[To Tyler Rayne] "That looks like something Brooks would wear to Club Roofie Coladas."
Lindsay Troy
ReVolution 134
18 Jul 2007 / The Cow Palace: San Francisco, California
PTC Unified Title: Jason Snow© vs. The Illustrious Face Eater
"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"
Richard: HERE WE GO BITCHES! FACEY AND SNOW RIGHT HERE!
Vince Howard: Introducing first, he stands ‘does this work in AU’s?" tall and weighs "Flipping that work by the sticky oz. Lbs"…HE IS THE ILLUSTRIOUS FACE EATER!
You go bustin' your fist against a stone wall
You're not usin' your brain.
That's what the white man wants you to do.
Look at you!
What makes you ashamed of bein' black?
Born black...in this White Man'z Wor--errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrlllllllllllllllllzzzzzzzzzz
Cut: 2Pac – White Man'z World.
Cue: Refused – Circle Pit.
The Illustrious Face-Eater, mask-and-cape-less, smiles his patented grin that only deserves to have shit-stains smeared across it. He starts heading to the ring.
One more round.
One more round.
We wouldn't want to tread new ground.
One. More. Round.
Facey starts to smack hands with the audience, something that he gained notoriety for doing at the previous Revolution. Tonight though he has a renewed sense of focus, to win the PTC Unified Championship.
Facey climbs into the ring, sliding through the bottom rope after shoving the chair in. Once he does a twirl to show his mean, lean, weed-smoking body off to the fans, 'Circle Pit' dies out and the crowd gives a massive ovation for the Face Eater. This entrance was mostly partially plagiarized from Overkill. Why? Because I don’t like writing them.
Richard: And here comes the champ!
"Right Next Door To Hell" plays over the speakers, and the boos come flying heavily for the PTC Unified Champion as he makes his way out onto the stage. He holds up the Championship before strutting confidently down the ramp, making it his mission to personally rub it in the face of every man, woman, and child in attendance that he is greatness and they are not. Snow climbs up the stairs and enters the ring through the ropes, eyeballing his prize for a long, long second before handing it off to the referee.
No commentary to start this off. DIS OPENA IS HOT!
DING! DING! DING!
The crowd lets out a thunderous roar for their opening contest, one not likely met in energy for a long time. The Illustrious Face Eater and Jason Snow walk around the inside of the ring in a circle, keeping 180 degrees between them at all times. Each taking the time to remember what this match represents and what went down on Revolution 131. You can bet that in the back of Snow’s mind, the Estrada Explosion is still ringing in his ears.
Richard: Snow is going to drop loads of pwn all over Facey.
Nick: Dude, do you know how wrong that sounded?
Richard: What, I said drop lo…Oh, wow that was a bad choice of words.
Throwing their weight forward the two competitors come into a lockup, with Snow using his superior strength to charge Facey backwards and slam his back up against the turnbuckle. A riveting knee to the abdomen takes the early wind out of Facey, before a forearm to the side of his head distorts reality for a few nanoseconds. Snow grasps a hold of Facey’s arm and fires him hard into the ropes. Snow charges headstrong, looking for a clothesline that would surely turn Facey inside out if it weren’t for Facey ducking underneath, charging behind the Original Villain, spring boarding on the second rope, spinning, and delivering a leaping spin wheel kick that stumbles the Unified Champion back into the ropes. Facey doesn’t miss a beat, rising back up to his feet, running off the ropes one more time, leaping up into the air, and sending both of his feet into Snow’s face, flipping him over the ropes and down to the floor.
Nick: Facey starting out with the lightning fast start. He is going to have to keep the pace high octane if he wants to overcome Snow. The champion’s objective is going to be to try and keep the match at a slow pace because Facey is smaller in size.
Richard: Wow, sounds like you did your research for this one.
Nick: Looked at the bio baby, looked at the bio.
"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"
A hot San Francisco crowd erupts…Not that way you sick douches, for Snow being the one on the defensive in the early going. Facey doesn’t want to waste any motion in this match so he gets a full head of steam, bouncing off the ropes and taking the first risk of the match by flying through the ropes in a suicide dive attempt.
Only for Snow to hit the deck and send Facey into the front row.
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"
Richard: JEBUS! SAVE HIM JEBUS! Hahaha!
Snow points to his head and indicates to the crowd that he outsmarted the overzealous Adam Dick on that exchange. A quick hop over the barricade brings Snow back to Facey, and a boot to the head puts Facey at his mercy. The Original Villain lifts his challenger up to a standing position, shoves him against the barricade, winds his right hand up and slams it into Facey’s chest, almost causing him to flip back over the barricade. Snow winds the right arm up one more time and listens to the sound echo throughout the Cow Palace. Snow closes the distance between Facey and himself before planting an elbow to the top of the head, and bringing the match back over the barricade with a European uppercut that rocks King Dick.
Nick: Facey is getting rocked, but we know that he can take the punishment and keep on going.
Snow rolls Facey underneath the bottom rope and re-enters the ring himself a second later. Snow backs himself up to the turnbuckle inches behind him, measures Facey in the middle of the ring, gets a running start, elevates, and plants a knee into the temple. The Original Villain gives a condescending taunt to the crowd, resulting in intense booing that only gets a smirk to apply itself on his face. Facey works his way up to a standing position, attempting to get himself back to a fighting stance. Snow watches this go down and once Facey is vertical, Snow attacks from behind, locking the arms up in a full nelson. Facey goes to react, but his body being thrown upward doesn’t present a viable counter. His neck slamming down onto the mat thanks to the suplex doesn’t present viable happiness. The first cover of the contest.
ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-
Nick: While that was a good offensive move, I don’t think King Dick is going to fall down that easily.
Richard: It would make his night a lot easier, he is double booked you know.
Facey uses his lower body momentum to roll out of the pinning predicament. Snow swings his body around and uses his forearm to Facey’s back to keep himself on the offensive. Snow slowly assists Facey up to a standing position, drops an elbow across the neck, hooks Facey in a front face lock, and violently snaps downward, bringing King Dick’s head in a DDT. Snow jumps up to a standing position and once again taunts the San Francisco crowd, enjoying the chance to revel in their immense hatred. Facey fights with his body in order to try and stand, knowing full well that he is incapable of winning the match by taking a beating. Snow delivers a quick knee to the sitting IFE, drags him up to a Fisherman position, and hoists him up into the air, but instead of dropping him backwards and going for the pinning predicament, Snow swings Facey back down the front way, forcing Facey to take his own knee straight to the head. Snow pushes Facey down and goes for another cover.
Richard: HE DONE KNOCKED HIMSELF DA FUUK OUT! IT OVAH!
Nick: Was that from the German ghetto?
Richard: Jah, straight up Doc C.
ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
THR-
A forward push of the shoulders saves Adam Dick from defeat and brings the crowd back into it. Snow, not one to be easily deterred, swings Facey up to a standing position and hooks him in a reverse DDT position. Snow goes for the drop, extending his right knee out and looking for yet another shot to Dick’s neck, but Facey falls back on his hands, releases the pressure on his legs, and kicks the Original Villain in his head, catching him by surprise. Facey turns around and delivers an Enziguri to the back of Snow’s head, sending him down to a kneeling position. A quick push into the ropes brings Facey face to face with Snow, and soon it brings Facey’s right knee to the head with a Shining Wizard. Facey wastes no time, jumping up to the second rope immediately thereafter, and delivering a corkscrew legdrop onto the sternum of the Original Villain. A quick cover!
"ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE"
"TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-"
Richard: Pfft, yeah, that is really going to knock down the most unstoppable man in the PTC going today.
Nick: You know he recently lost his Infinite Gauntlet title to Tchu?
Richard: …BAH!
Snow fires a shoulder up, stopping the pinfall. Facey decides that it is here and now that he needs to get the bong going…Wait, what? Nevermind, ok, the Face pulls Snow up to a standing position, delivers a headbutt, forearm strike, Muay Thai low kick, elbow to the midsection, and finally Facey bounces off the ropes, connects with a knee to the head, forces Snow’s head around and concludes the flurry with a swinging neckbreaker. Facey uses a couple of seconds to clear the cobwebs out of the head before going back on the attack. What Facey decides to do next will make every man in the audience grope themselves and cry a little for Snow. Facey shoves Snow against the ropes, and locks his arms in the ropes ensuring that no escape is possible. Facey uses his hands as a camera and takes a picture of Snow before winding up and kicking him in the package hard. The referee goes to stop Facey from doing the move a second time, but the Face flashes a West side gang sign at the ref, which makes the referee pause, stare, and get a mega pop when he returns the gesture.
Richard: FIX! RIGGED! CONSPIRACY! COERCED! COLLUSION!
Nick: Enough with the fucking Youtube tags!
Facey turns around and gives Snow one of his own orgasmic glares before kicking him in the package a second time, third, and before you know it the crowd is counting along with the kicks.
Richard: Hold me Nick, this is too painful to watch.
"FOUR! FIVE! SIX! SEVEN! EIGHT!"
Pause for suspense…
"NINE!"
BIG TIME FINALE! FACEY OFF THE ROPES, WINDS UP THE FOOT…
"TENNNNNNNNNNNN! RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"
Snow curdles up into the fetal position and the match looks to be all but over. Facey rolls Snow out to the middle of the ring and drops down for the cover.
"ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE"
"TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"
"THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-AWWWWWWW"
Richard: HE IS ALL THAT IS MAN!
Snow somehow shows superhuman strength smartl…Fuck alliteration, he kicked out. Facey looks up at the referee incredulously who holds up two fingers in response. Facey looks back down at Snow and, in his mind, declares the Original Villain a woman for withstanding that assault. King Dick lifts the Original Villain up, delivers a stinging knife edge chop, shoots Snow off into the ropes, runs forward to meet him in the middle of the ring, leaps up, wraps the legs around Snow’s head, and flips him over in a hurricanrana. Snow groggily attempts to stand up, and is immediately clobbered by Facey with a dropkick that backs Snow up into the corner. Facey scrambles up to his feet, charges at Snow, takes a step on his knee, a second step on his arm, and with the third step up kicks Snow under the chin. Facey back flips, puts his head under Snow’s right arm, and flips him overhead in a Northern light suplex. Another cover by the challenger.
Nick: What a combination by the challenger, will that do it?
"ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE"
"TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"
"THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-AWWWWW"
Richard; EHHHHHHHH NO!
Snow once again preservers, kicking out at the last second. Facey goes back on the attack, straddling Snow and raining down with the rights and lefts for a good ten seconds. Facey brings both he and Snow up, delivers a forearm, chop, and then lifts Snow up to a seated position on the top turnbuckle. The crowd collectively holds their breath as Facey makes his way up to the top rope and stands there with Snow underneath him. Facey lifts the dazed Unified Champion up with him, stuns him with a headbutt, and proceeds to take the biggest risk of the match so far, he attempts a top rope hurricanrana. This move would have been successful if it had not been for Jason Snow’s defensive instincts taking over, him grabbing a hold of the Illustrious Dick’s legs, and launching himself out toward the middle of the ring. Facey experiences the captivating view of free flight, while Snow shifts Facey downward in the move. The last thing Facey sees are the enraged eyes of Jason Snow before the sit down powerbomb impact occurs, forcefully shutting his eyes.
Richard/Ice Cube/Chris Tucker: DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMN!
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"
"PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT!"
For just a few moments after their signs of exhilaration the crowd is sent into silence as neither man moves. Even though the match hasn’t gone on that long, the tension in the building is starting to accelerate with every move that each competitor delivers. Once the first signs of life register, the crowd goes back into their obligatory cheers for the competitors. Snow is the first one to roll over, having delivered the lethal offensive blow in the previous exchange. Facey must feel like he just got decapitated, but nonetheless finds the necessary strength to start moving about as well. Snow perches himself up on one knee, a hand firmly grasping onto his lower back, the sacrifice for being able to pull that move off. Facey gets up to his knees while Snow pushes himself up to a standing position. Facey throws himself into a punch, but Snow blocks it, reaches underneath the arm with both of his arms to the other arm, Snow delivers a knee to the midsection, keeps himself at Facey’s side with the arms locked across the body, and accelerates Facey overhead in a move that lands Adam Dick straight on his head before rolling him to the outside of the ring.
Nick: No protection there for Facey as he just took one straight to the head. You have to believe that was Snow’s objective there, get the match back to the pace that he wants.
Richard: I think he just wants to win and get out of the sight of these plebes.
Snow rolls to the outside of the ring, lifts Facey up to a vertical base, clubs him in the face with a forearm, takes him by the right arm and lets him collapse into the opposite side railing. Snow charges forward and uses his body weight to smash Facey’s back up against the barricade before allowing him to slowly sink down to the ground.
Nick: Snow is just downright torturing Facey here in this match. He has held control of most of the contest, not allowing Facey to get in his crazy offense. If Snow can keep this onslaught going, Facey will be in trouble and Snow can keep the match going as long as he wants.
Richard: YEAH BOI!
Snow takes a hold of Facey and throws him under the ring nonchalantly before hoping up on the rope and stepping back in between the ropes. A boot to the head and a pick up follow suit. Snow delivers a left jab, a left roundhouse kick to the head that spins Facey around, and finally hoists him up in the air in a belly to back position. Instead of dropping Facey on his neck, Snow drops straight down to his ass, bringing Facey’s back across the shoulder. Snow walks over to Facey and puts his foot on the Illustrious One’s chest.
ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-
"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"
Richard: BALLS!
The reverberating sound from the crowd is only a small indication of what just went down. Snow, in his arrogance, did not expect Facey to reach up and grab his ankle, trip him up, and put him in an ankle lock. Snow is definitely caught by surprise, the look on his face giving that one away quite easily. The referee is all up in Snow’s business, asking if he wants to give it up. A constant shaking of his head sideways tells the referee that this match isn’t over yet. Facey wrenches on the ankle with all of his strength, Snow in dire need of an escape. None of his high flying offense is going to save him in this predicament, and his lack of submission knowledge is leaving him with a need for an escape but not a lot of outs.
Nick: Could this be it?
Richard: NO! NO! NO! NO!
And then it hits Snow, his one escape route, and this would be poetic justice at the same time. The remaining foot rising upward toward the package of Facey, but in kind, Adam steps to the side, and delivers a boot to the package of his own. Having not recovered from his previous ball mauling, Snow rolls up, and inadvertently flips Facey overhead, breaking the ankle lock.
Richard: WHEW!
With Snow wincing in pain, Facey is not going to let another chance like this escape from his fingers. He goes over to the champion and starts to deliver malicious kick after kick to the sternum of Snow before delivering a standing shooting star press down onto the Original Villain. Facey brings Snow up to a standing position, chops him in the chest, shoots him hard into the ropes, charges at Snow, ducks underneath, runs up behind Snow, once again off the ropes, Facey jumps, catches his legs around Snow’s head, and spins once…twice…three…four…five…six…seven…eight…nine…and ten times before flipping Snow over in the most nauseating tornado flying Headscissors takeover of all time. Snow brings himself up to a standing position and throws a drunken punch at the ropes, missing horribly. Facey charges around in front of Snow, runs up the ropes and delivers a breath taking moonsault down onto the champion. COVER!
Richard: NO! NO! NO!
"ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE"
"TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"
"THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-AWWW"
Before the referee can even show him two fingers, Facey lifts Snow up to a standing position, forearms him in the head, runs off the ropes behind him, jumps into the air, grabs a hold of Snow’s head, and slams it into the turnbuckle with a bulldog. Facey slides out the ropes very smooth like, turns around, springboards up to the top rope, and waits just a second on Snow before back flipping in the air, hooking Snow around the head, spinning him around, and dropping him on his head in a reverse DDT. Again, failing to waste any precious second, Facey pulls the dead to life Snow up to a half standing position, sticks the head in between the legs, grabs the trunks, lifts up, and pulls Snow down in the pulling piledriver.
"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"
Nick: Facey is going to fucking town on Snow here. Snow is in serious shit right here, this match could be one move away from being over.
Richard: COME ON SNOW!
Snow either doesn’t hear Richard’s words of encouragement or his heard hurts too much for him to give a fuck. Facey stands behind him, now wanting Snow to exert the necessary energy to pull himself back up. Anticipation is running through the crowd’s veins, their theory being that Facey is going to bust out something big here to try and take down the match. Snow takes a hold of his head with both of his hands and moves up to his knees, still with no idea that Facey is gearing up for the potential finish on this one.
Nick: Snow needs to get the fuck outta Dodge right here and right now.
Richard: Nah shit Sherlock, we just heard like a paragraph of that a minute ago.
With a final push, Snow gets up to one knee and that is all Facey needs. He comes from behind and attempts to lock in the pump handle portion of the Eaterplex’ 05. Once he puts the hand of Snow between his own legs, those championship instincts kick in, and he trips over himself, a strategic move to get Facey away from him. A small amount of space is all that Snow needs to get his right foot up. Facey can see that this is coming, but cannot fully get out of the way in time, so he turns his head to the side, and takes the impact on his neck. Both competitors go down to the mat!
Richard: BOOYAH! CALL THIS ONE!
Nick: Snow didn’t get all of it! Facey had the sense of mind to turn his head to the side, but that had to hurt the hell out of his neck. I don’t think Facey is going to be put down for the count.
Richard: Why the hell do you always have to be discouraging to the heels? You can’t acknowledge that Snow at least hit his finisher? Bigger and better men have gone down to that shit.
Snow and Facey are once again in dire need of ‘third wind in a can’. The crowd comes to its feet and is showing its appreciation for the portion of the match that has already transpired. A shake of the head from the referee indicates that he is not going to allow this match to conclude on a double or single count-out in the ring. Facey’s right hand is up at his neck, trying to rub the pain out of it, whereas Snow is trying to get as much time as he can in order to recuperate from his injuries. He is, however, the first one to rise up from the canvas in any capacity, getting to his knees and doubling over. Facey is still down on the mat, but he’s still hanging in there.
Richard: The irony of this is Snow should just have to poke Facey in the chest and his chest cavity should fucking collapse.
Snow crawls over toward his challenger and with the energy that he has built up, drops an arm across his chest.
ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-
"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"
Kickout by Facey! I would like to take this time to say that it has been a blast writing this, and I’m now making the hot tag to Ben.
Tag made, and gee golly well shucks and stuff, it’s been a while since I’ve had an opportunity to humiliated a Joe Schmidt character, so let’s start the fun, shall we?
It’s with a small measure of disgruntled rage that Snow found himself sitting up. A glance over his shoulder informed him of Facey’s crawl towards the ropes for the means to rise to his feet. With a wince for the damage to his lumbar region, Snow got his feet under him just as the Uber Dick managed to pull himself to his feet.
Facey lunged forward with a blow that glanced off Snow’s chin. Windmilling his arms, Facey’s punchdrunk offence drove Snow back by absurdity more so than concussive force. But just the same, it was Facey’s comeback that put Snow’s back against the ropes. A wild right hook from Facey looked to connect if not for Snow tucking his head and snaking his arm through. The Illustrious Face Eater’s other arm flailed wildly as Snow executed the half nelson suplex that sent the back of Facey’s head slamming into the canvas.
Right where Snow wanted him; square to the turnbuckle. The ascent wasn’t as fast as others have been, a submission hold on his ankle, the abuse to his back, these things can slow a normally quick man down. But what brought the anger back to Snow was the fact that Adam Dick had rolled underneath the bottom rope to the floor below, shaking his head, denying the moonsault.
So. Snow leapt off with a diving cross body. The Feces Eater turned just in time for his eyes to burst from his head as Snow’s impact flattened him against the unforgiving concrete. Unfortunately, Jason Snow had driven angry, and his body didn’t land so perfectly either. It was the Face Eater’s fault of course, if the turd would work out instead of toking all the time he might have had some muscle mass for Snow to land on.
Snow regained his feet, and briefly considered shooting Adam Dick, making him the Illustrious Lead Eater instead. Well, actually he didn’t. I did. But just the same.
He grabbed hold of Facey by the head and rolled the Dick of All Dicks into the ring. Snow mounted the steps to enter the ring, but was taken quite by surprise as Facey made his desperation move and launched a kick into Snow’s face the moment Snow lowered his head to step through the ropes, leaving Snow on his hands and knees at the ring apron. Facey made his mad scramble, his feet spinning in frustration like the roadrunner before he took off, hit the ropes and on the return caught snow in the face with the baseball slide dropkick, sending Snow off the apron onto the floor.
The Illustrious Face Eater had come back to life. It’s speculated by some that Facey didn’t need to eat or breath, but existed purely on a spiritual diet of asshole behavior. That it was never a stupid robot who blew up, but just Facey himself, unkillable because cockroaches like him refuse to perish.
Adam Dick had to get his asshole on. He strutted to the ropes, making the "belt on my waist" pose, turned, lined up the picture perfect shot of Jason Snow staggering back to his feet on the outside, and made his sprinting start.
No hands. Tope.
It was an artful moment, one for a highlight film with certainty.
For Jason Snow.
As Facey completed the forward flip over the ropes, Snow’d turned early with a smirk. A quick step to adjust for incoming asshole, and …
Caught.
Conversion of forward momentum to downward momentum.
Sit out powerbomb.
Jason Snow must use Raid. It Kills Dicks Dead. As Snow limped back into the ring, rolling under the bottom rope, Facey twitched. You could’ve drawn X’s over Facey’s eyes.
By the time the ref had counted to six, Adam Dick blinked and wondered why Snow hadn’t picked him up for more punishment.
By the time the ref had counted to eight, The Illustrious Face eater opened his eyes and tried to sit up.
By the time the ref had counted to ten, that cockroach had turned over enough to flip the bird in the direction of the ring.
WINNER, by COUNT OUT, and STILL UNIFIED CHAMPION, JASON SNOW.
(What? Wrestling matches are too freaking long!)
Nick: Jason Snow retains via countout!
Richard: Just like I said he would
Nick: You know you were crapping bricks earlier when Facey had momentum.
Richard: I always have faith Nick, always.
Nick: Well Snow manages to keep one of his belts this week, just have to wonder who is next down the line to challenge him.
Jason Snow holds up the Unified Championship over his head with the referee raising his other hand.
Tracy's Big New Show
Her work was suddenly halted by a soft knock at the door, one barely audible even in the quite room.
Lisa Tyler: Who is it?
???: Tracy.
"Tracy, what the fuck is that bimbo doing here" is all that ran through Lisa’s head as she looked down at her papers. She sighed.
Lisa Tyler: What do you want?
Tracy Stanton: Umm, just a minute of your time.
Normally she wouldn’t, but Michael Sloan, her fiancé, had taken care of a small problem for her. The least she could do was listen to what his slut had to say, if only to keep that psychopath away from her.
Lisa Tyler: Fine, but be quick.
The door opened slowly and Tracy walked in. Lisa Tyler was a very fit woman, but she still seemed much larger than Tracy who seemed as small as a teenager except for the two watermelons sticking out from her chest.
She looked great however, her golden blonde hair tied behind her in a pony tail, her tank-top accentuating her massive curves, her leather mini skirt accentuating her thin and long legs; it all made for something straight out of the perverted mind of most men.
Lisa Tyler: What do you want?
Tracy walked over to the desk and sat down in a chair opposite her boss, looking slightly nervous, but much less than Lisa would have desired. Probably due to the fact that Michael Sloan was the most feared man on the PRIME roster.
Tracy Stanton: As you’ve seen I haven’t been doing much here in PRIME.
Lisa Tyler: You came in here to tell me that? What next, you want me to cut your paycheck?
Tracy Stanton: No I…
Her gaze suddenly went to the corner where Diego Delgado was anxiously jotting notes down in a small pad.
Tracy Stanton: Umm, what’s he doing?
Lisa Tyler: I don’t know; do I look like I care?
Tracy Stanton: Anyway, I was wondering, hoping actually that I could get my own talk show on Revolution.
Lisa Tyler stared at her dumbfounded.
Tracy Stanton: Before you react hear me out. I know we have Istanbullshittin' but Sully hasn’t been around much lately. His show has become sporadic and not very enjoyable and he always seems to attack his guests. I will have a better show and I will be a better host. I won’t be biased and I won’t attack anyone, all I’ll do is ask questions and give the fans some useful information.
Lisa Tyler: Well, Captain Suleimon hasn’t exactly been a good host lately and I suppose you wouldn’t be too bad. I guess you wouldn’t attack anyone, not that anyone is afraid of a girl who probably weighs 100 pounds.
Tracy Stanton: 102 to be exact.
Lisa Tyler: Don’t interrupt me.
Tracy looked down at the desk.
Tracy Stanton: Sorry, it’s just Michael has been doing his thing and I’ve been doing nothing. I want to do something on my own in PRIME. I saw what Michael did for you a few weeks back and he told me to come and talk to you.
Lisa sighed, so the freak hadn’t forgotten about that. She shudder, just knowing that she was still in that sexual predators head made her sick, there were no bonds to him and she feared what kind of sexual fantasies he was having.
Lisa Tyler: Fine, you want a show you got it. Next week you’ll have your first guest.
Tracy Stanton: Excellent, thank you very much.
She got up to leave and headed for the door before Lisa stopped her.
Lisa Tyler: Hold on, your first guest will be this annoying man in the corner.
Tracy Stanton: Him… who the hell is he anyway.
Diego Delgado: I’m Diego Delgado.
He suddenly seemed scared.
Diego Delgado: Ahh crap, my cover.
He ran out of the room in horror.
Lisa Tyler: Not only that, but I get to pick what you wear. Let’s face it; no one will care what you have to say. You’re grade A eye candy and that’s what you’ll be doing, showing off your goods.
Tracy frowned.
Tracy Stanton: I’m not some sexual toy you can parade out there.
Lisa Tyler: Fine, no show.
Tracy bit her bottom lip; this was something she wanted badly. She sighed, resigned.
Tracy Stanton: Fine.
Lisa Tyler: That’s what I thought. So what size are those things?
Tracy Stanton: 37DD.
Lisa Tyler: Yikes, well never mind, I bet we’ll be able to squeeze you into whatever sizes we have on hand. You have a good day now.
Tracy frowned, a sad look in her eyes. Then a small smile lined her perfect features.
Tracy Stanton: I’ll tell Michael you said hello.
Lisa frowned as Tracy left her office.
Lisa Tyler: Bitch.
Dock and Balls
The Ego stands on the loading dock, hands in the air directing a truck and car trailer boxed unit into an empty slot at the docks. The beeping of the truck is heard as it moves slowly in reverse and is getting close to a post on the far side.
Nitz Donnelly: WHOA WHOA! Watch your fuckin’ mirrors you hack! You damage what I have inside and you’ll be on the streets cashing checks from johns. Male sluts do take checks right?
The truck pulls up at his request and begins to back up again. As Nitz begins to nod in the affirmative, he can hear footsteps approaching but he didn’t turn to face them. Tyler Rayne comes to stand beside The Ego, a smoke dangling from his lips.
Rayne: You're a hard man to track, Nitz. Scheming something?
Nitz ignores him but flashes a "None of your business" look. Maybe "What do you want?"
Rayne: Right. Well...anyway, look, I just stopped by to give you a little present.
He hands Nitz the autograph. The Ego looks at it and opens his mouth to speak but Rayne cuts him off.
Rayne: I know. I know. It's not a big deal. Really. It's just, I saw some of your matches recently...and I gotta admit, kid, I've been impressed. You do some truly amazing things in that ring. I mean, I haven't seen moves like that since...since...well, since every time I step in the ring.
Rayne pauses and takes a drag from his cigarette. And just as Nitz is about to say something, Rayne holds up a hand to stop him... again.
Rayne: No. Really. You don't have to thank me. I just figured, what with you emulating me and all, you must've been a really big fan. So, you know, least I could do, sign a little somethin' for ya. Try and brighten the day.
Nitz Donnelly: OK GOOD!
The truck stops an inch from the docks and he finally turns to Rayne.
Nitz Donnelly: Look all star, I’m sure that this autograph would have meant something back in the indies... IN NINETEEN FUCKIN’ NINETY-SEVEN! But here and now, it means about as much as that sweaty dock workers nut sack over there. But I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. This could be worth some money.
The Ego smiles and reaches down his pants with the piece of paper and rubs it along his nether-regions, front and back. He produces the wrinkled autograph and balls it up, tossing it onto the concrete beside him. It rolls off the dock and lands beside the trailer
Nitz Donnelly: Better go save it smart ass. That thing is now worth big time CASH MONEY~!
Rayne: That's...tremendous. Look, how 'bout I'll just see you later. You know, when I'm kickin' your ass out in that ring. Have fun with all the, uh, burly loading men. Or whatever.
The Underground Pimp stomps out his cigarette and walks away from the docks. Nitz shakes his head and goes to unlock the trailer. The driver walks up beside the trailer sipping a drink and picks up the paper and unrolls it. Seeing the autograph, he puts it in his pocket and wipes his mouth "clean" of some pop with the same hand.
Nitz Donnelly: Ummm dude, that shit was just down m...
The driver looks at him with a blank and retarded look on his face.
Nitz Donnelly: Heh, nevermind.
Walking into a Pole
Tony Gamble: Excuse me.
He taps a gentleman on the shoulder to further gain his attention.
Tony Gamble: I was wondering if you could help me find Tom Ballsac.
The look on the man's face is all but friendly. Then again, if someone had just butchered your name in such a vile way, I doubt you'd be sporting a grin as fake as Tony's.
Tom Walczak: Walczak.
Tony shrugs his shoulders at the correction nonchalantly.
Tony Gamble: Whatever, you know where I can find the Polish prick or not?
A sneer forms on the ends of Tom's lips.
Tom Walczak: Yeah, I think I can help you. He sort of dresses like me, right?
Tony nods, though the look on his face expresses the fact that he probably has no real clue about the man's wardrobe choices.
Tom Walczak: His accent, it's probably real close to mine, right?
Tony Gamble: Look, if I wanted to play twenty questions, I would've looked for Monsoon... Lord knows that would be an easy victory.
Yeah, all Walczak can do is agree with that.
Tom Walczak: Fine, but one last question...
Tony Gamble: Yes, Ferguson and Tsonda have been blowing up my pager trying to get a hold of me, but I just keep ignoring them. I mean, I just got out of a bad relationship, and I cannot afford to let my heart get broken like that so soon. I mean, they're good guys and all, but I-
Tom Walczak: That wasn't going to be my question.
Tony Gamble: Then my answer is no, I didn't have sex with that woman, but if the test comes back positive... I swear she said she was eighteen.
Walczak throws his arms up in mock frustration.
Tom Walczak: You know what, forget the question... I'm Tom Walczak.
Tony practically swallows hia adam's apple.
Tony Gamble: You know, if you would've just told me that before I called you a prick... Well, you wouldn't know how I really felt about you and this whole tag team thing at Colossus would have worked out a lot better.
Tom Walczak: Do you always talk this much?
Tony shakes his head.
Tony Gamble: No. I only really do it when i put my foot in my mouth and I feel that I need to cover up my mistake by saying a whole lot about nothing and hoping that the person I talked about completely forgets about what I said because they are too busy trying to figure out what I'm talking about right now... Did it work?
Now it is Tom's turn to shake his head.
Tony Gamble: Great. Well, maybe I can make you feel better when I tell you what I was looking for you for in the first place.
Tom Walczak: And what was that?
Tony puts on his best used car salesman smile and places an arm across Walczak's shoulder. Well, his arm is mostly around Tom's arm while his hand is touching his shoulder. Did I mention Tony is standing on the tips of his toes?
Tony Gamble: Our tag team name.
Tom sighs out loud.
Tom Walczak: But we're not a tag team.
Tony pulls his arm away, pressing his hand to his chest as he feigns mock disappointment.
Tony Gamble: Well excuse me for thinking that the two of us could have something special. I mean T and T... No one would see that coming. It's marketable, simple enough for guys like Monsoon to understand, and not to mention the t-shirt sales would be through the roof.
Tom Walczak: Look, I'm pretty sure you put a lot of thought into this-
Tony Gamble: It took me days to get it right.
Tom Walczak: But we're only going to be teammates at Colossus Four, and if everything goes right... It won't be for too long before we have to fight each other. So excuse me if I don't want to become your new Be Ef Ef, but I just don't see this going anywhere. If anything, it's going to end very badly for you.
Tony Gamble: Yeah, about that... Isignedusupforamatchnextweeksowecanworkonourtimingandsuch, soI'llseeyouintheringnextweekpartner...
Tony runs down the hall without looking back, hoping that a) Walczak doesn't give chase because he's fine with the whole tag team thing, or b) He's just so super awesome quick that Tom only saw a blur of light as he disappeared. Rounding a corner, Tony nearly knocks a couple of guys over as they waddle down the hall.
Tony Gamble: YES! You guys made it!
Proposal
Richard: Remember when lights going out was special? You had some kinda idea who it would be. Now… eugh.
It's not long until exactly who's making an appearance is answered with a little
DUN DUN-DUN DUN DUN DUN!
Flashing lights. The crowd cheers louder, knowing who's coming out.
DUN DUN-DA DA DA DUN!
A silhouette appears on the ramp.
DUN DUN-DUN DUN DUN DUN!
Nick: Here he comes!
DUN DUN-DA DA DA DUN!
Pyros blast off as the incredible guitar of Jimi Hendrix's "All Along the Watchtower" rocks the arena. The arena lights come up and reveal Easton Hall, clad in wrestling gear with the Five-Star belt over his shoulder. He waits, soaking in the fans' cheers.
"There must be some kinda way outta here!
Said the joker to the thief!
There's too much confusion!
I can't get no relief!"
Hall starts down the ramp, determined and stalwart. His eyes dart from one end of the arena to the other. The Canadian adjusts the belt on his shoulder as he makes his way to the ring, sliding under the bottom rope.
Richard: Easton's already got a match later on tonight. Why does he feel it necessary to soak up all the spotlight?
Nick: These past few weeks have been trying for Easton Hall as he's attempted to get a hold of Jason Snow. He's made it clear that he is looking for nothing less than to teach Snow a lesson.
Richard: And I gotta listen to him talk about it why?
Easton paces about the ring, microphone in hand, as "All Along the Watchtower" dies down, dragging along with it the cheers of the crowd. He stops in the center of the ring, glaring at the entranceway.
Easton Hall: Jason Snow, I'm not gonna waste a single word on you that I don't need to. You know what you've done. I know that you think you're King Fuck of Shit Mountain. I know you can't stop talking shit. I know that piece by piece everything's gonna come down, though, and I know that that's not enough.
Easton takes a step forward.
Easton Hall: I want this match as much as you do, Snow. I want the chance to crush your windpipe so that maybe for five fucking seconds you'll shut your damn mouth. And I know, I know, that the only way you'll step into the ring is if this title of mine is on the line.
Easton lifts his chin and brings his microphone high.
Easton Hall: I've got no problem with that. You and me. For the 5-Star title. At Colossus.
The crowd gives a mighty pop, filling the air with fevered screams. Easton leans against the ropes, green eyes burning into the curtains.
Nick: Easton lays down the challenge! He wasn't afraid to put up the Alias title against Chainz and he's not afraid to put his title up now!
Easton Hall: So get down here and quit hiding, Snow! I don't want my answer next week, I don't want it tomorrow, and I don't want it in thirty minutes. I want it now!
The wild, unruly cheer fades slowly, only to be followed up with a chant of "EAS-TON! EAS-TON! EAS-TON!" Easton looks around at the crowd. He takes a few steps backwards, but nothing happens. Irritated, the Dragon lifts the microphone to his lips, and just then the tron flashes on. Jason Snow's smug face dominates the screen and, likewise, boos begin to dominate the air.
Richard: That's not the correct response! Ladies, get to orgasming!
Nick: That'll never work for you, Rich.
Jason Snow: Oh, Easton. I almost began to think you were never gonna ask.
Snow touches his lips, thinking briefly.
Jason Snow: You know, my mother said you were no good. Said I was gonna have to push you. And so I did. I pushed you and pushed you until you couldn't ignore it. You don't know how happy you've made me that you've finally asked!
The Original Villain gives a little sigh, resting his chin in his hand.
Jason Snow: And for your answer…
Jason claps his hands together.
Jason Snow: Yes, yes, a thousand times yes! I will! I will… walk down the aisle at Colossus IV. I will… stand across the ring from you.
Snow's eyes suddenly glow with determination.
Jason Snow: I will beat you until you can't get up. I will have that belt you're wearing around your waist. You can't stop me, Easton.
He shakes his head.
Jason Snow: You're just no good.
The tron cuts off. Easton stands in the ring, still glaring at the blank screen.
Nick: We have a title match set up for Colossus! Jason Snow vs. Easton Hall, 5-Star title on the line, and I think we can expect a fantastic match!
Richard: And I think we can expect a new 5-Star champion! Someone we can respect! Someone like Jason Snow!
Nick: So not Jason Snow, just someone like him?
Richard: Please get writers. I got some. I've still got integrity.
Two Pissed Off Guys and a Microphone
Faith Rodriguez walks into the scene looking about as tramp like as one can look, making eyes at everybody that walks around here. She fixates her eyes upon one of her interview subjects and her grin gets almost Tony-Gamble like. Her step picks up and before you know it she is standing in front of PRIME’s Commie Emo. He looks at her like she is mentally disturbed.
Devin Shakur: The interview doesn’t start for a while.
Faith Rodriguez: Oh, I know
She curls up her right pointer finger before getting it incredibly close to Shakur’s black shirt that covers his upper body.
Devin Shakur: If you even think about unbuttoning that, you’ll never have the privilege of playing with yourself to Tyler Rayne photo shoot videos again.
She gives a playful frown and closes the gap in between the two even closer, putting them inches apart.
Faith Rodriguez: You really need to lighten up you know that? Maybe I can help out with that.
Her lips goes to meet Devin’s resisting ones, but two barrels of cold steel up against the side of her head cause her to jump back in fright. Sun Tzu backs Faith away from Commie Emo before putting her guns away. Shakur takes his wallet out and hands his commie cutie a twenty dollar bill.
Devin Shakur: I didn’t think she was that big of a whore, another bet lost.
Enter Sonny Silver with no fancy entrance like we are accustomed to seeing before.
Sonny Silver: What are we doing here?
Devin Shakur: Giving the Cinemax porn movie some plot, alright let’s get this interview going.
The camera officially turns on and we are locked in for some interviewing goodness.
Faith Rodriguez: I’m standing here with Sonny Silver and …Devin Shakur just moments before their big match. Gents, you two seem to have no qualms with one another despite this being the first time you’ve teamed up.
Sonny simply glares at Faith and even frightens her a little with his ice-cold gaze.
Silver: Listen here, and listen good. You've seen what kind of fucking damage I can do now that I'm more invigorated than I've ever been... I took two of my very own pupils last week and turned them into the beginning of something beautiful... My reawakening. The man to my right, Devin Shakur, is a man cut from the same cloth as me. People, for the last year, have sat here and treated us like we're some jabroni pieces of shit when we've been up and down the tracks long enough to know how this ride goes.
He turns the camera with his own two hands and lets out an angry huff of breath that even fogs up the lens a bit.
Silver: Eli Vanness and Felix Young... boys, what you're stepping into the ring with tonight is NOT something you want to be a part of? You're young, you're new, you're hungry.
You're hoping that you can pull of a major upset by defeating not only two pissed-off sons of bitches who can break your fucking pencil necks in a hundred different ways, but it ain't happening. Kids, you're dealing with animals that have already staked their claims on a territory they've dominated for some time. Our strangleholds over our divisions are only going to be released at one time... when we fucking SAY we're gonna let go.
Shakur: The only thing that jokes like you are doing in the same ring with us is looking for exposure. You already know you can’t beat us, that’s a foregone conclusion. We have more experience in the ring. We hit harder. We think faster. We’re mentally tougher. We’re physically in better condition. You are just hoping that we make some kind of mistake so that you can capitalize. I’ve been over this match in my head a thousand times already. The mistakes have already been made and rectified. The two of you fuckers won’t get an ounce of breath before we destroy your dreams, and any chance that you two have of a career. You two fuckers are living on a hope and a prayer at this point, and even they are starting to doubt you.
Faith now realizes that she might be a little bit in over her head with this interview, these fuckers are intense.
Faith: Wow…Do you two do birthday parties?
The two of them just glare at her like they are about to kill her.
Silver: Look, bitch, the next time you can open your mouth is when either I pull my dick out or I allow you to speak. The latter isn't happening and I'm married, so the former's out of the question, too. UPstarts. HA! UPstarts, my finely-toned ass. Up-start running now, you little shits. I'll even spot you the money for a plane ticket if it means you two duck me... speaking of ducking... LINDSAY TROY!
Bitch, you've had SEVEN days... 168 hours... 10,080 minutes and so on. You've been ducking me, Lindsay. Laying low because the last time you decided to cross my fucking path and earn my ire, I knocked you out. You and Danny both. And now, you're trying to sway the tide of momentum back your way. You think by leaving me in suspense, you're gonna make me shit a brick and not accept my challenge. You know it's working, too. You KNOW I'm chomping at the bit to rearrange your facial features and take the Universal Title. You know I've got one more match in me for the big-time, Troy. You know that you want to be that one standing across from me. Sure, there's a 50% chance I could succeed... there's an equal chance I could fail... you know you'd like to be the one to try and kill my dream. Nothing would make you feel better than to stop one aging man's dream from being reality.
Faith turns the microphone in Shakur’s direction
Shakur: Yeah, I’m good thanks.
Faith: But where are your three paragraphs of promo?
Shakur: I can do that next week
Fade elsewhere
Sonny Silver and Devin Shakur vs. theUPstarts
Richard: And if that encounter backstage was a foreshadowing of anything, those two are pissed.
Nick: It would sure seem that way. Mr. Si-
Richard: SONNY SILVER!
Nick: lver last week officially declared himself to be no longer affiliated with the gimmick, and instead went by Sonny Silver. The promo that he dropped was nothing short of vicious.
Richard: Not to mention the pwn he dropped on the Fife Posse when they came out to declare their independence.
Nick: Well they might be independent of walking under their own power for a couple weeks.
Richard: Sickening, and you also got Shakur who is super pissed about losing for three straight matches. The UPstarts are going to have a time on their hands tonight.
Vince Howard: This contest is scheduled for one fall. First, weighing in at 456 pounds…EEEEELI VANNESSS AND FEEEELIX YOUNG…THEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEUPSTAAARTS!
The crowd gives them a decent reception this week as opposed to the lack of reception last week. Upon hearing their name, though, Felix and Eli nod and bump chests before getting into the ring.
Nick: Why is there no entrance for these guys?
Richard: Chris doesn’t write those out unless he has to, and he just stole the one from last week.
Nick: Now that’s lazy right there.
Richard: Well he gave up after Fruit wouldn’t update his entrance after God knows how long.
The smooth rifts of AC/DC emit from the speakers and the completely objective audience rains down with their immense hatred of PRIME’s Commie Emo. All of the lights in the arena fade down and one single spotlight shines on the top of the stage. Out steps Shakur decked in his ring attire just as the words to the song kick in.
"Back in black!
I hit the sack!
I've been too long, I'm glad to be back,
Yes I'm, let loose!
From the noose!
That's kept me hangin' about,
I've been lookin' at the sky cause it's getting' me high!
Forget the hearse, cuz I never die!
I got, nine lives!
Cats eyes!
Abusin' every one of them and runnin' wild"
Shakur starts his walk down the ramp, completely ignoring the people on each side giving him their drunken tirades. His stride doesn’t stop for anything and his eyes are dead set on the ring.
"Cause I'm back!
Yes, I'm baaack!
Well I'mmmm baack!
Yes I'm, baack!
Well I'm, baaAAaaAAAACK!
BaaAAaaAAAACK!
Well I'mmm back in black!
Yes I'm back in blaaAACK!"
Shakur completes his walk down the aisle, hops up on the apron and steps in between the second and third ropes. He walks over to his designated corner and waits for the match to begin.
Red strobe lights.
"Son Song" by Soulfly.
The hatred that radiates through the building is enough to nearly burn the arena itself into cinders. Once the music kicks in and the curtains part, the blank stare of Sonny Silver is all the fans see as he walks to the ring, colder than he’d ever been. No flashy entrances, no metrosexual get-ups, no egotistical rants, gestures, of any kind.
Sonny enters the ring to red-hot booing being thrown at him from all directions. He looks over at his partner and gives him a courteous nod. Shakur returns the nod.
DING! DING! DING!
Nick: Here we go, tag team action.
Richard: Sonny and Shakur are about to initiate the UPstarts into the PWN
Nick: That was so lame
Devin Shakur gives a nod to Sonny Silver, indicating that he is going to start the match off against Eli Vanness. Both competitors come to the center of the ring and immediately get into a lockup. Vanness uses the power in his legs to back Shakur up to the corner. The referee gets in between the two of them and gets a clean break, until Shakur plants a forearm in the side of Eli’s head, an elbow to the top of the head, a boot to the midsection, and he concludes the flurry with a discus clothesline. Eli stumbles back into the ropes, Shakur takes advantage by grabbing the right arm and shooting the UPstart into the ropes. Shakur charges toward Eli, looking for a running lariat, but instead finds himself flying through the air in a back body drop. Shakur scrambles up to his feet and receives a clothesline that puts him back down on the mat. Eli yanks Shakur up off the mat, twists the right arm around, walks over to his corner and makes the tag.
Nick: UPstarts getting the early edge here.
Felix Young jumps up to the top rope and drops a double ax handle down on the arm. Felix takes the arm and gets Shakur to flip down on his back. Shakur kips up and receives a standing dropkick that puts him back down. Felix quickly goes over to the ropes, springboards up to the top rope and attempts a moonsault. Shakur gets the knees up into the sternum to prevent the impact from getting to him. Shakur gets up to his feet, delivers a Muay Thai kick to the leg, a back kick to the sternum, and a spinning side kick to the head. Shakur walks over to Silver and gets the tag.
Richard: I would really hate to be Felix when Silver gets rolling.
Silver comes running into the ring with a head of steam and delivers a vicious clothesline. He doesn’t even give Felix a second down on the ground before yanking him up, delivering a devastating European uppercut that distorts reality for the UPstart. The right hand that follows makes Felix wish that he didn’t show up for the shot, and the concluding headbutt takes his legs out from under him. Silver brings Felix back up to a standing position and delivers a Uraken that makes Felix walk around like a drunk. Silver runs off the ropes, bounces back, and knocks a couple of teeth out with a running yakuza kick. Felix flips over in the ring and lands on his face.
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"
Silver drops down and goes for the cover to end the match.
"ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE"
"TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"
"THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-
A kickout from Felix. Silver doesn’t waste any motion, applying a waste lock on Felix in an attempt to keep him grounded. The younger man squirms around, looking for a counter out of this. Felix gets up to his feet and delivers an elbow to the back. Silver clubs him in the back, almost knocking him completely out. Silver reaches up, grabs the neck, and snaps it down in a neckbreaker. Silver now applies a front face lock that the referee has to observe to make sure that it isn’t a choke. Some in the crowd, out of sheer hatred for Silver, are trying to encourage the UPstart to get up to his feet and fight back. Eli is also giving his partner words of encouragement, which are not having much effect with Silver. Felix gets up to one of his knees, the second one, and delivers an elbow to the stomach. Silver delivers a knife edge chop and whips Felix into the ropes. Silver charges in, going for God knows what, only for Felix to slide underneath, run over toward his corner, make the tag, springboard up to the second rope, backflip, use his partners hands to get momentum, and deliver a wicked flying head scissors takeover. Silver slides over to his corner and exit’s the ring, but neither UPstart sees Shakur make the blind tag. Eli grabs Felix and presses him over his head, hoping to get in an awesome move for his team. Shakur walks into the ring behind the pair and delivers a boot to the balls, sending Eli down in a heap. Felix, confused, wonders what happened, and Shakur doesn’t make it easier by delivering a forward dropkick that takes him out of the ring and to the floor.
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"
"PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT!"
Shakur turns around and sees Eli down on the ground so he decides to go for the attack. He picks the UPstart up, delivers a knee to the midsection, and attempts to whip Eli into the corner, Eli reverses the whip and collides with Shakur in the corner, maybe giving him a knee in the groin as well, it wasn’t exactly conspicuous. Eli grabs Shakur around the waist and flips him over in a belly to belly side suplex. Eli grabs a hold of PRIME’s Commie Emo, lifts up off the ground, forearms him in the head, and delivers a reverse STO, putting Shakur on his back. Eli bounces off the ropes and delivers a splash down onto Shakur. COVER!
"ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE"
"TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"
"THREEEEEEEEEEEEEE-"
Kickout by Shakur! Eli brings Commie Emo up to a standing position and shoves him back into his own corner. Eli rushes in and gives a clubbing blow to Shakur’s temple, before looking over at Silver and clubbing him before he can club Eli. Eli delivers a knife edge chop to Shakur, then Silver, Shakur, Silver, but then Silver tags in Shakur, the two of them grab Eli and slam him into the corner. The two of them start to unload with knife edge chops of their own. The crowd even gets in on it.
"WOO! WOO! WOO! WOO! WOO! WOO! WOO! WOO! WOO! WOO! WOO! WOO!"
The pair chop Eli all the way down to the bottom rope before exchanging a glance and both rubbing their boots into the face of the UPstart. Shakur runs off the ropes vertical to Eli while Silver runs off the ropes horizontal to him. Eli knows what is coming and cannot escape it, so he prays that his face won’t get rearranged. DOUBLE BOOT TO THE HEAD!
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"
Nick: Double Facewash combo by Shakur and Silver.
Richard: PRIME, stealing ROH Briscoe Brothers moves since last week.
Silver once again takes control of the match, grabbing the lifeless Eli up from the mat, getting behind him, lifting Eli up, and connecting with the Inverted Lungblower. Silver goes over for the cover.
"ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE"
"TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"
"THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"
Dropkick to the back of the head from Felix Young. Shakur goes into protest but catches a forearm from the youngster that takes him to the floor. Felix exits the ring and gets an earful from the referee. Eli grabs at his back while getting up to a standing position. Silver gets a forearm to the head, a kick to the back, his head wrapped up, and then Eli lifts him upside down, holding him there for over twelve seconds before planting him in the reverse suplex. Eli lifts Silver up, brings him over to the corner, bounces him off the ropes, Felix with the blind tag, Eli charges out to the middle of the ring, lifts Silver up, holds him there, Felix in mid-air with the springboard, dropkick to the head, spinebuster from Eli! COVER!
"ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE"
"TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"
"THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-
Silver with a kickout! Felix comes into the ring, stomps on Silver, and delivers a standing moonsault onto the former Chairman of PRIME. Felix mounts Silver and in a moment of heel, gives him an eye rake before pummeling him with rights and lefts. The referee demands that Felix gets up, to which he does and takes Silver up with him. Felix hooks Silver’s head under his right arm, lifts him up quickly, and drops him even faster in a snap suplex. Felix hops out of the ring, springboards up to the top rope, and looks for the Senton Bomb. He would have connected with the move if it had not been for Devin Shakur running into the ring and grabbing a hold of Silver’s arm, pulling him away, and bringing him over to the corner. Shakur tags himself in, rushes in, and gives Felix a boot to the head, bounces off the ropes again, flips over Felix, hooks the right leg and arm, folds him up for the rollup!
"ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE"
"TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"
"THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-"
Another kickout in this extremely fast paced match. Shakur lifts Felix up, backs him into the corner, kicks him once in the midsection, bounces off the ropes, charges back at him, puts one foot into the right knee, lifts up, and kicks Felix in the head with the other leg. Shakur goes down to the ground while Felix falls flat on his face. Shakur grabs a hold of the legs and slams Felix groin first against the ring post. Eli comes down and attempts to break up the predicament, but Sonny Silver blasts him with a stiff running lariat.
Nick: We’ve already lost control of this match!
Richard: Chaos is never a bad thing, it’s a good thing.
Shakur grabs a hold of Felix, bends the right leg at a 90 degree angle, puts his left leg up on it, and pulls down on the right leg. Yes, it’s the first ever reverse figure four on the ring post.
Nick: Oh come on! That’s got to hurt like shit!
Richard: This is what you get when you have a desperate man in Shakur!
Felix is tapping out like crazy, having never experienced anything like this in his life. Shakur is attempting to break the leg while the referee is down there screaming at Shakur to relinquish the hold. Silver meanwhile is attempting to deliver a German suplex to Eli up against the ring steps, but Eli is resisting the hold by fighting Silver off with elbows. Eli manages to turn around, club Silver in the head, kick him in the midsection, lift him up, and powerbomb his head against the apron!
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"
Nick: Modified Whiplash right there from Eli! Obviously been watching some Pierce Lavelle videos.
Eli immediately runs away from Silver and over toward Shakur, who still has Felix in the reverse figure four. Eli builds up as much steam as he can before throwing both feet into Shakur’s face, effectively breaking up the hold. Eli pummels Shakur with rights and lefts to the head, completely ignoring the referee’s warning to get the action back in the ring or risk disqualification. Felix is holding both of his legs in pain inside of the ring but tells Eli to get back for some kind of double team awesomeness.
Nick: This match has turned into an all out catastrophe and the UPstarts are the ones on the offensive.
Richard: You aren’t giving the team of Silver n Emo credit here. They got blindsided by these douchebags.
Nick: Wait, what did you just call Shakur and Silver, Silver n Emo?
Richard: Catchy right?
Nick: Um…Hi, Richard.
Eli rolls Shakur back into the ring, follows him in, takes a hold of the shaggy hair, pulls him up, throws him up in the vertical suplex and waits on Felix. Felix springboards up to the top rope and delivers a cross body. Once Felix hits Shakur, Eli drops him down backwards, making for a nice double team move. Felix with the cover!
"ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE"
"TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"
"THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"
Nick: HEEL HOOK! SILVER HAS FELIX IN THAT GRAPEVINE ANKLE LOCK!
Felix is flailing around the ring like he’s on fire, Eli tries to kick him off but to no avail, Silver still has the hold locked in. Eli attempts to rake the eyes, but Silver shuts them, preventing that method of attack from going down. Eli attempts to boot Silver in the package, but can’t turn him over. Finally after all the counters in his head have failed, he comes up with one that should get the hold off. A pinfall.
"ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE"
"TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"
"THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-"
Silver releases the hold, goes over to where Eli is and starts to unload with rights and lefts on him, leaving him like an opponent in an early Tyson fight. Shakur bounces off the ropes on Felix and connects with a stinging Shining Wizard that takes the UPstart out of the ring and to the floor.
Nick: Felix has taken quite a beating here tonight, two painful submissions inside of a couple minutes.
Silver and Shakur are now once again working Eli over in the corner, both delivering boots before bringing Eli up to a standing position. Silver delivers a snap mare before stinging Eli’s back with a vicious snap kick. Shakur shakes his head and says "This is how you do it" before planting the same kick into Eli’s sternum. Silver responds "You aren’t putting enough of the hips into it" before showing Shakur how to do such by delivering another kick to the back. Shakur shakes his head once again and retorts "You have to plant the other leg, watch" Eli has to endure yet another kick, this time with Shakur planting the leg hard, almost causing Eli to fall flat on his back.
Richard: That is going to leave some serious bruising tomorrow I can tell you that much right now.
Nick: No shit.
Felix Young comes into the ring behind the pair and attempts to connect with a double bulldog. Silver and Shakur, instead of allowing it, throw Felix out of the ring and down to the floor, right on his injured legs. Both go back and lift Eli up to a standing position, but what they don’t see coming is Eli turning both of them around and going for his "Light It Up" finishing move.
Nick: UH OH! THIS COULD BE IT!
The crowd is about to let out a thunderous roar if Eli can land this move. He goes for the drop, but he meets a lot of resistance, both competitors fight the downward movement. Shakur and Silver manage to connect on a double low blow before lifting Eli up into the air and dropping him across the top turnbuckle in a Snake Eyes. Eli staggers about the ring with both Shakur and Silver staring at him intently. The two get a macabre grin on their face as the both charge toward the UPstart. Silver connects with his Micro Crocop roundhouse kick to the head just as Shakur lands a standing side kick under the chin. The sheer impact of the move knocks him out, but an added bonus is his eyes rolling up into his head before he slams down into the canvas.
Richard: DAMN!
Felix Young springboards onto the ropes behind the pair, looking to catch both of them by surprise. He takes flight out into the ring, but doesn’t anticipate both of them turning around while he is in the air, jumping, reaching up, and both catching him in mid-air, each cradling one of his legs, hooking the head, and delivering a SICK double fisherman DDT. Felix is seeing the stars in another galaxy right now.
Silver yanks the UPstart off the mat, hooks him around the waist, lifts him up over his head, puts him down behind the back a little, in a razor’s edge position. Shakur grasps a hold of the top rope and waits for Silver. As if they have been working for years, Silver throws Felix high into the air, Shakur springboards up to the top rope, Silver catches Felix around the waist in mid-air, Shakur takes flight toward the scene, Silver slams Felix down into the mat with a sit-down powerbomb, Shakur adds a leg across the throat/sternum. The referee drops down for the count. Forget about it.
Richard: Here comes the best three count in the business…Despite what Renner says >=)
"ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE"
"TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"
"THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE"
DING! DING! DING!
Vince Howard: Your winners of the match…SONNY SILVER AND DEVIN SHAKUR!
Nick: The UPstarts put up a good effort tonight but Silver and Shakur were just too much.
Richard: They are on the same page and that is not good for PRIME’s future. These two could make a serious run at the tag belts.
Nick: I don’t think they are going to do that.
Richard: Imagine that, Silver and Shakur with Sun Tzu as the manager. If the other team is about to win, SHE SHOOTS THEM! THEY RETAIN THE TAG TITLES EVERY TIME!
Nick: Well, regardless, both competitors are on the winning track again here in PRIME.
Richard: And the UPstarts…Well knowing their luck they’ll get Nova and Lindsay Troy next week.
Nick: Dangerous, but they have potential.
Meanwhile, At Tsuperstar Enterprises Headquarters...
But he pauses at the door. There seems to be a great deal of noise coming from within. Here is a guy who’s not lacking in the enemy department. Weighing his options and considering the fact that he’s in street clothes, Danny does what any sane man does: he removes his shoe and holds it in his hand as a weapon, ready to clock any invaders inside. He opens the door…
…and like opening an airplane’s emergency exit, he’s met with a fairly potent zephyr, blowing air into his face. He looks inside and sees quite the unusual scene; cheap plastic tables have been set up all over and working at these tables are a bevy of computer attendants, each typing away on a computer. In fact, his patented couch is occupied by two of these typists.
"Fergie Ferg!"
From between the top of two laptops pops the head of Chandler Tsonda, who appears to be doing…sit-ups? Out of his business attire, the Sultan of Style is in standard wrestling gear already, despite his match being a couple hours away. Danny Ferguson is stunned.
Danny Ferguson: Chandler…who are these people?
Getting up from his calisthenics, Tsonda walks over to Danny and pats him on the back with a grossly sweaty hand as he begins to explain.
Chandler Tsonda: Glad you asked, Danno. These are various lackeys, bootlickers, toadies, and yes men. Mostly business school students getting a semester’s credit for this "internship opportunity".
Danny Ferguson: Great! Why in holy hell are they here?! I’m trying to channel my inner Sting - the washout rocker, not the washout wrestler, eff why eye - you know, maybe get some tantric meditation going on. I need peace and quiet.
Chandler Tsonda: I used to be the same way, Ferg. Then I saw the light. The same light that’s led me to my recent, very successful business endeavors.
Danny Ferguson: Speaking of light, you’re probably costing a fortune in energy usage here. What would my wigga Al Gore say?
Chandler Tsonda: Obviously, he would tell me about how he invented the internet, to which I would respond that I single-handedly brought sexy back. And who’s really got the upper hand there?
Since there is no realistic answer to that question, Danny just stares blankly around the room. The vibe from dozens of people typing away silently is more than a little creepy.
Danny Ferguson: Tell me the truth…did you start a cult?
Chandler Tsonda: A cult of success maybe!
Crickets. Just straight up crickets.
Chandler Tsonda: Right, well…as I was saying, I’ve discovered that data analysis is essential to match preparation.
Danny Ferguson: But you don’t prepare for matches.
Chandler Tsonda: Of course I do.
Danny Ferguson: I’m sorry, Chan, but ya just don’t. You’re the quirky guy who refuses to believe in all this ridiculous stuff.
Chandler Tsonda: How far ye stray from the path.
Danny Ferguson: No seriously, remember that time I bet you that you couldn’t finish a bottle of butterscotch Schnapps before a tag title defense?
Chandler’s somewhat peaceful mantra is tested as Ferg tries to hold back the laughter. He playfully punches the arm of a data processor next to him.
Danny Ferguson: (sputtering with laughter) I was waiting in the gorilla position, and he was in the catering area trying to dry hump some ring rat that looked like Wayne Brady!
Chandler Tsonda: (fed up) That was Serena Williams!
Danny Ferguson: (to the processor dude) Guy, look, I got a video of the whole thing on the phone. It’s-
As he pulls out the BlackBerry to show the vid - and a few other keyboard junkies next to them lean in for the shot - Chandler reaches out and straight-up A-Rod Slaps it out of his hand. Danny looks up at him, a little hurt, and Chandler wrings his hands, mildly embarassed.
Chandler Tsonda: Sorry. Arm spasm. Need to continue the warmup. ANYHOOSAL, back to what I was saying. You see, by putting together packets of data, there are certain mathematical patterns that develop to predict the physical breakdown of any wrestler.
The Viet Viper points to the lackey with him Danny had grown close. He looks nervous under the glare of the sensei.
Chandler Tsonda: For example, Gary here is looking into the probability that Face-Eater calls someone a bitch and then attempts the Stink Face.
Gary: I’m finding it difficult to triangulate an accurate number, but I’d say a conservative estimate runs at 62, 63%.
Danny Ferguson: Doesn’t that seem like a mildly ludicrous possibility? Even for the Scrote-Licker?
Chandler Tsonda: Exactly, now you’re getting it! We use uncommon sense to decipher the abstract situations. So far, the results are promising.
Danny Ferguson: So let me get this straight. You’re gonna sit there and just read between the lines for probabilities and possibilities until your brain turns to mush? You’re going to pore over the mathematical equivalencies and incongruities to settle on every single course of action. And then somehow by reading it over and over, its magical solution presents itself based solely on past evidence?
Chandler Tsonda: Precisely.
Danny Ferguson: The goal being?
Both men peer into one of the screens, which is creates code that makes no sense to the average viewer.
Chandler Tsonda: The goal being to never lose a match.
Danny Ferguson: But who cares? As long as you win when it matters, there’s no reason to try and Superman.
No joke, the Model Citizen looks at D-Ferg as if he’s just murdered an infant in cold blood.
Chandler Tsonda: WHAT?! But…but then you don’t win!
Danny Ferguson: And…?
Chandler Tsonda: And you suffer several days of mental anguish!
Danny Ferguson: Those, of course, resulting from an ultimately paltry and inconsequential instance in which, due to various environmental or physical conditions, you are subdued for a mere three seconds by a competitor who may truly be your superior or may just be Clyde Walkins?
His ally ponders this clearly rhetorical question for several seconds.
Chandler Tsonda: Yes…or no. Whichever means I refuse to lose.
Danny Ferguson: Yeah, I guess that makes sense.
Chandler Tsonda: The extraordinary cannot afford to be ordinary.
Danny Ferguson: Thanks, Tony Robbins.
Danny takes a slow look around the room one more time, taking in the fact that his private land of milk and honeys has turned into a sterile number-crunching braintrust, dissecting his every move and just waiting for the moment when they could turn on him, and use their cursed brains to take down him and everyone like him, to destroy wrestling humanity as he knew it and replace everyone with a bunch of four-eyed, mucus-nosed geeks whose closest experience with physical activity in the last five years was that time they created a fake wrestling character for an online roleplaying game and they totally won the championship but the guy who judged the match screwed him over and he deserved that win because he took the words right out of a Dickens novel and he cried for three days before eventually hacking the site and crashing all the systems because that would teach those jerkweeds to mess with him and his completely original and praise-worthy Harry Potter-type wrestling gimmick and you don’t fuck around when it comes to Dumbledoor or e-wrestling, goddammit, so-
Chandler Tsonda: So Dan-
Danny Ferguson: AAAAAAAAAUUUUGHGHHHHHHHHGGHGHHHHHHHH!
Everyone stops typing and all eyes turn to Danny, who’s breathing heavy and sweating all of a sudden. Slightly wild-eyed, he looks at Tsonda. The Chan-man clicks his tongue once and gives a short nod.
Chandler Tsonda: Okay. We’ll clear out a little yoga space so you can do your pre-match Pilates and work out this tension. Tension requires the busting out of a physical kinesiology rubric that, I must confess, I’m not entirely familiar with, because results haven’t been verified with the kind of accuracy that I am familiar with.
Danny Ferguson: (over) I need to go.
Chandler Tsonda: (ignoring him) We could still throw it in there, but it does affect our final levels of certainty and I’m not willing to gamble this early in the game. Speaking of, do you want to go over our team strategy now, or wait 20 minutes and go get the caffeine fix your body clearly doesn’t need?
Danny Ferguson: No, I need to go.
Chandler Tsonda: Sure. Just make sure you’re back in 19 - if we don’t handle pre-pre-match strategy sessions 85 minutes before the opening bell, then the whole system is thrown off.
Ferguson was out the door before Chandler even finished the last part. The Model Citizen shrugs and gets back down on the floor for another set of situps.
Gary: Sir, I don’t think he heard you.
Chandler Tsonda: Gary, if I paid you to think, you wouldn’t have a computer in front of you.
Gary: That doesn’t make sense.
Chandler Tsonda: Shut up, Gary.
Nick Cage Will Sue Us On Elvis's Behalf...
It is then that he realizes the hallways are quiet…Too quiet
After making this realization he feels a hand on his shoulder. His body tenses up and he prepares to strike once he sees the person’s face.
The arm rears forward and is about to slam backwards when the technician slides out of the way and moves to Shakur’s front.
Devin Shakur: What the hell do you want?
Technician: Jesus Christ, what is it with wrestlers and their sour attitude? Nobody is ever friendly to us these days. Do you fuckers all play menstrual Mrs. Pacman at a secret underground club?
Devin Shakur: …
Technician: ….
Devin Shakur: Are you another member of the Blue Rogues that we don’t know about yet?
Technician: No, I was sent here to find you to tell you to go down to the last room on the left, Tyler apparently has something waiting for you inside.
Devin Shakur: Knowing my luck she’s probably going to give me Chinese water torture.
Shakur moves away from the technician and power walks down the rest of the corridor, makes the turn, and opens the last door on the left.
There are very few things that make Devin Shakur freeze in place.
But this is definitely one of them.
Devin Shakur: What…the…shit?
He takes a quarter out of his pocket and rolls it down the hallway toward Sonny Silver’s locker room for that quote infringement.
Inside are Jonathan Winters, Dusk, and Pierce Lavelle
All sitting in chairs…
Tied together with a rope
Another hand clinches onto Shakur’s shoulder and soon he is face to face with the boss, Lisa Tyler.
Lisa Tyler: Ah, Devin, how nice of you to join us.
Devin Shakur: I take it that I’m not going to get to use them as my golfing tees.
Lisa Tyler: I’m afraid not. You see, since you and the rest of these hooligans decided to defy my orders last week and escape, I figured that I would make a scenario where escape was impossible. So now wherever one of you goes, all four of you have to go. If you want to fight, go right ahead and do so, but you are all staying in one place under close surveillance so you don’t mess up anymore of my show.
Devin Shakur: You’ve seriously got to be kidding me.
Lisa Tyler: Nope, have a pleasant evening Commie Emo.
Shakur gives his boss an evil glare before being forced into the room and tied down to the rope right next to Pierce Lavelle.
Devin Shakur: Not a fucking word.
Pierce Lavelle: DEVINA! How’s life?
Jonathan Winters: For the last time that joke IS NOT FUNNY!
Dusk: And you think you are, Winters? Give me a break.
Jonathan Winters: I have no qualms about laying you out again.
Dusk: I would love to see you try.
Devin Shakur: Careful Dusk, you don’t have Nova around to protect you.
Pierce Lavelle: BURN!
Dusk: Don’t you fucking start with me either Shakur.
"Oh, and gentlemen."
All four stare up at Lisa Tyler who proceeds to throw a little box down the hallway into the room. Lavelle opens up the box and sees the contents inside.
Four harmonicas.
Lisa Tyler: I’ll see if I can find some orange jumpsuits.
Shakur/Lavelle/Winters/Dusk: Fuck you very much!
Lisa Tyler: You are most certainly welcome.
A slick smile on Tyler’s face is the last thing the camera sees.
The Calvary
Lindsay Troy, however, is thirsty right this second and a water fountain was, conveniently, ten feet from her locker room.
So there she stands, filling her empty Poland Spring bottle with some of Portland's finest H2O, when Wade Elliott strolls into the scene. He leans up against the wall and tilts his drifter's hat up.
Wade Elliott: You wouldn'ta happened to see Nitz' 'round, have ya Lindsay?
Troy looks over at Wade with a smirk, then rights herself to a vertical stance.
Lindsay Troy: I haven't. But I think there's a men's room down that way. (She jerks her thumb) Maybe you can go see if one of the crew members left a floater.
Wade lets loose a short-lived chuckle.
Wade Elliott: Oh, I'da laughed more if I didn't wanna break his skull in two.
He shakes his head, a slight grin on his mouth.
Lindsay Troy: Oh you kids these days. Stealing cars, cracking skulls.
Wade Elliott: I think he's fixin' to pull somethin' t'night.
Lindsay Troy: Really.
She smirks.
Lindsay Troy: Whatever would make you think that?
Wade Elliott: I ain't talkin' 'bout him runnin' his mouth, that's a daily fuckin' occurence. Last week he said somethin' 'bout gettin' work done on my rig. I ain't sure if he was sayin' it to get me rattled before I put my boot through his door, but I can't shake the feelin' that he weren't lyin'.
Lindsay Troy: Well, if that's not foreboding then I don't know what is.
She took a swig of water.
Lindsay Troy: I'll take a stab here and guess that you've got a plan, right?
Wade snorts.
Wade Elliott: Sure, I got a plan. Just as my flask is full.
Lindsay Troy: (knowingly smiling) Of course.
Wade Elliott: So, Ms. Troy, when the piece of floatin' turd comes in with somethin' slid up his sleeve, are ya gonna come runnin' all valiant to my rescue?
Lindsay Troy: You know, the last time I did that I got a taste of that Southern temper of yours. Will you spare me this time? Because I don't think I'll be able to talk Nickypie out of pressing charges should you beat him within an inch of his life.
Wade Elliott: Well, I won't have a bottle on hand to cut 'im open, if that's what yer askin.
Lindsay Troy: Just want to have all the bases covered.
Wade Elliott: Well, good to hear.
He tips his hat and turns, moseying down the hall.
Wade Elliott (calling back): Keep in' mind I never said he wouldn't bleed.
Troy shakes her head to herself as Wade disappears.
Lindsay Troy: If Nitz is lookin' for trouble, he sure came to the right place.
Gotta Have Faith
Walczak: Where the fuck could that bitch be? She was supposed to be here over fifteen minutes ago, I got a match in less than half an hour, and she is still not here.
He once again looks up at the clock, and can’t seem to take it anymore. He sees an arena employee walking down the hall, and stops him.
Walczak: Hey, you, yeah you come over here.
Employee: Yes Mr. Walczak, is there anything that I can help you with.
Walczak: Have you seen Faith Rodriguez?
Employee: Have I ever.
Walczak: Really, where?
Employee: She’s in my office, wanna see?
Walczak: Lead the way.
Walczak follows the man down the hall towards his office. They pass other wrestlers and employees along the way, but none of them matter to Walczak. Finally they get to the man’s office. He pulls out his keys opening the door, and leads Walczak inside, but no one awaits them inside.
Walczak: Where is she?
Employee: One second, I didn’t know you were that into this.
The man goes to the other side of his desk opening up a drawer. He pulls a magazine from the inside, and lays it open on the table.
Employee: There she is, and isn’t she gorgeous.
Walczak: What the fuck is this?
Walczak looks at the magazine and sees a number of racy pictures of Faith Rodriguez, and while she certainly does look good it is not what Walczak had in mind.
Walczak: I wasn’t asking you for a pictorial of Faith, I was asking if you’ve see the bitch, in person.
Employee: Well, you should have said something earlier. I mean why would she just be sitting in my office.
Walczak: You’re pathetic. I’ll leave now so you can get back to shooting out some of your man made mace in this shit hole you call an office.
Walczak leaves the office, and the man shuts the door behind him. We can only assume what happened next. Walczak makes his way down the halls looking in and out of rooms in search of Faith, but he can’t seem to find her.
Sticking up for the chica who sucked his cock (YEAH I SAID IT!)
Faith Rodriguez accompanies Nitz on his walk to the ring. His match is coming up next and he is laying it all on the line for the interview next week.
Nitz Donnelly: Fact is, next week is game time. Its one fuckin’ week before Colossus and all roads point to something going down with that inbred fuck stick Elliott. After what I have planned tonight goes down, he’s gonna have a massive hard on to get his hands on me. Nothing has been said, but how obvious could it be? And I won’t back down... one thing that every soul will realize is that I may have a big mouth, but I fuckin’ back that shit up too! Should Elliott try anything, the end result will be running circles around his slow carcass, turning him into a steaming pile of southern horse shit and pissing on the remains as he stares at the rafters from his redneck yellow bellied back.
Faith: Never count your chickens in this place, I’ve seen some weird stuff happen around here.
Nitz Donnelly: I don’t give two fucks about what Lisa Tyler says. She can sit on her stack of pencils and get lead poisoning in her stretched and diseased rectum for all I care. It’s about cash, fans and being a draw in this place and they would only lose their shirts should they not have me in the ring at Colossus. Nitz Donnelly equals ass loads of money.
With massive loud footsteps being heard from down the opposite hall, The Ego and Faith halt their forward progress. Around the corner of the hallway Tom Walczak makes his way towards Donnelly and Rodriguez. He speeds up his pace, and Faith hides behind Nitz, seeming to realize she had forgotten their interview.
Walczak: Where the fuck have you been? We had an interview scheduled about half an hour ago.
Faith continues hiding behind Donnelly, even though The Ego is smaller than the man approaching.
Faith: I uhhhh.... I’m sorr...
Nitz Donnelly: What the young lady is trying to say is that she was involved with something more important than your hairy Polish ass. Hell, letting loose a steamy hot toilet cork is more important than your failure of a PRIME career!
Clearly, the size difference matters nothing to Nitz as he stands his ground as Walczak moves a little closer.
Walczak: I really don't care much about you, outside of the fact that we have a match in a couple of minutes, but I have to teach this bitch the importance of keeping her appointments.
Walczak moves around Nitz, to get his hands on Faith, but is met with a palm to the chest somewhat halting his progress.
Nitz Donnelly: Normally, I’d say go right ahead and do what you need to do. But in this case, I have to make an exception. I’ve put bigger, uglier and meaner fucks from even poorer more pathetic countries flat on their fat asses before so don’t doubt that I’ll do it again. Once you get through me in the ring, you can deal with your business with this tight, hot, chica ass back here. But until then, STEP. THE FUCK. OFF ME! Before I make you eat the inside of your own ass while your beard tickles to get your rocks off.
Faith moves closer behind Nitz, keeping herself well out of the reach of The Polish Punisher. Walczak throws Donnelly's hand off his chest, and looks angirly down at the smaller man.
Walczak: Listen here, Ego, I really don't like being spoken to like that. You are just some two bit punk, who thinks that he is the next coming of Christ. You may have put down bigger fucks than me, or badder fucks than me, but you haven't put down...me. You might have something good going on here with this fine piece of ass as you call it, and hell on any other day I'd say more power to ya, but it isn't any other day. I could have been getting pumped up to beat your ass, but I spent the better part of an hour looking for your whore, and I am not one bit happy about it.
Walczak continues to stare at Nitz, but he once again focuses on Faith, who now is completely hidden behind the Ego of New England.
Walczak: If you know what's good for you, than you will tell your boytoy to back the fuck off, and let's get this interview over and done with. Than in, oh I don't know five minutes or so you can come and pick up his bloody carcass in the ring.
Nitz looks up with anger at the large man and begins to tremble. He tries to keep a straight face but he finds it impossible. He cracks a smile and begins to laugh out loud.
Nitz Donnelly: BWAAHAHAHAHA! Oh man don’t do that, I can’t piss my pants before a match. It’s not good karma. But you seem to have a hearing problem, so I’ll say it once more.
He steps around the hulking Polish man and pulls Faith behind him.
Nitz Donnelly: Meet me in the ring, so I can help Rayne beat the ever living Christ outta you. Then, if you can possibly get the job done out there in front of thousands of carpet lickers and fudge packers without staring up at the lights again, drag your knuckles back here and have your interview about how I just SCHOOLED BOTH YOUR ASSES! Get the drift bubba?!
The Ego turns down the hallway with Faith Rodriguez in tow. As they continue to speak about next weeks interview, they both fire up the middle finger to a very angry Polish Punisher.
Tyler Rayne vs. Tom Walczak vs. Nitz Donnelly
"Fuck It" by Seether.
The camera pans all across the arena as it searches through the fiery crowd for The Underground Pimp himself. Then to the curtains, but we see nothing. Now the spotlight takes its time trying to find the elusive ring veteran as the crowd continues to cheer. Eventually, it converges upon one section of the arena where Tyler Rayne himself throws both arms into the sky, getting ready for combat.
Vince: First, making his way to the ring from Baja, California, weighing in at 223 pounds… TYLER RAYNE!
Nick: Well, here he is! Tyler Rayne, the well-traveled veteran. Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve got a great match coming up between three of PRIME’s bigger newcomers in recent weeks! All have made some great waves in their own right, but in this battle, only one man is going to walk away with the win and it’ll be interesting to see who!
Richard: Money’s on Tom. That dude is bigger than BOTH his opponents, so Tyler and THE DONNELLY~! Are gonna have to work together now.
Nick: The Donnelly?
Richard: No, dumbass, THE DONNELLY~!
By the time the arguing concludes, Tyler now has a beer in hand, taking it from an overzealous fan before downing the cup. He tosses it at his feet and climbs over the barricade and into the ring before parading around, pointing at a few pro-Rayne signs. The well-travel warrior does a few stretches before waiting on his opponents.
"THROW UP YOUR RAWKFIST, IF YOU FEELIN’ IT WHEN I DROP THIS!"
"Rawkfist" by Thousand Foot Krutch.
Silver and gold strobe lights flicker through the arena in tune with the beat as the music signals what many consider to be PRIME’s mouthiest upstart. Nitz Donnelly parts the curtains, water bottle in hand, as he jawjacks already to several fans near ringside. The Ego of New England beats on his chest several times as he stops at the entry ramp. With a leap and rise of both fists in the sky, a MASSIVE explosion of silver and gold pyro explode out of every available hole at the entrance.
Vince: Making his way to the ring, from Boston, Mass, weighing in at 224 pounds… NITZ DONNELLY!
Once the shower of fire is completed, Nitz makes his way to the ring and quickly hops the ropes, talking some shit to Tyler Rayne, who’s currently shrugging it off by making some gestures that will most likely get him fined.
Nick: WOW! You can definitely feel the heat emanating from these two and the match hasn’t even started yet!
Nitz and Tyler continue to get in the other one’s face, neither man backing down until…
"Feel It in the Air" by Beanie Sigel.
The lights go dim and the reverberations of the rap song blast through the Cow Palace. The curtains part and the Polish Punisher makes his way out, thundering down the ringside area. All other confrontation ceases as the California and Boston natives look on at the big, pissed-off, dominating foreigner. He climbs over the top cable with ease and stares down both his opponents without showing anything other than contempt for the two American athletes.
Vince: And now, currently in the ring, from Gdansk, Poland, weighing in at 395 pounds… "THE POLISH PUNISHER" TOM WALCZAK!
As the bell rings, Tom signals for either man to make a move against him. Nitz and Tyler then exchange glances with the plan to bum rush him at once. Both cruiserweights take one step forward, then two steps back. When both have the same idea to try and take out their opponent, they start exchanging words!
Nitz: PUSSY!
Tyler: DICKFACE!
Tom decides not to bother with their bickering anymore and just CLOTHESLINES both men out of their shoes, watching them hit the mat.
Nick: Both Nitz and Tyler had the same idea, but Tom wasn’t going to listen to any of their fighting! He’s more hell-bent on winning!
Richard: This guy’s a brute, plain and simple. Nothing he does is pretty, he’s power, power, power. Nitz is a flyer and Tyler is a striker, so Donnelly’s gonna have to take to the skies and keep both these guys off their game or Rayne’s gonna have to lay down and do the job!
Nick: I very much doubt he’s gonna do that.
The Ego and the Pimp both roll around the mat clutching their necks while Walczak sneers to the jeering fans. He primarily ignores the reaction now and goes to work on Tyler, quickly taking him in his ginormous palms before dragging him to his feet. He quickly applies a bearhug-like hold to try and drive the air from the Underground Pimp, but Tyler boxes his ears quickly and rakes at his eyes so the giant finally lets go.
Tyler does whatever he can to bring him down, starting off with some sharp Snap Kicks aimed directly at the hamstring of Walczak, trying to take the giant off his vertical base. Nitz recovers and decides to join Rayne in a rousing game of "Kick Tom’s Legs to Jelly." When Walczak is momentarily stunned, both veteran and newbie bounce off the ropes and dropkick his knees, taking the big man down at last!
Nick: And down goes Walczak!
Richard: And down goes Tyler Rayne! WHOO, DONNELLY!
Sure enough, once the task of eliminating the big man is finished, Nitz blasts Tyler hard across the face with a nasty Forearm Smash. He takes the fight to the veteran with several more before attempting to whip him across the ropes. Rayne reverses it and sends Nitz flying to the ropes, but The Ego stops himself. Tyler rushes in, but runs into a pointed elbow from the High Class Ass and sends him back a couple steps. Donnelly runs at him with some kind of move in mind, but a HARD Snap Kick drives the air from his lungs.
CRACK!
CRACK!
CRACK!
CRACK!
FIVE shots altogether leave a red welt or two on the bare chest of the New England native. Tyler buries a couple knees now into the sternum of The Ego before whipping him once more into the corner. Nitz actually gains enough speed to run up the turnbuckle as Tyler follows in, landing in a picture-perfect moonsault into landing on his feet. Tyler turns around and walks straight into a HUGE Tilt-A-Whirl Backbreaker!
Richard: That exchange was pretty sweet, but now, momentum’s back on the side of THE DONNELLY~!
Sure enough, Richard’s words ring true as The High Class Ass takes a moment to remind Tyler that he is the suck while he is the awesome. Nitz then climbs to the apron and measures his target before leaping over the top cable, lands on the second rope, then nails an on-target Corkscrew Senton Splash!
Nick: THAT WAS A GREAT MOVE FROM NITZ! I HAVEN’T SEEN THAT GREAT AGILITY OUT OF ONE ATHLETE IN MY LIFE!
Richard: I could do that after some warming up, but THAT RULED!
Some fans applaud Nitz’ take on Milano Collection AT’s signature move, but Nitz waves that shit off and goes for the cover.
ONE!
TWO!
NO!
Tyler kicks out of the two back-to-back big moves thrown at him, but Nitz takes the fight right to him with several hard rights to stun him. Referee Thomas Giles reminds him of the five-count, but Nitz breaks it off at four. He grabs Rayne and tries for a Vertical Suplex, but Rayne lands directly behind him. Donnelly turns and walks right into a nasty Palm Strike to the face before Tyler plants him into the mat with a Knee to the back of the head, driving him face-first to the canvas in the process.
Nitz tries to recover, but Rayne continues to brutalize him with several hard kicks to the head. The final shot connects in the form of a big Second-Rope Springboard Back Elbow!
Nick: This is such a great battle between these two men… UH-OH!
Richard: Uh-oh’s right, dude.
Rayne tries to mount some big offense of his own, but speaking of things that are big brings in the Polish Punisher, FLOORING Tyler with a Big Boot to the skull. After recovering from the big leg attacks, he picks up Nitz by the head and drives him into the mat with a stiff Scoop Slam. Walczak towers over the mouthy newcomer before leaping into the air and driving a hard Leg Drop across his throat, robbing him of precious air.
Nick: Tom Walczak is NOT in a happy mood after being disposed of earlier by the likes of Tyler and Nitz. One thing we’ve seen out of Walczak is not just great force, but unstoppable momentum. When he gets going in that ring, he doesn’t stop for anyone.
This time, it’s Tyler’s turn again to take some punishment in the form of several Elbow Jabs to the temple. Walczak throws the Tokyo native into the nearest corner available so he can continue brutalizing him with several Back Elbows across the face. A big grin spreads across the face of the potential Five-Star Title contender as he now puts up his size 20 boot into the throat of Tyler. The ref starts up another five-count for Tom, but Tom glares at Thomas Giles prior to releasing his grip on Tyler’s throat.
Tyler falls to his knees while choking, which allows Walczak a nice opening to continue on his path of destruction. Several HARD Double-Axe Handles to the small of Rayne’s back are the lead-in to a HUGE Side Slam in the center of the ring! Rayne sells the move like a champion, arching his back in pain off the sheer impact sending shockwaves through his body. Tom throws all his body weight into the cover and hooks the leg.
ONE!
TWO!
SAVE BY NITZ!
The Ego of New England quickly becomes Tyler’s unwitting savior, dropkicking Tom in the head and knocking the giant off him in the process. Tom stumbles around on all fours and Nitz capitalizes on the giant’s plight by grabbing him by the head and dropping him mid-ring with a nasty DDT.
Nick: Nitz heading out to the apron now. Here he goes… NICE execution on that Slingshot Corkscrew Splash!
Richard: That’s what’s dangerous about this kid; he can come at you from virtually any direction your mind can conceive.
Nick: Here’s the cover…
ONE!
TWO…
BIG KICKOUT!
Walczak uses his colossal strength to not only throw Nitz off him, but throwing him THROUGH the ropes and onto the floor! Donnelly cradles his sternum after the awkward landing while The Polish Punisher sits up again, intent to beat down his opponents brutally in his eyes.
Tyler Rayne finds himself back on his feet after weathering the brutal onslaught thrown upon him by his rival in Five-Star contention. Tom lunges at Rayne, but Tyler ducks underneath the behemoth’s wild swing. He turns around and gets peppered with a combination of both hard rights and stiff Snap Kicks to the leg once again. He throws himself off the ropes and comes back with a leap, but Walczak grabs him in mid-air and just as easily throws him down HARD with a Belly-To-Belly Suplex!
Richard: DA-DA DA-DA-DUH DAH! POLISH POWER!
Nick: …You, sir, are an idiot.
Walczak puts his whole body across the shoulder of Tyler Rayne for the cover now.
ONE!
TWO!
THR… KICK OUT!
The Underground Pimp barely gets the shoulder up, but Tom keeps a hold of Rayne and sets him back on his feet. Rayne stuns the giant with several hard rights to the chest, then follows up with a Low Spinning Roundhouse to double him over. With the tide turning back the way of Rayne, the former MDK leaps to the second rope and flies back at Walczak, connecting across his face with a brutal-looking Flying Side Kick! The Polish Punisher still wobbles around on his two feet, but is now in a daze.
Tyler scurries to the top rope again and soars majestically, connecting with a HUGE Spinning Wheel Kick that finally brings the giant to the mat!
Nick: Tyler Rayne’s already scored himself one victory over Tom Walczak last week in that Hardcore Match and if he keeps going this route, he may do so again! That’s some great high-flying from this daredevil.
Rayne rolls through the kick and lands to his feet again, now going to the nearby ropes one more time, connecting with a Guillotine Leg Drop across the throat of Tom Walczak! The fans go nuts at the great show of athleticism that Tyler Rayne is sporting as he throws all his weight into a pinfall on the big man.
ONE!
TWO!
TH— CORKSCREW MOONSAULT BY DONNELLY!
Richard: No, Nick: THAT was some great high-flying!
Donnelly bounces off his target and rolls around the mat for a moment after the brutal impact he landed on Tyler. After recovering from the shock sent up his spine, he leaps on top of Walczak with a Standing Shooting Star Press and hooks a tree trunk-like leg.
ONE!
TWO!
THR… KICK OUT!
Walczak gets a shoulder off the mat, but this sends Nitz to go for the pinfall on the downed Tyler Rayne in the process.
ONE!
TWO!
SHOULDER UP!
Nick: This is such a close match! These guys have traded nearfalls around the table and we’ve still yet to have ourselves a winner!
Tyler tries to get back to his feet under his own power, but a right hook from Nitz cuts him off at the pass. Nitz stops him with several more forearm shots to the head before trying for a sidekick. Tyler blocks it by catching him and throwing him UPWARDS, but Nitz amazingly shows off some agility of his own and backflips right to his feet. The Ego pats himself on the back, but his distraction allows Tyler to pat him across the head with a STIFF Leaping Enzuigiri that rattles Nitz’s brains.
Walczak starts coming around just as Tyler applies the front chancery to Donnelly’s head. Using Tom as a springboard, Tyler leaps into the air and circles around, POPPING Walczak in the head with an Enzuigiri and as he completes the rotation, he SPIKES Nitz on the top of his cranium.
Nick: Dear GOD! That was a great succession of moves from Tyler Rayne! The proverbial old dog of his contest still has loads of fight left in him!
Tyler drapes an arm across the chest of Nitz.
ONE!
TWO!
SAVE BY WALCZAK!
The rather pissed-off Polishman runs at him and STOMPS him in the back with his boot. Holding onto the back of his neck in pain coming off the stunning Enzuigiri, The Polish Punisher takes hold of Tyler Rayne from the back position and flattens him completely with a Running Back Drop Suplex!
Nitz himself has little time to recover when Tom Walczak takes him by the skull and throws a succession of Knee Jabs into his sternum to stun him long enough to follow up. He whips Nitz into the ropes and off and bounces back into the clutches of a HUGE Spinebuster!
Nick: This doesn’t bode well for either man now. In between their own personal bouts of showing off their skills, they may have both overlooked Tom Walczak, which is damn near impossible considering the SIZE of this man!
Richard: Tom’s got them both on the ropes. I can’t say I’m a fan of him hurting THE DONNELLY~! However, I agree with his Tyler Rayne-killing policies.
The Polish Punisher is back on his feet again, sneering to the jeering crowd.
"WALCZAK SUCKS! WALCZAK SUCKS! WALCZAK SUCKS! WALCZAK SUCKS!"
He responds in kind with some cursing in his native tongue before putting the boots to both Nitz and Tyler Rayne, neither man having a choice but to take the onslaught from the Polish Punisher. Making a decision between both men, he opts to punish Tyler by grabbing him by the gut and powering him up over the shoulder into a Torture Rack! The Underground Pimp lets out a scream of anguish as Walczak has him dead to rights in the center of the ring.
Nick: An oldie, but a very dangerous move done by Tom Walczak!
Richard: HAHA! If there’s anything I like better than seeing a lot of these goody-goods getting the shit beat out of them, it’s letting it sink in like this! Tom’s a big man, no doubt, so Rayne’s only got two options… give in now or get his lanky ass snapped in half.
The referee checks for any signs of a submission be it verbal or otherwise. The pained look on Tyler’s face tells the story that he needs to get out of this submission QUICK or submission would be his only salvation. Slowly as Tom continues to apply the pressure, the fans start up a new chant.
"LET’S GO, TYLER! Clap-clap-clapclapclap!
LET’S GO, TYLER! Clap-clap-clapclapclap!
LET’S GO, TYLER! Clap-clap-clapclapclap!
LET’S GO, TYLER! Clap-clap-clapclapclap!"
The fans are now in full support of the ring veteran as he makes any attempt to free himself that he can… punches to the head, using his one free knee to throw some hard Knee Strikes to the side of Tom’s temple. He keeps on fighting, but Walczak simply lets Rayne fall to the mat before he can muster any more offense. With Rayne on the mat, Walczak bounces off the ropes and looks to deliver his second Leg Drop in the match, driving the wind from his target’s lungs in the process. Everything was perfect…
But Tyler moved.
All three men are on the mat, trying to recover from their respective wounds as the fans start rallying further behind Tyler Rayne.
Nick: Tom’s back to that seated position… OH! OH! WHAT A BRUTAL KICK BY RAYNE!
Richard: ILLEGAL! ILLEGAL! RAYNE’S KICKING A MAN WHEN HE’S DOWN!
Nick: What has Tom Walczak been doing this whole match with both he and Nitz at his mercy?!
Richard: Fighting back! They started it!
If Rob Van Damn has educated feet, then Tyler Rayne’s feet graduated valedictorian from Harvard. A trifecta of lethal Roundhouse Kicks greet their target in the back of the skull, dizzying him further. Once The Punisher goes down, Tyler springboards off the second rope, connecting with a big Guillotine Legdrop across the throat! He gets back to his feet once more, but a HARD Rolling Koppou Kick from his blind spot knocks him into the nearest corner.
Richard: THE DONNELLY~!
Nick: Stop doing that!
Richard: That’s his name, douchebag! THE DONNELLY~!
As Rayne tries to shake out the cobwebs, Nitz drags him out of the corner and scoop slams him on the mat, setting him up for what could be another in an endless line of Nitz Donnelly high-flying maneuvers. He leaps off the first rope and connects with a NICE High-arcing moonsault that lands him perfectly across his target.
Nick: Nice execution off that Moonsault, but that was only off the first rope! There had to be little impact.
Richard: Hey, he ain’t done yet!
Donnelly springboards off the second rope, hitting an even better Moonsault than the first, throwing all his body weight across Rayne’s chest cavity. While Tyler has the air beaten out of him, Nitz takes a moment to show off for the crowd and blows a snot rocket at the Underground Pimp.
Nick: This Nitz Donnelly truly IS an ass!
Richard: I know, it’s pretty awesome, huh?
Nitz prepares himself and starts his ascension towards the top rope and gets himself ready to go, but a HUGE running forearm shot from the recovering Tyler stops him in his tracks. Tyler throws a few more forearm shivers to stun Nitz and starts to hang him upside down from the dreaded Tree of Woe! The High Class Ass struggles to get free from the turnbuckle in the corner, but Tyler throws a couple boots to his chest to stun him, then backs away.
Richard: What is it with Tyler using all these illegal moves?! He’s kicking people in the head, now using the ropes!
Tyler lets out a loud roar, reciprocated by the thousands of Cow Palace attendees. He gets himself a running start, LEAPS in the air and drives both heels into the head of Nitz!
Nick: What a great move right there from Tyler Rayne! That dropkick in the corner found its mark and now he’s mere moments away from victory!
Rayne paces around the ring frantically, waiting for Nitz to pull himself from Dreamland so he can finish him off. Nitz gets up and Tyler strikes him with a big Snap Kick to the gut, then sets him up in a Double Underhook position, looking for the AneurysPOLISH HAMMER!
Richard: HOLY SHIT, WHERE’D HE COME FROM?
As quick as he finished the statement, Tom Walczak heads back into the scene and strikes down his rival in Five-Star Title contention with the massive Clothesline he calls the Polish Hammer. Stomping at the mat frantically, Tom puts a massive arm in the air, ready to put the final nail in the coffin. He buries his boot into Rayne’s chest and powers him up before DRILLING him damn near through the mat!
Nick: POLISH POWERBOMB! RAYNE GOT SENT DAMN NEAR TO CHINA!
Walczak lands the key finishing maneuver of his arsenal and picks himself up after the sit-out portion of the powerbomb is complete…
Richard: HOLY SHIT!
Nick: HOLY SHIT!
Crowd: HOLY SHIT!
Just as quick as Walczak rises, a blur moves out of a corkscrew, latches onto his head, and drills him with rapid-fire momentum, sending him crashing into the canvas quickly!
Richard: I GOTTA CALL THIS ONE! HE CALLS THAT MOVE THE SIXTH SENSE! TOM AIN’T MOVING, NICK!
Surely, the giant is not after Nitz’s greatest maneuver to date. Deciding between picking off Tom Walczak’s remains or the giant himself, he opts to throw his entire weight into a pinfall on Walczak with all the strength he can muster to grab a leg.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
"Rawkfist" by Thousand Foot Krutch!
Vince Howard: HERE IS YOUR WINNER OF THE MATCH… NITZ DONNELLY!
Nick: What a great contest! All three of these men were gunning for victory, but Tom Walczak made the mistake of taking his eyes off the very wily Nitz Donnelly. Say what you want about this kid, but he’s got talent in spades!
Nitz quickly gets off the fallen Polish Punisher and scurries out of the ring as fast as possible, hooting and hollering up the ramp that he won the match of the up-and-comers.
Richard: THE DONNELLY~! I knew he’d pull this one out!
Nick: You KNOW we’re never gonna hear the end of this! Nitz Donnelly continues his impressive ways.
The Ego of New England taps his head as if to say he outsmarted both men, but it was far from the truth… Any one of them could’ve easily won the match, but it was Donnelly who found the opening.
Nick: Ladies and gentlemen, stay tuned as we’ve got a whole lot more show to come!
If you gonna ride, then we can ride (But 99.9% of the time you gonna die).
Mike Wade: FACE??!!
His desperate sounding call goes without a response. He walks a couple of more steps turning to a different corridor.
Mike Wade: FACE???!!!
The sight Mike stumbles upon is a bit disheartening. There is his partner, fresh off of one of the most brutal matches he ever had against Jason Snow, trying to get his last tattered dollar to be accepted by a vending machine.
Of course, the machine is fickle and not accepting Adam Dick's dollar, and of course, he's having a fit as a result.
The Illustrious Face-Eater: GOD DAMN YOU, CONTRAPTION! I DEMAND THE TASTE OF RAINBOWS!
Mike Wade: There you are! Whist your searching to taste the rainbow I'm searching for you!
The Illustrious Face-Eater: MIKE! Where have you been?! I need your Leprechaun and his mastery over rainbows--THIS BAG OF CANDY HAS BEEN EVADING ME FOR FAR TOO LONG!
Mike Wade: I don't know how many more times I need to tell you....my leprechaun's retarded instead of knowing usual leprechaun things like rainbows and pots o' gold. He only knows about dry humping inanimate objects...
The Illustrious Face-Eater: Still, the impending force of his crotch-jab might be the force we need to free the Skittles from glass-encased fate! I need sugar, Mike! I have fucking TWO matches tonight--can you believe it?!
Mike Wade: See??! That's why I told you we shouldn't have come back here but you wouldn't listen! First you've got two matches, then I have none and worst of all we've been back like 3 weeks and we still aren't champions of anything, in 3 weeks in AWC we'd have had 6 fucking titles by now. What fucking gives??
The Illustrious Face-Eater: You're right.... this place seems a lot more resistant to our awesomeness than AWC was. I mean, I've never even been the World Champ of this place!
Mike Wade: OUTRAGE!
The Illustrious Face-Eater: PREPOSTEROUS!
Mike Wade: INDUBITABLY!
The Illustrious Face-Eater: Well, don't worry, dude. After tonight, Nova and I will have beat the shit out of those two pricks and we'll all-
Mike shoves a finger into the Face of the Face, silencing him.
Mike Wade: You know what actually there's been something I've been wanting to talk to you about pal.
Illustrious Face Eater: What dude?
Mike Wade: Well, you're teaming with fucking Nova tonight. You're supposed to be MY tag team partner! The Unfuckables!! Remember? I came back here because YOU asked me to. I went back on my principles for YOU! And now here's me, reduced to looking for you around corridors while you team with fucking Nova, leaving me scratching my hairy arse backstage.
The Illustrious Face-Eater: Wade Parade, don't be like that! Come on, Nova has GOOD WEED! How else was I going to get a taste?
But the posture of Mike Wade, his hands folded over his arms and nose tilted to the ceiling.
The Illustrious Face-Eater: You know we're the ULTIMATE TEAM, Mike! Why would I ever want to change that!
The two stop bickering suddenly as Wade looks over Face's shoulder to see two heads peek around the nearby corner. When the eyes belonging to those two heads notice they've been seen, they appear from behind the corner (connected to bodies, of course). The two men, who are revealed to be Ian Nackedy and Gildenstern, saunter up to the two tag partners and Gil begins...sniffing. Yes, sniffing.
Gil turns to Ian and nods.
Gil: That's the guy, all right. The leprechaun's lover.
Ian smiles and claps his hands together.
Ian: All right, Mr. Leprechaun. We found your partner. Pay us now, and you can give your, um..."meat smoothie" to him later.
Gil: Make sure we're a good three miles away first.
The Illustrious Face-Eater: What the fuck did those poofs just say to us?
Mike Wade: I dunno Face but they better explain themselves. Because I don't drink smoothies....I'm lactose intolerant!
Ian looks at Mike Wade confused-like.
Ian: You don't remember us? We were superheroes last week, and helped you find your gay friend!
Mike Wade: Look I dunno who the hell you are. But we don't want any toner, no matter how cheap it is. We were having a conversation here. Right Face?
Face-Eater, to say the least, is pissed. We all know that Facey gets pissed. But we also know he don't tolerate that fag shit.
The Illustrious Face-Eater: (ignoring Mike) You shady son of a bitch, with your ugly zoot suits and your dirty sales pitch. I don't know what the Hell you're trying to pull--
Ian: It's simple: your friend has a meat smooth--
The Illustrious Face-Eater: SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT YOUR MEAT SMOOTHIE YOU CLOSET FUCK. I SWEAR TO CHRISTBABY I'LL KICK THE TWO OF YOUR CROTCHES INWARD AND GRANT THE WISH YOU MAKE AT 12:34 EVERY TIME YOU HAPPEN TO GLANCE AT A CLOCK AT THAT PARTICULAR POINT IN TIME! OH YES, I WILL GRANT YOU THAT SHINY NEW VAGINA.
Mike Wade: .......meat smoothie...? RAW MEAT SMOOTHIE!? Face! We were supposed to be doin' some serious egg-sack punchin'! Remember the old Rocky Montage we did to train for your AWC Title bout? We were supposed to do that today!
The Illustrious Face-Eater: FUCK! Now you tell me.
Mike Wade: You know I think I've missed something.........what's a meat smoothie??
Mike and Adam share an awkward stare while Ian and Gil themselves bask in the confusion.
The Illustrious Face-Eater: YOU KNOW I KNOW WHAT A MEAT SMOOTHIE IS, MAN! Fucking shove a rib-eye in a blender, put that shit on purée. DRINK IT DOWN. Shit puts mad hair on your chest!
Mike smiles, knowing that he and Face are on the same page (and not a gay one). To celebrate, high fives and chest bumps.
Not to the '50s Private Eyes, however. Ian and Gil look at each other, sort of confused.
Ian: (whispers) I think they're trying to out-goofy us.
Gil: (whispers) How can that be? We have costumes!
Ian shakes his head and looks at the two meat-smoothie drinking wrestlers and takes out a notepad.
Ian: So, in order to get all of the information for the case...how long exactly have you been drinking each other's meat smoothies?
The Unfuckables sour their expressions and begin shaking their heads.
The Illustrious Face-Eater: WHAT the FUCK are you TALKING ABOUT?
Mike Wade: Cool your jets, Face. You've got another match tonight!
The Illustrious Face-Eater: You're totally right, dude. So FUCK OFF and take your weird little top hats with ya before I decide to break a 40 ounce bottle of dog urine over your domes.
Mike Wade: How would that work with only one 40 ounce?
The Illustrious Face-Eater: Well... I guess I'd just break the bottle over that guy's head (points to Ian) then stab that guy with the shards (points to Gil).
Mike Wade: Nice.
Gil: Why would you have to stab me? He's the one talking about your meat smoothies, stab him!
Ian gives his partner a sharp look.
Ian: No one's getting stabbed. The only thing getting stabbed...is the truth! And I'm going to find out what it is.
Gil: ...Ian, that didn't make any sense.
Ian thinks about it, nods, then shrugs it off.
Ian: Whatever. Just know that I've got my eye on you. (he nods to Face) and my other eye on you (nods to Wade). And we're private eyes, fruits, so we see everything.
The Illustrious Face-Eater: Not if I stab your fucking eyes out, smart guy.
Gil looks from Wade and Face to Ian and conjures a sad face as they depart.
Gil: I thought homosexuals were happy and nice.
Mike Wade: Solicitors. When will they ever learn?
The Illustrious Face-Eater: Not even drug dealers are as bad as those guys! Oh! That reminds me, I've gotta bail. Pre-match session with Nova. You know how it goes.
Mike Wade: Bu-... Face!?
The Illustrious Face-Eater: What, you wanna come?! You never smoke!
Mike Wade: You know my lungs are sensitive to pollutants!
The Illustrious Face-Eater: I know! I'll come find you when I'm done, dude.
Face-Eater runs off, leaving Mike alone and somewhat disgruntled.
Mike Wade: PRIME is no where near as cool as AWC.
A Bunch of Idiots
Rayne: Whoa. Bondage party. Didn’t mean to interrupt. I was just looking for Lindsay’s…Lavelle?
Rayne stumbles upon the quartet of misguided souls, tied up together like a scene out of the Mighty Ducks 2.
Lavelle: Hey.
Lavelle mumbles with irritation as he tugs on the rope, glaring at the three attached to him.
Rayne: Wow. This is a bummer.
Lavelle: I preferred the house arrest. Now I have to sit here and listen to the three idiots all night. So how’s your night?
Rayne: Well, in comparison, I suppose I can’t complain. Is that…? Shakur. You feminine lookin’ son of a bitch. Hey, congratulations on that whole first kiss thing a few weeks back. That’s cute. Next thing you know, you’ll start growin’ hair on your balls and shit.
Tyler runs his hand through Shakur's hair, messing it up a bit as he shakes it. Shakur looks like he’s about to kill Rayne.
Shakur: And after I fucking told you where Con was you cuntdrip!
Lavelle: Commie here is lovely, ain't he? He's going through puberty though, wouldn't want to get too close. He might pop a zit!
Rayne: That’s…gross. I think I’ll just step right over here then…
Rayne starts to pace around the group, shaking his head at the scene unfolded before him.
Rayne: I suppose that makes you Dusk, right? I don’t know you.
Dusk: That's interesting, because I could've sworn you were the janitor for the place.
Rayne: Fair enough. How’s your summer going?
Dusk: Are you fucking kidding me? Who the fuck are you, the fourth grade pedo history teacher? Get the fuck out of my face.
Rayne: Feisty one. Just, you know, watch yourself, um, next to Shakur here. His hand might wander a bit. I hear he’s in that "experimental" phase.
Lavelle: Dusk needs a little action. Might lighten all that tension and anger you got spewing toward me, Lurch. What's that now … I beat you twice …? And suddenly he goes quiet.
Rayne: Okay, point. But at least he looks…actually, he’s not that pretty either. Sparkling personality, perhaps?
Dusk looks at Lavelle and Rayne, the intensity in his eyes growing by the second.
Dusk: Fuck you and fuck you. Lavelle, I'll rip your fucking head off. Lightning won't strike a third time in your case. Trust me. Rayne, I'm about to stick my foot so far up your ass--
Rayne: Whoa, okay, I can see that you're really not in the mood anymore.
Lavelle: He gets like this sometime. He's just cranky.
Dusk then turns towards Lavelle and is moving like he's about to beat the shit out of him.
Dusk: Okay, listen up you cocky son of a bi--
Rayne steps in between the two even though they're tied up with some rope.
Rayne: Whoa! Come on, let's all sing the Love Boat theme song!
Both men just stare at Rayne.
Rayne: Right on. And then there’s…
Tyler stares at Winters for a while, and seems to be at a loss of words... QUICK, Someone take a picture!
Rayne: I…I got nothin’. Who are you, again?
Winters simply rolls his eyes at the jerk, not even giving him the time of day.
Lavelle: That's Jonathon Winters.
Rayne: Right. Of course. I knew that.
He quietly slinks over to Lavelle.
Rayne: Who the fuck is Jonathon Winters?
Lavelle: Blondie. You know, the guy I’ve been—
Rayne: No. I don’t…is he new?
Lavelle: No. He’s…old. Well outside, but mentally he's still a three year old. The temper tantrums are the worst and without Manale to change his diapers … he's a mess. He does commercials for women's hair products too. Quite the entrepreneur.
Rayne: Huh. Weird. You’re sure he’s not new?
Lavelle: Definitely.
The door flies open, and in steps Tony Gamble. Not really sure what he is doing in here, but finds the scene to be quite humorous.
Rayne: SURPRISE!!
Everyone looks over at Tyler. He goes over and gives Gamble a big hug, which makes Gamble lift his eyebrow in concern.
Shakur: And people wanted to call me gay when I wasn’t getting any from Sun Tzu.
Rayne: Happy one hundredth and eleventieth birthday, Bilbo! That’s fantastic! You’re…old! Have you seen Gandolf lately? I was so wanting to talk to him about some fireworks. See we’re planning a party for—
Gamble: What the hell are you talking about... It's not my birthday.
Rayne: C'mon, don't be bashful.
Gamble shoves Rayne away, still uncertain why he held onto him so long.
Gamble: Anyway, I just wanted to bring you guys a gift. Call it a show of good faith, since you guys have been working so hard.
Gamble opens the door once more, and suddenly the sound of men singing can be heard as a small group of midgets dressed in white jump suits, with red face paint and green hair walk in in a single file line singing a catchy little tun, as Gamble slips out.
Oompa Loompa's: Oompa, Loompa, doom-pa-dee-do... I have a little question for you.
The group walk around, each one stopping to form a circle around the circle of friends.
Oompa Loompa's: Oompa, Loompa, doom-pa-dee-dee... If you are wise, you'll listen to me.
Oompa #1: What do you do when your feud is a joke...
Oompa #2: Hanging around like four dopes on a rope.
Oompa #3: Watch old revolutions and you will see...
Oompa #4: Tony Gamble you will ne-ver be!
Rayne: I was not expecting this.
Shakur: Gamble’s native relatives, wow I never thought I’d see this with my own two eyes.
The Oompa Loompas begin their little march once again, heading toward the door continuing their song.
Oompa Loompa's: Oompa, Loompa, doom-pa-dee-da... You guys really suck, and won't get very far. You can live in happiness too, Like the Oompa, Loompa, doom-pa-dee-do.
Gamble peeks his head in as the last Oompa walks out.
Gamble: Doom-pa-dee-do!
Rayne: That was just... Wow.
Rayne shakes his head, scratching it at the same time, as Lavelle pulls his PSP from somewhere unseen by prying eyes.
~CRACK!~
Lavelle: Ouch!
Lavelle watches as his PSP falls to the ground and smashes against the ground. He then looks up at the nurse that slammed a ruler against his hands.
Lavelle: NO! That's my second one!
Sister Mary Margaret O'Hallasnatch: That should teach you to stop playing games and start reading the Good Book then, I should think.
Shakur: Is there a goddamn time machine that these fuckers are coming out of?
Rayne: Yeah. Just imagine what you could do, Pierce. I mean, Gamble read The Hobbit once, and look what it did for him.
Lavelle: But I'm Jewish.
~CRACK!~
Smack on the knuckles number deuce for Lavelle.
Sister Mary Margaret O'Hallasnatch: That certainly explains part of your problem, then. Doesn't it?
Rayne: Hey. Crazy lady. Back da fuck off, why don't ya?
~CRACK!~
Yeah, that's another smack on the knuckles. This one for Rayne.
Sister Mary Margaret O'Hallasnatch: And you, you foul-mouthed little miscreant, could use a little bit of Jesus in your life.
Rayne: Yeah, well you could use a bit of somethin' in you, too, Sister Fuckin' Bloodknuckles. Jesus Christ. That fuckin' hurt. God damn cunt of a nun.
And then she gets so mad that she spontaneously combusts.
Rayne: Okay, so...no more PSPs for you.
Lavelle: But--
Rayne: No. Not until you learn to take care of your things.
Suddenly, the floor begins to shake. Everyone turns toward the door to see a bunch of tech and support people and backstage personality types running down the hall. Screaming.
Lavelle: If Blondie's in here, what are they running from?
As if in answer, um, because it is in answer, a young techie happens to peek into the room, a frightened expression on his face.
Techie Not Trekkie: RUN FOR YOU LIVES! THERE'S A MOB OF ANGRY NUNS ON THE LOOSE!! AND THEY HAVE RULERS!!!
He flees in terror.
Rayne: Right. Okay...so I have to go. Now like. Um...I was never here. You never saw me.
Winters: Who are you, again?
Rayne: Exactly. Fuckin'...dude over here gets it. Good lookin' out...guy. Yeah. So...later.
Rayne exits out of the room leaving the four enemies still tied to their rope, all looking rather disgruntled.
Shakur: I don’t know about you guys but once I get out of this I’m going to get Sunny’s guns and shoot Lisa Tyler in the face.
Dusk: First thing I’ve ever agreed with you on.
Lavelle: Ditto
Winters: Aye
And with that groundbreaking piece, we go elsewhere.
What's the Spanish Word For Incognito?
Like a middle school dance, except with more awkward silences and a little less maturity.
But tonight was not a normal night, and fortunately for Diego Delgado the fact that he isn’t a member of the former was overlooked because he wasn’t a very good member of the latter. Delgado sits among three members of the cleaning staff assigned to the venue tonight, a clusterfuck of purple, black and green poker chips scattered on the folding table between them.
Diego Delgado: So we all on the same page now?
Each member of the group clad in navy blue overalls nods in turn, the last tossing a few clay chips into the pot.
Diego Delgado: All access?
Miggy: Si.
Diego Delgado: Anytime I need?
Hector: Si senor.
Diego Delgado: All the time?
Mark: Yeah. Sure. Whatever.
Instead of chips, this time Mark drops a heavy ring full of keys onto the table.
Mark: Keys to the doors, keys to the locker rooms, and the keys to Sun Tzu’s heart for all I fucking know. Every week we get a new ring, new set of keys.
Diego Delgado: And I don’t have to tell you why I need them?
Mark: We don-
Diego Delgado: Cause I can’t.
Mark: It doesn’t matter, as long as you keep up your part of this little bargain.
Diego glances around the table, stopping on the smiling Hector.
Diego Delgado: No problem, I just need the uniform.
Again Mark drops something onto the pile, once again it is far from chips. A dirty pair of blue overalls, a white shirt with yellow lettering, and a small metallic nametag marked ‘Hector’.
Mark: You should blend right in.
Diego Delgado: Because I’m Mexican?
Hector & Miggy: Si, senor.
Mark: No, because neither one of these assholes speaks any English. If you don’t speak, no one will no the difference.
Diego Delgado: But I’m on the roster, someone’s going to notice.
Mark: Not with this.
From under the table, and out of the advanced technology division of the United States Government, Mark produces the disguise of all disguises.
Diego Delgado: Brilliant.
Diego slides on the disguise as two other members of the staff wander aimlessly away, oblivious to the conversation.
Mark: Welcome to the maintenance staff, no one will suspect a thing.
Before the camera can slide to view Delgado, the monotone vocals pour from the previously undetected walkie-talkie in Miggy’s hand.
Operator: Miggy–you there?"
Miggy: Si, senor.
Operator: We got a code 2 in the North locker room."
Before the helpless Miggy can further debase himself, Mark grabs the device.
Mark: We’ll send Hector. A-S-A-P.
Mark and the camera turn in unison to Delgado, now dressed in his maintenance outfit, the gleaming nametag on his chest. Completing the outfit is a oversized novelty mustache and colorful sombrero.
Incognito.
Faces Can Scheme Too
Rayne: What up, Polish? Fancy meetin' you here.
Walczak turns around and sees Tyler Rayne now standing in the locker room. They have battled almost every week since Rayne came to PRIME, and to put it simply, Walczak just plain doesn’t like him.
Walczak: You better get the hell out of here if you know what’s good for you.
Rayne: Calm down 'roid boy. Much as I'd love to kick your ass, again, I'm not here for that. I just want a little chat. Hoping you and I can find some common ground. See eye-to-eye on some things. Granted, you're a tall mother fucker, but I'll grab a chair.
Walczak: Rayne, get the fuck out before I throw you out.
Rayne: You could try. But I've got a buddy here says you're gonna sit down and listen.
Walczak clenches his fists, preparing to make a charge at Rayne, but then a third man makes his way into the locker room. The man is none other than Big Bear Munson Monsoon. Walczak halts on his charge, he is now outnumbered two to one, and knows it could be harder than first thought.
Rayne: Just hold off for a second, me and the 'Soon here got a little proposition for you. Now we got this shit fucked match coming up at Colossus, right? I just want to make it a little bit easier for you.
Walczak: How much easier could it be? For weeks I have left you blood inside the ring, and what makes you think that Colossus will be any different.
Rayne: See, Polish, it's just that type of wit that makes me fall in love with you. That, and the fact that if you agree to our plan Colossus will be a hell of a lot easier for all three of us.
Walczak: Alright, what is this great plan that you came up with.
Big Bear: I helped.
Big Bear puts his two cents in, and smiles as though he had just accomplished a great feat of intuitive thought.
Walczak: I can’t wait to hear this.
Rayne: Don’t worry it’s not as bad as you might think. Let me just ask you one question. Are you happy that Gamble is now in the tournament?
Walczak: Why the fuck would that make me happy. I had been fighting for this thing since week one, and then all of sudden he just gets thrown in the mix, has the same chance of winning I do.
Rayne: Exactly. See, that's what I'm thinking. What we're all thinking. So why not take him out of the equation?
Walczak: How do we do that?
Big Bear: Yeah, how do we do that?
Rayne: This was your plan, too, man. You gotta lay off the beers. Alright, Polish, when the tag match starts you lie down, and let me pin you.
Walczak: How the fuck does that help me out.
Rayne: Well, one, it saves you from another ass kicking at my hands. And to be honest, I'm tired of embarrassing you out there in the ring. Two, and most importantly, it fucks Gamble right out of the title. You lay down, 'Soon and I roll on to see who gets the shot at the 5-Star, and once we win, you know, you'll be in a pretty good position for first crack at a new champion. We all get something, and most importantly, Gamble gets jack shit.
Walczak looks up thinking at the proposition that is currently on the table. He turns his back on his two possible partners in crime, to get some more space to think.
Rayne: Look, I know it's a lot to think about. Wouldn't want you burning up that brain cell, now would we? So me and my comrade here are gonna leave you, and just wait a little bit for your decision.
Big Bear: Yeah, we’ll be waiting.
Big Bear follows Rayne out of the locker room leaving Walczak to think. He no longer packs his bag, and sits down to mull over his options.
Mistakes We Knew We Were Making
The door to the room clicked open behind him, and he immediately jumped up, snapping out of the trance. He nearly knocks his chair over in the process, and nervously tries to shake off the jolt. He shakes his head and rubs his temples, never turning around to see his company.
Danny Ferguson: Sorry...probably...probably a little weird for me to just be sitting here.
The hand on his temples slowly shifts to the back of his neck. No response from the other person in the room means no confirmation that he could stop talking...so he continues.
Danny Ferguson: I just, um...I needed to get out a little. Chandler, I mean...You know...you work with someone for a while and you think you know them, how they think, stuff like that. Then they go against the grain, catch you off guard...make you wonder what the hell you were doing to begin with.
"Funny how that works."
Danny's eyes close as soon as he hears the voice. Slowly and sheepishly, he turns around lets out a deep sigh. Lindsay Troy shifts her weight a little and raises her eyebrows at the monologue-less pseudo-thespian.
Lindsay Troy: I'm amazed that you don't apply what you say about others to yourself, Danny. It might make things a bit clearer.
Danny Ferguson: Aw, c'mon, LT. That's, you know, I mean, that's different. Like, with Chandler, and then me, and what I'm saying...it's different.
She gives him a smile that says, "You're such an idiot," as she walks over.
Lindsay Troy: It's not different, Danny. And you know it.
Danny Ferguson: Well, sorry to drag out an old favorite from our Greatest Hits album, but you just don't understand.
He reaches behind and swings his chair around to sit down.
Danny Ferguson: This thing with your boy is bigger than any tag team. Don't get me wrong, I've still got your back, but if you're gonna give me the guilt trip about backing down again, I can assure you that my response isn't going to change.
Troy pulls up a chair of her own and places it in front of Danny. She sits and crosses one leg over the other.
Lindsay Troy: Y'know, Danny, (she sighs) I was going to thank you for at least trying to stop Sonny two weeks ago, and then you started up with the "Oh Nova, he's your boy" complex again. Why? And I mean this seriously, not in a bitchy, holier-than-thou way. I don't want to be in the middle of the impending explosion any more than you want me there or he wants me there, but I'm not digging the snide comments at every turn.
Danny Ferguson: That's what comes with riding both sides of the fence, ma'am. Not that I'm asking you to choose a side, but you'll have to pardon my occasional disgust when someone finds anything redeeming about the man.
Lindsay Troy: Please don't ma'am me. I'm old enough without being reminded of it like that. And you don't need to remind me of your feelings toward him either. I know how clear you've made them.
Danny sits back, hands behind his head. He purses his lips a little in thought, then lets his eyes wander the ceiling.
Danny Ferguson: Sorry.
Lindsay Troy: Say what?
Danny Ferguson: Look, nevermind.
Lindsay Troy: No no, history has already been made. I just heard "Superstar" Danny Ferguson apologize. But my question was: what are you sorry FOR?
He closes his eyes and tries to Ctrl+Z the whole line, with no success. Finally he sucks it up.
Danny Ferguson: Sorry to put you in the middle of this. Sorry to keep going out of my way to remind you that a friend of yours is an asshole. Sorry that trying to dodge the subject put me on the other side of the door when Silver attacked.
Lindsay Troy: You know, this is the second time you've apologized to me for something and neither time you could look me in the eye when you said it.
When Danny finally lets his eyes fall on her face, he's met with a wry grin.
Lindsay Troy: But I accept your apology anyway.
Danny Ferguson: Well, I hope you still believe the words when the actions are screaming over them. But enough about me...
He crosses his legs effeminately, clearly trying to overdo it in an attempt to lighten the mood...or perhaps just change the subject.
Danny Ferguson: After all, when you tell people about your pain-in-the-ass ex-partner, my name probably isn't the first to come up.
Lindsay Troy: (quietly, sternly) No, it definitely isn't.
Danny Ferguson: In fact, I'm probably pulling up third on that list right now. Normally I might be a little upset about not having top billing, but I can deal in this case.
He stands up from his chair. Troy stays seated, lost momentarily in thought.
Danny Ferguson: Tell you what - I still need to do what I need to do, but I'll try to keep you out of it. Especially since you've shown me the respect of staying out of it at every turn. I know that's not fun.
Troy nods her head slowly, then stands - quickly reversing the fleeting moments of height advantage for Danny.
Lindsay Troy: Just promise me you're not gonna make me regret it.
Danny Ferguson: I wish I could, Lindz. I really do.
Lindsay Troy: (so over it) Okay. I guess we'll talk again when this is all over, then.
Danny Ferguson: I hope so.
Lindsay Troy: Yeah.
Troy starts to move away from Ferguson toward the exit, then stops.
Lindsay Troy: I guess I'd be remiss if I didn't say that I kinda miss the time when you were a prick but people still seemed to like you, or at least tolerate you. That Danny Ferguson wasn't so bad, you know?
Danny Ferguson: I can't say I minded it much either. I want to say that we'll get back there eventually.
Lindsay Troy: If we ever do, it'll be because you realize you have enough people in your corner and you don't need a leech like Tsonda around.
Danny Ferguson: Chan's alright.
Lindsay Troy: Whatever.
She turns for the door.
Danny Ferguson: I wish the fans were as patient as you, Troy. They've already turned their backs on me, principle be damned.
Lindsay Troy: Not like you care what fans think, but even money says they're not booing because they don't like you. They're booing because they're disappointed.
She swings the door open and exits without another word, or even another look, to the actor. Danny makes no move to stop her. As the door slams shut behind the Universal Champ, Ferguson swivels and punts the nearest chair. It bounces off the glowing blue soda machine and clatters to the ground.
Munson Monsoon vs. Tony Gamble
Richard: My main brotha man, Tony “The Grin” Gamble, takes on big doof-tard, “The Big Bear” Munson Monsoon!
Nick: Would you call him “doof-tard” to his face, Rich?
Richard: Whatta ya think I am, retarded?
“You think I'm funny... Funny how?”
Nick: And here comes “The Grin!”
The unmistakable voice of Joe Pesci irritates the eardrums right before Metallica's 'Better Than You' begins to blast through the PA System. Soon emerges The Jester himself, Tony 'The Grin' Gamble. He walks out at the same time the music kicks in, passing a quick arrogant glance toward the crowd before making his way toward the ring once the lyrics of the song kick in.
“I look at you, then you me!
Hungry and thirsty are we!
Holding the lion's share, holding the key.
Holding me back 'cause I'm striving to be!”
Tony Gamble marches proudly down the small portion of ramp, no-selling the crowd's jeers and snide remarks as he remains focused on the ring. Up above his head on the Wal*tron, footage from Revolution 94 when Gamble locked The Illustrious Face Eater into his 'Smile For Me' submission and won the Internet Title plays.
Vince Howard: Ladies and Gentlemen! Our match is scheduled from one-fall! First, from 'The City of Sin,” Las Vegas, Nevada, standing five-feet, nine inches tall and weighing in at one-hundred and eighty-seven pounds...TONY 'THE GRIN' GAAAAAMBBBLLLLLEEEEE!!!!”
“Better than you!
Better than you.
Better than you!
Better than you.”
Tony takes his time walking up the ring steps, staring into the ring for a few seconds with his left hand on the top rope, before ducking between the top and middle rope to step into the ring. The Wal*tron now shows footage from Revolution 106, where Gamble slams Kenjiro Ito face first into the mat with his 'Stop Laughing At Me' signature move.
“Lock horns, I push and I strive!
Somehow I feel more alive!
Bury the need for it, bury the seed.
Bury me deep when there's no will to be!”
Gamble lifts arms in the air to the jeering crowd, a wide grin on his face. Another clip shows on the Wal*tron, this one from the Great American Nightmare; where Tony Gamble became the Five Star Champion by pinning Chandler Tsonda.
“Better than you!
Better than you.
Better than you!
Better than you.”
Metallica begins to fade as Tony stretches, the crowd booing.
“Standin in the rain,
with his head hung low.
Couldn't get a ticket,
it was a sold out show.
Heard the roar of the crowd, he could picture the scene.
Put his head to the wall, Then like a distant scream...
He heard one guitar!”
Crowd: RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!
The lights dim to nothing while “Juke Box Hero” rocks the arena.
“Just blew him away!
Saw stars in his eyes!
And the very next day!
Saw a beat up old six-string,
in a secondhand store.
Didnt know how to play it,
but he knew for sure.
That one guitar!”
The lights come up a big, and out comes “The Big Bear” himself, fingers pointed in the air to a roaring crowd.
Vince Howard: And his opponent! Hailing from Bear Creek, Alaska, standing six-feet, four inches tall and weighing in at two-hundred and fifty-eight pounds....he is the 'The Big Bear'....MUNSON MONSOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON!!!!!!!
“Felt good in his hands!
Didnt take long,
to understand!
Just one guitar,
slung waaay down low!
Was a one way ticket!
Only one way to go...”
Big Bear, all intense and shit, makes his way down the ring, slapping all kinds of high fives.
“So he started rockin!
Aint never gonna stop!
Gotta keep on rock-in!
Someday, gonna make it to the top!”
Monsoon steps into the ring, hops onto a turnbuckle, and starts pointing to EVERYONE.
“And be a juke. Box. Heroooo!
Got stars in his eyes!
He's a juke. Box. Heroooooo!
He took one guitar! Juke. Box. Herooooo!
Stars in his eyes!
Juke box heroooo,
he'll come alive tonight!”
Crowd: BUST THAT CHUMP! BUST THAT CHUMP! BUST THAT CHUMP!
Nick: The Big Bear has had a rough start in PRIME, but if one thing's for sure, every one of the fans is behind him one-hundred and ten percent!
Richard: If they could SEE his back!
“Juke Box Hero” fades, and the Bear hops down, ready to rumble. The ref calls for the bell.
DING DING DING!
Nick: And heeeere we go!
Monsoon eyes Gamble with ferocity. Gamble backs up, a bit unnerved at the size and intensity of The Bear Creek Brawler. Monsoon charges for a clothesline, Gamble ducks, and runs off to the other end of the ring. Monsoon turns, and charges again, missing once more. Monsoon turns around a third time, nostrils flaring, charges, and is hit with a quick dropkick to the chest from Gamble.
Richard: Ha! Set him up!
Gamble lays a few quick boots to the fallen bear. He lifts him up, whips Munson off the ropes, and attempts to drop him with a shoulder block, only sending the much tinier Gamble to the floor. The Bear laughs a hearty laugh.
Nick: Gamble, you're WAY too tiny to be trying shit like that!
The Big Bear points to the crowd.
Crowd: BUST! THAT! CHUMP~!
The Bear Creek Brawler lifts Gamble up into a bear hug, squeezing the life out of him. The crowd cheers as Gamble grits his teeth in pain. The Bear squeezes a tad longer before tossing Gamble away. Tony quickly scrambles back into the corner.
Richard: That hairy SOB has got a bit of strength to him, I'll give him that.
Big Bear gears up and runs at Gamble, going for a big body slam, but Gamble is able to scurry out of the way, get himself behind Munson, and hit him with a nasty low-blow.
Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Richard: Cheap shot from Gamble!
Tony grins to himself, laying a few more boots to a wincing Munson. Tony climbs the turnbuckle, waiting. Big Bear finally comes to his senses, but loses them once again as Gamble launches into a flying head-scissors take-down, sending the Big Bear sprawling across the mat. He stands, puts an arm in the air, then drops down to cover.
ONE!
TWO!
Big Bear shoves Gamble off of him, pushing him a few feet into the air and away.
Nick: Gonna take more than that!
Monsoon tries to get up, but Gamble's right there, on him like suck on Paris Hilton. He bashes Monsoon as hard as he can with repeated blows to the back of the noggin, trying desperately to keep Monsoon off his feet. However, Monsoon fights off Gamble and stands.
Gamble, however, is a lot smarter than one should remember. Even if certain people make him wear fruit upon his head and sing Broadway. Tony Gamble would like you to disavow all prior knowledge of this. While The Gamble (which is what he now demands to be called, as stated by his agent) does like his fruit, he is not prone to wearing it on his head. In fact, The Gamble would rather fling fruit at those who DARE say that he is a wearer of fruit. The Gamble doesn't appreciate such slander. It's not as if The Gamble walks into your home and calls you Vagina simply because you're wearing a hooker's crotch on your head. No, The Gamble would much prefer locking you in his submission hold, now dubbed the Most Gamblifying Fishhook In All Of Sports Entertainent, while said hooker turns tricks on The Gamble at the same time.
What The Gamble is trying to say is this.
Know your fruit, and shut your mouth.
Nick: Did we enter the Twilight Zone suddenly?
Richard: Shut up and stop breaking the fourth wall, Nick.
Anyway, The Gamble... oh, sorry, we should probably stop following the stream of consciousness writing... Tony manages a thumb to the eye of Monsoon, briefly stunning him. Then he runs into the ropes behind Big Bear and nails him with a chop block to bring him back down to the canvas.
Suddenly, the crowd starts a steady cheer.
Nick: Who is that?
Richard: Oh jesus...
Tyler Rayne makes his way to ringside, a tall sign reading “You Must Be This Tall to Wrestle” with a red line underneath in his hands and wearing a “BUST! THAT! CHUMP~!” t-shirt. He spits out lots of trash talk to Gamble, taking a seat next to the action.
Richard: What the fuck does he want?
Nick: I'd guess he's trying to get into Gamble's head.
With Monsoon down on the canvas, clutching his knee, Gamble turns to the newly arrived Tyler Rayne, spitting back just as much trash as Rayne. The two squabble for a minute, then Gamble turns back to Monsoon, attempting the Most Gamblifying Fishhook In All... er, the Smile For Me. However, given that this match has literally lasted like a minute, Monsoon is able to break out of the attempt with a punch.
And then, when Monsoon gets to his knees, he hits Gamble with another punch.
Then, when he gets to his feet, he hits Gamble with a third punch.
Nick: An array of offense from Monsoon! He's fired up, Richard! Dare I say, he might be busting that chump awfully soon!
Richard: The Gamble is going to be VERY angry!
Nick: The what?
Richard: ...I spoke to Mr. Gamble's agent recently.
Nick: Oh.
Gamble gets whipped into the corner, whereupon the Lumberjack comes crashing into Gamble with a big clothesline. Monsoon steps away, and Gamble... walks out of the corner. He then collapses in the middle of the ring after trying to throw a punch in the direction that he thinks Monsoon is. After this amusing visual, Monsoon quickly goes for the cover.
Nick: One!
Nick: TWO!
Nick: THR-NO! Gamble kicks out!
Monsoon pulls Gamble up, and grasps him by the neck for a chokeslam. However, Gamble uses the Greco-Roman Kick In The Gut in order to get out of the choke. With that done, Gamble catches Monsoon underneath the jaw with a jawbreaker. This knocks down Monsoon long enough for Gamble to land a quick elbow drop and a cover.
Nick: Another cover! ONE!
Nick: TWO!
Nick: NO!
Monsoon pops a shoulder up.
Tyler Rayne starts throwing popcorn into the ring, talking more trash with a full mouth of tasty, buttery popcorn. A fan offers him a bottle of beer, which he gladly accepts to wash down his snack.
Gamble is annoyed, throwing a frustrated glance at Rayne. He chooses to sit and wait some distance from Monsoon, as if he needed running distance. When Monsoon gets to one knee, Gamble charges, perhaps looking for a Shining Enzugiri. However, before Gamble can even make the initial leap, Monsoon explodes directly forward into Gamble, destroying him violently with a spear.
Nick: DEAR GOD, WHAT A SPEAR!
Richard: Okay, The Gamble is possibly dead.
Monsoon goes for the cover after nearly killing Tony Gamble to pieces.
Nick: ONE!
Nick: TWOOO!
Nick: THRE-NO! NO! Gamble kicks out! How the hell did he do that!?
Richard: He's The Gamble. He can do whatever he wants. Quite likely, he CHOSE to get into the path of that spear.
Nick: If he did, he'd be a masochist. I wouldn't have wished that spear on my worst enemy.
Richard: *breathes sigh of relief* Good to know.
Gamble, winded, rolls out of the ring to escape the Bear's onslaught, only to find Tyler Rayne laying boots to him, much to the delight of the crowd. Rayne clotheslines Gamble to the floor, then holds the sign over Gamble.
Crowd: “HAHAHAHAHAHAHA”
Gamble's vein pops out of his head.
Nick: HAHA! Classic!
Richard: YOU DO NOT MAKE JOKE OF THE GAMBLE!
Gamble will have none of it, and kicks out Tyler's legs. Tony stands, grabs the sign, and breaks it over his knee, tossing it to the sides. He lays a few boots to Rayne's head, leaving him in a daze, and before the ref can call “disqualification” or “count-out,” which he apparently forgot to do, Gamble slides back into the ring, where Munson is there to start stomping on The Grin's back.
Richard: Friggin' Rayne! The Gamble will make you pay!
Monsoon picks up Gamble, and looks to set up the Chump Buster. He bounces off the ropes after putting Gamble back on his feet, looking to hit his massive lariat. But instead, Gamble ducks it and dropkicks Monsoon from behind, which sends him into a corner.
Gamble then charges in and nails a running high knee to the face. On his way down from hitting that knee, he grasps Monsoon's head and manages a running bulldog that drives Monsoon to the canvas. Gamble quickly covers again.
Nick: One!
Nick: TWO!
Nick: THREE-NO! Monsoon barely kicks out of that flurry of offense from Tony Gamble!
Richard: For Christ's sake! GIVE IN TO THE GAMBLE!
Gamble grabs his hair in frustration, but soon directs his attention to the now returned Tyler Rayne, who continues to heckle Tony. Gamble stalks to the ring, leaning against the ropes, throwing his own variety of insult. The two yack at each other for a minute, giving Monsoon enough time to stand and get to his senses. He sees the endeavor, and takes a step toward the oblivious Gamble.
Richard: THE GAMBLE! BEHIND YOU!
Nick: Jesus Christ, SHUT UP!
While Big Bear stalks toward Gamble, Tyler Rayne, fed up, throws his empty beer bottle at The Grin. Gamble dodges, and the bottle sails, smashing Big Bear between the eyes.
Crowd: “OOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHH!”
Big Bear's eyes cross.
Tyler Rayne: Oh shit...
Tony, oh so devious, capitalizes, leaping onto the ropes, bouncing toward Monsoon and dropping him to the mat with a Springboard Heel Kick.
Richard: That's it, The Gamble!
Munson drops, and Tony quickly covers.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
DING DING DING!
Vince Howard: Here is your winner....TONY 'THE GRIN' GAAAAAAAAAAMBLE!!!!!
Nick: No!
Richard: Hooray!
The crowd boos the shit out of The Jester as “Better Than You” hits the speakers. Tony gets the fuck out of the ring as Munson comes back to his senses, sprinting up the ramp. Tyler Rayne has similar plans, making a bee-line through the crowd. Monsoon stands, watches Rayne run off, watches Tony run off, then let's out an angered and frustrated roar.
Nick: Hoo boy, that's one angry Bear.
Richard: Truth. I'm hiding under the desk.
The camera focuses on Big Bear, stomping about in anger, as we fade to commercial.
Ain't Nothing But a Cheater
...Did I just say that outloud?
Well, anyway, Lisa Tyler is joined by the Codemaster and Coral Avalon, collectively, the PRIME Tag Team Champions known only as the Blue Rogues.
At present moment, Lisa Tyler is staring at the Codemaster.
So is Coral Avalon.
The Codemaster, meanwhile, is staring at something that once belonged to him, but the aforementioned power hungry, manipulative ho bag had usurped it from him in a power play, his Nintendo Wii. All because she loves Wii Boxing.
Lisa: Gentlemen, I'm sure you know why I called you in today.
Coral: Given the pattern that's been going on lately, I'm amazed that I know.
Codemaster: It's the return of my Wii, isn't it? You're finally going to give it back?
Lisa: No. I'm not. You don't get your Wii back. Not now. Not ever.
Codemaster: Oh, come ON. I paid for it. Legally, it's mine.
Lisa: You know that thing about possession?
Codemaster: That it's 9/10ths of the law?
Lisa: Yeah. I got a team of lawyers for that other tenth.
Codemaster: You know, I liked you better when you were that bimbo who held a microphone. Sure, I'd never let your disease-riddened carcass near me, because you'd probably infect me with the T-Virus, G-Virus, the Nemesis strain, AND Las Plagas by sticking that microphone in my face, but at least you were more tolerable.
Coral Avalon stands there, shocked at the Codemaster's comments, before he decides to pull off some damage control to save his *own* career.
Coral: Just for the record, I don't know this man.
Lisa: Shut up.
Lisa sighs, and crosses her arms.
Lisa: It occured to me that you two still don't have opponents lined up for Colossus.
Codemaster: Well, when you create a big schmozz in the number one contendership title match and then promptly beat the surviving teams in a tag title match, you tend not to have any contenders left.
Lisa: What if I were to tell you that I might have a contender for you?
Codemaster: I thought the Fife Posse were injured.
Coral facepalms.
Coral: Yeah, like she'd put us against the Fife Posse on the biggest pay-per-view of the year.
Lisa: You're right. I wouldn't. Instead...
And just then, the door bursts open. In walks the team of Machavelli St. Romani and Vangelus Olsig. Coral steps aside in order to allow the other team some room, but the Codemaster doesn't until Coral pulls him aside as well.
Lisa: It'll be these two.
The Codemaster blinks.
Then he points and gestures wildly at Romani and Olsig.
Codemaster: THEM!? Come on, Lisa. We have a liar and a cheat, and Olsig, too!
Olsig: The only thing you have here is a guy who's primed and prepped to stick his foot down yo-...
Suddenly, Romani places an arm in front of Vangelus Olsig, preventing his forward progress towards the Codemaster.
Romani: Vangelus...stop. We thank you for the opportunity, Mrs. Tyler, and we look forward to having a grand contest with the both of you, Avalon and Codemaster.
Avalon begins a nod of approval in the background, but a sharp glance courtesy of the Codemaster cuts it short.
Codemaster: Yes...we can expect a grand contest...
Avalon and Codemaster begin their march out of the door, but not before the Codemaster stops to leave Romani with the completion of his prior sentence.
Codemaster: ...That's if you can manage to get through the match without CHEATING!
The Blue Rouges have left the building.
Olsig: The perfect opportunity to make them eat their words, and your tarry for holiness ruins it.
Romani: Although I'd rather you not bite on them, I'm sure you'll have plenty more opportunities. My instinct tells me that this thing is far from over...
A Truckload of Trouble
Nick: Whoa, what's this? Elliott isn't scheduled tonight!
Richard: No shit! What's that worthless redneck want now?
The crowd roars for the Blue Collar Brawler, but Wade presents himself without much of a spectacle. He marches down the ramp somewhat hastily, climbing into the ring and calling for a mic. His face reads piss and vinegar as the lights reach full and the music fades away. Wade's narrow eyes wander the arena while Portland starts to settle down.
Wade Elliott: Nitz Donnelly!!!!!!!
Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Wade Elliott: Nitz, you gum flappin', northern piece of yuppie horse-shit showed up in PRIME runnin' yer mouth before you even showed yer god-damn face! I beat yer ass backstage n' ya ran off like a fuckin' dog. And last week, me n' Lindsay Troy made you n' that sack of shit, Shakur, look like a couple of god-damn lame horses in that ring!
Nick: All business from The Big Dog tonight!
The crowd cheers. Wade grinds his teeth.
Wade Elliott: I've delt with piss-ants like you before, an' I put em' in the hospital every fuckin' time, but you broke the first two rules of Wade Elliott Nitz...
More cheers from the crowd while Wade counts on his index and middle finger.
Wade Elliott: You ran yer mouth 'bout my ma, n' ya messed with my truck.
The crowd roars.
Richard: Southern trash.
Wade Elliott: I know you got somethin' planned, Nitz. I know ya got somethin' up yer sleeve, and I've had more of you than I can stand without pukin' all over.
Wade moves to the ropes, gripping the top rope tight with his left hand, yelling up at the ramp.
Wade Elliott: So why don 't ya pull up yer skirt n' face me like a fuckin' man!
Crowd: RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!
Nick: Here it is! Wade Elliott calling out Nitz Donnelly!
Richard: Nitz probably won't even waste his time.
Wade puts one foot onto the bottom rope, holding onto the top, waiting for Donnelly to show his face.
The crowd continues to roar, waiting for The Ego to show his face. Elliott is waving up the ramp, a signal for his nemesis to show his face. People in attendance get antsy. Some begin to boo and some continue with the cheers.
Ahhhh there’s nothing like causing a ruckus before you grace the world with your presence.
"THROW UP YOUR RAWKFIST IF YOU’RE FEELIN’ IT WHEN I DROP THIS!
Thousand Foot Krutch triggers the plethora of jeers and utter hatred for the biggest mouth in PRIME. The Ego of New England steps through the curtain, tossing it aside with his arm. He saunters out onto the stage, his rectangular sunglasses covering his eyes and his leather jacket resting in his shoulders over his in-ring attire. He stops at the end of the stage and smiles, the crowd growing louder. Elliott waves up the ramp again and Donnelly put his hand up, reaching in his coat with the other hand to retrieve a microphone. The music begins to die out, leaving the raucous crowd to raise the decibel level even more. Nitz points to the ring and puts the mic to his mouth...
But the crowd is just getting too loud.
Nick: Listen to this packed audience!
Richard: Jesus! People should shut up so Donnelly can leave us in a trail of his awesome!
Nick: You pathetic mark.
Richard: Call 1-800-69PRIME to buy a shirt!
Nitz Donnelly: I have to thank each and every one of you for such a wonderful reception!
The seats are shaking. The youngster has quickly gained some of the strongest hate on the roster, and he’s only been around for 3 weeks.
Nitz Donnelly: Seriously, thank you! Thank you so much for planting your herpes infested lips all over that rednecks ass! But you’re confusing the poor fuck! As ugly as you are, you’re not his horrid ugly mama!
Nick: Ok, now that’s uncalled for!
Richard meanwhile fell out of his chair and lost his headset. It wasn’t necessarily from laughter, instead, Nick over reacted and kicked his chair, spilling him onto the floor.
Nick: But that right there was funny! HA!
In the ring, Wade’s face has a glow of red. He shakes the ropes a little, pointing out to Donnelly and yells with rage.
Nitz Donnelly: Now now, calm down Tinkerbelle. Don’t go pacing the ring like a jackass just cause you hate me. Let me explain why I decided to grace each and every one of you with my presence and no, it’s not because you called me out.
He shakes his head, winning some more heavy heat from the sold out audience.
Nitz Donnelly: You mentioned your truck. So decided to come out here and cool down that fiery redneck of yours and tell you that I have your truck. It’s here tonight and I’m willing to give it back to you.
Wade Elliott: You'd be real fuckin' smart to stop movin' yer cunt lips n' get to yer fuckin' point you fuckin' cocksucker!
Crowd: "RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!"
Nitz Donnelly: Jesus. Aren’t we just a bundle of joy today? But I’d suggest you be the one to shut your pie hole you mealy mouthed fuckin’ frump!
The crowd reverts to the boos again and Elliott is ready to speak again.
Nitz Donnelly: Nah nah! FUCK YOU! You’ve spoken long enough you undeserving talentless hack! The only reason you beat Shakur and I last week is cause he slipped on your slack jaw! YEAH! That’s right. He could have seriously hurt himself on your buck teeth. Not to mention the mini hard on camel toe that your Champion had for me almost took my eye out. I could have gotten crabs! But that’s not the point! I got yer truck right back here...
Nitz turns and disappears behind the curtain for a moment. The crowd begins to get anxious again and Elliott was pacing again. The sound system bursts to life with "Ridin’ Dirty" by Chamillonaire as the sound of an engine roars to life.
Richard(Back in his chair now): Well, the engine sure sounds good.
The curtains part and the grill of a truck appears. It’s a custom job, complete with Calvin pissing on the Ford logo, an old favorite. As the truck moves forward, a bright, Halloween pumpkin orange paint job is visible and then the rest of the truck comes into view.
Nick: Oh... my... god...
The crowd jeers once again, drowning out the rap music. Suddenly, the truck jerks and falls to the ground on top of the 23 inch rims. The tinted windows are rolled up and the "custom decals" are in plain view, vulgar as they are.
Richard: He turned the truck into a low rider!!
Nick: Wade is gonna toss this kid into a blender and hit frappe!
The music dies out and Donnelly steps out of the truck, killing the engine. The new suicide door shuts and he puts his arms towards the truck, essentially pulling a Vanna White, presenting it to Elliott in all it’s glory.
Nitz Donnelly: Isn’t it fuckin’ tight?! I mean if I was a redneck inbred ass goblin I’d be more than happy to cruise around the trailer hood and score some cousin hoes! But that ain’t me... which is why it’s for you!
He points to Wade, steam practically shooting out of the Blue Collar Brawlers ears.
Nitz Donnelly: Let’s check this shit out!
He points out the driver’s side door.
Nitz Donnelly: Now before I start, a friend in ‘Cisco owed me money, so I scored these sweet decals! Check that out.... "Everyone’s family... ask my Uncle Daddy!"
Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
He struts to the back of the truck, the camera following him.
Nitz Donnelly: This is a really expensive and sleek ride now. This decal was custom made by allstardecals.com, but they promised it would never be reproduced again. They made this, "I brake for herds of Family" decal just for you my man!
Crowd: BOOOOOOO!
Wade Elliott: You fuckin' piece of...
Nitz Donnelly: No! Like I said before, you’ve said your piece shit-stain! Show some respect for this pimped up Alabama Style ride! Speaking of Alabama...
He walks around the passenger side...
Nitz Donnelly: People at home will feel the love when they remember www.incestinalabama.org. You're like a moving billboard for unethical behaviour!
He quickly moves to the front of the truck.
Nitz Donnelly: Dude, Calvin and Hobbes rules. But this has gotta be my favorite one! On the hood so you can read it while you 69 your aunt behind the wheel is... "I'm a Pimp... I gots a sheep under each arm!"
Crowd: "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
Richard: Man, that’s a redneck’s dream ride.
Nick: I’m embarrassed to be associated with that brat in any way shape or form, but he works for us.
Nitz Donnelly: It’s my present to you! I even included hooks on the rear bumper so you can hang the cans on it when you marry your daddy!
And Wade Elliott is through the ropes and charging up the ramp.
Nick: The cord just snapped! Elliott is ready to beat the tar out of Donnelly!
Crowd: "RAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!"
Donnelly wastes no time, and rushes Wade as well. The two meet in the middle and immediately begin exchanging blows. Wade starts to get the upper hand, clobbering Nitz with big right hands. Wade then grabs Nitz by the collar of his leather jacket and smashes him in the forehead with a sickening headbutt.
Crowd: "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!"
Nitz's eyes cross, and Wade starts laying down the big hits once more. He knocks Nitz on his ass and takes steps forward to continue the assault, but Nitz shakes the cobwebs and puts a foot into Wade's gut, causing him to lose balance and fall off the side of the entrance ramp and onto the floor.
Nick: We've got a brawl tonight, folks!
Richard: Beat him dead, Nitz!
Nitz stands, back in a solid frame of mind. Wade stirs, conscious, but winded from the fall. He starts to get up, but Nitz steps to the edge, does some sort of signal, and leaps off the edge, slamming onto Wade with a huge legdrop.
Richard: YEAH BOI!
Nitz rolls off, and Wade grips his aching stomach. Donnelly stands after gaining his bearings, all anger and intensity. He grabs Wade's hair and brings him to a standing position before whipping him into the guard barrier, causing Wade to slam his back hard with a grunt. Donnelly charges, but Wade puts a big boot into his face, causing Nitz to step back a few feet. Wade grits his teeth and lets out a yell, rushing Nitz, shouldering him in the abdomen, lifting him off his feet and slamming him hard into the side of the ramp.
Nick: You CANNOT count Wade out in a brawl! Frankly, no-one does it better!
Nitz falls to a seat, back stinging. Wade does not relent, smashing Nitz in the head with hard right hands. Wade then grips the side of the ramp and stomps the shit out of Nitz with his signature Mudhole Stomps.
Crowd: "RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"
Nitz looks like he's about to vomit. Wade grabs his head and lifts him up, hitting him with more lefts and rights. Nitz suddenly interrupts the attack with a knee to Wade's groin, causing him to double over.
Richard: Thatta boy!
Nitz wastes no time, tangling himself with Wade and sending both to the ground. The two begin rolling on the floor, fists flying, to the end of the ramp.
Suddenly, the crowd roars as they reach the bottom.
Richard: Who is that?
The Queen of the Ring and Universal Champion, Lindsay Troy, appears on the ramp, moving quickly, opening the front door to the truck and stepping inside, swift enough so Nitz and Wade do not notice.
Nick: What is she up to?
Richard: She'd better not mess this up!
Back at the brawl, the two split and stand, immediately continuing the brawl. Wade gets the upper hand once more, pushing Nitz back with heavy fists. Nitz reaches the barrier, where Wade continues to come at him. Wade hits one more bit right hand, then grabs Nitz's hair, turns him, and bounces his head off the barrier. He lifts his head once more, then smashes it down once more with a nasty crack.
Crowd: "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHH!!!!"
Nick: That one might've broke his skull!
Nitz's eyes cross, his head opened up and bleeding. Wade does not relent, grabbing Nitz and whipping him toward the corner of the ring. Wade steps to follow, but is caught off-guard when Nitz, somehow, finds the willpower to leap, grab hold of the turnbuckle, swing around it underneath the bottom ropes, and careen himself, feet first, into the face of Wade Elliott.
Crowd: "HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!"
Richard: HOLY JESUS!
Nick: That was incredible!
Wade slumps, his own head bleeding. He stirs, stars in his eyes. Nitz stirs as well, but soon finds the adrenaline to stand. Nitz kicks Wade once more for good measure, then bolts toward the ramp, stumbling a bit, but speedy as hell. Wade finds himself on his feet, lumbering after Nitz, wobbling back and forth up the ramp.
Nick: Nitz Donnelly is running away like a coward, as always, but is unaware of Lindsay Troy in the front seat of the truck!
Richard: STOP NITZ!
Nitz does not hear the commentators, and continues bolting up the ramp. He approaches the truck, intent to jump in and get the fuck outta dodge. He looks back over his shoulder to check on the staggering Elliott. He turns back to the truck, only to find the front door swinging open directly into his face.
CRACK!
Crowd: "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!"
Nick: Jesus!
Nitz crumbles onto his back. The Queen of the Ring steps out, a big grin on her face.
Crowd: "RAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!"
Richard: Son of a...
Wade finally catches up, eyes burning bright as the crowd blows the roof off the building. Wade picks up the near-unconscious Donnelly and rolls him onto the hood of the truck.
Nick: Uh oh! What's Wade got planned!
Wade crawls onto the hood, carefully standing to his feet, causing the hood to dent a bit under his weight. He brings Nitz to his feet and traps his head in a headscissors.
Richard: Jesus no! C'mon Nitz! Snap out of it!
Wade looks around the arena, wild-eyed. He lifts and rolls Nitz onto his shoulders, holding him a moment.
Nick: MY GOD!
Wade lifts Nitz high, and sends him crashing down into the windshield of the truck with a terrible power bomb, implanting him in the shattered glass.
Crowd: "RRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Nick/Rich: JESUS CHRIST!
Nitz lies still, legs and arms dangling, half of him sticking through the windshield. Wade lets out a mighty roar to the enjoyment of the crowd. Lindsay walks up to him, handing him a microphone.
Wade Elliott: YOU JUST FOUND OUT FIRST FUCKIN' HAND WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YA FUCK WITH A SUM-BITCH LIKE ME, DONNELLY!!! FIRST!!! FUCKIN'!!! HAND!!!
Crowd: "RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!"
Wade Elliott: I'VE HAD ALL I CAN FUCKIN' STAND OF YER CUNT MOUTH, BOY! SO HERE'S WHAT IT'S GONNA BE!! NITZ DONNELLY! WADE FUCKIN' ELLIOTT!!! COLOSSUS!!!!!!!!
"Raaaaaaaaaaah" doesn't begin to describe the noise.
Among the ear-deafening roars, Wade drops the mic and hops down, his arm immediately lifted in the air by his partner in crime, Lindsay Troy. The Universal Champ grins, while Wade fumes the rest of the rage left inside him. "Fire it Up" by Black Label Society making every attempt to sound over the crowd.
Nick (trying to yell over the crowd): You heard it! Donnelly vs. Elliott at Colossus, that is if Nitz can walk after tonight! He was absolutely destroyed, and deserved every bit of it!
Richard (also trying his best): Absolute crap, Nick! This is only going to piss the Ego off further! Wade has NO idea what he's getting into!
Nick: I believe he'd beg to differ! We've got to clean this mess up, but don't go anywhere! We've got tag action NEXT, on ReVolution One-Hundred and Thirty-Four!!!!!
The camera focuses on Elliott and Troy, Nitz Donnelly's un-moving body still in the windshield next to them before cutting to commercial.
An Old Story... With a New Twist
Angelica: Ladies and Gentlemen, in two weeks at Colossus IV, Titan St. James will step into the ring with the man who joins me now. He is The Inhuman Being… Tchu.
The shot pulls back just a bit, and from the left side of the screen, PRIME’s Wrecking Ball steps into view. Across his right shoulder rests a large hunk of gold, its surface bouncing back the studio lights directly into the lens of the camera.
Angelica: Tchu, you’ve requested this time to speak… just a two and a half weeks from your battle with the seven foot giant known as Titan, what do you have to say?
Tchu: I want to tell Titan a story.
Angelica: What kind of story?
Tchu: A story about David and Goliath.
The Inhuman Being turns his shoulders and squares himself up to the camera. He adjusts the title across his shoulder and cracks his neck to the left before continuing.
Tchu: I know what you’re thinking, big man… you’re thinking that you’ve heard this story a thousand times before. And every time someone tells you the story, you shrug it off and prove them wrong. But stick with me, Titan. I promise you… this version has a twist.
PRIME’s Wrecking Ball shifts the championship belt from one shoulder to the other.
Tchu: So a young man named David goes to slay the giant. Goliath is an unstoppable monster that has trampled everything in his path. David approaches Goliath confident… full of heart… and he casts his stone… but it has no effect. He casts another stone… still nothing. The rocks bounce off of Goliath’s chest and fall harmlessly to the earth far below. And then, Goliath destroys David, much in the same way he has destroyed everyone else who has stood before him.
Angelica: Is that the twist?
Tchu: No, that’s just the truth. David defeating Goliath is a nice story… but it doesn’t hold up. David doesn’t beat Goliath. This isn’t the days where guys threw pebbles from rubber bands. Nowadays, time and time again… David gets his ass crushed by Goliath. Ask Titan. Ask him how many guys have stood before him and reminded him of how David supposedly brought down Goliath. And Ask him how many times he’s stomped that person into the ground and proved their words false. Every time… because it’s a simple fact… David can’t beat Goliath.
Angelica scratches the top of her head as a confused look spreads across her face.
Angelica: I don’t understand. So you’re saying…
The Inhuman Being interrupts Angelica, as if she hadn’t even been talking.
Tchu: And that’s where the twist comes in. This is what Titan needs to understand… so listen close, big man. I am a two-time Universal Champion. I am…
Tchu looks down at the gold strap on his shoulder, then turns back to the camera.
Tchu:… the current PTC Infinite Gauntlet Champion. I am the 2007 Dual Halo Winner. I am the 2005 Jewel in the Crown. I am the reigning Wrestler of the Year. I am… Goliath.
Angelica’s eyes widen, as the puzzle comes together in her head. And as the light goes off in her head, Tchu’s fuse reaches its end and his volume kicks up a couple notches.
Tchu: Don’t get comfortable walking around like you the run the show. Don’t get too caught up in your freakish ogre size! The fact of the matter is… in this business… I am the giant! Around here, your size and stature is measured in success… and that leaves you looking up… way up… at the Goliath that is The Inhuman Being. And much like you’ve done time and time again in the past, when some pathetic punk has come up and told you how they’re going to slay the giant, I’m going to rewrite history. I’m going to show the world, that when David steps in the ring with Goliath… David… gets run over.
The Inhuman Being stares into the camera for just a moment, then slides his Infinite Gauntlet title off his shoulder and exits the scene, leaving Angelica standing alone.
Betta Off Dead
Tony Gamble is exhausted as he walks down the back hallway, holding his arm against the wall to keep from falling over is the last thing he wants to do... but he doesn't want to fall on his face either. A footstep stalking behind him makes him turn around real fast, but there is no one there so he turns back to find one of his little buddies standing in front of him with a nasty sneer on his face. Tony nearly jumps back a foot.
Tony Gamble: Hey, Jimmy... I was just going to see you guys.
Jimmy: Were you now? The way I see it, you've been avoiding us all night.
A nervous chuckle escapes Gamble's tightly pressed lips.
Tony Gamble: Nah, man, you got me all wrong.
Jimmy: We want our money man.
Tony's hand starts to rub the back of his neck.
Tony Gamble: Yeah, about that. I don't really have the money on me. I mean wrestling tights don't come with pockets, you know.
Jimmy doesn't laugh at Tony's failed attempt at a joke.
Jimmy: No, I don't know. Why don't you explain it to me.
Being able to look down at someone for a change, should have given Tony a sense of dominance over the little person... But this little guy is mad and wants his money.
Tony Gamble: Look, you'll get your money.
Jimmy: Two hundred dollars.
Tony motions toward a door at the end of the hall.
Tony Gamble: It's in my locker room. I'll go get it for you right now.
Tony starts to walk, Jimmy not too far behind when Gamble breaks out in a sprint.
Jimmy: Son of a-
Jimmy's little legs cannot keep up with the speedy former Five Star Champ, who rounds the corner, heads up a flight of stairs and ducks into a broom closet to catch his breath.
Tony Gamble: Damn, I need to get out of here.
A warm exhale of breath makes the hair on his neck shoot straight up.
? ? ?: Two hundred dollars.
A thud is heard as Tony slams his back against the door, his hands fumbling around in the dark to turn the knob and escape once again.
? ? ?: We want our money man.
Tony finally gets the door open and falls onto his hind end as another one of the Oompa Loompa actors walks out of the closet.
Tony Gamble: Craig, man... What were you doing in there... You nearly made me have a heart attack.
Craig: Now why would I wanna do that for, Tony... Then I'll never get my money.
Tony Gamble: Oh yeah, that. Let me-
Once again, Tony is on his way down the hallway in a dead sprint, never looking back at the cloud of dust that blinds Craig long enough to keep him from giving chase. Confident that he has escaped once again, Tony slows down and rounds yet another corner(What is this, NASCAR?).
Tony Gamble: Hey Walt, what's up?
Walt: Nothing mu- Hey, where's our money?!
Tony completely forgets that the Lollipop Guild is chasing him for their money, and passes yet another one as he walks down the hall. Once again the chase is on, but Tony's strides are too much for the group to keep up with. Well, that is until he stumbles over something in the hallway and goes crashing into the wall.
Tony Gamble: What the hell?!
Tony turns to look down the hall, but there is nothing there. Then, he feels a hand grab his shoulder and squeeze.
Tony Gamble: Ow... Ow... Ow...
Tony turns to find all five men in the group standing there, two of them holding opposite ends of piano wire as they smile at their captured prey.
Tony Gamble: Hey, I could've lost a leg.
Jimmy: You have AFLAC, punk. They give you like three hundred bucks for a severed limb.
The rest of the group starts to talk amongst themselves as they agree that AFLAC is probably the best short term disability insurance coverage out there.
Jimmy: You can use that three hundred bucks right about now.
Tony nods, rubbing at his ankles.
Tony Gamble: Yeah, I could use that money to buy a Wii and a game.
The back of Jimmy's hand slaps against Tony's cheek.
Jimmy: Forget the Wii... You need to give us our money.
Tony Gamble: Fine.
Tony stands up and dusts himself off, before rubbing his cheek.
Tony Gamble: I'll give you your money, but next time I want like two or three songs done. You guys are good, but two hundred bucks for one song... That's a total rip off.
Jimmy: Bite me. You're lucky I'm not making you pay interest for being late, punk.
Tony Gamble: You're right... I'm sorry. I tell you-
Tony starts to run yet again, but this time jimmy is fast on his feet and waddles a few steps before diving in front of Tony, taking his feet out from under him to send him tumbling down the stairs.
Jimmy: We'll see you down there, okay.
Craig waddles up and stands next to Jimmy.
Craig: I still say we kill him.
Jimmy: He's no good to us dead. Besides, I took the money from his wallet about an hour ago when I saw it on top of the bench he was sitting on when we got dressed in his locker room.
Walt: Then why did you have us stalk him like this?
Jimmy just laughs.
Jimmy: Because it serves the little bitch right. Now let's get out of here, I got us a gig at some guy named Ron Mexico's house. Says he's going to have a huge party.
Tony Gamble: Hey, Jimmy... I was just going to see you guys.
Jimmy: Were you now? The way I see it, you've been avoiding us all night.
A nervous chuckle escapes Gamble's tightly pressed lips.
Tony Gamble: Nah, man, you got me all wrong.
Jimmy: We want our money man.
Tony's hand starts to rub the back of his neck.
Tony Gamble: Yeah, about that. I don't really have the money on me. I mean wrestling tights don't come with pockets, you know.
Jimmy doesn't laugh at Tony's failed attempt at a joke.
Jimmy: No, I don't know. Why don't you explain it to me.
Being able to look down at someone for a change, should have given Tony a sense of dominance over the little person... But this little guy is mad and wants his money.
Tony Gamble: Look, you'll get your money.
Jimmy: Two hundred dollars.
Tony motions toward a door at the end of the hall.
Tony Gamble: It's in my locker room. I'll go get it for you right now.
Tony starts to walk, Jimmy not too far behind when Gamble breaks out in a sprint.
Jimmy: Son of a-
Jimmy's little legs cannot keep up with the speedy former Five Star Champ, who rounds the corner, heads up a flight of stairs and ducks into a broom closet to catch his breath.
Tony Gamble: Damn, I need to get out of here.
A warm exhale of breath makes the hair on his neck shoot straight up.
? ? ?: Two hundred dollars.
A thud is heard as Tony slams his back against the door, his hands fumbling around in the dark to turn the knob and escape once again.
? ? ?: We want our money man.
Tony finally gets the door open and falls onto his hind end as another one of the Oompa Loompa actors walks out of the closet.
Tony Gamble: Craig, man... What were you doing in there... You nearly made me have a heart attack.
Craig: Now why would I wanna do that for, Tony... Then I'll never get my money.
Tony Gamble: Oh yeah, that. Let me-
Once again, Tony is on his way down the hallway in a dead sprint, never looking back at the cloud of dust that blinds Craig long enough to keep him from giving chase. Confident that he has escaped once again, Tony slows down and rounds yet another corner(What is this, NASCAR?).
Tony Gamble: Hey Walt, what's up?
Walt: Nothing mu- Hey, where's our money?!
Tony completely forgets that the Lollipop Guild is chasing him for their money, and passes yet another one as he walks down the hall. Once again the chase is on, but Tony's strides are too much for the group to keep up with. Well, that is until he stumbles over something in the hallway and goes crashing into the wall.
Tony Gamble: What the hell?!
Tony turns to look down the hall, but there is nothing there. Then, he feels a hand grab his shoulder and squeeze.
Tony Gamble: Ow... Ow... Ow...
Tony turns to find all five men in the group standing there, two of them holding opposite ends of piano wire as they smile at their captured prey.
Tony Gamble: Hey, I could've lost a leg.
Jimmy: You have AFLAC, punk. They give you like three hundred bucks for a severed limb.
The rest of the group starts to talk amongst themselves as they agree that AFLAC is probably the best short term disability insurance coverage out there.
Jimmy: You can use that three hundred bucks right about now.
Tony nods, rubbing at his ankles.
Tony Gamble: Yeah, I could use that money to buy a Wii and a game.
The back of Jimmy's hand slaps against Tony's cheek.
Jimmy: Forget the Wii... You need to give us our money.
Tony Gamble: Fine.
Tony stands up and dusts himself off, before rubbing his cheek.
Tony Gamble: I'll give you your money, but next time I want like two or three songs done. You guys are good, but two hundred bucks for one song... That's a total rip off.
Jimmy: Bite me. You're lucky I'm not making you pay interest for being late, punk.
Tony Gamble: You're right... I'm sorry. I tell you-
Tony starts to run yet again, but this time jimmy is fast on his feet and waddles a few steps before diving in front of Tony, taking his feet out from under him to send him tumbling down the stairs.
Jimmy: We'll see you down there, okay.
Craig waddles up and stands next to Jimmy.
Craig: I still say we kill him.
Jimmy: He's no good to us dead. Besides, I took the money from his wallet about an hour ago when I saw it on top of the bench he was sitting on when we got dressed in his locker room.
Walt: Then why did you have us stalk him like this?
Jimmy just laughs.
Jimmy: Because it serves the little bitch right. Now let's get out of here, I got us a gig at some guy named Ron Mexico's house. Says he's going to have a huge party.
Titan St. James and Easton Hall vs. Sound and the Fury
"I Fucking Hate You" rips through the arena and the thousands of fans in attendance are immediately on their feet, screaming so loud it burns their lungs.
Nick: Listen to this ovation!
Richard: And he hasn’t even shown his face yet!
Vince Howard: … he is the reigning PTC Infinite Gauntlet Champion, PRIME’s Wrecking Ball… he is The Inhuman Being…. Tcccchhhhuuuuuuu!!!
From behind the curtain, Tchu emerges, wearing a pair of jeans and an official PRIME referee shirt (with the sleeves cut off of course, because that’s what wresltereferees do). Around his waist, shines the IG championship title. He makes his way to the ring, minus the typical lighting effects, and hops onto the apron before stepping through the ropes.
Vince Howard: And now… introducing first… they are the innovators of the Gimmick-of-the-Week…
weighing in at a combined 469lbs… Ian Nackedy… Gildenstern… SOUND AND THE FUUURRRYYYYY
# LAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA #
# GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR #
As "LOUD AND ANGRY" by the J.Nathan Raby/Leon J. Perniciaro Acoustic Guitar and Heavily Edited Vocals Supergroup rings throughout the Cow Palace, Ian Nackedy and Gildenstern appear below the Wal*Tron. Ian Nackedy is wearing a long trenchcoat and is taking notes on a little pad as he walks towards the ring. Gildenstern is wearing an old fedora type hat and a matching trenchcoat.
# WE’RE LOUD #
# AND ANGRY #
# AND REALLY REALLY LOUD #
# AND ANGRY #
# AND WE’RE GONNA KICK YOUR ASS #
# BECAUSE WE’RE LOUD #
# WHAT ARE WE THIS WEEK, KIDS? #
A voice that is definitely not a kid at all answers back.
"Private Investigators."
At this, the screeching guitar kicks in and Gildenstern runs into the ring. Ian walks over to a nearby camera and shows the camera his notepad, which has "EASTON HALL? MORE LIKE EASTON SUCKS!" scribbled on it.
Nick: These guys...
Richard: I hate them. I don't know why, I just hate them soooo much.
Ian slides under the ropes and both men de-coat, throwing them over the ropes and high-fiving each other. Ian lights up a cigarette in the ring before the referee quickly walks over and tells him to put it out. Shaking his head, he does so.
Nick: Private investigators? I guess it fits well with their search for the Unfuckables.
Ian and Gil then get ready for their match in generic ways.
Vince Howard: And their opponents… first…
The lights cut and silence reigns for a second.
DUN-DUN—DUN-DUN-DUN-DUN!
Lights flash, then stop.
DUN-DUN—DA-DA-DA-DUN!
Again, but this time, a silhouette steps out from behind the curtain.
DUN-DUN—DUN-DUN-DUN-DUN!
They all recognize the tune.
DUN-DUN—DA-DA-DA-DUN!
"All Along the Watchtower."
The crowd gives a mighty pop as the guitar starts in and silver pyros light up the sides of the stage with a bang, the arena becoming bright again. Easton Hall stands on the stage, a black Wu-Tang t-shirt draped over his torso and the shining 5-Star title slung over his shoulder. His head is tilted back and he drinks in the crowd's energy, nodding his head just a bit.
There must be some kinda way outta here!
Said the joker to the thief!
There's too much confusion!
I can't – get no relief!
Vince Howard: Hailing from the Glorious North, and weighing in at two hundred and thirteen pounds, he is the "Canadian Dragon" and PRIME's 5-STAR CHAMPION… EASTON HALL!
Hall slowly makes his way towards the ring, eyes locked on his opponents.
As he enters the ring, his music dies down, and there’s one superstar left to go.
Vince Howard: And his partner…
"Shadows" by 12 Stones kicks in. The fans redirect their attention towards the stage where the lights are dimmed. The lights in the entry way shine forward with a glaring white beam. As the music hits a mellow stage...
Look around and tell me what you see
A place surrounded by the hate
That hides in the shadows
Inside of you, inside of me
What can we ever hope to see
If we're not lookng
Don't you want to find your own way home again
Just leave your hate behind
A massive figure steps into the glaring spotlight shining down the entrance ramp, casting a long, long shadow. And on the screen flashes one name: TITAN.
Nick: There he is! The colossal PRIME superstar!
Vince Howard: …he hails form Jerusalem, Israel… standing over 7 feet tall, weighing nearly 400lbs… Titaaaan St. Jaaaamesssss!!
The giant makes his way down the ramp, pulling himself onto the apron and stepping over the top rope as if it wasn’t even there. Immediately, the seven footer stares down (literally) his Colossus opponent. Tchu returns the favor, his eyes locked on the face of the superstar bigger than any he has ever stepped foot in the ring with.
Nick: You can feel the tension between these two warriors.
Richard: In just a matter of weeks, Titan St. James has earned his way onto Tchu’s hit-list, and at CIV…they’re gonna need to reinforce the ring when these two try to tear each other down.
Nick: But before any of that… before Easton Hall defends his prestigeous 5 Star title… they’ll have to get through Sound and the Fury… who debuted last week in impressive fashion, defeating the Upstarts.
Tchu signals for each team to choose a man to start off the action and for the other to take their place outside the ring. Easton Hall and Ian Nackedy are the chosen two, and Gildenstern and Titan exit through the ropes.
Nick: And we’re about to get underway…
DING! DING! DING!
Hall takes a step towards Nackedy, but stops as he notices something.
Richard: Is he going to fight or not?
Nick: Well, I think we’d be getting this match started, but Tchu is still wearing his Infinite Gauntlet title around his waist.
A fact that Hall is pointing out, though Tchu just shrugs his shoulders and smirks.
Nick: He’s not going to actually officiate this match with that thing on?!
Richard: Hah! Why not… he earned it. And don’t think for one second he isn’t aware of the fact that Hall wants a piece of that gold.
In fact, Hall seems a bit frustrated, probably counting down the days till IG 34… but his focus his quickly brought back where it belongs, thanks to a stiff right hand from Nackedy. Another, and then another… and it isn’t long before Hall is down on his knees.
Nick: I think Tchu’s insistence to keep that twenty pounds of gold around his waist just cost Hall dearly!
Richard: Serves him right. I’m not really a fan of Tchu’s… but if he keeps up the hating on guys like Hall and Titan, he just might earn himself another fan.
Nick: And lose plenty of others. I’m sure that’s exactly the trade he wants to make. You’re support in exchange for a few million fans.
Richard: Seems like a fair trade to me.
With Hall down, Nackedy takes to the ropes and rebounds off, looking for the Shining Wizard, but Hall leaps up and abruptly reverses Ian’s momentum with a spear.
Mounting, the (at least for this week) detective, the 5 Star Champ begins to rain down fists that bounce off of skull. Sliding off, Hall drags Ian up, then lifts him, locking onto him and slamming him over with a head and arm suplex. A quick cover follows, but with little success.
Nick: Just a two count for the champ.
Easton whips Nackedy towards the ropes and brings him over with a hip toss. Ian is back to his feet in a moment and just as he is about to eat another hip toss, he slams on the breaks and yells out "WHERE WERE YOU ON THE NIGHT OF DECEMBER 14TH?!". Hall stops, perplexed, and catches a jab to the nose for his confusion. Ian then leaps into the air, landing on Hall’s shoulders and bringing him down with a hurricanrana.
Without wasting a second, Nackedy hops to the top turnbuckle and leaps off, driving down with an elbow to the chest. He attempts a pinfall of his own, but gets the same result.
Nick: Both men going for the early finish.
Richard: They should get a clue and realize nothing comes that easy. Get it… get it? A clue? Cuz their detectives…nevermind.
Nackedy gets back to his feet and waits for Hall to join him, a quick snap suplex once again grounds the 5 Star Champ. A few stomps from Ian, and he rushes the ropes, springing off the middle cable with a moonsault.
Nick: Ooohhh!!
Richard: That hurt!
Unfortunately for Ian, Hall’s knees are tucked and waiting for the impact, and they find their mark, sticking straight into the detective’s ribs.
Back in control of the match, Hall delivers a simple but effective body slam, then drops a quick elbow (perhaps payback for just a moment ago) across the torso of Nackedy. A second follows, then a third. Pulling Ian up, Hall rests his opponents head against the back of his shoulder and drops down, a textbook neckbreaker.
Nick: Perfect execution there!
As Nackedy hits the mat, he grabs the back of his neck and rolls onto his stomach, clearly in pain. Hall seizes the opportunity, placing his weight across Ian’s back and locking in a camel clutch.
Nick: Nackedy is in a lot of trouble here!
Richard: Sound and the Fury could be the beaten and broken in just a few seconds! Hahaha… I crack myself up!
Hall wrenches back, applying as much pressure as he can. Ian fights through the pain, refusing to tap, but he’s got some work to do to make it to the ropes. Slowly, but surely, he pushes himself towards freedom, inch by inch.
Nick: Nackedy is trying! He’s not far away now!
Richard: Another push might put him close enough, but he better get there soon… cuz that pain has got to be killing him!
The look on Ian’s face seems to prove Richard’s words correct, but just as the thought of tapping crosses his mind, he reaches out with his right and finds the bottom rope.
Nick: He’s got it! Hall will have to break the hold.
As he does so, Ian reaches up and tags in Gildenstern. The big man is in the ring fast. He charges forward and catches Hall with a big clothesline. Bouncing back to his feet, The 5 Star Champion fires back with a stiff chop. Then another. Gildenstern clutches his bright red chest, but manages to swing a heavy left fist, rocking Hall.
Having recovered, Ian slips into the action, Tchu not forcing him to leave the ring just yet, and he and his clue-searching partner hoist Easton up with a hand around the throat and throw him to the mat with a huge double chokeslam.
Nick: Did you see that impact?!
Richard: How quickly momentum shifts in this business. Now its Hall who looks to be about three seconds away from a rare loss.
Now, Tchu tells Nackedy he needs to leave the ring, taking time to point to his IG title, as if that (and not the stripes) makes him the boss.
Richard: Wow, Tchu is making enemies with pretty much everybody in this match. Titan is his CIV opponent… Hall and Nackedy are challengers for his PTC title… I think Gildenstern is the only one who doesn’t have a beef with him.
But as Ian starts to leave, Gildenstern objects and suddenly, there in each others face.
Richard: Nevermind.
Finally getting things straightened out, Gildenstern is back to work on Hall. A hanging vertical suplex is followed by a belly to belly toss. Then a full nelson slam caps off the trio of moves… the end result being a 5 Star Champ in a world of hurt.
Nick: Gildenstern is on a roll! The big man is working over one of PRIME’s hottest superstars
Lifting Hall by his shaggy hair, Gildenstern places a leg over the neck and hooks the arms, driving him face first into the canvas.
Nick: The…. Uhh…
Richard: Would it be the Detective Driver this week?
Nick: I guess so!
Hooking a leg, the big man looks to pick up the victory, and Tchu makes the count.
ONE…
TWO…
TH….
Nick: No! A shoulder up at two and a half.
Gildenstern is to his feet, making sure it was just a two count. He steps back to the corner and charges forward, looking for a running leg drop, but Hall is ready and trips up the big guy, bringing him down with a drop toe hold. Gildenstern’s tumbles forward, his neck coming down awkwardly on the bottom rope.
Nick: Ugly landing!
Richard: No kidding! That cable is much more unforgiving than it might look in TV land.
Greatly in need of a break, Hall starts to pull himself towards his corner, looking to make the tag. Titan sticks out his massive hand, awaiting his parnters arrival.
And its just a moment later that Hall slaps his palm against the giant’s. Titan is over the top rope and in the ring in the blink of an eye…
…but is immediately met by Tchu who tells him to leave.
Nick: What is he doing?
Richard: Being unfair! I love it.
Nick: I don’t think he was… I think he completely missed the tag making sure Gildenstern was still breathing!
Indeed, that was the case. But Titan doesn’t care much for the explanation Tchu is giving him. And neither does Richard.
Richard: That’s boring. I prefer to think of it as growing some balls and being an asshole to that overgrown ogre!
The frustration is evident on Titan’s face, but he finally relents and heads back to his corner. Probably even more pissed is Hall, who’s forced back into action despite being in a lot of pain.
Nick: Terrible break for Hall.
Richard: I’m still not so sure Tchu didn’t actually see the tag.
Nick: I refuse to believe he’d sink that low.
It doesn’t matter. Either way, Gildenstern is back to his feet and making his way to the corner to tag in Nackedy. The detective partner sprints across the ring and hits Rolling Thunder on the champ.
The next couple minutes don’t go well for Hall. He finds himself victim to both a Single arm and Floatover DDT… not too mention a series of stiff shots that serve to sap his energy bit by bit.
Nick: Hall has got to turn things around here!
Apparently, Hall is listening. As Nackedy sits Easton atop the turnbuckle and climbs after, the 5 Star champ springs to life, wrapping an arm around Ian’s torso, he pushes off and drives down Nackedy with a tackle/spinebuster. The ring shakes from the impact and the fans jump to their feet, waiting to see which man makes it to his corner first.
Richard: This is the time of the match where you get the fresh guy in the ring!
Both men start crawling towards their corners. The noise from the crowd
Nackedy is first to his corner, hitting Gildenstern with the tag. But just a split second later Hall makes the tag to Titan… and this time, Tchu sees it.
The crowd erupts as the two big men charge forward. Gildenstern gets the upperhand first, a clothesline rocking Titan, a few right hands follow, but they aren’t able to bring the seven footer down. Gildenstern attempts to whip Titan into the ropes, but it is reversed and a heavy shoulder drops Gildenstern to the mat. Nackedy pulls himself up in the corner and charges forward, but is sent flying through the air with a huge back body drop that sends him clean out of the ring.
Nick: Huuuuge elevation!
Richard: How strong is this guy?!
Nick: I don’t know, but Tchu will find out in a couple weeks!
Titan goes to work on Gildenstern, delivering clubbing blow after blow. A sidewalk slam follows. The impact shakes the ring. The giant doesn’t relent, picking his opponent up and sending him over with a belly to belly suplex
Nick: Titan is on a role!
Suddenly, Nackedy is back in the ring and slamming a fist into Titan’s face. The seven footer responds by picking Ian up and tossing him with a one handed body slam Gildenstern takes the moment to climb back to his feet, and a three man brawl erupts.
Tchu tries to separate the bunch and in doing so, accidentally catches Titan with an elbow.
Richard: Yess!
Nick: That was an accident!
Richard: Whatever! You’re in denial that everyone’s hero just might be turning to the dark side
Clearly pissed, Titan attempts to shove Tchu, but the ref sidesteps, and the two huge hands slam into Nackedy’s chest, sending him flying back into the corner, bouncing off the turnbuckle.
From his spot outside the ring, Hall reaches in and slaps Titan on the shoulder, as the two CIV opponents continue to exchange words.
Nick: And now the 5 Star champ is the legal man.
Hall charges Gildenstern with a rising elbow, then fires off a flurry of right hands that ricochet off of the detectives brow. Gildenstern swings a huge left hook in retaliation but Hall ducks behind and locks up the big man, then spikes him with the Caananite Suplex
Nick: Caananite Suplex! That’s got to be it!
Hall hooks the leg but no count comes.
Richard: Nothing!
That is until, Titan abandons his words with Tchu and just stops to point towards the pin. Tchu turns to look, the slides into place to do his job.
ONE…
TWO…
THREE!
DING! DING! DING!
Winners: Titan and Hall
Nick: That’s it!
Richard: He made the count…
Nick: I told you he would be fair!
Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen… your winners of the match… Titan St. Jaaaaaammmmesss and Easton Haaaaalllll!!!
Tchu rolls under the nearest bottom rope and makes his way up the ramp, walking backwards, his eyes locked on Titan St. James. Hall joins his partner in the unpleasant stare, and shortly Nackedy does the same.
Richard: What a crazy finish.
Nick: None of these men seem happy right now.
Richard: Sound and the Fury better worry about what they have in stock for CIV… and if Hall were smart, he’d do the same, otherwise, he’ll be leaving Seattle minus twenty pounds of gold.
Nick: A very good point. Meanwhile… the tension between Titan and Tchu just continues to build!
Richard: God Bless Colossus… giving everyone plenty to worry about for four years now.
Ain’t that the truth.
Pepsi is Weaker than Coke
His eyes snap open as he narrowly dodges Chainz's rhino-charge. The huge brute slams shoulder-first into the vending machine, dropping to a knee. The Canadian Dragon snaps his foot up, catching Chainz under the jaw and sending him backwards. A can of Coca-Cola drops into the bottom of the machine. Easton snatches up the can and hurls it at Chainz, hitting him just above the eye.
From behind, blond-haired Jason Snow catches Easton in a sleeperhold. Snow's eyes blaze hot as he squeezes down, trying to choke the life out of Easton. Summoning what strength he can, Easton throws himself backwards into the wall. Jason Snow gasps as air is driven out of him, his grip slackening. Easton hammers his elbow into Snow's side and grabs the man by the hair, ramming him face-first into the front of the vending machine.
Incensed, Easton grabs at Snow's hair again. He's only able to land a few rights before security swarms from both sides, grabbing Easton bodily and tearing him away from the Original Villain. Easton struggles for a bit, but eventually he simply pulls away and walks off down the hall. Easton tugs at his beard, trying to work off a little of that anger as he storms down the corridor.
Shouting at Snow and Chainz wouldn't help anything. For now, he just had to walk away.
Dude...Lisa's Office. Tonight. Ten Kegs. Be There.
Tyler: I thought I had asked for the both of you to come here.
Nova: Troy? Don’t be daft, Lisa. She’s not at your beck-and-call…although saying that makes me feel kind of whipped.
Tyler: Well, seeing as how I ordered her to come in here, then she better learn to be.
Nova: Yeah, I don't think she takes orders very well.
Tyler: I hadn't noticed.
Nova: So, what can I do you for, boss lady?
Tyler: Cute.
Nova: I’d use three of those letters to descri-
Then, the door opens again and in walks a pissed-off Sonny Silver. His eyes are fixed on Tyler with a menacing glare, but he raises his hand in the air for a blind high-five that Nova dutifully slaps him.
Tyler: Hi, Sonny, over here. I know you find him cute and all, but I really don't have the patience for all of this.
Silver: Bitch, unless the next words out of your mouth include the words, "Sonny, you'll be getting into the ring with Lindsay Troy,'" your service is about as necessary to me as girls to Chandler Tsonda.
Nova: HOOOOOOO~!
Silver: I try.
Tyler: Nevermind, assholes. So, I've got Nova and Silver. Yet, I can't get Troy and Ferguson to come on in here. Seriously, does nobody listen to authority anymore?
Silver: Did I stutter the first time? Caesar, did you not hear me compare her usefulness to me to the fact that Chandler Tsonda bites pillows?
Nova: Aye. I heard it.
Tyler: Shut up, the both of you.
There's a knock at the door and all three draw their attention to it.
Silver: That must be Ferguson. Lord knows he doesn't know how to turn one of those things. (Yelling at the door) It's called a doorknob! You put your hand on it, and, I don't know, turn the fucking thing! I couldn't have scrambled your fucking Ginger brains THAT much!
The door to Lisa’s office swings open and the massive frame of Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas steps into the room. All eyes are drawn to the bodyguard/volunteer firefighter, and breath is drawn in to anticipate the arrival of the man whom he proceeds, a lightning rod in this crowd, sure to throw everything into chaos...
...except Dam pulls the door closed behind him and steps inbetween Nova and Sonny.
Lisa Tyler: That’s it?
Dametreyus cocks an eyebrow, then slowly turns around to check behind him, surveying the room. He returns to an upright position, then realizes she was talking to him and gives a "who, me?" self-point. Lisa’s body language says "YES YOU!" and a few other four-letter words I don’t feel comfortable typing out.
Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: Ma’am, if you is questioning my ability to adequately fulfill yo’ needs-
Lisa Tyler: Where is Danny?!
Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: Mr. Ferguson sends his regards but is unable to attend due to the intense pre-match preparations he is currently engaged in.
Lisa sighs, and Nova and Sonny can’t help but snicker at the excuse.
Sonny Silver: Do you have any ‘intense pre-match preparations’?
Nova takes a drag of his cigarette and lets a cloud of blue smoke curl out over their heads.
Nova: You’re looking at them.
Lisa Tyler: Whatever. Fine. Let’s just get Troy in here and we’ll get going.
Silver: If Troy sets foot in this room while I'm in it, her brains are being splattered across this floor.
Silver looks around, readying himself for a fight. Nova just glances at Sonny and shakes his head in disbelief.
Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: Oh, uh, she ain’t comin’ neither.
Lisa Tyler: EXCUSE ME?
Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: Uh, yeah, I saw her in the hall and she said somethin' like 'blah blah blah, give Sonny the finger.'
Lisa glowers as Dametreyus shrugs, turns to Sonny, and does just that. Sonny gives Dametreyus a glower of his own.
Lisa Tyler: So she's not coming, despite my telling her to, and she has yet to give me or anyone an answer to this creep's challenge.
Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: She said you might bring that up.
And again, with an air of indifference, Dametreyus gives Sonny the other finger.
Lisa Tyler: What does that even MEAN?!
Dametreyus Fuqueiawytas: I just do what I'm told, ma'am.
Tyler: ARGH!
Nova: The sign language lesson was fun and all, but can we discuss why we're actually here?
Tyler: We could, except I'm waiting for some more people to come on in.
Nova: Oh yeah? (Cupping his hands to his mouth) WHOOOOOO~! PARTY AT LISA’S!! HER PARENTS ARE IN THE HAMPTONS FOR THE WEEKEND!!
Then, the door explodes open and in walks Dusk, tied together with Shakur, Winters, and Lavelle. Dusk is obviously not happy and has forced the group into the room so he can figure out what exactly is going on. The other three just look on, bored by all of this.
Tyler: Well, we actually have this entire group show up, which I didn't think would be so hard since they're roped together.
Dusk: Yeah, this idea? Worst idea ever. Tyler, if you don't get me off of this thing with these idiots, then I'm just going to kill myself.
Tyler: That would solve so many of my problems, trust me, it would. But, that would also not help with the ratings or my merchandising, so I'm going to have to ask you to put a hold on that. Instead, I need you to just shut up and pay attention to what I have to say.
Shakur: Listen, if it's about Communism Night--
Winters: Shut up, Devin.
Lavelle: God, this has been going on all night.
Tyler: Which is what I wanted to happen. Unfortunately, it would appear that you guys are even more annoyed with each other then when we began. I was hoping that you guys would learn to deal with each other until the match, but I see that's not happening.
Dusk: Damn skippy.
Tyler: And with Nova and Troy, Ferguson and Silver not being able to work with each other either, you all are just giving me headaches at every turn.
Dusk: Where is Troy?
Tyler: Not here.
Dusk: What I'd give to be in her shoes...
Lavelle: What'd you give to be in her pants is more like it.
Dusk then turns towards Lavelle and is ready to choke his opponent and foe out right then and there.
Dusk: Look, I'm about five seconds away from wrapping this rope around your neck and snapping it off.
Lavelle: I'd love to see you try.
Dusk: Oh, good!
Silver: Let them do it. Two less contenders to any titles around here.
Dusk starts walking towards Lavelle, but Tyler slams her fist into the desk. Everyone looks at her, wondering what is going on here.
Tyler: Listen and listen good! I'm tired of all this. Tired! Our insurance has gone through the roof. Riots at every turn, equipment being destroyed, this is just not working! You eight are involved in three of the top matches at Colossus and I need you to stop destroying every arena we walk into, corrupting every city we stop at.
Silver: I still, technically, don't have a match because that bitch of a Universal Champ sees fit to string me along.
He glares at the Intense Title Crew and smirks.
Silver: Pun very much intended.
Tyler: SHUT YOUR PIE HOLE FOR TWO SECONDS, SILVER!
Radio silence. Lisa huffs and puffs and then calms herself down.
Tyler: At next week's ReVolution, I'm going to put you all in tag teams and we're going to have you off against one another!
Winters: Oh come on!
Tyler: No, don't talk back, don't say anything. I've made up my mind. Lavelle, you're teaming up with Troy. Winters, you've got Ferguson. Shakur, you'll be teaming up with Sonny Silver. Dusk, you'll be teaming up with Nova. Now, do you understand?
Dusk: Look, I don't know if this is a go--
Tyler: I don't recall asking if you think it's a good idea or a bad idea. This is what's happening and that's it! So, shut up and get the hell out of my office. IMMEDIATELY!
All seven men look at Tyler but know there is no use. They turn around and walk out of the office. They all stare at each other before they walk off in different directions, or at least try to as Dusk, Shakur, Winters, and Lavelle are all still tied together.
Making the Right Choice
Walczak: Seems like somebody just can’t leave their past behind.
Gamble: Oh, Tom…Is it alright if I call you Tom, or do you prefer Punisher, Walczak, actually it doesn’t make much of a difference right. It’s not that I am focusing on the past, far from it, it is the near-future on which I am focused. I just want to get all my poses down, so the fans don’t have to suffer through another bland champion like Hall.
Walczak: I give you props for thinking ahead, but if it’s up to Rayne, and Big Bear, you won’t have a chance at ever getting your hands on that belt again.
Gamble: Come on Walczak, I told you earlier we are tag partners against those two, of course if it was up to them I wouldn’t get a shot. Use you head a little. Now, if you can just leave now, I have to get back to looking at myself.
Walczak: You know, I did use my head that’s why I’m here. I could have just kept my mouth shut, and made sure that you really did never get your shot, but I respect you seeking me out earlier, and you may be right it may be to my advantage to form a partnership with you, but if you want me to leave.
Gamble turns towards Walczak, but finds it hard to tear his eyes away from his reflection. Finally he manages to distance himself, and catches Walczak before the big man can exit the locker room.
Gamble: Hey, hold on there. No need to leave so quickly. Come inside have a drink I got plenty in the cooler, so don’t hold back.
Walczak: I don’t think I need any buttering up, and we both know that if I wanted anything to drink I would have already had it. I just want you to listen.
Gamble: I’m all ears.
Walczak: Alright, now pay attention carefully. Rayne, and Munsoon….want me to throw the match.
Gamble: WHAT!!!! THEY WANT….WHAT!!!
Walczak: Calm down, calm down. Don’t go all Danica Patrick on me, and start stomping your feet on the ground.
Gamble: Well, I just don’t know how they could try and do this, and behind my back no less. I mean I just didn’t expect it from them. To tell you the truth I wish I thought of it myself.
Walczak: You got nothing to worry about. The only compensation they offered me was a shot if one of them won the title. I really don’t feel too confident with either one of them winning. On one hand you got Rayne, over and over I have beat his ass, and I really don’t feel he is championship material. Then there is Big Bear, do I really have to say anything. I’m surprised the guy can make his way to the ring without getting lost.
Gamble: You know when I talked to you earlier, I wasn’t sold on the fact that we would work well, mesh, you know. I do have to say though this could be quite the partnership. Now, I have an idea of how to let our friends know you won’t be joining them anytime soon.
Walczak and Gamble continue to talk among themselves seemingly trying to scheme a way to get at Rayne and Big Bear.
An Answer
Then, there’s this guy. "Big Bear" Munson Monsoon. At the moment, lacing his tennies and wondering just where he and ol’ Cabby might end up next. "Big Bear" Munson Monsoon, the manliest man to ever be a man in the name of all mankind. With his Brillo pad quaff of blond and sweater o’ chest hair, an innocent, good intentioned smile beneath that epic mustache. Let’s face it, Munson’s so much man he’s got more hair on his knuckles than most men can grow on their face. The guy probably finished puberty at age seven.
But right now he has to finish tying his shoe. A simple procedure interrupted by the sudden appearance of his soon-to-be-partner, Tyler Rayne. Insert women cheering here. Munson takes a moment to stare at the smaller man, curling his lip in something not quite a sneer.
Rayne: Look, man, I just wanted to apologize again for the whole beer thing. Really wasn’t…I mean, Gamble’s so small. I just…it’s my bad, man.
The ‘Soon nods, placing one big foot down on the floor before erecting to his full height. Which happens to be a hell of a lot taller than Tyler Rayne. Munson steps right up to Rayne, effectively looking down upon his Colossus partner.
Rayne: So this is what it feels like to be Tony Gamble.
For a moment, Munson holds a very serious glare. It doesn’t last long. His demeanor changes to the more usual jolly giant, a wide smile stretching his cheeks and a booming laugh echoing through the locker room. He slaps Rayne across the back. It’s a friendly gesture. Supposedly harmless. But the big galoot doesn’t quite know his own strength, nor does he seem to notice that the impact of his palm has knocked the gum from Rayne’s mouth and shortened his breath.
Munson: You’re an all right guy, Rayne. Comin’ here like this. Man enough to apologize. Means a lot. Besides, we gotta act like partners if we’re gonna win at Colossus, right?
Rayne: Right. About that. You haven’t talked to Polish yet, have you?
Munson: Nope. Haven’t seen ‘im.
The Big Bear turns back to the locker, gathering the last of his belongings. Rayne begins to exit the room, but pauses before his hand quite turns the handle.
Rayne: Hey, I’ll tell ya what. How ‘bout we find a nice pub somewhere close, I buy you a few beers? Make up for that little incident earlier. Least I can do.
Munson turns, smiling. Nothin’ like a beer to get straight to a man’s heart. Before he can respond, however, a knock on the door turns both their attention from the conversation at hand. Rayne shrugs, opening the door. And there, standing with his namesake all across that pretty little mug, is Tony Gamble. Unfortunately for him, Tyler Rayne looks right over The Grin’s head, ignoring the fact that his upcoming opponent is even there at all. With another shrug Rayne slams the door.
Rayne: Huh. That was weird.
Big Bear raises a finger, about to question what he just saw, when another knock brings Rayne’s attention back to the door. This time when he opens it, Gamble makes sure to clear his throat, which brings Rayne’s eyes down to bear upon him.
Rayne: Oh. Gamble. Sorry, I didn’t even see you there.
And the door shuts again. This time when Rayne turns, there’s an accomplished smile stretched across his face. It’s almost too easy. The third knock is much less of that, and much more of a pounding. The kind of severe and powerful beating that drops a door flat off its hinges. Right on top of the man that may have been standing in front of it.
The grin couldn’t be wider as the former 5-Star Champion steps across the fallen door, which thusly ensures he steps across Rayne beneath it, and stops to stare right at Munson Monsoon. Munson’s not about to back down, of course, not even from a PRIME veteran like Gamble.
Munson: There a problem here, little man?
Gamble: Problem? No. I’ve got no problems at all. You two, however…
The two hold gaze long enough for Rayne to remove the door, standing to rub at the sore spot in his back.
Rayne: Ow.
He moans and whines a bit more, eyes turning toward the door as the fourth of their merry little band, Tom Walczak, squeezes through the opening. Well, that explains the whole collapsing door thing.
Walczak: Or I’ll blow your house down.
Gamble: So, Walczak and I have been doin’ a little talking lately. Very interesting conversation. Seems you’ve been up to a lot of plotting, the two of you.
Munson: We could get to a lot of pounding, if you’d prefer.
Gamble: Yes, I’m sure you’d love to "pound my ass," Bear. That’s a clever plan you two came up with. Not very…face of you, but—
Rayne: Like you wouldn’t have done the same thing.
The Grin earning his name. Add a shrug.
Rayne: I take this little meeting to mean you won’t be rolling with that plan then, eh Polish?
A big solid punch to the mush is his answer. Rayne stumbles backward, nearly falling right down on his ass. Rayne rubs his jaw, trying to ignore the pain shooting through his head.
Rayne: I’ll take that as a no.
Gamble: We just wanted to stop by and give you two notice. You’ve got a fight on your hands at Colossus. And you’re not going to win.
Munson: Scary comin’ from the midget here.
Tony Gamble just shakes his head, turning to take his leave of the place. Walczak remains for an extra second, ensuring that neither seem to be up for following. Satisfied with their stationary status, he gives an unfriendly smile before exiting as well.
Rayne: Friendly lot.
Munson: Oh yeah. Great guys. Maybe we should take them out for drinks.
Rayne: Drinks my ass. Them boys need to get laid. Yeah, I’m gonna go uh…I dunno. Wander. Hope I bump into Lindsay Troy or something. Grab a Cod Red. You be good in like, ten?
Munson: That’ll be plenty of time, buddy.
Now it’s Tyler Rayne’s turn to leave the locker room. Or attempt to, anyway. It’s unfortunate, at least for him, that before he’s taken a second step out of the door, Tom Walczak has returned, driving a mammoth shoulder into the abdomen of Rayne, lifting him straight off the ground in some sort of football maneuver I don’t know the name for. Walczak carries Rayne all the way to the back of the wall, slamming him hard against the lockers and proceeding to rain heavy with the fists of fury.
Tony Gamble, unbelievable as it may be, literally rode Walczak like a mule to get in. Seriously. He’s on the guy’s back. Well, he was. Now he’s diving off like some kind of spider monkey, leaping right onto Monsoon’s face and releasing with the unrelenting rights and lefts. Those two fall to the ground, rolling about and trading blows, while Rayne resorts to that ol’ thumb to the eye trick to get the Polish Punisher off of him. Walczak stumbles back, giving Rayne a chance to catch his breath. Walczak, however, doesn’t look to be repeating last week. He immediately grabs a steel chair, because all locker rooms have steel chairs laying around, and rushes at Rayne. Rayne jumps up, a nice looking dropkick that pops the chair right back in Walczak’s face, sending the big man flat on his ass and out for just a moment.
But a moment is all he needs. Rayne grabs the chair, turning to observe the other brawl. Tony Gamble is standing on the bench there, his back to Rayne, trading punches with Monsoon. Perfect. Rayne winds up, ready to deliver a blindside attack to The Grin.
Hey, Gamble, your Spider-Sense is tingling.
Gamble: Oh. Thanks.
Gamble dives out of the way, leaving Rayne to swing right through empty air. And right onto Munson’s head. Yeah. Ker-pow! And shit. Munson’s eyes roll up, unfortunate for him that Rayne wasn’t thinking to hold back on Gamble.
Rayne: Oh, fuck me. C’mon!
And while Rayne’s all remorseful and upset about his second screw-up this evening, Gamble knocks him back on his ass with a spinning heel kick.
Munson, being the tough sumnabitch that he is, is standing, trying to shake off the impact of the chair. But by now Walczak has returned to his feet, a full head of steam right across the locker room that ends with a decapitating clothesline to Munson.
Polish Hammer, bitches!
So Munson’s all turned inside out and left for unconscious. Which leaves Rayne, stunned and silly-like, instinctively rising to his feet. Couldn’t be more ripe pickings for Gamble, who takes Rayne by the hair and slams him face first down onto that chair.
Stop Laughing At Me, prick!
Gamble and Walczak both take a moment to relish in the bloodied and beaten bodies of their future opponents.
Gamble: Now that was satisfying.
Walczak: Shit yeah.
Out of the Frying Pan...
Nova: So…wild night so far, huh?
Sonny chooses to say nothing at the onset of Nova's question as he uses a towel to wipe the sweat from his hair. After a very grueling battle alongside Devin Shakur against The UPstarts, all he wants to do was relax and ponder the days ahead. There are still two weeks until PRIME's biggest show of the year and he doesn’t know whether or not the match is going to happen.
Silver: Yeah.
That's all he gets out as he refuses to take his eyes off the fitted cast adorning his right hand. The Risen Star nods slowly, eyebrows arching.
Nova: Riiiight…listen, buddy. When you’re busted up inside, you can’t hide it from ol’ Nov, even behind that ridiculous beard of yours.
Sonny cocks an eyebrow that says "What the hell are YOU calling a ridiculous beard? Your beard won the Paul Bunyan memorial trophy at last years Nationwide Beard-Off, the equivalent to the Palme d’Or at Cannes!"…but still says nothing.
Nova: (Taking a drag) Oh, Jesus Jerked-Off Christ, Sonny, I’ve spent the last half an hour gabbing to this oil painting in the chair next to me (gesturing to Silver) about my fuckin’ beef with Ferguson, and you don’t open your trap one time – which, don’t get me wrong, is in some ways a relief from that MR. SILVER, CHAIRMAN OF I WON’T SHUT THE FUCK UP shtick you rocked for the last year and a half – but I know this shit is seriously bothering you, and bothering me too, honestly, given that you’ve put me into kind of a ‘wishbone’ position here with Lindz, and I…
Silver: LAST WEEK, I SAID ALL I NEEDED TO SAY ABOUT THAT TRAMP! SO LEAVE IT BE, CAESAR!
The Risen Star holds his hands up (after flicking his butt away), and pauses for a moment.
Nova: Okay. Now I’m not gonna kick you in the face for yelling at me because I love ya, but we need to have a talk. You don’t have any friends left, asshole, because you’re an asshole. But you have me, and I’ve always seen through the bullshit. Remember you always managed to drop the Mr. Silver thing when you really needed to talk about shit. Now you’re being eaten up over something, and with Hoyt as my witness I will find out what it is. But I can’t do it. I need you, and I need…
He pulls a doobie from behind his ear and holds it up into the light.
Nova: …High Inquisitor Mary Jane Burningrass. Now I personally don’t care if you smoke weed or not, you and I are gonna burn this thing down and then you’re gonna spill it about what’s bothering you before you fuckin’ go ape-shit again and maybe bash another one of my friends’ heads in. Okay, actually, I take that last line back, I’m not doing too good in the Friends department either, so I’ll rephrase that as "before you hurt Lindz again." Sound good?
Sonny opens his mouth to protest, but Nova sparks the fat cone joint.
Nova: …good.
Ten minutes later…The room is hazy, the air translucent as a calming cloud hovers above the heads of Nova and Son-MR. STONER, CHAIRMAN OF CHRONIC!
Silver continues to cough up some smoke. What's eerie is that he hasn't QUITE succumbed to the potent drug like Nova is starting to, but he looks more… I dunno, loose? About as loose as a man harboring a lot of anger could be.
Silver: The bitch broke my hand, Caesar. She's your friend, but she's not mine and whether you like it or not, what I do to her once she accepts my challenge and steps between these ropes, she's going to pay and pay DEARLY…
In a very harsh, but quieter tone, he admires his cast again.
Silver: …I don't know anymore. All I see when I'm anywhere is Lindsay Troy. When I destroyed the Fife Posse and crushed away the last traces of that ACCURSED moniker underneath my boot, all I saw was her staring back at me. That's how much focus I have for this contest, C. Aside from your company… I don't want or NEED friends anymore. All that matters is taking this shot to win that Universal Title. This is a road to redemption for me and nobody, NOBODY is going to stop me from carrying out my objectives in Seattle… not even you.
Nova nods, looking down at the floor for a minute and letting Sonny’s words sink in before staring back up at his friend, red-eyed.
Nova: I’m not gonna preach to you, Sonny. Lord knows I’m in no position to…but right now, you sound like this angry kid I remember from around November of last year, giving the world the Finger and elevating the Universal Title up on some pedestal like it’s the only thing that matters.
Silver: Nice try, but C, you're not even thirty and you've still got years ahead of you in this business, whether you want to or not. You've achieved more than I have. I'm right below forty years old and the only thing I have to show for it is a mediocre title that I couldn't even achieve myself. I've been in this business twice as long as most of the people here and you know what I got to show for it? Notoriety. Notoriety and nothing more. For some of you who see the Universal Title and think it's a curse, it's my salvation. I have to win it. I HAVE to. There's no reset button for me anymore, Nova. And if I have to beat Lindsay Troy within an inch of her life to get it, then it must be done. It's not the only thing that matters to me, C. It's the ONLY thing. Period.
The Risen Star is quiet as his eyes stare off into space. He lights another cigarette.
Nova: My daughter is dead, Sonny. My wife is dead. You think there’s a reset button for that? I’ll have to live with the person I was for the rest of my life, and it isn’t gonna be a bucket of fucking champagne. I understand you’re facing the potential twilight of your career, and right now, you’re having the ‘mid-life crisis’ of wrestling. But think about things outside of titles and championships for a minute. A career can’t be measured by them. And people can’t become subsidiary to them. I’m just telling you, Sonny, from a man who’s made a few of the worst mistakes…if you let it consume you, it will, and even if the end result is that you get what you want…
He stands up, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder.
Nova: …instead of living in the forest, you’ll be king of an ash-heap. I’ll talk to you later, alright? I gotta be makin’ my way out towards ringside.
Silver: Yup.
He takes in everything Caesar says before nodding in a show of respect to his uber-high counterpart before watching him leave.
...and Into the Fire.
Nova: Damn, if only I could remember which…
Voice: Gorilla position’s this way, Caes.
Nova: (Jumping) YEEEAAGH!!
Pulling an about-face, Nova spins around to see the "Queen of the Ring" standing behind him, one hand on her hip and a bemused expression on her face.
Nova: Lindz! LINDZ! HI!
She looks at him carefully, then gives an exasperated sigh.
Troy: You're stoned. Why am I not fucking surprised.
Nova: Was that a question? HAHAHAHAHA!!!~! Seriously, though, walk with me, talk with me. I’m headed towards the ring as you noticed, wanna come along for the ride? Stop off for Dippin’ Dots? Oh, hey, did you know we're in a supercrazywackyFUN! tag match next week?!
Troy: Dam told me. What's go--
Quickly, the Risen Star grabs Troy by the elbow and practically drags her with him in the opposite direction, cutting her off as her body jerks forward. After not getting very far, Lindsay shrugs him off and cocks a suspicious eyebrow.
Troy: Alright, something's going on. Besides reeking of pot, why are you acting so weird?
Nova fumbles in his pocket for a cigarette and overzealously yanks his pack of Camel Lights out, sending little nails-in-the-coffin flying in all directions. He snatches one up off the ground and lights it quickly.
Nova: Weird? WEIRD?! Really? No, I’m not…uh…not, uh…(glancing down at his wrist where a watch would be) HOLY SHIT, LOOK AT THE TIME! Let’s go, doll! Can’t be late for my date with Ginger and his Viet man-servant, can I? Timeliness is next to godliness!
Troy: That’s ‘cleanliness,’ Caes. What the hell is up with you?
Nova mistakenly allows his eyes to dart for a moment back to the door from whence he came. Troy sees the flicker, and glances back herself before turning slowly back around to the Risen Star.
Troy: Who were you with in there?
Nova: NOBODY!
Troy: You’re a horrible liar, which is an endearing quality, don’t get me wrong…but I see through you. Who were you with?
Nova clamps his mouth shut, and suddenly Troy’s eyes go wide and then narrow as color rushes into her face.
Troy: Sonny’s in there, isn’t he?
She takes a step towards the door, but Nova grabs hold of her arm.
Nova: Lindz, wait!
Troy: Oh, isn't this precious.
She yanks her arm out of his grip.
Troy: Sticking up for him now. Ol' Caes clinging to the man who will eventually fuck him over like he's done to everybody else in his life. And make no mistake, he will fuck you over. In fact, I'd be willing to bet that if I didn't send him to the hospital with a broken hand, he would have beaten you down alongside the rest of your old running buddies. You're a piece of work, Nova.
All good humor, all relaxation, fades from the face of the Risen Star, and for a moment, the clouds gathering in his eyes are reminiscent of a very different person.
Nova: No, Lindz, you’re a piece of work.
He yanks her over to the wall, where another More than Hardcore…Starring Danny Ferguson! poster hangs.
Nova: (Pointing at Danny’s visage repeatedly) Douchebag! Douchebag! DOUCHEBAG! YOU’RE gonna talk to ME about hanging out with Sonny? Lindz, Danny came out on TELEVISION and confirmed that nothing, not you, not Killean or Tchu or anyone besides me, had anything to do with the way he acted all spring! He said it, in front of thousands of people, and still you wanna be Big Sis and pop up to ask him about his feelings every once in a while after he does something despicable? You’re the biggest hypocrite of all if you expect me to turn my back on Sonny for the same reasons I fired off to you about Danny!
He takes a drag of his cigarette and stares into her face.
Nova: Maybe Sonny would have joined in with the others. Maybe not. Thanks to you, we’ll never know for sure. But I do know that I’m the only person he’ll open up to, and he needs me making half-assed attempts to pull him out of this funk, or he’ll fuckin’ kill himself or someone else…
Taking a last drag, he flicks it away and blows the smoke above Troy’s head.
Nova: …and I really don’t want that person to be you, Lindz.
Troy: (with as much biting sarcasm as she can muster) Oh, well, your kindness and concern are both absolutely touching. Because really, when you get right down to it all, I did the Big Sis thing for you when you were still Runnin' With The Pack. But let's not go into just how much shit I caught for it. Let's the both of us realize that when I'm quick to call bullshit when it comes to you, I get my good-faith actions thrown right back in my face. I didn't see you trying to help me out when Sonny was kicking my face into my head, but Danny "Douchebag" was. Danny "Hey, fuck you guys, it was all an act" Ferguson actually thought about someone else for longer than a nanosecond when the chips were down.
For the third time, she yanks herself out of his grasp.
Troy: You know what? I can't win with any of you. I try to stay out of it, I get reeled back in. And you're the one who's doing most of the reeling and I can't seem to get the hook out of my lip.
Nova steps back, holding his arms out.
Nova: You can’t win, Lindz?! You HAVE won! You’ve got the belt! You’ve got top booking in the biggest show of the year! You have the fans throwing themselves down on the ground so you don’t have to dirty your Chuck Taylors! You have me following you around like a fucking lap-dog! You have Ferguson marking you down on his Super-Exclusive Three-Person List of People Not to Be a Complete Fuckwad towards! You have it all, Lindsay! And you ask where I was when Sonny flipped out on you? Across the fucking arena, guilty as charged, not watching the monitors. You say Danny the Puce Knight came to your rescue? Do you have amnesia? He was locked out of the hallway because he walked away from you when you were practically BEGGING him to listen - something you never see me do, although you’re starting to tempt me!
Troy: You know what I have, Caesar? I have a belt that a man out of his mind wants to maim me for. I have two fairly close friends of mine wanting to rip each others heads off and they both resent me for still being friends with their enemy. And I have my signed divorce papers weighing down my travel bag. Tell me, does this look like I "have it all" to you?
The Risen Star takes a deep breath, his internal cooling fan working at 9600x.
Nova: Lindz, I don’t resent you for staying friends with Danny…at least I’m trying not to. What I resent is you expecting me to do any different with Sonny…and I’m sorry about Melton. If I’d known a year ago that it wouldn’t work out, I’d take back every joke I ever…
Troy: Don't lie to my face, Caesar. You and I both know you've prayed for Melton and I to not work out.
Nova starts to interject, but Troy shakes her head.
Troy: Don't. And at least Danny apologized for dragging me into things and for turning his back two weeks ago. As far as Sonny's concerned, I expect you to get it through your head that he only has friends when it's convenient for him. He'll drop you like a sack of bricks at the first inkling of him not needing you for a venting buddy anymore.
Nova: Not like Danny, who got a whole boatload of new friends in order to get closer to me, and now that he realizes you aren’t gonna choose me over him, and that my only other ally is out of his mind, he’s got his old friend back – oh, wait, I’m sorry, his old partner back. Yes, I do believe if you actually go back to last week’s tapings, you’ll see Danny and Chan-Chan sipping bubbly and laughing about how they’d bury one another without batting a lash or breaking a nail if they smelled a gain involved. That’s the best relationship Danny will ever have with anyone, Lindz, and the reason he and Tsonda were made to be a sexually ambiguous duo…admittance up front of their insatiable desires to further their own agendas with no regard to anyone else.
Troy: Well, since you've got a real nose for sniffing rats out, I'd caution you about being careful out there and to not forget what your own partner for the night is capable of. But you'll probably just scoff and tell me that I'm being silly. And if you really want to start not listening to me, just remember who's been right about nearly everything the past nine or so months and who's really been there for you.
The Risen Star doesn’t need to search for his next words.
Nova: Fair enough…but while you’re busy ‘being there’ for everyone, take a moment every now and then to remember who really appreciates it; not Danny Ferguson, not Joey fucking Melton…
He lights another cigarette, and trains his grey-blue eyes on the Queen of the Ring.
Nova: …me.
That said, he walks past her and down the hall towards the gorilla position.
Nova and The Illustrious Face Eater vs. Danny Ferguson and Chandler Tsonda
Richard: Tsonda. Ferguson. My wee willy lizard is standing straight up.
Nick: Your…what?
Richard: I’m always looking at ways to duck the censors.
And just like that, shit is on like your mom’s vibrator. Gaudy, vaguely European lights start flashing and the lights dim. Starlight Orchestra’s version of the Rocky theme starts up with the familiar horn sequence, followed by the full orchestra section. And with each "dun dun DUUUUUUUUUN," the late note is emphasized by blue pyrotechnics. In effect, this bastardizes the sweet early section of the song, but announces the far more important fact…that Chandler Tsonda and Danny Ferguson are about to be in the building.
Richard: They should be allowed to have an infinite budget for entrance splendor.
And like a record skipping, the PA system keeps replaying that one dark little section of the song that goes to the low note, then the note extends…and in drop nasty fuckin’ drums, followed by a young woman’s request:
Ooooh, rock me, Amadeus.
The dudes’ voices reiterate the statement and then the synthesizer kicks up, while Chandler Tsonda steps out from behind the curtain. One of the aforementioned data lackeys is still The cheers are few and far aplenty, the boos very familiar. Cue lots of pointing to the crowd and posing.
Nick: Are you serious with this theme music?
Richard: Serious as balls of cancer in Kyle Lamen’s body.
And after the first trip through the completely ridiculous up-and-down "Amadeus" chorus, something far more grimy rears its head.
Konvict.
Ascending synth.
Chyea!
Akon and Young Jeeeeeeezay…tryna take it eaaaaaaaaaasay! Only way tooooooooo go…and so….
LET’S GIT IT!
Drop that fiery hammer of street bass to introduce a fairly street guy. With Chandler Tsonda waiting the wings, D-Ferg steps out in a manner more regal than usual.
Richard: What a stud tag team. You rarely see talent together on a team like this.
Nick: You mean like Nova and Face-Eater? Who will be out here within seconds?
The two remaining shards of the A-List’s broken but still shimmery, gleaming light slide into the ring, offering up some trash talk to the crowd. Tension abounds, waiting for their foes.
"The blind stares of million pairs of eyes
Lookin' hard but won't realize
That they'll never see
The P."
G-Funk, blarring.
C-Walk, cripping.
Nova and the Face-Eater, str8 west coasting.
Nick: Whoa!
Richard: You must be going blind, Nick!
The late (and very great) 2Pac's "Can't C Me" echos throughout the halls and two very dear friends, the Face-Eater and Nova, step from outside the curtain with smiles on their face. Facey, having faced the wrath of Jason Snow earlier in the night, moves a bit slower than his partner who Crip Walks well enough to make W.C. sit down in fear of being embarrassed.
Ignore the irony presented by the fact that 2Pac repped the Bloods while these two C-Walk up and down the aisle. Or you might get shot.
The two slap as many hands as they can on their way to ringside. They then slide into the ring as Pac fades like the messiah of the West Coast that he is, allowing Vince Howard to announce the match and participants as he planned.
Nick: Well, it's hard to believe that we'd ever see these two on the same side when they're palms aren't glued together, but here we are!
The two perform a fist pound, deciding that Nova should be the first man in (on account of Facey being a coward and Nova being thirsty for blood).
On the other side of the ring, Danny has since used the most backwards form of logic ever concocted by a human brain to convince Chandler that it's because Danny hates Nova that he should start first.
After arguing for more than eight minutes (including three games of paper rock scissors that, despite losing, Danny insists do not count) Chan enters the ring to start the bout.
The bell rings, as Nova and Tsonda begin circling each other. Nova is vicious on the attack, shoving Chan down after the lock-up in a brute display of his force.
Richard: Show-off!
Chandler shakes his finger, as if to say "no you don't" before getting to his feet, again the two lock up.
Nick: Chandler, so far not showing any ring rust, takes early control.
In a headlock, Nova forces Chandler to the ropes, whipping him to the other side before flattening him with a shoulder block. He himself then takes to the ropes, hopping over Chan before he jumps to his feet.
Tsonda goes for the clothesline, but Nova ducks and boots him to the stomach. After taking a step back, he makes a quick charge and knees Chandler right in the chest, knocking him to the ground.
Nick: The fans are on their feet! The Risen Star quickly works over the Rising Tson!
Richard: Something's not right with that...
As Chandler gets to a knee, the surge from the crowd serves to empower Nova that much more. He quickly takes the returning superstar in a scoop before slamming him down, much to the delight of the fans.
Nick: Face-Eater is fuming!
Richard: He wants in.
Nick: Revenge on his former team-mates, of course.
Richard: Are you even sure they were team-mates, Nick?
Nova glances at Facey, then at the crowd, everyone is going bonkers!
Nova motions to the crowd, as if to ask, "Should this mother fucker get the tag?"
And of course, an ape-shit-like reaction ensues. What the fuck does Facey need to do--slap more hands? Impossible.
Irrelevant. Nova makes the fucking tag.
Nick: And the Illustrious Face-Eater is in!
With Tsonda down, Facey goes on the offensive, stomping a proverbial mudhole and causing Tsonda to proverbially yelp in pain. He pulls that perfectly-arranged hair and along with it, ends up pulling a tallish Asian man to his feet. An elbow to the chest sends Tsonda reeling, after which Face goes with several backhand chops.
WHOO!
Another chop.
WHOO!
Choppin’ like a lumberjack.
WHOO!
Richard: It’s just a backwards hand on a chest, you apes.
Facey goes to the well one too many times. His next attempt backfires, with Tsonda catching his arm and immediately stepping behind him with a hammerlock. Post-haste, the Model Citizen puts his other arm around Face’s neck, modifying a Dragon Sleeper for the current situation.
Nick: Deft moves from Chandler Tsonda in the face of Adam Dick’s good momentum!
Richard: Deft…rofl.
Keeping the lock on, Tsonda brings Face-Eater’s back down directly on his kneecap, a nice little kneeling backbreaker if’n ya please.
Nick: That’s the Spinal Tap, one of the moves Tsonda designed specifically to slow down opponents.
Richard: As opposed to his multitude of moves intended to strengthen the opponent?
Nick: If I weren’t here, would you find a way to argue with yourself?
Tsonda goes for a quick cover, hooking the leg and hoping for a surprise pin.
One…
Two…
NOPE!
A kickout by Face-Eater gets the crowd going a bit more and serves the purpose of annoying Tsonda a bit more. He runs at the ropes, braces himself in a millisecond on the second rope, and flies backwards with a wicked Asai Moonsault.
Nick: Nobody home!
Indeed, Face had the wherewithal to hit the road before Tsonda hit him. Now Tsonda’s in pain on the mat, despite a nice aerial display. Face pulls himself up using the ropes and looks down at Chandler, who’s cursing his own mistake.
Richard: Great wrestlers take risks when needed.
Face-Eater lets himself fall to the mat with a double knee drop to the chest of Chandler Tsonda. After hopping to his feet and waiting for the Model Citizen to do the same, he issues a stiff shin kick. Tsonda hops up onto one leg to take the pressure of the recently-attacked one, but Face counters this by grabbing his head and relocating it on the mat.
Nick: Face looks confident in the ring and as sharp as we’ve seen him.
Richard: He also has avoided giving any titty twisters so far.
Nick: Great wrestlers twist nips when needed.
Both men are up, but a little bit more slowly after the impact upon the canvas. Facey tries swinging lariat, but Tsonda ducks then catches the Face as he turns back around with a spinning heel kick!
Richard: Glass jaw punks be warned; PRIME’s kick specialist is back.
A woozy Face stumbles back into the ropes, bounces off, and throws a wild punch that Tsonda easily dodges. The missed punch sends Face into the middle of the ring, allowing Tsonda the opportunity to hook his arms and try a pinning crucifix.
One…
Two…
ThreeNO!
Face just barely powers out of the angled pin, unhooking himself partially. However, with his other hooked arm, Tsonda pulls Facey back up and monkey tosses him to the mat. He doesn’t release the arm, continuing with two more monkey tosses, finally finished off with Facey hitting the mat and Tsonda’s falling elbow meeting his throat.
Nick: Not exactly the greatest sportsmanship being shown here by Tsonda.
Richard: He’s flipping the script. And there is no expressly written rule that says "do not place elbow on windpipe".
Chandler drags Facey to the ropes, where some nifty maneuvering gets his leg stuck in between the two middles ropes. Unable to go anywhere, Face is forced to endure several stiff kicks to the exposed chest before the official cuts the malarkey.
With the pause, Tsonda bides his time waiting for Face to rise. And by the time his former teammate has all his wits about him, Tsonda is in place for a kick to the side, which in turn allows him to put Facey back down with a side facebuster.
Nick: I’m surprised we haven’t seen more hit-and-run from the self-proclaimed "Superstars".
Richard: It’s Tsuperstar.
Nick: How the hell would one differentiate?
Richard: Work smarter, not harder.
A nifty standing senton follows and leaves Tsonda immediately in place for a cover.
One…
Two…
ThrNO!
Nick: Nice acrobatics, but it’s just not enough to put down a competitor like Adam Dick.
Richard: You can’t keep a good Dick down.
Chandler heads to the corner turnbuckle, climbing to the second rope. From there, he pushes himself high into the air and comes down directly on Face’s midsection with a picture-perfect leg drop. The landing ends up a little rough, though, so Tsonda rolls away from the prone Face in pain.
Nick: Tsonda’s idiosyncrasy about constant pinfalls might’ve been a good one to have right here.
Richard: He’s got a flair for the dramatic.
From his corner, Danny Ferguson tries to offer tacit advice to his teammate, who presently is hunched over.
Nick: It’s possible Chandler Tsonda has conditioning problems after such a long hiatus.
Richard: It’s also possible he just collided w/ canvas at high speeds.
Tsonda’s trip to his feet takes a while, but Face isn’t messing around with any of that monkey business. He’s crawling right for his corner which is inciting the crowd.
"NO-VA! NO-VA!"
Richard: Oh, so he’s a face this week?
Nick: The enigma known as Caesar Vega just connects with the fans. It’s not totally logical.
While Chandler is wasting time catching his breath and ignoring Danny’s warnings, Face lunges at his own corner and catches a sliver of Nova’s hand. This, in turn, sends the people into bonkers mode.
Nick: Not logical, but VERY loud, my friends!
Nova springs over the top rope and comes down firing on Tsonda. Shot after shot lands across the brow of the world's most marketable half-Vietnamese, half-Italian former fashion model-turned-pro-wrestler. Chandler is staggered and begins backing into the cables. There, Nova grabs his arm and Irish whips him across the ring. On the rebound, the Risen Star lunges into a swinging DDT.
Tsonda hits hard but gets back to his feet, dazed to the point of near sleepwalking. He walks right into a high dropkick from Nova and bails from the ring, although it's not entirely of his own volition.
Nick: Nova hitting the ring like a house of fire!
Richard: That really doesn't make sense. Does a house of fire throw dropkicks?
Nick: I...well, it's ju-...it's a metaphor.
Richard: For what?
Nick: Shut up.
Richard: Very mature.
Nick: (mocking) Very mature.
Nova jumps back to his feet, clapping his fans to get the fans into it. He sprints across the ring and puts an elbow into Danny Ferguson, who'd been standing on the apron, trash-talking with Facey from across the ring. The impact sends the two fierce rivals in opposite directions - Ferguson crashing into the barricade outside, and Nova rebounding across the ring. The Risen Star clears the ropes with a two-footed bound, corkscrews in the air and crashes into Tsonda, who had just barely recovered on the outside.
On the apron, Facey reacts like the little guy in a rap posse, jumping up and down and gesturing all like "DAAAAAAAYUM, DAWG!" while he bounces.
Nova hops back up and takes in the cheers of the crowd. He grabs Tsonda by his meticulously-gelled hair and throws him back into the ring. He follows up onto the apron and slingshots himself over the top rope and into a legdrop.
Richard: He's not the legal man!
Nick: Um, yes he is.
Richard: Meh. Worth a shot.
Tsonda is pulled up and into a vertical suplex. He sits up, grabbing his back, and Nova springs up, bouncing into a Mr. Perfect neck snap. From there, he rolls up, hops onto the bottom rope nearby, and jumps back into a low dropkick that catches Tsonda in the face.
Nick: The Risen Star is showing the form that kept the Universal Title around his waist for most of 2007!
Richard: Yeah. Too bad he's a vajayjay now.
The Model Citizen, on his stomach after the dropkick impact, tries to crawl toward his corner. Nova is up and after him. He grabs Tsonda by the belt, but Tsonda rolls forward, grabbing Nova's leg. He continues into a leglock, dragging Nova to the ground in a forced faceplant. Nova immediately scrambles to the the ropes and the hold is broken. Tsonda releases quickly - almost too quickly - and the reason is immediately obvious: with the ref checking on Nova, he doesn't notice the knee that Tsonda casually drives into the Risen Star's...um...comets.
Nick: Low blow!
Richard: Where? I didn't see anything?
Nova rolls to his butt and doubles over in pain. The official questions Tsonda, who plays dumb...an uncanny representation, really. Very convincing. Before the investigation continues further, Tsonda crawls to his corner and tags in Danny Ferguson.
Ferg storms the ring and charges right into a running knee on the former Uni champ. He pulls him out to the middle of the ring and quickly applies a rear chinlock, grinding on the hold and consequently bringing the match to a grinding halt.
Richard: Smart move there. Sloooooow this thing down, captain.
Nick: Right. Because coma-inducing rest holds equal ratings.
Richard: Oh, I'm sorry, what are your most recent box office numbers?
Nick: (mumbles)
Richard: Say what?
Nick: Nevermind.
Nova fights up out of the chinlock and Ferguson changes it to a side headlock. A few elbows to the midsection open the hold up, and Nova hits the ropes. On the rebound, Danny ducks his clothesline and drops into a toehold, stringing the Risen Star into the ropes. Immediately, he backs off, bumping the referee and going out of his way to argue. Meanwhile, outside the ring, Tsonda grabs Nova's head and starts strangling him across the ropes.
Nick: Come on! Do they have to resort to these tactics?
Danny finally pushes the ref away and charges across the ring. He throws a leg over the fallen frame of Nova just as Chandler lets go of his head. Ferg remains there for a second, enjoying the moment, then he steps back. He grabs the Risen Star by the head and pulls him back out toward the center of the ring. Instead of going for a boring headlock this time, though, he scoops Nova up and positions him for the Box Office Bomb!
Richard: Here we go! It's AAAAAAALLL over!!!!
Nick: Are you Mike Goldberg all of a sudden?
Richard: Was he the guy with the winning streak?
Nick: You're lame.
Nova is exhausted but not willing to give up that easily. He pumps his legs a few times and drops off Danny's shoulder into a Death Drop position, immediately hauling the Superstar up and hitting Bourbon For Breakfast!
The crowd roars at the reversal and both men are sprawled out, breathing heavy and barely responsive. The referee starts a ten count.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Nova begins to stir and rolls to his stomach. Danny, closer to his own corner, is barely moving, but his eyes are open.
FOUR!
FIVE!
Nova begins crawling toward his corner. The Illustrious Face-Eater begins stomping his feet and reaching out as far as the tag rope will allow, trying to give his partner every advantage.
SIX!
SEVEN!
Danny sits up in a surge, reaching for Tsonda but falling on his face.
EIGHT!
Nova stumbles up to a knee and breaks the count right at nine. He reaches out but also falls forward, landing on his hands and knees. The crowd joins in, stomping along with Facey as they will Nova forward to his partner. He makes another lunge, but falls just short.
Richard: He's not going to make the tag!
Nick: There's still time!
Danny falls forward and reaches for Tsonda. His hand barely grazes his partner and the Asian jumps into the ring.
Nick: Do it, Nova!
With one final stretch, Nova reaches out and tags the hand of the Illustrious Face-Eater. The crowd explodes and Facey slingshots over the rope. He lands on his feet and starts stomping around the ring, pumping his fist and riling himself up, like some weird combination of Spike Dudley and...I dunno, some rapper he likes. Finally working up a head of steam, Facey charges forward...
...and puts a boot right in the head of Nova.
Nick: WHAT?!?
Facey stomps a mudhole in the hapless Risen Star, who had been slumped against the turnbuckle. The shocked silence in the crowd slowly gives way to a crackle of boos, which then erupts into a furious frenzy of anger when Facey turns and slaps hands with Chandler Tsonda!
Richard: Yes, yes, YES!
Nick: No, no, NO!
Stepping past Chandler, Facey looks at Danny. The two exchange a glare, a moment of hesitation, then Ferguson opens his arms. Facey does the same and the two exchange a perfectly heterosexual man-hug. Tsonda steps back in and the three men raise their arms in unison.
The A-List had returned.
Nick: This can't be happening! They didn't....they weren't....
Richard: They ARE! The band is back together! I can't believe I got to see the reunion live!
Nick: Quit your fanboy blowjobs, do you know how terrible this is?!?
Richard: Yeah, they're going to have to invent a whole new ratings system to represent the heights they A-List will take PRIME to!
Amidst the joyous reunion in the ring (well, joyous to three out of twenty-thousand in the room)…
Richard: YAY~!
…(make that four), Nova rolls out of the ring and lands hard on his knees on the protective floor mats. He shakes his head, dazed, and begins crawling towards the entrance ramp.
Richard: Yeah, run away, coward! The A-List has your number, bitch!
The Risen Star lifts his arms up to grasp the lip of the barricade before pulling himself up unsteadily. He exchanges a few words with one of the fans, who then stands up and folds his chair before handing it to the former champion as the crowd erupts into cheers.
Nick: Ummm, Rich…I don’t think Nova’s going ANYWHERE!
Richard: GAH! FLEE, ‘LISTERS, FLEE!
Nova spins around, practically springing off the barricade to slide under the bottom rope. He’s already swinging the chair wildly before even reaching his feet. CRACK!!
Nick: HE’S BACK IN, AND OHH! FERGUSON DOWN WITH A SHOT ACROSS THE BACK!
The Risen Star brings the chair around in a wide arc, but Chandler Tsonda ducks it deftly, dropping to the mat and dragging Danny with him to the outside, where a panting Adam Dick is already backtracking his way up the entrance ramp. The rest of the newly-reformed A-List join him on the ramp as the fans rain down boos on the assembled superstars.
Nick: Who are the cowards now?!
Richard: Pffft. Do THOSE men look like cowards to you?
Indeed, their position on the ramp secure, the ‘Listers are now posing and energetically bouncing around. Facey stands out in front, legs spread wide and both middle fingers cocked in the air, taunting his former ally/rival/ally/rival (?). Tsonda’s arms are stretched out as he shakes his head vehemently, making a dramatic show of holding Ferguson back, whose chest is puffed out to rib-exploding proportions as he shakes his fists and screams in Nova’s direction.
Nick: Oh, sure, they’re halfway to backstage and now they wanna fluff their feathers! But take a look in that ring, Rich…that’s a damn LION staring those turkeys down!
Richard: Wait for it....
Nick: Rich?!
Richard: Wait for it....
"Da Funk," that God-awful techno song by Daft Punk, begins playing at a deafening volume as the list backtracks up the ramp.
Richard: YES!
Inside the squared circle, Nova paces in front of the ropes, the chair dangling from one hand as he uses the other to wave Ferguson & Co. on. His mouth moves silently, but one can imagine that the words issuing forth do NOT involve "Mr. Ferguson" and "invitation to my birthday party."
Nick: Well we’re out of time for this week, folks, but what a night it’s been! I can’t say for sure PRIME will even survive to see Colossus IV with all the bad blood in this building right now! I’m Nick Stuart…
Richard: And I’m loving this place right now!
Nick: …and we’ll see you in a week for the last ReVolution before the year’s biggest event…the fourth annual COLOSSUS!!
The screen fades to copyright information after shots of the ‘Listers on the ramp (camera focusing on a red-faced jaw-jacking Danny Ferguson) followed by a shot of Nova pacing in the ring, the chair still hanging from his hand, its chances of meeting bastard A-List skull left unfulfilled.
Credits
IntegerChris and BenPants
Tracy's Big New Show
Mike S.
Dock and Balls
D and Shane
Walking into a Pole
Fruit and Tom
Proposal
Obinna O.
Two Pissed Off Guys and a Microphone
Sef and Cwis
IntegerChris
Meanwhile, At Tsuperstar Enterprises Headquarters...
Will & Matt R
Nick Cage Will Sue Us On Elvis's Behalf...
Chris 1.Whogivesashit
The Calvary
Asa and Lindz
Gotta Have Faith
Walczak
Sticking up for the chica who sucked his cock (YEAH I SAID IT!)
D and Tom
Seth
If you gonna ride, then we can ride (But 99.9% of the time you gonna die).
Tony, Joe, Nate.
A Bunch of Idiots
Shane, Lara, Craig, Fruit, Chris 1.whogivesashit
What's the Spanish Word For Incognito?
Corey
Faces Can Scheme Too
Walczak Shane
Mistakes We Knew We Were Making
Repchak and Lindz
Asa and Renner - Renner Did All the Goofy Shit
Ain't Nothing But a Cheater
Renner and Tywizzle
A Truckload of Trouble
Asa and Darryl
An Old Story... With a New Twist
Mattchu
Betta Off Dead
John
Mattchu
Pepsi is Weaker than Coke
Obinna O.
Dude...Lisa's Office. Tonight. Ten Kegs. Be There.
Half the damned roster...
Making the Right Choice
Fruit and Tom
An Answer
5-Star Posse
Out of the Frying Pan...
Chris & Seth
...and Into the Fire.
Chris & Lindz
Matt, Will, Chris, Joe
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