? Damnit, but I’m hungry! This is foolish!

Johnny continues to eye his sandwich and Dusk feels compelled to give him his sandwich for some odd and rather strange reason.

Dusk: You know, I’ve been told I’m a loner. I’m sure people have told you that you’re crazy. So, maybe we have something in common. I’m trying to shed that image. I’ve been told it would be good for me if I do so. So, maybe I give you my sandwich and you’ll be my friend or something.

Dusk looks at Johnny as he hands Garbage Bag Johnny his sandwich. He seems rather uneasy about making a friend at all, but knows it might be for best. He could use a few friends with the situations he tends to get himself in.

Garbage Bag Johnny: My friendship is a small price to pay for a sandwich that is integral to foiling this plot of epic proportions. You hold out the sandwich and I’ll hold out the friendship, then I’ll count to three, and we’ll make the exchange.

Garbage Bag holds out both of his hands, though there’s nothing in either one. Dusk shakes his head and holds out the sandwich, inches away from Garbage Bag Johnny’s crab-like reach.

Garbage Bag Johnny: One…two…THREE!

Garbage Bag snatches the sandwich, confirming that it’s a ham and cheese sandwich by taking a bite, and then stuffing the rest in his pocket.

Dusk: Anyone ever tell you that you’re not all there in the head?

Garbage Bag Johnny: Of course I ain’t. The rest of me is in my torso and limbs section.

Dusk just nods as he realizes he’s been outsmarted by a man of Garbage Bag Johnny’s intelligence. While a great in-ring performer, Dusk isn’t quite too sure about his smarts, but ignores it for now as he apparently has Johnny’s friendship.

Dusk: Good point. Now, tell me about this foiling plot you’re going on about? Plotting trees or something? Or killing trees? Because I don’t know if I can condone that.

Garbage Bag Johnny: I’m just trailing those guys down the hall. I feel they’re up to no good, and Facey’s been acting all strange lately. He’s acting like he doesn’t even recognize me.

Garbage Bag points down the hallway towards where he was following Ethan Knight and Horace Tully, but the Covenant is long gone, and when they’re out of sight, they’re out of Garbage Bag Johnny’s mind.

Garbage Bag Johnny: You’ll have to excuse me. I’ve completely forgotten what I was doing.

Dusk looks down the hallway, wondering what exactly Johnny is talking about and wondering how all of a sudden he forgot what he was doing. He turns back towards Johnny, a little lost by all of this.

Dusk: Johnny, weren’t you just following them? How could you forget what you were doing?

Garbage Bag Johnny starts chuckling.

Garbage Bag Johnny: Following them? I have no idea what you’re talking about. Say…you interested in buying the other half of my sandwich?

Dusk looks at him bewildered, mainly because Johnny is now trying to sell him the other half of his sandwich!

Dusk: Buy the other half of YOUR sandwich?! I GAVE you that sandwich! Why would I want to buy it from you?!

Garbage Bag Johnny: Because it’s a buyer’s market now. Stock prices on this sandwich are on the rise.

Dusk tries to find words, but at first they fail him as he looks at Garbage Bag Johnny in utter shock. Dusk can’t help but think he is in the middle of the latest Twilight Zone episode.

Dusk: Johnny, you do know that sandwiches don’t have stock prices, right? I mean, they’re sandwiches.

Garbage Bag Johnny stares at Dusk for a second without any response before looking down the hallway, wondering what he was doing. Then he looks at his sandwich again, and then at Dusk, and then down the hallway, and then back at his sandwich, and finally at Dusk.

Garbage Bag Johnny: I’ll have to look into that. For now, have you seen two men walk by? They’re kind of spooky and mysterious?

Dusk raises his hand and wipes his face with it as he’s obviously trying to hold his cool together. Just the conversation with Johnny has been interesting, crazy, and down right out there. Yet, Dusk is doing everything in his power to make sure he doesn’t lose his cool. Finally, he looks at Johnny and just shakes his head.

Dusk: Johnny, we’ve been talking the last few minutes? When would I have time to see two men walk by that you didn’t see?

Garbage Bag scratches his well bearded chin.

Garbage Bag Johnny: Wait a second. We’re both men. Maybe I’ve been trailing us all along.

Dusk: Do you listen to the words that come out of your mouth? Seriously!

Garbage Bag Johnny shurgs.

Garbage Bag Johnny: Well, if you say we’re not the culprits, I guess I have no reason not to believe you, but if you do see two men, and it looks like they’re up to things that disgrace the sanctity of traditional marriage, you know where to find me. Until then, I’ll be going over my notes.

Garbage Bag Johnny holds up a sketchpad with a scale drawing of a gigantic cheeseburger, complete with measurements and a relatively sized man as a point of comparison.

Dusk: Are you saying that the man looks like a giant cheeseburger? Or is the man a giant cheeseburger? Are you after giant cheeseburgers?!

Garbage Bag Johnny: I think you might know a little bit more than what’s good for you.

Dusk just shrugs as it seems like Johnny hadn’t the slightest clue that Dusk was being sarcastic. He pats Johnny on the shoulder, realizing that this guy wasn’t that bad for a friend.

Dusk: Well, if you need any help, friend, then you know where to find me.

Garbage Bag Johnny nods and then continues off to try to remember what he was doing.

Garbage Bag Johnny: Yep. Got my Helio. Google Maps, dawg!

GBJ takes off down the hallway skipping, but trying to make it look cool.

Dusk just looks on, a little surprised and lost by his new found friend, but then chuckles. He nods his head as an approving look is now on his face.

Dusk: A little weird. A little different. But, not a bad guy. At the very least, I’m sure he can help me find the stickiest of the ickiest if I ever need any.

Dusk then turns back the other way, heading back to craft services to find make himself another sandwich. Meanwhile, Garbage Bag Johnny has already forgotten that he never caught Dusk’s name as he saunters down the hallway with a hankering for pretzels.

Richard produces a fake tear on cue while Nick wonders how such an emotionally unstable man can be allowed on the PRIME roster.

Nick: I’m hoping that you aren’t going to be like this for the whole night.

Richard: I GET EMOTIONAL SHUT UP!

Nick: You are a PRIME employee and you can view all the tapes you want for free in our archives whenever you want.

Richard: WOOOOOO!

Nick: Well you aren’t going to have the chance to cry because both of the superstars from our next piece are still in PRIME. Devin Shakur and Tony Gamble.

Richard: The Grinning Emo.

Nick: They have been an interesting backstage tandem to say the least, since when they first started out Shakur was trying to kill Gamble it seemed.

Richard: That was just Shakur’s way of marking his territory.

Nick: He threw a knife at Gamble’s head.

Richard: Gotta let a G know when to step back.

Nick: Tried to drop an anvil on his head.

Richard: He probably owned the corridor.

Nick: They certainly were a staple of 2007 and this is their highlight segment right before Shakur was set to team with Brandon Youngblood to take on the team of Tsonda and Ferguson at Revolution 141.

The air is hot and dry outside the Ford Center in downtown Oklahoma City, and nobody is appreciating the typical midwestern summer weather more than the security guards clad in thick black jackets and pants, dutifully watching the side entrance to the arena.

Whiny Guard: You know, this makes four shows in a row now that Hugh and Steve have gotten to plant their fat asses in the surveillance room, and we’ve gotten to sweat ours off standing out here watching the sun set.

Ambivalent Guard: It’s kind of pretty.

Whiny Guard: "It’s kind of pretty?" I’m talking about how to get us out of these sauna visits and into the AC, and you think the sunset is pretty?

Ambivalent Guard: A-yup.

Whiny Guard: Gaaaaaaay…hey, wait. Do you hear something?

They perk their ears up, and true enough, in the distance they hear muffled high-pitched noises, interrupted by about a second of silence between them.

"Whiny Guard, you and Ambivalent Guard might want to come in and see this…"

Whiny Guard: Holy crap, the planets have aligned themselves, they’re actually letting us come inside. Let’s go.

They push open the side entrance door and hang an immediate right into the surveillance room, where the rest of the security team has assembled around a TV set with the news on.

"The arrival of wrestling giant PRIME’s pay-per-view show, aptly titled ‘Overkill,’ has attracted a great deal of attention to Oklahoma City this week, but perhaps none more than now on the night of the show as two of the company’s stars have chosen to make their entrances in a way that authorities have stated…can lead only to arrest. Teala Robinson has more."

The shot cuts from the female anchorwoman to the city skyline, where a small Robinson R22 personal helicopter bobs and weaves in-between skyscrapers on its way towards the Ford Center.

"Thank you, Mary. The occupants of the small private helicopter have been identified as Chris ‘Nova’ Vega and Son-"

Richard: MR. SILVER, CHAIRMAN OF PRIME!

"-ny Silver, both apparently controversial figures within the organization. They created a stir minutes ago as Nova, seated in the pilot’s chair, steered the craft illegally into downtown Oklahoma City so that Mr. Silver could hang from the open side door and shout profanities at citizens below."

Mr. Silver's attention is drawn to the pack of several minorities gathering in front of the arena as the OLD SKOOL MEGAPHONE~! (get it now at your local PRIME Shopzone) lowers down to him despite the fact that he’s in a helicopter a few hundred feet above the ground.

Silver: ATTENTION, BEANERS! IT'S 5:30 ON A SUNDAY EVENING! THOSE GODDAMN ORANGES AREN'T GOING TO SELL THEMSELVES!

He hasn't forgotten about the white people, either.

Silver: ATTENTION, CRACKERS! WHY AREN'T YOU DOING YOUR JOBS AS CITIZENS AND KEEPING THOSE BEANERS OUT! I'M OFFICIALLY HIRING THE WHOLE LOT OF YOU SO I CAN EFFECTIVELY TERMINATE EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU SAD SACKS OF CRAP! YOU'RE ALL FIRED! FUCK YOU AND HAVE A NICE DAY!

The ever-irate superstar puts a water bottle to his lips and takes a swig before continuing.

Silver: HEY, FUCKERS! I GOT A RIDDLE FOR YOU! TCHU, KILLEAN, TROY, AND FERGUSON DIVE OFF A BUILDING! WHO LANDS FIRST?!?!

Fans in the Crowd: WHO?!

Silver: WHO GIVES A FUCK, I PROBABLY PUSHED THEM ALL! AHAHAHAHAHA!

The helicopter flies over the Ford Center and slows its forward progress before dropping down, landing on the roof of the building a little more roughly than one might hope for, prompting an "Oww! JESUS!" from Silver. The camera view switches to rooftop as Silver piles out of the side door holding his neck and muttering to himself.

"FREEZE! HANDS IN THE AIR!"

Sonny turns to see a cadre of police officers by the rooftop entrance door, all leveling guns directly at his bearded sour-puss. Suddenly the door behind the police flies open and Blaine Blair storms out.

Blaine Blair: WAIT! Wait, please, officers! I’m in charge here, and in the interest of the money PRIME has invested in this show AND in Oklahoma City during our stay �" which has been a real delight �" I’m obligated to request a forebearance on the arrest of these men until the conclusion of our event tonight.

Head Officer: I’m sorry for the inconvenience, Mr. Blair, but the law is the law. These men put the general populace of Oklahoma City at risk…

Silver: YEAH, BOYEEEE!!

Blaine Blair: Sonny, please.

Head Officer: …with their acti-

Silver: MR. SILVER, CHAIRMAN OF PRIME!

Head Officer: Can I finish?! They endangered a lot of people, Mr. Blair, and we’re here to see that justice is served!

Blaine Blair: I’ll give each of you five hundred dollars.

Head Officer: Alright, boys, let’s pack it up! (Pointing to Silver) I’ll see you and your friend after the show, hotshot!

Silver: I’ll bring my Soap-on-a-Rope, you fucking faggot! HAHAHAHAHA!!!

Sonny gives him the finger, and Blaine puts a hand to his head. The officers pile out through the roof entrance, just in time for Nova to climb out of the pilot’s chair. He stumbles as his feet touch the ground, but he regains his balance and is careful not to spill any of the contents of his flask. Looking up, he sees Blair and extends his arms.

Nova: BLAINE! It’s a celebration!

Blaine Blair: Nova, what the fuck do think you’re doing?! You’re going to be arrested, you know that, right? Why is any of this a celebration?

Nova: (Taking a pull from his flask) I got my lilot’s picense!

Blaine is at a loss for words, so he contents himself with a heated glare at the Drunken Star before turning to walk back inside.

Blaine Blair: I saved your asses just now. Get inside and get ready for the show, and don’t make me regret not letting the pigs march you off to county.

He slams the door behind him, leaving Nova and Silver alone on the rooftop. Nova takes another pull.

Nova: You know, Sil…I liked it a LOT better when I walked into a big show like this with the strap around my waist.

Silver sighs to himself, thinking about the good ol' days. The time he beat Triple Z in that Alligator Moat Hell in a Cell match for the ABCDEFG Championship of Sri Lanka. The time he went to Japan and beat up some fat Japo for the Shinzukesaa;lkbjas Super Heavyweight Title. Good times.

Silver: Yeah, I know the feeling, C. I've spent all this time and energy lately into putting over my main event stars and all this other time, doing stuff... I haven't done a lot for me lately. I mean sure, I fucked some bitches the other day and left without paying... but man, that Universal Title looked better on your waist than it does for Lindsay Man-Troy.

The former champion runs a hand through his short, blonde hair that looks kind of reminiscent of Gabriel Brown’s wild ‘do, only shorter. I know that means something to…*looking around*…wow, three people, including the handler and myself.

Nova: (Chuckling) That’s so true.

He takes another pull off Grandpa’s Cough Medicine and fumbles in his pocket for a cigarette.

Nova: But hey, you’re no greenhorn, my man. There aren’t very many guys on the roster who have been here longer than you have. Maybe you could get a crack at the strap. Maybe it could look good around your waist, no?

Silver: PREPOSTROUS! What would the other federations think if I, their esteemed owner, were brandishing that very same gold belt around my waist? That would be downright insane! Can you imagine the ridicule that Father PRIME would face? I'd be laughed at by the likes of Steven Caldera and that STD guy over in FUSE! That would be...

He stops to think for a second and grins.

Silver: ...Wait. Pfft, FUCK Steven Caldera and STD! I'd be the champion of my own federation! What better figurehead for PRIME than... well, PRIME's figurehead?

Nova: (Taking a drag from his smoke) Now you’re thinking. Let’s head inside and…um…kick loads of ass. Or drink more. Or make the Fife Posse humiliate themselves for our amusement. Or all three.

Silver folds his arms.

Silver: Well, dude, this recent change of heart has given ME a recent change of heart.

Nova stares wide-eyed at his fellow FU compatriot.

Silver: ...HAHAHAHA! I had you going, dude. Yeah, the Fife Posse need to learn a lesson. I think they're in some tag title match that I think they're gonna fuck up, so we should just go make them dumpster diving for some nonexistant ring I lost or something.

Nova nods and holds the door open for Silver as the two future jailbirds make their way into the Ford Center and towards the inevitable showdown…

…but not before they make Slash and Burnie feel like garbage.

Richard has his fist extended to Nick in hopes of getting some much needed dap.

Nick leaves him hanging.

Richard gives one of these >=(

Richard: You are a mean and heartless person.

Nick: Go drown in a ditch.

Richard: You must be a hit with the ladies.

Nick: …Anywho, keeping with the A-List. Our next, what are we calling this part again?

Richard: BOYZ EN DA H00D!

Nick: I’m not saying that, ever.

Richard: Square

Nick: Revolution 139: The Unfuckables were in the midst of a heated feud with Sound and Fury, Tsonda was in the midst of a battle with Tyler Rayne and Hoyt Williams, and Ferguson was debating the Roulette.

Richard: That didn’t mean they couldn’t shoot the shit.

Nick: They definitely are shooting something in this.

Richard: Why must you harm people with your words? Peace and love my man.

Nick: I’ll tear gas you like that fucking hippie if you keep up with this crap.

Richard: …Revenge, Replacement, and Ray. Take it away, A-List.

Richard produces a fake tear on cue while Nick wonders how such an emotionally unstable man can be allowed on the PRIME roster.

Nick: I’m hoping that you aren’t going to be like this for the whole night.

Richard: I GET EMOTIONAL SHUT UP!

Nick: You are a PRIME employee and you can view all the tapes you want for free in our archives whenever you want.

Richard: WOOOOOO!

Nick: Well you aren’t going to have the chance to cry because both of the superstars from our next piece are still in PRIME. Devin Shakur and Tony Gamble.

Richard: The Grinning Emo.

Nick: They have been an interesting backstage tandem to say the least, since when they first started out Shakur was trying to kill Gamble it seemed.

Richard: That was just Shakur’s way of marking his territory.

Nick: He threw a knife at Gamble’s head.

Richard: Gotta let a G know when to step back.

Nick: Tried to drop an anvil on his head.

Richard: He probably owned the corridor.

Nick: They certainly were a staple of 2007 and this is their highlight segment right before Shakur was set to team with Brandon Youngblood to take on the team of Tsonda and Ferguson at Revolution 141.

2 WILD AND CRAZY GUYS

Devin Shakur is stretching his limbs in preparation for the upcoming tag team match against Chandler Tsonda and Danny Ferguson. This is, to most, an electric tag team match that has all the makings of a classic. Tsonda has upset Shakur before, and Youngblood was defeated by Ferguson, but Shakur and Youngblood are intense don’t test them!!11

Tony Gamble kicks the door in and walks up to his limbering partner who just stares at him.

Tony Gamble: HOWCOULDYOUDOTHISTOME?

Devin Shakur: …

Tony Gamble: After all we have been through…

Devin Shakur: I still don’t know what you are talking about.

Tony Gamble: All those times I stood by your bed and made sure you were asleep before leaving your house-

Devin Shakur: WHOA! What? How did you get into my house?

Tony Gamble: Figure of speech.

Devin Shakur: Are you sure, you don’t weigh over 200 pounds, I’m sure you can fit through some cracks in windows.

Gamble lets out a nervous chuckle and puts his hand on Shakur’s shoulder.

Tony Gamble: …Ok I could be lying. I have seen Sun Tzu naked.

Devin Shakur: DUDE!

Tony Gamble: Only kidding…OR AM I?

Tony gives a >=J at Shakur

Tony Gamble: No, no, really I’m kidding…OR AM I?

Another >=J

Tony Gamble: Ok, ok, I’m ribbing you…MAYBE NOT!

Devin Shakur slams his head into his hand and shakes it vehemently.

Devin Shakur: The next thing you are going to tell me is that you got us fake IDs and we’re supposed to crash a high school party in hopes of getting your fat ass laid.

Tony Gamble: What? That was three shows ago. We’re not quoting Superbad anymore.

Devin gives a cheesy look to the camera.

Devin Shakur: I still am McLovin

Tony Gamble: Ratings…Down 2.4 points in the last second, nice job.

Devin Shakur: Ok, so wait, you came in here angry. Why were you?

Tony Gamble: I came in here angry?

Devin whips out a DVR remote, hits the Live Pause button, pausing PRIME television as we know it. He then rewinds the segment back to where Gamble roid rages his way into the locker room and screams his head off at Shakur. Commie Emo then fast forwards the segment back to the present point.

Tony Gamble: Oh, yes, can I have a second to get back into character?

Devin Shakur: Yeah, sure.

Gamble pulls a cap out of his back pocket and puts it on his head. He then turns it around and talks out of the side of his mouth.

Deep breath…In and outtt>=J

Gamble: When I turn my cap around, it's like flipping a switch, you know. I'm in the zone.

Devin Shakur: I think that was implied, dumbass.

Tony Gamble: …YOUARETEAMINGWITHBRANDONYOUNGBLOOD!

Devin Shakur: Why does this bother you?

Tony Gamble: Dude, I didn’t want to show you this until later…

Devin is shocked and expresses it like this >=O

Devin Shakur: Oh God, Tony…Wait, you’ve seen Sun Tzu naked. You know I’m not leaving her for you.

Tony Gamble: …NO! Ugh, what were you thinking?

Devin Shakur: YOU INSTIGATED IT!

Tony Gamble: Wow, we’ve got to stop giving off that vibe you know? Rumors might start floating…

Devin Shakur: Ok, what didn’t you want to show me?

Gamble reaches into his pocket and in a box that looks suspiciously like two engagement pieces of jewelry. He busts out…

Tony Gamble: What do you think?

Devin Shakur: …

BFF Bracelets

Devin Shakur: Um…Yeah, we need to discuss this later. I have to go Tag Team back again, check into wreckin, let’s begin, WHOOMP THERE I…Sorry, yeah I have to go. I promise we’ll talk about this.

Shakur turns and goes to exit the room but finds a rather dorky looking man standing in the way.

Devin Shakur: OMGURLARRYKING’SSON!

Tony Gamble: CANIHAVEYOURAUTOGRAPH?!

Blaine Blair: Where's the other one?

Tony and Devin stare at each other for a moment, then glance behind them before shrugging their shoulders.

Blaine Blair: Don't play dumb with me, where's Silver?

Tony Gamble: I just saw him on the monitor, so he should be around here somewhere. Why would you look in here?

Blaine Blair: That little stunt the three of you pulled at 140. I'm not going through another Fuck You right now, so this ends now.

Devin Shakur: I have to admit that our actions were completely innocent.

Tony Gamble: Yeah, we didn't even know Silver would be there.

Blaine furrows his brow.

Blaine Blair: He was in the match.

Tony and Devin look at each other, then they look back at Blaire.

Tony Gamble: Was he?

Blaine Blair: You guys are beating around the bush.

Devin and Tony look at each other and snicker.

Devin Shakur: Dude…We SO never do that, right?

Double high five.

Blaine Blair: Stop playing dumb with me!

Tony Gamble: No, this would be playing dumb with you.

Gamble disappears out of camera range for a second and reappears in a Lindsay Troy mask.

Blaine Blair: This is not some joke. PRIME is not going through another tumultuous time like that again.

Devin Shakur: No wait, dude, let me go get mine.

Shakur disappears from camera range, while Gamble scres with Blair’s suspenders and smacks his glasses down. Shakur reappears in a Ferg mask.

Blaine Blair: I’ve had it with you guys. If you guys do what I think you will do, there will be severe repercussions…Bank on it.

Devin (Ferguson) Shakur: I totally respect Lindsay Troy…HAHAHA! I CAN’T SAY THAT WITH A STRAIGHT FACE!

Tony (Troy) Gamble: Wow, I already feel taller in this mask.

Blair walks off in disgust…And we fade out.

Normally, Lindsay Troy would shout "Who is it?" at the sound of a knock on her dressing room door, given that approximately half the time, it seems like someone waiting to ogle or attack her…

…but when the knock comes in the form of the bass line to the Talking Heads’ "Psycho Killer," she figures she can probably guess who it is. Regardless, the door opens and the Risen Star makes his way into the room. He wastes no time.

Nova: We’re taking on Fergface and the gay Vietnamese guy next week. It’s goin’ DOWN, BABY! Up top for Team Forties n’ Blunts �" that’s what I decided we should call ourselves, by the way, Forties n’ Blunts �" (holding his hand up) come on, gimme some skin!

Lindsay Troy: (sighing) No.

Nova’s hand continues to hang in the air as he so anticipates it being met that he actually continues on with his excited rant.

Nova: THAT’S right, girl! It’s gonna be a showdooowwwn in the Coooooww Pal-wait a moment, you never slapped my hand, did you?

The Universal Champion shakes her head slowly.

Lindsay Troy: No, I didn’t.

The Risen Star’s gaze darts between Troy and his hanging hand.

Nova: You’re not going to be my tag team partner next week, are you?

Another shake, little brown curls dancing in the air.

Lindsay Troy: No, I’m not.

Nova: Well, why the hell not, Lindz? Didn’t you see what happened out there?

Lindsay Troy: Caesar, you know I can’t line up with you against Danny any more than I can line up with Danny against you. This is one personal vendetta that I’m staying clear of.

Nova: Oh, that’s just FINE, Lindz! Stick with ol’ D-Fergs after he practically knocks your block off on his way to sticking me from behind like a fucking coward, and…

Lindsay Troy: …and was there last week, at least trying to stop the Fuckhead! You know the Fuckhead, right? Sonny Silver, your friend, remember?

Nova snorts and opens his mouth to reply. The Queen of the Ring holds out a hand, but it’s her eyes that cut off the Risen Star.

Lindsay Troy: Don’t. You. Even. Dare. First off, you can’t talk to me AT ALL about what alliances I should or should not retain. Ever. As in, the rest of our careers. Second, as I alluded to a moment ago, you’re still palling around with the Fuckhead despite his recent skitzophrenic 180 or 270 or whatever.

Nova: No, I’m not. Pssshh, girl, please…

Suddenly he phone blows up with a text message. Nova turns it secretively away from Troy.

From: Sonny Sizzle

We still on 4 Harry Potter?

Nova flips the phone shut with a quick snap.

Nova: Alright, I see your point, but I HATE those bastards and Lisa won’t sign off on the match unless…

Troy places a hand on the Risen Star’s shoulder and gives him a sympathetic look, shutting him up.

Lindsay Troy: (Quietly) Caes…no. Okay? I can't.

Nova stares her in the eye for a moment, and then finally nods, beaten.

Nova: Alright.

They stand there silent, and then Nova breaks the stare, stepping back and moving towards the door.

Nova: Well, I better jet, then. I gotta go find another partner for next week. (Laughing weakly) Shouldn’t be so hard, huh? I’m sure plenty of people would want to…uh…

Not even bothering to finish the sentence, he ducks out of the room, leaving Troy alone. She sits down on a bench, her hands in her lap.

Lindsay Troy: I'm sorry.

Out in the hallway, Nova wanders, kicking his feet aimlessly as the resin-coated gears in his mind slowly shift.

Nova: Shit…maybe I should’ve considered that Lindz was my only real option before running my mouth off to Tyler. Oh well, fuck it, I’ll think of something…aaaaafter I roast this coner!

He goes to pull a joint from behind his ear (FUN FACT: In early 2005, they started growing there), but finds none there. His eyes go wide and he fumbles around the side of his head, but still no spliff. He scans the floor. No way did he drop it. Standing up, he curls a hand into a fist and goes to punch the nearest thing that won’t break his hand…but then just sighs and slumps his shoulders.

Nova: GOD, today sucks. No partner, no weed…

The Risen Star rounds a corner, and who else should he see on this hectic evening than the Illustrious Face-Eater, Adam Dick, standing idly nearby. Facey is cursing to himself as he stomps towards down the hall towards Nova, only he doesn't notice the former Champ right away. No, he's too busy cursing to himself and staring at the floor in front of him.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: Asshole fag with his asshole friend. I don't even like those douches anyways...

Uh oh, someone needs to listen to their Taking Back Sunday CD.

Nova stops in his tracks as they pass one another, Dick’s grumblings reaching his ears. He turns his head back, cocking an eyebrow.

Nova: Excuse me. I know that you generally refer to, well, everyone as douches, assholes, fags, fagasses, assfags, or my personal favorite, douchefag…but who specifically might you be referring to in this case?

The Illustrious Face-Eater: I don't even know WHAT the fuck their names are. Alls I know is they both wax their chests and get their eyebrows plucked, and that one of them is possibly the weirdest looking Asian I have EVER seen. AND THEY'RE BOTH ASSDOUCHEHOLEFAGS.

Nova scratches his beard, slightly taken aback.

Nova: Wow…you really don’t have any idea about who you were here before your…I dunno, spontaneous combustion, I guess…do you?

The Illustrious Face-Eater: Um.... I'll plead the fifth on that one. I DO KNOW, however, that I kicked TONS of ass. Like, ASSLOADS of ASS. I kicked so much ass that I have so many enemies, I CAN'T EVEN KEEP THEM STRAIGHT! Seriously dude, that fucking sucks! I tried to walk up to the catering guy and order a burrito. HE GAVE ME A CHIMICHANGA! The nerve of these motherfuckers, you know? Taking advantage of my, um... you know, whatever it is they're taking advantage of. It's fucking SABOTAGE, man. AIN'T NOBODY TO TRUST.

Facey takes a small step backwards, giving Nova a peculiar eye.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: Wait a second--how do I know you're not the enemy?

Truth be told, if Nova explained in its entirety their feud of last summer that included Nova sending Facey about three hundred Singing Testigrams® to Facey one night, them spending ReVolution 100 literally stuck together �" during which Nova won the Intense Title �" all of which led to Facey’s spontaneous combustion at Colossus III, only for Dick to engineer a holographic image of himself that convinced Nova it was his ghost and that Danny Ferguson was his murderer by way of slipping him highly allergic pistacchios before the show, and that Nova must avenge him by alerting the authorities and getting Danny thrown in the pen, only for Facey to show up at King of Kings after Nova won the Universal Title and punch him in the balls…

…well, Facey might consider him the enemy.

But Nova takes the chance to start fresh.

Nova: Because we used to smoke weed together, like, all the time. (Laughing) Man, you were such a fucking MOOCH.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: WHAT?! THE PURVEYOR OF FACES--A MOOCH? OUTRAGE! TRAVESTY! AND MOST IMPORTANTLY, BULLSHIT!

Facey reaches into his crotch and withdraws a Ziplock Freezer bag STUFFED with the stickiest, the ickiest, the fabled Buds of Utopia, THE BOMB BOMB B.G. BANGIN'!

The Illustrious Face-Eater: I'm BLUNTMAN AND CHRONIC, I'm so Holden McNeil in this bitch.

But even the weed is secondary at this point to the plans hatching in the mind of the Risen Star.

Nova: Word, man. That’s a fat sack. Let’s go for a walk.

Fifteen minutes later…

Nova and Facey lounge about in an empty conference room, reclined back in chairs with their eyes on a gigantic TV mounted to the wall. Nova rips the bleezy in hand and hands it off to the Man-Boy before breaking the hallowed smoking silence.

Nova: Yo, Face.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: Sup, Novy-Baby.

Nova: Dude…you remember those douchefags you mentioned earlier?

The Illustrious Face-Eater: Captain Backne and the Metrosexual Man?

Nova: Word. Weeelll…we’s boys n’ shit again �" I mean now - ain’t we?

The Illustrious Face-Eater: That depends. You're not gonna, like, start lurking around every time I pull out a dank sack, are ya? Because this asshole Hobo named Johnny always did that in this other place I used to work for. CRAMPED MY STYLE.

Nova: (waving a hand dismissively) Naaah, son. I bring the Dig-Dug-Diggity Bong Bomb Dank-Sizzle on the REGULAR. Just happened to be out this week. We can roast till the fire alarms go off at the Staples Center…but I need your help.

The Risen Star takes the joint back from the Face and takes a rip.

Nova: *Coughing* I need you as my…*cough*…my tag par-*cough*-par-*cough*…I need…*cough*…damn, this is DAT SHIT, ain’t it?

The Illustrious Face-Eater: THE BOMB BOMB B.G. BANGIN', FOOL.

Nova passes it back to Facey, smoke bellowing through his fist clutched at his mouth, who himself rips it like a champ.

Nova: True. Dude, be my tag partner next week and let’s pwn those fruit cups like soldiers do. You down?

The Illustrious Face-Eater: Who against?

Nova: Those douchefags, remember?!

The Illustrious Face-Eater: Oh, right. Them. Well, I've already got a partner.....

Nova is prepared with puppy dog eyes. This is accentuated by the marijuana, giving Nova's eyes an even glossier look to them, making his plea THAT MUCH more irresistible.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: What the hell? I wouldn't mind kicking the shit out of those two dickholes. LET'S DO IT!

The Risen Star grins broadly.

Nova: Let’s do it.


Fist pound.


PROBLEM SOLVED.

Nick and Richard are ready to go once the segment ends.

Nick: I feel bad for Blaine after that.

Richard: He has to put up with so much. I wonder what the roster gets him for his birthday.

Nick: I think they all got him male strippers as an act of courtesy and he docked their pay by ten percent.

Richard: At least with Chet we knew what to get him, beer and pizza.

Nick: Well in this upcoming piece, Nova needed to find a partner and all he got was a backstabber.

Richard: Nice segue

Nick: In the midst of the Ferguson/Nova feud, Chandler Tsonda, a long time friend of Ferguson decided to return and help in the fight against The Risen Star.

Richard: A-LIST REUNION!

Nick: Indeed it was. At the time Facey was “trying” to get back in the group but Tsonda and Ferguson were shunning him, so Facey was left to wallow around in sadness.

Richard: Totally forgetting the fact that he had an awesome partner in Mike Wade.

Nick: So Nova was at a crossroads and Facey was feeling “left out”. We will see now what happens when those two individuals meet.

Richard: THEY BOUT TO SMOKE SOME OF THE B-

Nick: Please, don’t. Just to let you know, at the end of this, Facey betrays Nova and the A-List officially comes together. Revolution 133 with Lindsay Troy, Nova, and Facey.

The door to the A-List's skybox swings open and shut, hailing the return of members the Unfuckables having just finished their match.

Face-Eater: Fuck, FUCK. FUCK!

Mike Wade: Those pansies would circle jerk each other while mums was washing them in the sink. They're lucky they had their gimp in the plaster.

Face-Eater: Dammit man, don't you see?! This is the PRE-PAY-PER-VIEW SHOW. It's, like, almost as important as the FUCKING MATCH ITSELF! We have--no, we NEED to get the last laugh, Mike. We're the fucking heels here!

Mike Wade: We are?

Across the room, Chandler Tsonda looks up from his current companion - a girl, mind you, with boobs and everything.

Chandler Tsonda: What is this, 2004? 'Faces' and 'heels' are so TNA, gentlemen. You pick a side and you automatically alienate key demographics.

The Illustrious Face-Eater: Don't bore me with your math shit now, Charlie. Math isn't funny! There's no LAST LAUGHING going on here!

Alongside Chandler, Danny Ferguson sets his drink on the table and turns to the Unfuckables.

Danny Ferguson: He's got a point. You've already got the 18-24 pothead asshole demo cornered, so it wouldn't kill us to branch out.

Mike Wade: What about me? What's my demographic?

Raising an eyebrow to its 'thinking' position, he recalls the numbers his Assistant has him go over every morning (for breakfast).

Chandler Tsonda: You mean, besides all 28 television sets in the town of Waterford?

Mike Wade: Yes.

Chandler Tsonda: .....errrr, if I recall correctly, you're surprisingly popular amongst 12-18 teenage girls.

Mike Wade: Are you kidding me?

Facey, meanwhile, kicks one of the many bikini-clad women in the ass. Does it go without saying that it was 'in a fit of anger'?

Face-Eater: Horseshit!

Mike Wade: That's the best news I've ever heard in my life! Better than the time Doctor Spicowicz told me I don't have the clap-

Face-Eater: COME ON, MIKE. YOU TWO ASSFUCKS, I NEED YOUR HELP.

He points, snaps, points again, as if he's some 43rd floor Executive Douche-bag ordering his lackeys to wax his nut sack.

Danny Ferguson: If you were looking for interference in the match, I think you're like 15 minutes late on that request.

Face-Eater: NO SHIT, but I can't pick up this fucking Piano by myself. You two come help me move it. Chandler, you use your fantastic Asian powers of Engineering and MacGuyver up some intricate pulley system that will allow us to squash the shit out of Foster Nackedy.

Facey motions to the Grand Piano sitting in the corner of the room, where a Ray Charles impersonator is stationed with his fingers dancing across the keys.

Danny Ferguson: Are you serious?

Mike Wade: Yeah, Face. It seems kind of counter-productive. I mean, squashing his shit out of him?

Danny Ferguson: Oh, I don't care about your retard ACME branded plans, I'm talking about taking away Fake Ray's piano! That's a Hamburg!

Chandler Tsonda: Actually, it's just a facsimile.

Danny Ferguson: Really?

Chandler Tsonda: Yup.

Danny Ferguson: Looks just like the real thing.

Chandler Tsonda: Uncanny, really.

Face-Eater: Well what the fuck am I supposed to do? Drop Fake Ray on top of him?

Danny Ferguson: Did Fake Ray cost less?

Chandler Tsonda: Slightly.

Danny Ferguson: Then yes.

Fake Ray: Aw damn!

Mike Wade: Wait! Instead of committing wait we all know the court will mistake for a Hate Crime-

Chandler Tsonda: True dat.

Mike Wade: -why don't we take this opportunity to use that crate of contaminated chicken the Face bought from China around six months ago?!

Face-Eater: Great idea!

Danny Ferguson: You bought a crate of contaminated chicken from China?

Chandler Tsonda: Six months ago...you bought chicken during the bird flu epidemic?

Danny Ferguson: AND you 'covered the catering' for the last month or so of suite rentals?

Across the room, Fake Ray slams a chicken club sandwich down on the keys of his fake-Hamburg.

Fake Ray: AW DAMN!

Face-Eater: FINISH YOUR SANDWICH. And so what? It's an INVESTMENT. I always knew some prick would pay me a fuck load of money for this disease-ridden poultry.

Chandler Tsonda: But NO ONE is paying you for that shit.

Face-Eater: SO I BOUGHT IT FOR A PRANK, BEE EFF DEE. Besides, your birthday isn't for another month, and Danny doesn't pass out from all of the bourbon he'd drink like before. It's now or never, bitches. Now are you going to help us poison Foster Nackedy or what?

Chandler Tsonda: Who's Foster Nackedy?

Danny Ferguson: And will you really make any worse the life of a man named Foster Nackedy?

Mike Wade: To be fair, the man's name is the exact reason why you guys should be on board.

Danny Ferguson: What is this, fourth grade?

Face-Eater: YOU KNOW, SOMETIMES, I WISH IT WERE.

Chandler walks across the room and grabs himself another drink. He tips it at Danny before opening.

Chandler Tsonda: I don't know why you're griping anyway. You've got plenty of time on your hands now since you bitched out of the Roulette match.

Danny gives the "cut it" throat slashing motion to Tsonda, but it's too late, and Facey's ears perk up. Well, below the mask and all.

Face-Eater: You did what now?

Danny Ferguson: Nothing.

Face-Eater: You dropped from the Roulette match?

Danny Ferguson: Why did you ask me what I said if you heard-

Face-Eater: RHETORICAL. SoyouaresayingtheresaUniversaltitleshotonthetable?

Danny Ferguson: Not exactly.

Face-Eater: But you're not going to take it?

Danny sighs as Facey's eyes light up. The wheels are turning as he smells the possibility of a Universal Title shot, Nackedys be damned.

Danny Ferguson: I reluctantly withdrew from my spot-

Face-Eater: BLAHBLAH. So there's a spot just waiting there...

Chandler Tsonda: I already tried this logic, kid.

Face-Eater: But you suck. Anyway, so-

Danny Ferguson: No, Facey, I can't get you in the match in my place.

Face-Eater: (defeated) WELL SCREW YOU THEN! I was just asking. I can get my own shot whenever I want.

Mike Wade: What about our team?

Face-Eater: Yeah, what about our team?!?! What about me and Mike, huh?

Mike Wade: I was asking yo-

Face-Eater: COME ON, MIKE. I've got twenty-six pounds of spoiled poultry in the trunk of the rental car.

He takes off for the suite door. Wade hesitates momentarily.

Mike Wade: You've been traveling with it this whole time?

Face-Eater: Must you question everything?!?!!!?

With that, The Unfuckables exit the room, door slam at all. An awkward silence ensues in the room.

Chandler Tsonda: You sure you can't-

Danny Ferguson: I'm sure.

Chandler Tsonda: Ok. Just checking. 'Cause I-

Danny Ferguson: Just drop it.

Chandler Tsonda: Righto.

Fake Ray: My stomach doesn't feel so good.

Danny Ferguson: Ray, are we paying you to play or are we paying you to die?

Fake Ray: Aw, damn...

He launches into a discount version of "Georgia On My Mind" as the A-List suite goes back to its previous state of rocking.

Richard is now rocking a tie littered with piano keys. Nick looks over at his partner and shakes his head.

Nick: Why do you try to fit in so much, seriously? None of these guys even know who you are.

Richard: Why you gotta be hatin?

Nick: No, goddammit, I’m being serious. You are always trying to get in with these heels. Do you even talk to any of them once we are off the air?

Richard: They are always busy

Nick: Oh horse shit, you are too scared to talk to them because they’ll ask “Who the hell are you?”

Richard: You really know how to make a man cry…*Richard turns on the water works* They are my teammates ma-

SMACK

Nick: Enough, TO! We need to get on with this show. Our fourth and final part is just…Another day at the office in PRIME. That’s the best we could come up with in the naming department. Hoyt Williams is known for being one of the most dangerous mouths in the business when a camera is in front of him.

Richard: That he is my man.

Nick: Ever since his return, he has once again risen to the status of being a contender for the Universal Championship.

Richard: Only a matter of time before he’s wearing the strap and everybody in PRIME can get into heaven. We should all attempt to kill ourselves at that particular instance.

Nick: Man you really are stupid aren’t you?

Richard: I’m a cult follower really.

Nick: This is one of Hoyt’s sponsored segments from Revolution 140.

A guy is pushing his small child in a swing on a playground in a sunny city park. He smiles over to his wife whom gives him a lustful smile back. He walks away from his kid over to the sandbox and begins talking into the camera.

Man: Boy was I stupid!! I used to think Al Gore knew everything!! While I drove around in an over priced hybrid car, he was flying in jet planes!! I was also a homosexual whom loved large black men. Now I’m living the good life with a hot wife and I’m all about puss-say.

The man waves to his wife lovingly, she waves back with a sexy wink.

Man: You see I was corrupted by the disease that is television and left God. I thought voting democrat and cheering on Lindsey Troy was a good thing. Little did I know I was supporting Satan! That is until I called 888-HOYT-NOW and the world was opened up to me.

The man sits down on a bench and looks out to the blue sky.

Man: Since I donated to Hoyt my penis has grown larger, I lost my homosexual desires, got a promotion at work, and found out how to get my TIVO to record two shows at once. TWO AT THE SAME TIME!! OH MY HOYTNESS~!! Hoyt Williams changed my life and he can change yours too. If you think the war in Iraq is wrong, or think Pepsi Cola isn’t a tool of Satan then chances are you are a tool. I was not looking at the big picture because Satan was holding his own picture of the world in front of me. Do not believe what you see as it’s all manifested by the man with the little red tail and Drew Carry.

The man gets real close to the camera and whispers.

Man: I used to be bald but thanks to Hoyt Williams I have my hair back!! Join the revolution my friends and get on the side of the good. HIRE HOYT WILLIAMS to be your life coach today by calling 888-HOYT-NOW!! If you’re in a low paying job, young, male, being screwed by the man; then Hoyt is your savior….again call 888-HOYT-NOW!!

Wife: Hey honey you want to drop the baby off at your mothers and make sloppy sex all night long??

Man: Not again!! OK HONEY IF YOU INSIST!! Live my life by living the Hoyt experience by calling 888-HOYT-NOW….RIGHT NOW!!!!

=w=

Back to Nick and Richard

Nick: Shortest segment you are going to see all night.

Richard: But definitely one of the funniest. Hoyt knows how to hit all the right buttons.

Nick: I will give him credit for that, he can attract an audience. Our next pair can definitely attract an audience as well. Sonny Silver and Sun Tzu.

Richard: Can you imagine what PRIME would be like if these two once again shared a camera?

Nick: PRIME is definitely better off without Mr. Silver, CHAIRMAN OF PRIME!

Richard: YOU FINALLY DID IT! UP TOP!

Richard tries to get some skin from Nick…He once again gets shot down.

Nick: We are going to have another two parter from the early days of 2007. Sonny Silver, as mentioned earlier, captured the Intense Championship from Sun Tzu at 115. She was enraged to say the least and made a valiant effort to get her Championship back from Sonny.

Richard: DE-NIED!

Nick: In our second piece featuring this duo, Sonny Silver is parading around his Smokin Hot Bitches division, which for those of you who don’t know was just a cheap sexist way to exploit women as objects.

Richard: SMOKING HOT objects, but go on.

Nick: Sun Tzu wanted to get in on the exploitation, but of course Silver only cared about one thing, the boobies.

Richard: Not after this he didn’t.

Nick: First from Revolution 116 and second from Revolution 123.

BARRY BONDS... THIS COULD HAPPEN TO YOU!

America’s favorite executive assistant, Blaine Blair, has just gotten himself a nice cup of Brazilian coffee. He inhales deeply over the cup, allowing the aroma to tickle his nostrils. TheN he slowly lowers his quivering lips to the rim…

"BLAIR!!!"

Blaine Blair: EEK!

Immediately the cup leaps out of his hand and sends its contents all over his shirt. After a brief moment, Blaine realizes that was one hot cup of joe.

Blaine Blair: DOUBLE EEK!

As Chet Worth’s right hand man dances around and make girlie noises, up walks the reason for his current predicament… the Artist of War and former Intense champion, Sun Tzu. She waves a sheet of paper with obvious anger. Obvious because Sun Tzu is pretty much always angry unless she just hurt someone. Then it’s Happy Time!

Sun Tzu: Look at this, toady!

Blaine Blair: Trying… not… to… cry…

Sun Tzu: This is a list of regulations from the Georgia State Athletic Commission. It specifically bans the use of performance enhancing substances! Substances like… Sonnamania!

What a quandary our hero is in. Sure, Blaine has third degree burns all over his chest. But he knows that Mao’s Little Red Bitch can hurt him more than a bubble bath in Mount Saint Helens. So he gives the only safe answer he can…

Blaine Blair: Ummmm…

Sun Tzu: I demand that you overturn the decision from last week and return MY Intense title to me! Now!

What to do, thinks Blair. On one hand, there is no way he can change the ruling on that match, even if Sonnam. On the other hand, he might want to father children some day. Well, stick with what works…

Blaine Blair: Ummmm…

Sun Tzu really doesn’t seem too happy with this answer, or lack of one. Her lip curls and a low growl rumbles from her. Blaine Blair makes his peace with the world and only regrets that he won’t get to see who this year’s "American Idol" finalists are. Suddenly, a funky guitar riff is heard through catering. Then Jimi Hendrix sings the opening lines of "Voodoo Chile." Don’t worry about the lyrics, if anyone could ever understand what that man was singing, we wouldn’t have "Excuse me while I kiss this guy." Then Sonny Silver struts in, complete in American flag doo-rag and red, white, and blue boa. He strums along to Hendrix on his newly won Intense title belt. He walks right up next to Blaine Blair and lowers his sunglasses.

Silver: Listen up, Mean Gene!

Blaine Blaire: My name isn’t G-

Silver: Don’t let Yoko-Ono-zuna scare you, brother! I can bodyslam her just like I did to all 800 pounds of Andre the Giant at WrestleMania 2!

Sun Tzu: Yoko… I’m not Japanese!

Silver: Neither was he, brother! But I’m not here to talk about kayfabe! I’m here to talk about the power of Sonnamania!

Sun Tzu: The illegal Sonnamania!

Silver: Brother, Sonnamania is a lot of things.! It’s the most powerful force in the universe! It’s the hopes and dreams of all the little Sonnamaniacs out there! It shows what you can do if you try hard, take your vitamins, and say your prayers everyday!

Sun Tzu: Ah ha! "Take your vitamins!" You admit it! Sonnamania is a performance enhancer!


Silver: Listen up, brother. The Sonster has seen the Chinese Olympic women's swim team, so I think you know something about performance enhancing substances yourself!

Mark your calendars, Mao's Little Red Bitch looks a bit nervous.

Sun Tzu: I... I have no idea what you mean...

The Sonster responds by whipping out an official looking piece of paper from under his star-spangled doo-rag.

Silver: Let's just see what results I got from a sample of YOUR urine, brother!

Sun Tzu: How in the hell did you get a urine sample from me?

Silver: What the Sonster does in his free time is his own business, brother! Let's start at the top! Estrogen!

Sun Tzu: I'm a woman, moron.

Silver: Testoterone!

Sun Tzu: Uh... to keep my breasts from getting to large. Messes up my center of gravity.

Silver: And it's working, brother! Tranquilizers!

Sun Tzu: Well... sometimes I have trouble sleeping...

Silver: Methamphetimenes!

Sun Tzu: ... and waking up too...

Silver: Lithium!

Sun Tzu: Sometimes I get these REALLY messed up dreams.

Silver: MSG!

Sun Tzu: I have no idea about... wait. That's in Chinese food. For a second I thought it was something embarassing.

Silver: Viagra!

Sun Tzu: Hey, I thought it was trucker speed!

Silver: Anabolic steroids!

Sun Tzu: For an old sports injury. Ping pong. Steroids can be prescribed to help healing, you know.

Silver: SEVENTEEN differant kinds of anabolic steroids!

Sun Tzu: So I got injured a lot. Ping pong is more physical in China. Waaaay more physical. Serious.

Silver: And last but not least, enzymes from the skin of a poison arrow tree frog!

Sun Tzu: OK, that was just on a bet back in school. You can't hold that against me.

The Silver Lining waves the results in front of Blain Blair.

Silver: Mean Gene! If Nicolai Volkoff's cute little sister wants to get in the Sonster's face for being on Sonnamania, then I say let's get it on, brother!

Peeking at the list, Blaine smiles sheepishly at Sun Tzu.

Blaine Blair: Maybe you should retract your request, ma'am. You might not want that list getting around.

Sun Tzu: Perhaps I was a bit... unsportsmanlike. Congratulations, Mr. Silver on your victory. Now if you'll excuse me, Ii have to go do something amusing with guns.

The Artist of War takes off, but not before snatching the list from Sonny Silver. Blaine Blair takes off too... in the oppsite direction. Just in case that amusing thing with guns involved him. And that just leaves the Sonster, strumming on his gold and leather symbol of midcard greatness as Jimi plays once more...

Back to Nick and Richard

Nick: Shortest segment you are going to see all night.

Richard: But definitely one of the funniest. Hoyt knows how to hit all the right buttons.

Nick: I will give him credit for that, he can attract an audience. Our next pair can definitely attract an audience as well. Sonny Silver and Sun Tzu.

Richard: Can you imagine what PRIME would be like if these two once again shared a camera?

Nick: PRIME is definitely better off without Mr. Silver, CHAIRMAN OF PRIME!

Richard: YOU FINALLY DID IT! UP TOP!

Richard tries to get some skin from Nick…He once again gets shot down.

Nick: We are going to have another two parter from the early days of 2007. Sonny Silver, as mentioned earlier, captured the Intense Championship from Sun Tzu at 115. She was enraged to say the least and made a valiant effort to get her Championship back from Sonny.

Richard: DE-NIED!

Nick: In our second piece featuring this duo, Sonny Silver is parading around his Smokin Hot Bitches division, which for those of you who don’t know was just a cheap sexist way to exploit women as objects.

Richard: SMOKING HOT objects, but go on.

Nick: Sun Tzu wanted to get in on the exploitation, but of course Silver only cared about one thing, the boobies.

Richard: Not after this he didn’t.

Nick: First from Revolution 116 and second from Revolution 123.

The camera closes in on a dark room in which light is very scarce. A solitary spotlight is all forms underneath it. In the darkness beyond, the collective muttering of several voices is heard, but all become hushed at once when a figure steps into the spotlight. The evil visage of Mr. Silver, Chairman of PRIME, sports a brown Armani suit standing underneath the bright yellow glow of a dangling lamp above him.

Silver: I take it this is the right place?

With a couple affirming sounds to tell him his answer, Father PRIME clears his throat and places his hands behind his back to make himself look loads more important than a delusional egomaniac really is.

Silver: Great. We shall begin momentarily.

From one side, a lowly techie hands Sonny a black briefcase. He nods assertively and slips the guy a twenty for his troubles. Once he leaves, Silver opens up the contents of the briefcase: Some pizza he had the night before that he brought for lunch, a kick-ass Mr. Silver, Chairman of PRIME™ Thermos with his ugly mug plastered on the front and some Blazin’ Buffalo and Ranch Doritos in a plastic baggie. He rests the contents and his briefcase on a table before him, then has a seat in front of said desk with the light continuing to shine on just him.

Silver: Members of the illustrious PRIME Committee… My Children… last week, He Who Signs Your Paychecks came forth with an idea that would revolutionize and monopolize and uh… Own-inize the entire Sports Entertainment industry for the better. You see, for far too long, the likes these other places with chicks wrestling… Wuh-We, SHIMMER, and some show I saw the other night at like, 3:30 on OnDemand with chicks wrestling in lingerie. It might have been a porn, but who knows.

He takes a swig of the contents of the Thermos, then continues.

Silver: That’s good rum… anyhow, yes. Ahem, excuse me. My brainchild, PRIME, has not been pleased entirely with the way that I’ve handled things. I descended from the Heavens of Sports Entertainment, lowered myself to competing for lowly mid-card titles, then I completed my 562nd Greatest Achievement ever in my long and storied career and won the PRIME Intense Title. It was a pretty awesome reign, but I could feel in that cold, dark spot in my heart that PRIME was still not happy. She was calling out to me in my dreams one night and she showed me the answer when Carmen Electra and Scarlet Johansson came a knockin’ and I made them both moan without even using my hands… Damn, what a good dream.

Sonny reminisces for a moment. Once that’s over, he presses onward.

Silver: But, right. PRIME has… what’s the word, My Kids… Sucked. Bad. I mean, sure, we’re the #1 federation under the PTC banner and nobody else can compare. People in FUSE have no chicks to speak of except for, like, Timo Bolamba or something. AWC is long gone, XUW and WWA are constantly grounded underneath its boots. GCW keeps talking about how they won’t be ignorWHOA, COOL, I GOT A SPOTLIGHT ON ME! SWEET! And the people doing Global’s website REALLY need to invest in a Mr. Silver-damned spellcheck. Seriously, when half your feds are ripping off Kevin Thorn and filling them up with vampires, it’s time to pack shit up.

Silver: But we press on through dry spells, my children. For I have seen the light and that light is in the form of a young woman named Karina Wolfenden. She’s one of PRIME’s most decorated stars and a star prodigy whose pure talent is too hard to pass up. For this reason… and for the fact that she’s one of the only actual active GIRL competitors in this sausage-fest, I find it fitting that she become the first-ever PRIME Undisputed Amy Dumas Memorial Jizzbang Champion. The Smokin’ Hot Bitches division debuts with its first title defense here tonight and we will see success soar like no other. We bring the Smokin’ Hotness, and the Bitches will line up on our front door.

Several cheers emanate in the shadows, apparently liking ladies coming to PRIME’s front dooor. With a Cheshire cat grin on his face, Sonny drives it home.

Silver: The plan is to eventually build up Lindsay Troy as a dominant shemale who will contest for the belt, then at Colossus IV, we will see with any hope… Karina "The Negasonic Jizzbang Warhead" Wolfenden vs. Lindsay "The Amazon" Troy with the tagline of Rumble In The Jungle… The Battle of the Bushes! The Jam of the Bearded Clams! Tonight, my children, is a day that will live in infamy! And greatness! And all around awesomeness! THIS is the new face of professional wrestling! Forget what other bush leagues tell you! My Bush League of the Smokin’ Hot Bitches division is going to rule! And if Father PRIME said it, it shall be done and it shall fucking rule!

The lights spring back to life, revealing the cafeteria area. Sitting at a couple other tables are a few more lowly techies taking bites of their sandwiches, Beef and Scott Falk at another table talking about who’s going to ram Alexandria Malone first, and Lisa Tyler trying to get the next big interview out of Sonny.

Silver: I thank you. Lisa Tyler thanks you. The Ghost of Paris Hilton’s Virginity thanks you. Good day.

Sonny collects his belongings and tries to walk off, but not before being halted the very scary visage of a certain Red-clad Girl.

We’ll call her Sun Tzu.

Sun Tzu: As Mao as my witness, this mockery will stop!

Everyone in the room turns and looks at the Artist of War. She pulls out a handgun and fires a few shots into the ceiling. Girlish screams erupt throughout the cafeteria, some of them from actual girls.

Sun Tzu: That was to get your attention.

Lisa Tyler: Everyone was already looking at you!

Sun Tzu: Fine... I just haven't gotten to shoot anything in a good five, maybe ten, minutes. But I'm not here to talk about my hobbies. Silver! What do you call that travesty you did last week?

Silver shrugs off Sun Tzu’s angry demeanor and folds his arms.

Silver: Well, you gotta be specific. As The Alpha Heel of my federation, PRIME, I’m responsible for any number of atrocities. Handing Trashcan Man his ass… uh, giving women what they want instead of listening to them BITCH 24-7. I’m pretty sure I made fun of some people last week… Uh, elaborate, lady.

Sun Tzu: You know what I mean, you fork-tongued capitalist devil! I'm talking about you just handing over such a prestigious championship belt over to that Wolfenden strumpet! Everyone knows that the only person that deserves to be called the Jizzbang Champion of the World is me... Sun Tzu!

A hush falls over the cafeteria and not just because of the chick packing heat. Well, it is because of her but not because she's packing heat. Mr. Silver is even silent, trying to remember where he heard those lines before. Hmmm... there was that ring rat in North Carolina... but she needed implants. And speaking of card-carrying members of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee...

Sun Tzu: All my life has been in the pursuit of being jizzbanged! When I was a little girl I dreamed of the moment when I would have my first jizzbang! The first of many jizzbangs, I prayed! Once, when I was just nine years old, I was granted the honor of taking part in the last jizzbanging of an old soldier. He had fought in the revolution and many were amazed he could get up to be jizzbanged. But he did! He stood up proud and erect! And in a way, deep in my very being, I felt that by being part of his jizzbanging, that I was being jizzbanged too! And over the years, I have came so close to being jizzbanged, but in the end was left feeling empty and unsatisfied. Now my time has come and you dare to say Wolfenden deserves to be Jizzbang Champion of the World more than me? Explain yourself, Silver!

Sonny �" along with several other people �" were holding back laughter. Beef and Scott Falk on the other hand…

Beef: *holding back tears* I know exactly how you feeeeelll....

Scott: I don't. I'm a professional jizzbanger. Women weep when they feel the might of the Jumbo Jizzbanging of yours truly.

Scott turns to Sun Tzu with the biggest grin in the universe. I should point out that Scott is, technically speaking, shorter than she is.

Scott: HEY! My penis is ready for jizzbanging! Let's fucking have at it!

There is an awkward, terrible pause.

Beef and Scott look at each other, and then they just start laughing.

Beef: BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Scott: Oh, MAN. It's like she doesn't know what it fucking MEANS!

Beef: I KNOW! It's crazy!

Father PRIME stares at the two members of the Blue Rogues, and slaps his forehead.

Silver: Yeah… anyhow… no fucking way that YOU’RE getting a shot at MY precious creation. For one, it’s for GIRLS, you titless freak. What I’m doing here is shaping up this division and I’ll tell you what it ISN’T going to involve… YOU. You have no boobs, therefore, henceforth, and forthwith, are hereby banned from coming fifty feet of any Smokin’ Hot Bitches competitor… ESPECIALLY my champion, Karina Wolfenden. Should I even catch you THINKING of violating my act, Sun, I will not hesitate to kick your crazy ass for another title.

The Rabid Panda is giving the Blue Rogues a look that should make them glad that the Chinese haven't discovered a peformance enhancer that grants heat vision.

Sun Tzu: Listen, you two obvious products of Western public education, don't you dare try to talk to me about jizzbanging. China has taken the simple jizzbang and turned it into an art form! And two even think you are deserving of such an honor disgraces the countless men and women that have been jizzbanged by the hand of the people!

Their only response is too keep snickering, so Sun Tzu writes them off as idiots and turns back to the original target of her venom.

Sun Tzu: Silver, everyone in here, no... In the locker room should be lining up to jizzbang me! Every night that I perform, I give everything I have! In the end I'm covered in blood, sweat, and who knows what else! But do I get any satisfaction? No! Instead you choose to declare a woman Jizzbang Champion of the World who has been underneath Angelo Deville twice while I was on top of him at Culture Shock!

Taking all of Sun Tzu’s hatred in stride, Sonny shakes his head and chuckles a little bit before he opens his mouth.

Silver: All right, Yoko! Enough of your Mr. Silver-damned squawking! I don’t care who you’ve beat, beat off, jizzbanged, any of that. Let me break this down for you in English, kay? Not the Queen’s Faggot English that you speak, but Real American Language. YOU. ARE. NOT. IN. MY. DIVISION. Now, hit the bricks, bitch, or your face is going to be hitting them soon enough.

Snarling at the Chairman of PRIME, the trained soldier knows when to pick her battles.

Sun Tzu: Have it your way, Silver! But after I have a talk to Blaine Blair about the meaning of jizzbang, he'll be putty in my hands! Good day, cretin!

And then Sun Tzu turns on her heel to make a dramatic exit. Watching her walk away, Sonny Silver notices what she has in those her red shorts of hers. No, not Mr. Snugglepants and Kookoo Bear. We're talkin' some Beijing badonkadonk! Silver does a quick consult with his closest advisor and he seems pretty responsive.

Silver: WAIT!

The Rabid Panda stops in her tracks and turns around, preparing for what could possibly be another exchange of words.

Silver: My dear, perhaps I was a bit TOO hasty in the way I acted towards your lovely ass…ets that you could bring to the Smokin’ Hot Bitches Division, Ms. Tzu. If you truly wish to compete in my greatest creation yet, we may be able to find a place for you yet.

A smirk appears on Sun Tzu's face as she turns and looks back at Silver.

Sun Tzu: I knew you'd see things from my side.

Sonny stifles a little bit of devilish laughter, then lets it subside. He pats Sun Tzu on the shoulder and nods.

Silver: My dear, welcome to the winning team.

Sun Tzu: I promise you, soon no one will be able to hear the word "jizzbang" without thinking of Sun Tzu!

And amidst barely contained chortling, the Artist of War exits the cafeteria. As soon as she is gone, the entire room collapses into howls of laughter.

Nick and Richard are also collapsed on the floor in howls of laughter. We’ll give them a minute to recuperate.

Two Minutes Later

Still laughing

Five Minutes Later

Still laughing. Let’s go to another segment. This one features Tony Gamble and Nova in an elevator with the Blue Rogues from Revolution 125. Nothing else really needs to be said.

Nova and Tony Gamble round the corner, coming into the camera shot. They’re speaking in whispers without moving their eyes, no doubt passing conspiratorial pieces of information between themselves.

Surely some terrible purpose imbues their strides with this sense of urgency.

Nova: OhmyGodIneverthoughtwe’dfindit!!!

They descend upon the bar station like sun-scorched hyenas, arms outstretched over the countertop towards the startled barkeep.

Nova: Bourbon on the rocks!

Tony Gamble: Gin & Tonic!

The bartender, obviously taken aback by this sudden run on his booze stock, just stands there, blinking at the hated superstars.

Nova: (Slamming a palm down on the counter) WAKE UP, MAN! I’ve got a nervous tic, and Antonio here is about to collapse on the spot! I’m not dragging his ass! Are you?

Tony Gamble: I’m very thirsty.

The barkeep nods furiously and turns to prepare their beverages. The Universal Champion looks off to his left and notices an elevator. Cocking an eyebrow, he turns back to "The Grin."

Nova: Where is our locker room?

Tony Gamble: Ummm…4C?

Nova: And where are we now?

Tony Gamble: Shit…2A?

Nova: (Lighting a cigarette) I see. Fuck the stairs. Let’s ride.

Tony Gamble: Word.

The bartender hands them both their drinks, and the stablemates walk over to the shiny silver doors of the elevator. Nova presses the ^ button. Then…

A voice.

Codemaster: Brothers! Hold the elevator!

Coral: Would you quit dragging me?

Gamble and Nova turn to see that a bald black man (wearing a "super mushroom" T-shirt with an arrow pointed towards the crotch) is dragging a long-haired man wearing wrestling gear.

Nova pauses before he sticks a foot in the middle of the doorway and stops the doors from shutting completely.

The two men rush inside the elevator. Codemaster lets go of Avalon's arm as soon as they're inside, but Codemaster is also in the way of the door closing all the way.

Codemaster: Hey, Coral, check it out. It's the Universal Champ and the Grin.

Coral's mind groans, though he doesn't do so audibly. He knows who they are.

The Codemaster smiles.

Codemaster: Pleasure to meet you guys. I'm the Codemaster. The Blackest Brother in the Hyrule Kingdom, no less. My wacky sidekick over here is Coral Avalon.

Nova gives them both a nod, exhaling smoke out of his nose that causes Avalon to wave his hand in front of his face vigorously.

Nova: What can I do you guys f-

Scott Falk: HEY! WAIT, DICKHEADS!

Codemaster: Oh, right. The others.

Nova and Gamble turn to each other, both mouthing the word "others?"

Suddenly, a literal STAMPEDE of other people come stomping into the elevator, including Scott Falk, Beef, Janito, Alexandria Malone, and Steve. Robert Falk, on the other hand, frowns upon seeing the elevator, and opts to just turn towards the stairs instead.

Coral: Okay. Whose bright idea was it to put everyone ever in a tight space?

Tony Gamble: If I may be so bold, assholes, this elevator can…

Nova: OWW! Jesus, who’s wearing the fucking CLEATS?!

The elevator door closes with everyone save for Robert Falk crammed into its close quarters. It shudders, and then slowly begins to move up towards the next floor.

Alexandria Malone: Ahh! Scott, your watch is caught in my hair!

Tony Gamble: Seriously, the fucking elevator can’t…

Nova: Elbows! ELBOWS!!!

Tony Gamble: HEEEEEY!!!!!~!

Everyone stops jostling for room and turns to the Jewel in the Crown winner, who’s pointing frantically at a brass plate on the elevator wall.

Tony Gamble: This says capacity is fifteen hundred pounds! I’m pretty fucking sure we’re over that!

The Universal Champion takes a long drag of his cigarette, expelling a smoke cloud into the rapidly-diminishing air supply of the elevator.

Coral Avalon: (Coughing) God, man, can you put that out?!

Nova ignores him, peering over the shorter men’s heads at his stablemate.

Nova: Tony, you raise a valuable question. But I guess all we can do at this point is cross our fingers and hope that solid Denver, Colorado construction will sav-

The elevator stops moving with a loud THUD! and the lights go out.

Coral Avalon: Oh, that did NOT just happen.

Scott Falk: Okay, fuck anyone who's bigger than me. Which, by the way, is everyone here.

Steve: DEATH.

Beef: This won't do. This won't do at all. We're supposed to do our filming. We're gonna be late, and then I'm gonna have to slap a bitch.

The sounds of Janito's whimpering can be heard.

Alexandria Malone: And I totally have a match!

Codemaster: Okay, people. Settle down. Take a deep breath.

Coral is heard coughing.

Codemaster: That isn't filled with cigarette smoke, anyway.

The Risen Star continues to smoke like a chimney, the air becoming so hazy now that its occupants can barely see one another.

Nova: Okay, Black Zelda has a point. No reason to panic. You guys pick the two lamest cronies out of your posse and we’ll hoist them through the roof. Once they jump off, the weight limit should reset itself and we’ll continue moving up towards the fourth floor.

Janito feels several eyes fall on him, and he trembles.

Janito: B-but…what do we do, hypothetically speaking *nervous laugh*, once we’re on top of the elevator? How do we get off?

Nova: Hell, I don’t know, man. Be resourceful. It’s an elevator shaft. People escape out of these things, like, every day.

Coral Avalon: Honestly, I think we could do without Beef or Janito.

Beef: HEY!

Janito: =(

Codemaster: Yeah. Steve's a'ight. He's shorter than Setzer over here, but he packs a mighty clothesline. You ain't see nothing until you see a three foot nine midget clothesline you directly in the Super Mushrooms.

Coral Avalon: I don't have my decoder ring. Which one is Setzer?

Codemaster: Gamble.

"The Grin" is unamused.

Tony Gamble: The hell you say. I could pummel either of those goons into next hurricane season. I’m not leaving this elevator. In fact, I’ll light up a smoke too and we can just see who crawls out first. Nova, if I may…

The Risen Star hands him a cigarette and Gamble lights it nonchalantly, trying to appear comfortable with the idea of inhaling all the smoke.

Alexandria Malone: Actually, Mr. Gamble, I'm pretty sure *I* could pummel them.

Beef: Well, if it helps anything, I have my hand on SOMEONE'S butt. I hope it's yours.

Alexandria Malone: It's not.

Beef: *Dammit!*

Coral Avalon coughs from the cigarette smoke.

Coral Avalon: Beef. Janito.

Beef: Yes?

Janito: What is it?

Coral Avalon: I am willing to sacrifice your worthless lives, if necessary, if it means that we get out of here.

Codemaster: Brother ain't lyin', man. I'm about ready to throw you out quicker than I throw out people in Super Smash Bros., too.

Beef: Why us?

Codemaster: You're the low-level characters I sacrifice in order to put the higher level enemies in the proper position. I think you could stand to be sacrificed again for the good of mankind. Also, Nova is the God King Sensei of Saikyou-ryuu in this promotion right now, Tony over here is a bonafide top star of the Glitz Pit, Alexandria is our princess, Steve could destroy the universe with a single clothesline to its testicles, Scott over here is good at yelling at people, and Coral's my wacky sidekick. You guys are the cannon fodder.

Coral Avalon: I don't appreciate that term.

Codemaster: What, "wacky"?

Nova: HEY! (Snapping his fingers) While I’m enthralled with the hierarchical run-down of the Brat Pack and all, it’s getting hot as THE FUCK in the here, so let’s make some tough decisions and get this beast rolling!

Tony Gamble: Amen.

The Universal Champion turns solemnly to the Codemaster.

Nova: Make the call, Mega Man.

Coral Avalon: What am I, mold on the wall?!

The Codemaster grimly turns to Beef and Janito.

Codemaster: Get out. Both of you.

Beef: HOW?!

El Janito: It's not like we're Spiderman. Spidermen. Spidermans.

Beef slaps Janito in the back of the head. Seconds later, Gamble and Nova also slap him.

Janito: *whimper*

Beef: Alex? Would you cuddle me before I leave?

Alexandria Malone: Get bent.

Beef: Alright. Mr. Universal Champ, you're the biggest among us. Why not give us a boost using your mighty Universal muscles?

Nova: To hell with that.

Beef: ...Mr. Gamble?

Gamble: *cough* Fuck off and die.

Beef sighs, and starts to climb up to the roof the elevator himself. Second later, he shouts back.

Beef: Holy crap, are you freaking KIDDING me? I'm not jumping down from here!

Scott Falk: You fucking idiot, you do it or my brother's gonna fucking THROW you that high so you'll HAVE to fall from that height ANYWAY.

All the while, El Janito climbs up as well. He looks around for a few seconds before he comes to a conclusion.

El Janito: Eeeeep.

Codemaster: Great. They suck even as cannon fodder. I sure pick my allies well.

The Risen Star stomps out his cigarette.

Nova: Alright. Okay. They don’t want to take one for the team to get us all out of here. Fine. Let’s encourage them.

He begins kicking the wall of the elevator, causing it to rattle the whole unit. Screams can be heard from atop the elevator as Beef and El Janito attempt to maintain their balance under this new assault.

Without warning, however, the doors vibrate, and Nova stops stomping, wondering what the hell that's about.

Nova: What the hell's that about?

Suddenly, the door is literally forced open by a huge man wielding a crowbar. The man holds the elevator's doors open, allowing everyone to escape its confines. Well, except Beef and Janito, who're still on the roof of the elevator and are trying to come down.

Robert Falk turns to the Codemaster.

Robert Falk: This is why I take the stairs.

Codemaster: Yeah yeah, shut up, Mendez.

Coral Avalon sighs, and just simply starts walking away in frustration. Alexandria perks up, and then chases after him since she figures he'll be lonely for a bit.

The Codemaster then turns to Nova and Gamble.

Codemaster: Eheh... no hard feelings about this, right? I'm on your side, brothers.

The Universal Champion claps the Codemaster on the back encouragingly.

Nova: No worries, my fellow mushroom enthusiast. You are wise beyond your peers.

Tony Gamble: Oooh, solid play on words.

Nova: Up top.

Codemaster: Oh, I need up in this.

High fives all around. Vicious ones.

Alright, I’m getting sick of trying to come up with segue material for Richard and Nick so I’m just going to do the no thrills segue into each segment from here on out. Revolution 118. The Illustrious Face Eater decided to make Danny Ferguson welcome by setting up a bomb somewhere in the building. Ferguson was trying to come off as a hero so he went looking for the bomb. This is the exciting conclusion.

A ridiculous looking Danny Ferguson attempts to sneak down the well lit and extremely visible corridors of the backstage area, doing the worst James Bond impression since Daniel Craig (oh, shut up, PTC). Approaching the corner of the hallway, the Sexiest Actor to do hard time that isn't Robert Downey Jr., Jason Mewes, or Nick Nolte reaches into his jacket all stealthily as if he were reaching into a holster.

Quickly, he withdraws... a walkie-talkie.

Danny Ferguson: Alright, fellas, when I segue you in,you make the capture. Comprendo?

He speaks into the intercom, and receives a garbled phrase in some foreign language that is indecipherable.

He then pokes his head high into the air, looking around suspiciously, as if he just saw something...

Or... smelt... something...

He arrives at Hessian and Ivan Stansilav's shared locker room, where they probably have invisible circle-jerks together or something, noticing a rather pungent odor emanating from that area.

Danny kicks in the door open and jumps through only to find the Illustrious Face-Eater, in the midst of his devious and nefarious plans.

Danny Ferguson: Ah-hah! Succulent Cock-Boy!

Succulent Cock-Boy?

THE ILLUSTRIOUS FACE-EATER: DAMN YOU! YOU'VE FOUND MY SECRET HIDING SPOT FOR MY TERRORIST PLOT! NOW I HAVE TO KILL YOU FOR DISCOVERING THE BOMB...

The Face-Eater steps aside for Danny to catch a full glimpse of a mechanism with massive pipes running to a barrel, the barrel being a huge basin.

Danny Ferguson: My God, what is this hideous contraption!?

THE ILLUSTRIOUS FACE-EATER: HIDEOUS? Bitch, that's the BOMB, right there!

Then, that's when Danny notices the four foot tall marijuana plant sticking out of the middle of the barrel. He hits himself for not noticing a fucking weed plant right in front of his face, but in the presence of such an elaborate growing mechanism, you'd be slightly taken off guard as well.

THE ILLUSTRIOUS FACE-EATER: The fucking best Chronic in the Positive-matter Universe! AND I'M GOING TO CLAM-BAKE THE ENTIRE ARENA WITH IT!

Danny Ferguson: Did you know that marijuana possession in Spain is a capital offense?

THE ILLUSTRIOUS FACE-EATER: Shit, really?

Danny Ferguson: I don’t know; I made it up. But these cops believed me!

Suddenly, a cadre of Barcelona’s finest (that would be a group of police officers, not a bag of weed, Joseph) burst through the door, giving the wood more of a beating that it's deserved today. They all shout innocuous Spanish phrases and shoot their guns into the air, because I’m ignorant.

THE ILLUSTRIOUS FACE-EATER: Fuckshit!

Facey pulls a smoke bomb out of nowhere and throws it down in front of the cops and Danny. Mucho coughing ensues, and after some grande arm-waving, the cloud dissipates enough for everyone to see...

...an empty hallway. At the far end, a stairwell door hangs open.

Officer Numero Uno: (poor Google Translate Spanish version of "He’s getting away!")

Officer Numero Dos: (poor Google Translate Spanish version of "After him!")

The entire squad sprints down the hallway, into the stairwell and out of the picture, with much shooting and whooping.

Now sans the smoke and the gauchos, Danny finds himself alone in the hallway with Dametreyus.

Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: Boss, ain’t you gonna chase him, too? I thought we was gonna be the heroes...

Danny puts a finger to his lips while he slowly takes the weed plant from Dam’s hands.

Danny Ferguson: Nah, those diligent Spanish policemen will take care of everything.

Suddenly, he cranes his neck a little and raises his voice.

Danny Ferguson: (unnecessarily loud) I say you and I hang here and make some use out of this weed.

Dametreyus furrows his brow at first - Danny’d never been a drug kind of guy - but a faint shuffling sound from the ceiling tiles above them draws his attention. He looks up and sees a small piece of fabric, such as the kind a CAPE is made out of, sticking out from one of the tiles.

Dam looks at Danny, who nods, knowingly, then produces a lighter. He flicks it open and c-a-r-e-f-u-l-l-y holds it up to one of the leaves of the weed plant, letting a faint wisp of smoke drift faintly towards the ceiling, barely reaching the tiles-

Suddenly a five-foot radius of ceiling comes crashing down in front of Team Ferguson. Sitting on the pile of debris, The Illustrious Face-Eater turns to Danny, his eyes wide with lust.

THE ILLUSTRIOUS FACE-EATER: dudeletmehitthat.

At that moment, the whooping and gun-shooting Spanish armada come parading back down the stairs. They spot Facey immediately, and he has no time to run before they surround him.

THE ILLUSTRIOUS FACE-EATER: CURSES!

He is pulled up from the ground by two of the larger gauchos and held asunder in front of Danny.

Danny Ferguson: You almost got away with this one, shithead.

THE ILLUSTRIOUS FACE-EATER: GOD DAMN YOU, Fergonomics! WE COULD HAVE BEEN FRIENDS! BUDDIES! STABLE MATES! BUT YOU HAD TO FUCK ME. WELL I'LL TELL YOU WHAT, YOU FUCKING ORAL INHERITOR OF TESTICULAR LOVING, MARK MY WORDS; I WILL EAT YOUR FUCKING SOUL FOR THIS.

Danny Ferguson: Good luck with that.

And on that note, he begins to dust off his palms.

Danny Ferguson: Well, I’ve waited a long time to say this: Book him, Pedro.

Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: Boss, why you been waiting so long to say that?

Officer Numero Tres: (poor AltaVista Spanish translation of "None of us are even named Pedro, you insensitive cheese-swilling diamond-plated American hedonist.")

Danny Ferguson: You know what? Fuck ya’ll. It was just a turn of phrase. Take his ass away. I’m done here.

The coppers drag Facey towards the door, a nice reflective image of how Danny had been carried away across the ocean months ago.

THE ILLUSTRIOUS FACE-EATER: THIS ISN'T OVER, DANNY! WHAT GOES AROUND COMES AROUND, DO YOU HEAR ME?!?! WHAT GOES AROUND COMES AROUND! KARMA WILL FUCK YOUR FACE OFF!!!!

The door slams shut, and Danny Ferguson breathes a little bit easier.

Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: You saved the world, Boss.

Danny Ferguson: Well, not really. It was just a weed plant.

Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: Yeah, but we didn’t know that, Boss. That took a lot of courage. If I’s a PRIME fan - and I ain’t - I woulda thought you is a pretty trustworthy guy.

Danny Ferguson: Yeah? You think so?

Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: I mean, I’s paid to think so, but sure.

Danny Ferguson: Thanks, man. This doesn’t mean enough for me to remember it after we leave the country, but here, in this instant, I appreciate it.

The two exchange an awkward heterosexual moment, which is slightly better then the awkward homoerotic moments they experience by being a posse of men traveling the European countryside. They begin heading back into the main area of the arena. Danny takes a look at the weed plant and tosses it up and down.

Danny Ferguson: Glad that’s over, and nobody got hurt. I mean, a bomb scare? Seriously...

They both laugh, and Danny sky-hooks the weed plant over his head and into a nearby trashcan.

The can promptly explodes in a cloud of fire, smoke and used napkins. Danny and Dametreyus and thrown forward, skipping across the cement as pieces of Rubbermaid fall to the ground around them.

The explosion rocks the immediate area, but very little else. After keeping his head ducked to avoid debris, Danny slowly pushes up to his hands.

Danny Ferguson: So THAT happened.

He looks around a little, and then he - and the camera - crane to stage right, where Blaine Blair is standing, arms folded, tapping his foot.

Blaine Blair: Get out.

Danny Ferguson: If I could have a moment to tell the whole story-

Blaine Blair: Out.

PRIME security officers surround Danny and Dametreyus as they stand and brush themselves off.

Danny Ferguson: I just want to say-

Blaine Blair: (empowered by his security force) NOW.

With far less fanfare than Danny is comfortable with, Team Ferguson is effectively removed from the arena, letting Chet Worth - and presumably, Fuck You - rest a little easier.

For the record Nick an Richard are still laughing at the Sun Tzu/Silver segments. This is our final segment of the evening. Revolution 124.

MatchwritingDios (10:32:14 PM): Why were you and Ferg trying to make a movie again during the Rev 120s?
maikerenna (10:34:31 PM): Because Mega Job has been a film crew since like 2004, and I figured that they'd make a perfect fit with Ferg, the actor.
MatchwritingDios (10:33:17 PM): I should just copy and paste those two lines of convo in and be done with the show
maikerenna (10:35:13 PM): Do it.

The scene fades in PRIME's Superstar, Danny Ferguson, as he wanders down a hallway backstage, checking the doors with a puzzled look on his face. Both bodyguards, Jim Pibb and Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas, have returned to his side, presumably after finally getting their passports cleared at the Chinese airport. Once we settle on Ferg, he finds what he's looking for and pushes through.

Inside the room, people are buzzing about, and by people, I mean the Blue Rogues, and by buzzing about, I mean standing there doing very character-specific things instead of broad generalizations.

Beef: AH! My star has arRIVED!

He whisks up to Danny in a beret, holding one of those old-time crank camera sight thingys. You know, director stuff.

Danny Ferguson: This is the set?

Beef: Set?

Danny Ferguson: For the movie?

Beef: Movie?

Steve: MOVIE.

Beef: Oh, right, right, that one. The one with Danny Ferguson.

Danny Ferguson: Right. Listen, when my agent said this was an independent flick, I was skeptical. You know, there's a lot of studio flicks that call themselves indie just for a slot at Cannes. But this...this is definitely low budget.

He looks around the room. Robert Falk is holding up a large flashlight to serve as a lighting rig. He and Dametreyus exchange a "’Sup" nod. Scott Falk is raiding the catering area, which is to say he's sitting in a corner eating a bag of Funyuns. Alexandria Malone is updating the clapboard for the first "scene". El Janito is setting up a monitor just beyond Steve the cameramidget - whom Danny had suspected to be a yard gnome prior to his baritone introduction.

Danny Ferguson: Yeah...this has a nomination written all over it.

Beef: So you're ready to get started?

Danny Ferguson: Nice. Aggressive. I saw that you have a three-week shooting schedule. That's a big commitment, but I'm in.

El Janito: Um, that's not entirely accurate.

Ferguson cocks an eyebrow. He starts to speak, but is quickly cut off.

Scott Falk: Wrestlers don't fucking work on the six days when they ain't on television, dipshit! We get our fucking drink on and our fucking nut off.

Beef: It's a three day schedule, not three weeks.

Danny Ferguson: Well then...I guess we'd better burn through these rewrites I had in mind. Can I talk to the writer?

Ferg produces a script from his back pocket and pats it a few times in the palm of his hand. El Janito is pushed towards him, sporting a pair of horn-rimmed glasses and his hair pulled back into a ponytail.

Danny Ferguson: Sweet, a chick wrote this? I'm impressed with your ability to identify with, like, dudes.

El Janito: I'd be offended but I'm still a little surprised that you read it.

Danny Ferguson: I paid a Venezuelan waiter to read it to me at lunch. For starters, I think you have serious grammar issues. And why does every character have to roll their 'r's?

Janito puts up a finger to preced a retort, but finds that one isn't there. He's just confused.

Danny Ferguson: But we can get to that later. Here's my major concern: what do you think about making my character...invincible.

Scott Falk: (leaning over to Robert and trying to whisper when it's quite clear that he has no concept of an indoor voice) He knows we can fucking see him, right?

El Janito: (flipping through his own copy) I... I don't think there were plans in the script for your character to die...

Danny Ferguson: Oh, believe me, Fink, I know. If there were, then you and I wouldn't be having this little session. But there's a big difference between WON'T die and CAN'T die. I think I could perform better if I knew he could never be killed. Right now, I feel like the character lacks motivation.

El Janito: I see. And invincibility motivates you?

Danny Ferguson: Not so much motivates as empowers. Imagine the crazy shit I could do if I wouldn't die. Well, not me per se, but my stuntman. Speaking of, who's my stuntman?

They both take a quick look around the room. Same six people, same variations of the original character-specific activities of earlier. Janito sighs.

El Janito: (deep sigh) That's me, as well.

Danny gives him a quick look up and down. He grabs his arms and moves him around a little like an action figure, pinching muscles and taking mental notes.

Danny Ferguson: I would have preferred a male stuntman, but you'll do. Try this line: "Help, my testes are on fire."

El Janito: (flipping through the script again) I... I don't remember a flaming-balls scene, either.

Danny Ferguson: We haven't reached that edit yet. It's on page...actually, I'd rather not tell you. Make it a surprise. You won't flinch.

El Janito: But I like my testes... it's where the Latin lovemaking comes from...

Beef: Dude, we've already established that you're a woman. Implying that you have a babymaker is pretty much creepy and weird at this point. Kinda like your beard. How'd you manage to grow a damn beard, anyway?

El Janito: Oh, this? (Janito pulls off his beard) I've had this taped on for about seven years, now.

Beef: What... the hell?

Alexandria comes over and looks at the beardless El Janito.

Alexandria: Oh? And here I thought it was real. Huuuummm... now you look even more like a girl.

El Janito hastily puts his beard back on his face, huffs, and glares at Alexandria until she simply goes to pay attention to someone else. Unfortunately for her, that somebody is Danny Ferguson. Alexandria looks at him for a few seconds, before she has one of those "oh!" moments.

Alexandria: Oh! You're that guy... umm... hold on, I'll remember this... Hard Money, right?

Ferguson: (sarcastic) Oh, how'd you ever guess?

Beef quickly pushes Alexandria out of Ferguson's line of sight and talks to her directly in a whisper that Ferguson could still here.

Beef: Alex, sweetie, baby... let's not take up too much of Mr. Ferguson's time with you fangirling over him. It took every square inch of my negotiation power with this guy's agent just to be able to get some of his time. I even contemplated using the Mean Beef Machine, even though his agent is totally a dude. Although I would totally unleash it on that one chick manager he's got. Ohhh... Vicki...

His eyes stare off into space with a creepy smile, as if he's daydreaming.

Alexandria promptly kicks him in the shin, causing him to grab his shin in pain and hop around like an idiot. He eventually trips over a box on the floor and falls on his back. Alexandria sighs.

Alexandria: Oh, look. A sane person. Hi, Robert.

She walks over to where the giant, Robert Falk, is standing.

Robert: Hello.

Beef slowly gets up.

Beef: Anyway. (turns to Ferguson) Do you have any other edits? Your valuable words will be heard. Almost entirely without uncertainty.

Danny pats the script in his hand, very Paul Ellering-esque, and slowly surveys the room. He takes a quick glance back at the guards. Dametreyus, in particular, is disgusted by everything he sees before him. He looks as though everything around him smells like rotten food being cooked over a burning tire.

Danny Ferguson: (wary about staying any longer) You know what? We can edit as we go. I know it’s a tight schedule, and you probably want to begin filming, so-

Beef: (laughing nervously) Well, here’s the thing...we already started filming.

Cut to over Janito’s shoulder at the monitors. He’s watching the entire scene unfold from the Steve perspective, which is to say he’s staring at footage of Danny’s crotch. Ferguson eventually notices and crouches down to get his head in the frame. Janito quickly looks away, pretending not to have been watching what we all saw him watching.

Danny stands back up.

Danny Ferguson: I’m confused. You already started filming? I haven’t even learned my lines yet. I mean, I rarely do, but we haven’t even reached the point where you can get frustrated with me for not knowing the script.

Beef: The script is more guidelines than actual rules. I’ve found that the story will work itself out eventually. The film really comes together in the editing room.

Danny Ferguson: So you’re just going to record me doing normal things?

Beef: (nodding) Constantly.

Danny Ferguson: And I don’t have to read this script?

Beef: *I* haven’t even read it. Which is funny because I *edited* it.

Danny sighs. He looks at Dametreyus again. Dam’s expression has changed just slightly, and now he wishes he could club everyone in the room to death with Don Imus’ severed limbs. Ferg shakes his head, making some tough decisions.

Danny Ferguson: Then I guess all I can say is...when do we make the sequel?

The full population of Rogues give varying quizzical looks, but Danny starts laughing, Hollywood-style. Eventually they all join in, except Robert and Alexandria. The laughter continues as Scott Falk gets bored and Janito gets distracted by the ‘footage’ on his monitor. Finally it’s just Danny and Beef laughing, and Danny slowly lets his die off, but Beef keeps going, belly laughing and holding his stomach.

Danny Ferguson: Ok, let’s go.

He walks out, followed by his guards. Dam gives one more look at everyone, nostrils flaring and judgment flying, then gives Robert another "’sup" nod before walking out.

Beef continues laughing as the door slams behind Team Ferguson.

Robert walks over to Beef, who's still laughing, and then just smacks him in the back of the head with a big meaty backhanded slap. This causes Beef to nearly fall flat on his face, but miraculously, he's still alive.

Robert: Knock that off.

Robert goes back over to Alexandria, and nods to her. Alexandria nods back.

Alexandria: Don't worry. I don't know what happened, either.


Nick and Richard are finally done laughing, a bucket of tears shed between the two close colleagues.

Nick: Well that was our show fans. We hope you have had a pleasant evening and enjoyed reminiscing with us.

Richard: We look forward to having a hilarious 2008. GOOD NIGHT ERRBODY!

Out

Nick and Richard are finally done laughing, a bucket of tears shed between the two close colleagues.

Nick: Well that was our show fans. We hope you have had a pleasant evening and enjoyed reminiscing with us.

Richard: We look forward to having a hilarious 2008. GOOD NIGHT ERRBODY!

Out