[Fade up on a clip of the first time Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven and Harlequin Tragedy met in the ring. The footage is subtitled, "December 4, 1996." Verhoeven tries to put the Harlequin leader away, but can't seem to do it. Suddenly, Sandman comes down and tosses sand in the eyes of Tragedy, causing Verhoeven to be disqualified.] TRAGEDY: The first time we met, you couldn't beat me... [Shot of Otto Verhoeven and Sandman brawling back to the locker room as Tragedy and Chaos watch from the ring.] TRAGEDY: The second time, you couldn't even get to the ring... [Clip of the cage match between Verhoeven and Tragedy, subtitled "January 4, 1997." Verhoeven punishes Tragedy but still can't seem to keep the Tragic one down. Suddenly, Verhoeven leaves the cage chasing after Sandman.] TRAGEDY: And the third time, you obviously had other things on your mind... [Dissolve to Tragedy standing in a dark room. He holds a candle in his hand, and the light from it gives his face a gaunt, eerie look.] TRAGEDY: Three times you have tried to stop me, Verhoeven, and three times you have failed. Now you expect to take me and the Sandman out in one fell swoop. But if you couldn't take me out then, there is no way in hell you're going to take me out tonight. The only "butchery" that will be done is what happens when I finally put you in the Tragic Ending. And the Sandman will discover that being awake doesn't stop the nightmares from coming. You and the Sandman, taking on me... [Tragedy blows out the candle. Only his glowing eyes can be seen.] TRAGEDY: ...Don't make me laugh! [The opening music kicks in as the opening graphics explode onto the screen:] ##### ###### ### ########## ########## ########## #### ## ########## ########## ########## #### # #### ######## ##### ##### #### ## ##### #### #### #### #### ### #### #### #### #### ############# ######### #### #### ########### ######### #### #### #### #### #### ######### ######### ### #### #### ######### ######### ### ## #### ######## ######## ## # #### =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- ## =-=-=-= INTERNATIONAL INTERNET WRESTLING FEDERATION =============================================== S + A + T + U + R + D + A + Y N + I + G + H + T ----------------------------------------------- + LiVE! + 11 January 1997 + IIWF Coliseum + [The opening graphics fade through to interior shots of the IIWF Coliseum. The capacity crowd, some fans waving home-made signs and others bedecked in official IIWF merchandise, gives a big pop as a trio of rockets shoot up from the head of the aisle by the video wall, which relays other shots of the crowd to the rest of the arena. On the screen, fans can be seen clamouring to get in shot, excitedly waving and holding up their signs. The spinning IIWF logo is cast onto the canvas of the ring, and coloured spotlights dart over the sea of faces. Cut to the broadcast table in the ringside enclosure, at which stand Tim Dross and "Soundbite" Steve Roberts.] TD: Welcome everybody to the jam-packed IIWF Coliseum! It's standing room only here as nearly twenty thousand fans have come from near and far for another night of wrestling action, IIWF-style! We are coming at you live and loud with another edition of IIWF Saturday Night! I'm Tim Dross, and beside me as always is the legend in his own mind, my broadcast colleague, "Soundbite" Steve Roberts! SR: As always, the pleasure is all yours. If it wasn't for the fact that I'm in a good mood tonight, Dross, I'd kick your teeth down your throat and use your toupee as a chaser. TD: So what has brought on this sudden change of heart, Steve? SR: The fact that we've got a killer show lined up tonight, Dross. I mean, getting to see Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven beat up on the Sandman _and_ Harlequin Tragedy in the same night! TD: That's right, folks. You heard it at the top of the hour -- in tonight's main event, the Teutonic terror will do battle with two men in a wild Triangle Match. Plus we're finally going to see the "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder go up against Tiger Claw. On top of that, one of your favourites, Steve, will lock horns with "Superstar" Stud Stetson... SR: Favourites?! You mean Willy Pukespeare?! That pilfering little pussy's going to get his comeuppance tonight when he's the victim of a Superstar attack. Stetson's going to take back the title that's rightfully his. TD: We'll see about that, Steve. In tag team action, we'll see the Alphabet Boys battle the Arabian Knights. The Alphabet Boys are completely unpredictable, Steve -- how do you prepare for opponents like Abie and Zed? SR: You drug them before the match, Dross. TD: That's not exactly sportsmanlike. SR: The Alphabet Morons aren't exactly sportsmen, Dross. TD: Fair point. We're also going to see a score from Snow Brawl settled as the Venusian Death Cell steps into the ring to face the Mexican masked man, Onslaught. That's going to be a real power versus speed battle, Steve. SR: Now that the Venusian Death Cell's got the "Outlaw" Josey Wales looking after his interests again, I'm predicting another win for the big man. Unless you've been drugging _him_ again, Dross. TD: I strenuously deny any and all allegations concerning myself and the Venusian Death Cell. SR: I bet your attorney told you to say that. But can you strenuously deny that you got that hairstyle when some wounded animal crawled onto your bald head and died there? TD: Please, can we leave my hair out of this? SR: Not when it smells that bad, Dross. TD: Well, it's like this. I got a call from the marketing boys earlier this week; they wanted me to test out the new Deathbringer branded hairspray, with the authentic stench of formaldehyde. Anyway, I digress... Also in action tonight, we'll see the Dirt Dog Unique Allah square off against Lord Byron, who has freshly returned from a tour of Japan. SR: And he's in better shape than ever, Dross. He's shed ten pounds or so, and from what I hear, he's going to come out here very aggressive indeed. He has his eyes on the Intercontinental Championship, and he certainly has the tools and the talent to take it. TD: A victory over the Dirt Dog would take him one step closer to contention, but Byron had better not be looking past his opponent tonight to the dream of the gold. Dirt Dog might look like a pushover... SR: [interrupting] No, that's just his breath. It can push you over from a hundred paces. TD: Nonetheless, Byron had better not underestimate the Dirt Dog. We'll also get another look at the bizarre Cheshire, who faces "Badboy" Randy Acorn for a shot at the current Cruiserweight Champion, the "Enigma" Takezo Musashi. That promises to be a tremendous athletic encounter, Steve. SR: Yeah, but the result is a foregone conclusion. Acorn's going to walk out with the victory tonight, and then it's only a matter of time before he's wearing the Cruiserweight gold again. TD: The "Epitome of Evil" Serge Annis has a dose of double trouble here tonight, since he'll not only be facing the Hangman in the ring, but also facing Becky in LaRue's Lair. SR: I'm not sure who I feel most sorry for -- Becky or Serge. In fact, Annis would probably stand a better chance facing all three Hangmen in a handicap match than he does of getting the better of Becky tonight. You want to see evil? Look no further than Ms. LaRue. TD: Thanks for those comments, Steve. But before all that, we've got the debut of another newcomer here to the IIWF. "Sychosys" Joe Petrow has been making waves here without even wrestling a match, but tonight, he's finally going to step into the ring to face Bobby B. Goode. What do you know about these two guys, Steve? SR: Bobby B. Goode is a lost cause, Dross, and not deserving of my attention. Petrow, on the other hand, is one whacked-out individual. He's a very impressive athlete, but he's been scarred -- both physically and psychologically -- by the attack in another organisation several months ago, and now he seems only to want to cause pain to others. You've got to admire that in a man, Dross. TD: Er... if you say so, Steve. Let's get up to Sparkplug Lee for the introductions in tonight's opening encounter. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- "Sychosys" Joe Petrow vs. Bobby B. Goode -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= [Cut to Sparkplug Lee, who steps into the spotlight in centre ring.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, tonight's opening encounter is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, already in the ring, hailing from Tampa, Florida and weighing in at 230lbs, here is Bobby B. Goode! [Goode, a man of slight build with a good tan and a large moustache, waves to the crowd. He pulls the string on his little party popper, which splutters a small "pop" and spews streamers into the air. They land on Sparkplug Lee's head. The crowd repay him with no reaction of any kind whatsoever. Goode seems visibly deflated, and goes to the corner.] RA: And introducing his opponent: making his IIWF debut, currently residing in Tokyo Japan, and weighing in at 227lbs, here is... "Sychosys" Joe Petrow! ["I Don't Care Any More" by Phil Collins starts up over the PA, and there is a mixed pop as the arena lights dim and a single spotlight illuminates the head of the aisle. The form of Joe Petrow steps out into the aisle. He wears black trunks, black boots, and a ripped leather jacket. He takes a few steps and then raises a hand towards his once handsome but now scarred face, as if to remind himself of the scars he now bears. He ignores the hands of the eager fans on either side of the aisle and heads down to the ring.] SR: Here he is, Dross. He may be a little weird, but he knows his way around the ring. TD: So where's Creed, Steve? The "CEO" Jack Montgomery promised that Creed would be at ringside all night tonight, but I don't see him. I understand that Montgomery is in one of the Coliseum's executive boxes tonight, but Creed hasn't been seen anywhere. Let's go back to Montgomery's comments, aired yesterday: [Cut to footage subtitled, "Yesterday": Jack Montgomery's office in midtown Manhattan. Montgomery sits at his desk.] CEO: It's about force. It's about control. It's about Creed. We have formally requested to be included in Saturday's triangle match. We don't expect to be. Regardless, Creed will be at ringside Saturday night. All night. For one night only, there's a new sheriff in town. You want to interrupt a match? You go through Creed. Any of you. Kauffman. Annis. James. Gecko. For one night, if you want to make your statement to the world, do it between matches or in the parking lot, because I'm telling you flat out, if ANY man in the IIWF tries to interrupt ANY match Saturday night, he's gonna find out what "Goodnight, Farewell and Amen" really means. [Cut back to ringside. The bell rings, and Petrow extends his hand to Bobby B. Goode. Goode hesitates, and looks out into the crowd for support. The crowd don't seem too interested, but a few shout words of encouragement, and eventually Goode takes Petrow's hand. Petrow grabs Goode's arm and immediately twists it into an arm-wringer, and runs with him to the far corner. Petrow, keeping hold of Goode's arm the whole time, runs up to the top turnbuckle, and somersaults from there all the way to the arena floor, crotching Goode's armpit on the top rope. Huge pop! The referee starts to count Petrow out as he drags himself to his feet.] TD: Wow! That move certainly woke the crowd up! SR: I've never seen anything like that in my entire life, Dross! Petrow has no regard for his own body, and he certainly doesn't have any for his opponent's! He must have broken Goode's arm right there! [There is another pop as Danny Dynamite and Michael Reyna step out into the aisle. They advance a little way from the head of the aisle, and then stand, watching the match and deep in conversation.] TD: What do the Players' Club want out here, Steve? SR: I understand they're scouting for new members, Dross, and I think they're interested in Petrow. [Petrow rolls back into the ring, and continues to work on Goode's arm. Goode yells in pain every time Petrow touches his shoulder or arm, but Petrow refuses to let the referee close enough to Goode to determine whether or not to stop the match. Petrow drags Goode to the ropes, and starts ripping at both sides of his mouth. Petrow screams into the camera, "Hey, did you know I'm a freak now?! It's lots of fun! You wanna join me?!"] TD: Er... I worry about this guy, Steve. SR: I'd be more worried about that poor jobber in there, Dross. I think Petrow's trying to tear him a new mouth. [The referee drags Petrow away from Goode, and as Joe charges in again, Goode catches him with a kick to the midsection, staggering him. Goode bounces off the ropes, and hits Petrow with a kneelift, but is unable to follow up, since his arm gives him too much pain. Petrow is quickly back to his feet, and grabs his opponent as if to give a Perfectplex, but instead drives his head into the mat like a DDT, using the leg as a handle for extra leverage.] TD: That was the Bullet Train to Hell! A kind of modified DDT, and a very devastating one indeed. SR: Petrow makes the cover, but the referee could count to a hundred! TD: Hang on, what's this? [Petrow pulls Goode's shoulders up from the mat on the count of two, and yells to the crowd, "Get your cameras ready!" He picks Goode up as if for an inverted piledriver, then puts his hands under his opponent's armpits and hoists him straight up, then drives him into the mat. Huge pop!] TD: Wow! That was the Knightmare, Steve, an inverted crucifix slam! What a move. [Petrow makes another cover. The referee counts - 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner, as the result of a pinfall: "Sychosys" Joe Petrow! [The Players' Club nod, and wander back to the locker room area. Petrow pulls his raised arm away from the official, and drags Goode to his feet, throwing him out of the ring over the top rope to a big mixed pop. The referee gets in Petrow's face, but the wrestler ignores him, going to the outside and laying Goode out on the timekeeper's table, sending officials scattering. The referee signals for the bell again, and it is rung frantically.] TD: Oh, please. We don't need any "hardcore" antics here tonight! SR: Put him through the table! Yeah! TD: Here come the Jobber Justice Squad! [A few wrestlers, led by Ned Norton, sprint down the aisle wearing their "Jobber Justice Squad" t-shirts. However, they are intercepted by Creed, who steps out of the crowd at the bottom of the aisle and blocks their passage. Big heel pop!] SR: There's Creed, Dross! I knew he'd be here! TD: He's here to prevent interference, Steve, not prevent assistance from reaching an injured wrestler. SR: Maybe he wants to see this table spot as much as me! [Creed systematically knocks each of the jobbers to the arena floor. Meanwhile, Petrow re-enters the ring and cups his hand to his ear a few times, to a mixed pop from the crowd. He then gets a running start, somersaults over the ropes, and legdrops Goode through the table! Huge pop, and cameras flash all over the arena!] TD: Oh my goodness! What complete devastation! SR: Looks like Petrow injured his own leg in the process -- look at him limp! [Petrow limps towards the aisle, passing Creed and looking at him with a wild glint in his eye. A camera gets a close-up of Petrow, who wipes the hair out of his face, and whispers, "IIWF. Be afraid. Be very afraid..." As he makes his way back up the aisle, he is passed by a medical team and a few ring attendants, who go to ringside to clear up the carnage.] TD: What an opener that was, Steve. SR: Yeah! I hope we get somebody put through the table in every match! TD: You don't come from Philly do you, by any chance, Steve? SR: No, why do you ask? [As the spotlight flies across the arena, the camera catches a shot of Sparkplug Lee, apparently hoarse from talking, holding his throat and headed to the back to get a lozenge.] TD: Our next match on the card tonight here in the IIWF Coliseum is for a shot at the Cruiserweight Championship, Steve. SR: That's right, Dross. And I can't think of two more worthy candidates for this shot at the Enema. TD: A former champion, Randy Acorn, will face the masochistic Cheshire, and you can bet that both men will let it all go for this chance of a lifetime. SR: Not of Acorn's lifetime, you idiot. He's already tasted the gold, and he has all the tools to become a two-time IIWF Cruiserweight champ, but how will he react to the hysteria of Cheshire? TD: Well, let's find out, as we go to the ring... =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= "Badboy" Randy Acorn vs. Cheshire =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= [The camera focuses upon the ring announcer who has returned from the back. The chants of "Spark - plug! Spark - plug!" echo throughout the ring. Sparkplug Lee, apparently still disturbed about something, just shrugs it off. Lee is looking a bit taller than usual.] SR: Well, well, it looks as if old Pluggy has found himself lifts for his shoes -- or shoulder pads. Look at him, Dross. TD: Maybe he took a shot of steroids in the back there, I dunno. Don't his pants look a bit baggy? RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest, set for one fall, is for the number one contendership to the IIWF Cruiserweight Championship! ["Firestarter" takes over the arena.] Introducing first, from Germany, at 220 pounds, Cheshire! [Creed stands in the aisle, awaiting Cheshire's appearance from behind the curtain. The six-foot German finally steps through and into the aisle, greeted by a mixed pop from the fans. He is sporting a red and green striped T-shirt. As he looks to his right, his icy blue eyes catch a glimpse of Creed and focus on him. Neither man moves.] TD: Uh oh, Steve. There's been some bad blood in the past between Creed and Cheshire. Perhaps that could come into play in this match. SR: Creed is going to be down here playing "Sheriff" throughout the entire evening. Why would somebody want to stand in the aisle the whole night? How boring. [Finally, Cheshire says something to Creed, laughs, and heads down the aisle to the ring. Creed seems unfazed and just stands there. Cheshire gets to the ring stairs and begins giggling at the crowd before entering the ring.] TD: Cheshire has put on quite a show as of late, as we all saw him attack the Cruiserweight champ, Takezo Musashi, last Saturday Night, and now he'll be looking for a shot at his victim's gold... [Suddenly, the camera cuts to the back. A shot of Sparkplug Lee, locked in his dressing room, appears on the video wall at the head of the aisle. The crowd murmurs as to what it all means.] SR: What in the hell? If Sparkplug's in the back, then who's in the --- [Just as people start to realize what is going on, the "Sparkplug" in the ring puts the jump on Cheshire. He attacks him with a quick clothesline and then begins to kick and stomp on the head of the German phenom, overwhelming him. The imposter steps back and rips off a tear away tuxedo and his baggy pants to reveal the all too familiar shorts with "BADBOY" on the rear. The heel pop is massive for the trickery of Randy Acorn.] TD: Oh my, Steve! I've seen some interesting entrances, but dressing up as the ring announcer... now that's one I've never seen. SR: Randy Acorn got the jump on Cheshire all right! What a scam artist! [Acorn drops on Cheshire's back with a knee, then drops on his back and applies a reverse chinlock. As he sits back on it, Cheshire begins to giggle, much to the amusement of the crowd. A frustrated Acorn tries to apply more pressure to the hold, but Cheshire is able to gets to his feet and throw Acorn off his back!] SR: Cheshire feels no pain, Tim Dross. Remind myself of my days in the ring, incredible threshold for pain. TD: Even when you got your injury? SR: Even then there was no pain, but doctors wouldn't let me back in the ring. Plus I was collecting loads on insurance. He he he. TD: Fraudulent claims? Geez. [Acorn and Cheshire lock up collar-and-elbow. Acorn slaps Cheshire in a headlock, and cranks on his chin area. The referee tries to see whether or not the hold is actually a choke, but Acorn turns, shielding his view.] TD: Cheshire's face is turning colors. [Sarcastically.] Gee, is it a choke? [Cheshire is able to bounce Acorn off the ropes. He comes back and takes the giggly one off his feet with a shoulder block. Acorn bounces off the ropes again and misses an elbow drop. As both men get back to their feet, Cheshire hits the Badboy with a forearm shot to the face, and follows it up with an Irish whip. Acorn comes off the ropes, and Cheshire rocks him with a huge back body drop. He covers - 1 - 2 - kickout!] SR: You're not going to pin the Badboy with a back body drop, for crying out loud. [As Acorn stumbles back to his feet, he rams a fist into the midsection of Cheshire. He goes to the ropes and hits a spinning neckbreaker on the rebound. Big heel pop! Acorn measures him up and comes in with a big splash - 1 - 2 - kickout! Acorn picks Cheshire back up and body slams him. Cover - 1 - 2 - kickout. Cheshire rolls to the outside.] TD: Cheshire getting it taken to him early, and taking his time to think things over a bit. SR: He's trying to get his bell to stop ringing. [Randy Acorn grins and heads out to the floor as well. He sets up Cheshire with a number of fists to the rib and stomach area. The referee begins a count - 1 - 2 - Acorn grabs Cheshire by the hair and rams him, head first, into the steel guardrail. Cheshire shakes his head and then looks into the eyes of the Acorn and begins laughing. 3 - 4 - Acorn, in fear of Cheshire's tolerance, quickly gets back into the ring, being chased by the insane one. Acorn, though, is quick to his feet, and is able to catch Cheshire on his way through the ropes with a swift kick to the midsection, followed by a suplex over the ropes. Acorn is quick, this time, to cover - 1 - 2 - kickout again!] TD: Wait a minute, I'm getting something on my headset... I understand that the Enigma himself, Takezo Musashi, will be making his way down for some guest color! SR: Oh, man, what kind of "color" is he going to bring to the ring? TD: Color _commentary_, Steve. SR: Oh. [Acorn jumps all over Cheshire, engaging in a brawl with his slightly undersized competitor. Cheshire fires right back, and the brawl spills through the ropes to the floor! The referee tries to get out there and stop it, but to no avail. Cheshire seems to finally get the upper hand, and he flings Acorn into the ring post! Right then, the IIWF Cruiserweight champion, Takezo Musashi, appears in the aisle, greeted by a big pop!] TD: Here comes the champ, on his way to do some scouting and to give us some outlook on the upcoming matchup between himself and the winner of this match! [The Enigma tries to make his way down the aisle, but Creed will not allow it. After some arguing, Musashi decides that, at only 5'9 and 211 pounds, it would not be wise to pick a fight with the bigger man. Musashi simply stands in the aisle and watches the match from there.] SR: Ha! Thank you, Creed. I didn't want to listen to him yak. TD: Apparently we won't be hearing from the Enigma tonight. SR: Good. [Acorn, staggered, is back dropped on the floor by Cheshire, who laughs at him before entering the ring. The referee begins a count on Acorn - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - Acorn gets back up and rolls under the bottom rope, at the feet of Cheshire, who boots him in the gut. Acorn fights back to his feet and is able to shove Cheshire into a corner. Acorn walks up to the cornered opponent and takes the time to get nose to nose with him. Acorn, three inches taller than Cheshire, looks down deep into his eyes and begins jawing with him, apparently with some very insulting comments. When Acorn stops talking, awaiting a response, Cheshire starts laughing hysterically. Acorn, enraged, begins to smash Cheshire across the face with his elbows and forearms, but the German just keep laughing. Soon, the crowd is laughing right with him -- at Randy Acorn!] TD: Cheshire is just making a fool of him right now, Steve. SR: Acorn is going to get mad and whip on him if Cheshire isn't careful, Dross. TD: So far it isn't happening. [Cheshire becomes tired of being assaulted and fires back with a clothesline, knocking Acorn to the mat. Cheshire picks him up and rocks him with an atomic drop, and then whips him into the corner. He takes a step back, and Randy Acorn has nowhere to go as Cheshire flips across the ring with a cartwheel kick! Cheshire is quick to hop up to the second turnbuckle and take Acorn down with a double axe handle. He hooks a leg - 1 - 2 - kickout!] TD: Acorn isn't going to give up, that's for sure. [Cheshire goes back to the top rope. As Acorn gets back to his feet, Cheshire launches himself with a flying body press - 1 - 2 - another kickout! Cheshire gets back up and stomps away on Acorn. Randy goes to the outside. Cheshire goes through the ropes, and goes to jump on Acorn, but is caught, and falls victim to a devastating belly-to-belly suplex! Acorn re-enters the ring.] SR: Just like that, the Badboy has regained control of this circus freak, Dross. [But Cheshire stands up and looks at the crowd, sharing a laughing moment with a fan. Acorn becomes furious and begins kicking the bottom rope in anguish. Cheshire hops up onto the apron and stuns Acorn with a kick to the thigh area. Cheshire launches himself over the top rope and executes a sunset flip - 1 - 2 - kickout! Acorn gets back up, but is immediately met with a clothesline which sends both men flying out to the floor! Heel pop!] TD: This match is getting to a stage where one move can finish it off! [Cheshire charges Acorn, but the Badboy moves out of the way and Cheshire hits the steel guardrail. Acorn, quick to seize the opportunity, runs over and grabs a chair out from underneath the real Sparkplug Lee, who has returned to the ringside area, after being let out of his prison by security. Acorn moves in and cracks the chair across the back of Cheshire, to a great heel pop from the crowd!] TD: Disqualify that man, ref... come on! SR: A good Greco-Roman chair shot, Dross. Perfectly legal. TD: Will you stop?! [Acorn flips Cheshire back into the ring and gets onto the apron himself. As Cheshire gets back to his feet, Acorn sets himself up and jumps to the top rope, performing a springboard dropkick, but Cheshire is able to catch him in a power bomb! He holds on - 1 - 2 - 3!] SR: What?! TD: A great counter by Cheshire, blocking the springboard and powerbombing Acorn for the three count! RA: The winner of the match... Cheshire! [Randy Acorn, shocked and disgraced by the loss, slowly gets back to his feet, but then gets a sudden burst of energy when he sees Takezo Musashi in the aisle. Acorn takes off after Musashi, and upon his arrival, fells the champion with a running clothesline. The Badboy kicks and stomps away at the champ to a massive heel pop, screaming, "You've stolen _my_ title, punk!"] TD: An embarrassed Randy Acorn has attacked the smaller man, and what gall... claiming it's still "his" title. For heaven's sake, he lost that belt a long time ago, and really hasn't been worthy of title contention since. [After a few more seconds, Creed steps in and tries to break up the fight, but Acorn then turns his efforts upon the large "sheriff". Creed tries to hold his ground, but is eventually taken down by the smaller Acorn.] SR: Look at Acorn! He's all over this monster... what a competitor! [As the bell rings to try to control the brawl, Acorn continues to beat down Creed. Eventually, when he thinks that Creed has had enough, Acorn turns around as heads to the locker room, screaming at Creed, Musashi, and whoever else gets under his skin. The fans jeer him the whole way out, and then finally Cheshire, laughing, leaves the ringside area. Musashi is not far behind.] TD: Well, that was a wild brawl to cap off a great match. So Cheshire will be facing the Enigma right here in two weeks for the Cruiserweight Championship -- that is, if the Enigma is still the champion. I understand he'll be facing Harlequin Tragedy for the belt next Saturday Night. Right now, it's time for this week's LaRue's Lair. Becky's lucky guest this week is none other than the self-proclaimed "Lethal Protector", Serge Annis. [Becky steps out onto her sumtuous set to a big pop. She looks a trifle concerned.] BS: I'm not entirely sure about today's guest. Generally there is at least _one_ redeeming thing about every man, but I'm not so sure about this one. Frankly, he gives me the creeps. Kinda that feeling you get when you drink orange juice after brushing your teeth. So, here he is... Serge Annis. ["Some Days It's Dark" by Death Lurks begins to play. Serge enters, a sneer on his lip. He gives a glance which withers a small child near the guardrail. An infant begins to cry.] BL: [shuffling through her note cards] Hmmmmm. I don't have much info on you, so I'm gonna wing it. Who _IS_ Serge Annis? SA: What do you mean WHO is Serge Annis?! I am Serge Annis. All that you have to know is that I am the Epitome of Evil... BL: Epitome of Evil. Tell me one nice thing you've done. SA: Hehehe... I haven't destroyed Dan Kauffman... hehehe... YET! BL: How do you feel about kittens? SA: To all things that bring happiness to the world, Becky, I am an infinite darkness... to all things dark... I am a prevailing light... to kittens... WHAT THE HELL KIND OF QUESTION IS THAT?! I WANT TO TALK ABOUT THINGS LIKE DEATHBRINGER AND DAN KAUFFMAN, AND YOU WANT TO TALK ABOUT FREAKING KITTENS?! BL: [Ignoring his tirade] How about hair pieces? SA: Like the one Tim Dross wears? Hehehe... word of advice, Timmy... Them things are very flammable... hehehehe... [Serge takes out his Zippo lighter and lights it, laughs again, and puts it away.] BL: It's inevitable that everyone will grow to hate Dan Kauffman, but it took you a lot shorter time than most. So, what pisses _you_ off most about the IIWF Champion? SA: What pisses me off about Dan K? Hmm... IF THE ANSWER ISN'T APPARENT, THEN YOU'RE A MORON! Everything about Kauffman pisses me off... his existence... AND HE CAME OUT ON NATIONWIDE TV AND WHINED HIS ASS OFF THAT _I_ PINNED HIS SHOULDERS 1-2-3 IN THE WCeW TOURNAMENT! He made excuses... he couldn't admit I defeated him... and now I am here to do it again... it has become very much more personal now, Kauffman... and that spells trouble for you... hehehe... BL: I'm sure you were suprised as the rest of us to discover that Deathbringer knows how to read. What do you suppose is in his cryptic comic book? SA: WHAT THE HELL KIND OF QUESTION IS THAT, YOU LITTLE SILICONE SLUT?! [The crowd gives Annis good heat, while Becky merely looks with disgust at Annis, holding the microphone at arm's length so that she is as far away from him as possible.] SA: I don't know what he keeps in his books... other than lies... lies of a life he once led... wrong, Deathbringer... that was someone else's life... and it is impossible for your book of the future to exist... because the future is IMPOSSIBLE TO KNOW! Except for the fact that I will someday crush Dan Kauffman... You are a fraud, Deathbringer. A shattered illusion of a reality once beheld... and even if you are for real Deathbringer, THE DEMONS IN MY MIND... ARE MUCH... MUCH MORE WORSE THAN DEATH ITSELF! I DO NOT FEAR DEATH BECAUSE I HAVE SEEN MUCH, MUCH WORSE! BL: You have no fear? SA: I didn't stutter... hehehe... the only thing I'd be scared of is myself... hehehe... I don't have to be afraid of anything, Becky... because I have seen worse in the personal hell I call _LIFE_! BL: So why did you torch him? While you're at it, what's up with all that flame? SA: Why did I "torch" Deathbringer? I DIDN'T TORCH DEATHBRINGER, IT WAS AN ACCIDENT... but be sure of it that I am not sorry for it... the flames... they were all that I had... the only thing that makes sense to The Epitome of Evil... hehehe.... BL: Do you ever get lonely? SA: No... I have the inner demons to keep me company... hehehehe.... BL: I've seen a long line of big bruisers enter wrestling and leave just just as fast. What makes you different than them? SA: What makes me different is the fact that I intend to stay! I'm not here for the press... I'm not here for recognition... I'm here cause I need new ground... new victims... I am more than a bruiser... a crippler... these hands have ended more than half a dozen careers, AND SOME NOT EVEN WRESTLERS! I HAVE PUT MY HANDS ON ANNOYING INTERVIEWERS TOO! I will not lie and say that I have crushed infinite numbers of opponents... I have crushed many opponents... and put several out of wrestling forever... hehehe... what makes me different is the fact that I am different, and I am the Epitome of Evil! BL: What is worth more: Seeing your opponent writhing at your feet, or a championship title? SA: If an opponent is writhing in pain... then I didn't get the job done of snapping his spine... and all a title means to me is a chance to defeat every top contender and make him feel the Wrath of Annis! BL: $10 bucks says there is something that brings a smile to your face. What is it? SA: ...hehehe... seeing Dan Kauffman or Deathbringer have their necks snapped in vein courtesy of a chokeslam from the Epitome of Evil... BL: Would you like to add anything? SA: ...yeah... there is... [Annis grins and stares at Becky. Becky looks into Annis's ice blue eyes. Annis grins wider.] SA: I just have to say to you, Becky... THAT YOU ARE THE DAMN WORST INTERVIEWER I HAVE EVER ENCOUNTERED IN MY LIFE! NEXT TIME TRY TO STOP YOUR DITZY QUESTIONS AND GET DOWN TO THE REAL STUFF! MAYBE IF YOU STOPPED ACTING LIKE A WHORE, YOU COULD GET RESPECT AND CREDIBILITY! But, no... at least from Serge Annis, you get no respect or credability... BECAUSE YOU ARE A CHEAP SILICONE SLUT THAT CONCENTRATES TOO MUCH ON MEN TO WORRY ABOUT WRESTLING! THE ONLY THING THAT STOPS ME FORM SNAPPING YOUR _WORTHLESS_ NECK IS THE FACT THAT YOU ARE A LADY! I AM A GENTLEMAN AND I WON'T HIT A WOMAN LIKE A COWARD WOULD! I DEMAND TIME ON TUESDAY! THE IIWF GIVES ME THIS CRAP?! I HAVE IMPORTANT THINGS TO SAY AND I GET GIVEN KITTENS?! YOU SEND AN INTERVIEWER TO ME ON MONDAY, AND I'LL GIVE WHAT'S REALLY ON MY MIND, NOT ON THE MIND OF THIS CHEAP SILICONE SLUT! [Annis storms off the set angrily. He kicks over a television camera and pushes an IIWF ring attendent over, and then heads backstage to a huge heel pop.] BL: [Yelling after him] OH YEAH?! I'LL HAVE YOU KNOW I'M A DAMNED EXPENSIVE SILICO... wait a second. Big talk for a man whose name sounds like a part of his anatomy. No coincidence you can't spell Serge Annis without the letters A-S-S. WELL... I HOPE KAUFFMAN KICKS YOU IN THE ANNIS! [momentarily bewildered] Did I actually say that? Back to you, Timmy... I think I'm going to be sick. [Becky quickly walks off her set, holding her head. Cut back to the announcers' table.] TD: Well I never. I didn't think I'd ever see Becky fazed by one of her guests, but Annis really rattled her. SR: Annis rattles most people, Dross. He's going to rattle the Hangman in the ring later on, too. TD: We'll see. For now, though, let's move on to our next match, as the Venusian Death Cell battles Onslaught. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Venusian Death Cell vs. Onslaught =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= TD: These two men still have a score to settle over their lethal lottery partnership at Snow Brawl. SR: Yeah, the Venusian Death Cell is gonna wreak vengeance on Onslaught for costing him a chance at the gold. TD: I'm sure that's not the way most of the fans see it, Steve. SR: But that's the way I see it, and that's the way the Venusian Death Cell sees it, and our opinions are worth more than any idiot fan's. TD: [sighs] Can you display a little less arrogance and a little more impartiality? This contest is shaping up to be an interesting encounter, Steve. Both competitors utilise completely different styles in the ring. Onslaught is the classic high-flyer, while the Venusian Death Cell is a brawler all the way. SR: Power always triumphs in the end, Dross. These masked jumping beans might make the crowd "ooh" and "ahh" a bit, but one swipe of the Death Cell's mighty fist and it's all over for Onslaught. TD: That remains to be seen. Let's go over to Sparkplug Lee for the match introductions. [The camera closes to center ring where Sparkplug Lee is adjusting his bow tie.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the following encounter is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, coming down the aisle, weighing in at 332 lbs, accompanied by his new manager, the "Outlaw" Josey Wales and his stablemates, the former two-time tag team champions of the world, Pale and Easy of the High Plains Drifters, here is... the Venusian Death Cell! [The theme music from "Psycho" starts over the loudspeaker system as the Venusian Death Cell, the High Plains Drifters and Josey Wales walk down the aisle to a big heel pop. The members of the Posse laugh as they pass a bottle of Kessler's whiskey around.] TD: I'd just like to remind all the children watching that consuming alchohol is neither big or clever. SR: What are you talking about, Dross? My mother raised me on Kessler's whiskey! TD: Yes Steve, and you ended up wearing women's lingerie to the ring. SR: Hey, back in '79 suspenders and feather boas were the height of wrestling fashion! [The heel entourage pauses as they reach Creed at ringside. Pale Rider and Josey Wales each offer a handshake to Creed, who merely stares at them coldly. Easy Rider cackles as he spits a glob of phlegm onto his palm and offers his hand to Creed, but the big man remains impassive. Venusian Death Cell and his stablemates enter the ring and laughing at the jeers of the crowd. Cell leans over the ropes and spits his green fluid at Tim Dross sitting at the announcing table.] TD: Urrrgghh! What is this fascination with expectoration tonight? SR: That's the least you deserve after you pulled that poisoning stunt on the Cell. TD: For the last time, I didn't put poison in the Cell's drink! SR: Calm down Dross, your toupee will come loose. RA: And his opponent, weighing in at 220lbs, the Mexican sensation, Onslaught! [There is a moderate face pop as Onslaught appears at the head of the aisle to the theme music from "Dune". He raises his fists to the air and lets out a war cry as red mist is pumped down the aisle. The crowd pop grows larger and Onslaught runs down to the ring slapping the fans' hands. He pauses as he notices Creed's imposing presence at ringside, then steps between the ropes cautiously, all the time eyeing Creed distrustfully.] TD: It looks like Onslaught is suspicous of Creed's ability to remain impartial during this match-up. SR: I think Creed should be sent backstage. He might prevent these two from beating the snot out of each other. TD: Please try to be sportsmanlike, Steve. [Ding! Ding! Josey Wales and the Drifters bail from the ring as the bell sounds, shouting encouragement to the Venusian Death Cell from their corner. The two combatants circle each other warily, looking for an opening. Suddenly Cell lunges at Onslaught, who manages to slip out of the way. The two return to circling until Cell lunges at Onslaught once again, who nimbly steps aside.] TD: Onslaught is utitlising his agility here and wisely stays out of the Death Cell's reach. SR: Just wait till the midget gets caught between those big arms, then see how clever he looks. [The Venusian Death Cell attempts another clumsy lunge at Onslaught, who this time manages to catch Cell in an armdrag and brings the big man down to the canvas. He maintains a grip on the Cell's arm and locks it painfully as the man from Venus struggles to his feet. Onslaught immediately brings him back down to the mat with another armdrag, twisting the arm into unnatural contortions.] TD: Onslaught is asserting some technical superiority early on in the match. SR: It's early going yet, Dross. Eventually the Death Cell is gonna get real aggravated and start to go crazy on this Mexican moron. [As the Venusian Death Cell powers up again, Onslaught whips him to the ropes and meets him with a lightning fast dropkick in center ring. Onslaught runs to the ropes and bounds off, hitting the rising Death Cell with a flying elbowsmash! The Death Cell staggers back and topples over the ropes to land on his feet on the arena floor. Before he is able to get his bearings, Onslaught comes flying over the top rope and hits him with a plancha dive! Big crowd pop! Both men tumble to the arena floor.] TD: Onslaught is on fire and offensive all the way! This is what he must do to keep the Death Cell from gaining an advantage. SR: I find that ridiculous red costume of Onslaught's more offensive than anything he does in the ring. TD: Steve, you of all people should avoid an argument about ring attire. [Easy Rider sidles around the ring looking to cause mischief but Creed steps in his path and blocks the way. Easy shrugs and mouths, "I wasn't gonna do anything" before backing up. Onslaught drags the Venusian Death Cell to his feet and pummels him with a few roundhouse shots before rolling him back into the ring. The luchador climbs onto the top turnbuckle from outside the ring as the Death Cell staggers to his feet. Onslaught launches himself at his foe with a flying bodypress but this time Cell is ready and catches Onslaught in mid-air, before spiking him to the mat with devastating impact! Shocked gasp from the crowd!] TD: Onslaught got over-zealous there and tried a flying move before the Death Cell was properly set up. SR: I told you Dross! It was only a matter of time before the Venusian Death Cell got fed up with Onslaught's gymnastic ballet impressions and slammed the stuffing out of him. TD: Gymnastic ballet? You've been watching too much late-night cable TV, Steve. [The Venusian Death Cell smiles through his green mask and plants his foot on Onslaught's chest for the pin while flexing his muscles. The ref drops down to the mat: 1 - 2 - Onslaught kicks out but is unable to get up from the canvas. Cell begins to sadistically stomp Onslaught as he attempts to crawl away. Cell drops to his knees and begins to choke Onslaught hard, slamming his head back against the canvas. The ref warns the Death Cell off and begins to count: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5. The rulebreaker reluctantly releases the chokehold and the ref gets in his face for the illegality. Cell just stares at the referee balefully and spits some of his green fluid onto the mat.] TD: Earl Alfonso is a highly respected referee and he won't let the Venusian Death Cell get away with this blatant cheating. SR: Alfonso is an anal retentive nit-picker who's afraid to let the wrestlers go at it. The IIWF should get Roughrider Roosevelt out of retirement to officiate a few matches. TD: That guy is over eighty and nearly blind! SR: Exactly, then we'd get to see some real action, chair shots, eye gouges, pints of blood, the works! TD: You're a complete scoundrel, Steve. SR: Ain't it the greatest? [The Venusian Death Cell hauls Onslaught to his feet and sets him up for a DDT. He falls backwards and Onslaught's forehead hits the mat with resounding force. Cell stands and flexes his muscles to the crowd, who respond with deafening jeers. Cell smiles and drags Onslaught back to his feet once again, this time setting him up for a piledriver.] TD: This could spell trouble, Onslaught already took a big shot to the head with that DDT, this move could cause permanent damage. SR: I shouldn't worry too much Tim, Onslaught's head is probably beyond repair anyway with inhaling all that red mist every time he enters the arena. TD: Just what are you getting at, Steve? [The Venusian Death Cell executes the piledriver, leaving Onslaught laid out motionless on the mat. He covers the mexican superstar for the pin and the ref begins the count: 1 - 2 - Onslaught manages to kick out in the nick of time to a relieved pop from the audience.] TD: Oh, that was close! Onslaught is displaying tremendous resilience here tonight. SR: Alfonso must have been sniffing glue out in the parking lot! That count was slower than Larry Morton on a date! [Frustrated, the Venusian Death Cell grabs Onslaught by the throat once again and begins to choke him hard. Onslaught splutters as the ref puts the count on the Cell: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5. The ref tries to pull the Death Cell away from Onslaught. The rulebreaker leaps to his feet and cocks his fist back, appearing ready to strike the referee! Alfonso immediately gets in the Cell's face, threatening to DQ him right then and there. Cell quivers with anger but manages to calm himself down and turns his attention back to his opponent. He goes to grapple Onslaught but the luchador manages to swing around the big man and brings him down to the mat with a crucifix! The ref begins to slap his hand to the mat: 1 - 2 - The Venusian Death Cell escapes within a hair's breadth of getting pinned! The crowd lets out a gasp of disappointment.] TD: Unbelievable! Onslaught managed to pull off that crucifix from nowhere and almost got the duke! SR: It looks like that masked moron was playing possum while Cell squabbled with Alfonso. What a cheap shot! TD: Onslaught did nothing against the rules, Steve, while the Venusian Death Cell has been disregarding them every chance he gets. SR: Well you're obviously biased against the Death Cell Dross, you tried to have him poisoned, after all. TD: [exasperated] Please, can we drop that topic already? [Frustrated the Venusian Death Cell slaps the mat and gets to his feet, only to recieve a reverse crescent kick from the resurging Onslaught. The Death Cell wipes his mouth checking for blood in disbelief. Onslaught tags him with a few shots to the forehead and then whips him hard into a neutral corner, following up with a handspring into a elbowsmash. Big pop from the crowd! The Venusian Death Cell staggers a few steps out of the corner, and then falls flat on his face! Josey Wales covers his hands in despair at ringside as the High Plains Drifters shout swear words at Onslaught.] TD: Amazing! Onslaught has defied the odds and turned this match right around! SR: What's that, Dross? I was concentrating on the High Plains Drifters' poetry. TD: Pale and Easy's comments were hardly eloquent, Steve. They need their mouths washed out with soap and water. SR: What for? They already have Kessler's mouth-wash! [Onslaught comes off the ropes and goes for a summersault splash, but the Venusian Death Cell is quick to recover and rolls out of the way, causing Onslaught to slam painfully into the mat. Enraged by his inability to put his foe away, the Death Cell leaps atop of Onslaught and begins choking away again with all his might. Fed up with the Death Cell's blatant flaunting of the rules, the ref waves his arms and calls for the bell. Ding! Ding! Ding!] SR: What the...?! That was way too hasty on Alfonso's part! This guy must have got his refereeing lisence out of a cornflakes packet! TD: You know fine well Earl Alfonso was perfectly within his rights to call for the disqualification, Steve. The Venusian Death Cell had already been given two warnings for illegal choke holds. This is what we need to see more of in the IIWF, good, strict officiating. SR: Harrumph. Spoil-sport. [The Venusian Death Cell leaps to his feet in enraged surprise and immediately gets in the referee's face, angrily shaking his fist and ranting about the verdict. Meanwhile, Onslaught staggers to his feet to await the official announcement, clasping his side and wincing from his missed splash. The High Plains Drifters rush the ring and immediately go to work on Onslaught, clubbering him down to the mat.] TD: Is there any need for this? Has'nt Onslaught suffered enough punishment already? SR: The Posse is pissed off about this completely unfair result, and they're not the types to hide their feelings, Dross. [The Venusian Death Cell heaves the referee bodilly from the ring, then joins the High Plains Drifters in their beating of Onslaught. Pale and Easy drag Onslaught to his feet and whip him into the ropes, delivering a high impact double-clothesline on the rebound, dropping him straight to the canvas. The Venusian Death Cell comes down from the top turnbuckle with a devastating knee drop to Onslaught's throat. Big heel pop! The Death Cell hauls Onslaught up once again and sets him up for a powerbomb, Pale and Easy lend a hand, spiking Onslaught into the mat with tremendous force! The jeers of the crowd grow louder as the Posse pose in the center of the ring.] SR: This is great isn't it? This beating makes up for the crappy result we were just forced to put up with. TD: This is absolutely disgusting, these three men are completely reprehensible! Where the hell is the security team? This punishment must be stopped! [The members of the Posse laugh as they turn to inflict further punishment on Onslaught, who is stretched out motionless on the canvas. Suddenly the jeers turn to cheers as Creed rushes the ring. He immediately interjects himself into the fray, delivering big roundhouse punches to the three heels and knocking them down to the canvas.] SR: Oh great, tonight's volunteer vigilante decides to break up the entertainment. What took him so long anyway? TD: I think he was tending to Earl Alfonso, who was senselessly thrown from the ring by the Venusian Death Cell. I never thought I'd see the day the fans would cheer for Creed. SR: These morons would cheer for Joe Stalin if he broke up a postmatch attack. Typical bunch of inbreds. [Easy gets up to his feet first, and is immediately clotheslined from the ring by Creed. Crowd pop! VDC and Pale get to their feet and begin trading shots with Creed, who holds his own against the two ruffians! The crowd gives a shocked pop as Easy re-enters the ring, this time with a steel chair. There is a tremendous crack as Easy brains Creed from behind with the chair, knocking him for six. Heel pop! Laughing, the three Posse members bail from the ring, giving the finger to the jeering crowd. Josey Wales slaps his proteges on the back, and they walk back up the aisle together as the audience pelts them with trash.] RA: Here is your official decision. The winner, as a result of a disqualification, Onslaught! [The crowd begins to pop but is quickly silenced as they see Onslaught does not appear to be moving.] TD: I can't believe what we have just witnessed here! Creed and Onslaught are laid out motionless in the ring. We need medical attention down here immediately. SR: That's what you get when you mess with the Posse, Dross. Josey Wales and his men don't take any crap from goons like Onslaught and Creed. [The crowd grows solemn as the IIWF medical team enters the ring and begins to fuss around Creed and Onslaught. The team is able to revive Creed, who appears to suffer only minor effects, but there are increasingly concerned murmurs from the crowd as Onslaught remains motionless. Eventually the stretcher is brought out, and the fearless luchador is placed upon it. The camera picks out a young fan dressed in a red Onslaught outfit, who cries as his hero is stretchered from the ring.] TD: Fans, this doesn't look good for Onslaught. He'll receive the very best medical treatment from the paramedics here at the Coliseum, and I'll have an update on his condition tomorrow on the IIWF's new hotline -- don't forget that number! Call 1-900-325-IIWF to hear all the latest news and gossip from the IIWF, calls cost only $12.95 per minute! SR: What a pro you are, Dross. Able to turn a tragedy into a marketing exercise in the blink of an eye. TD: That's what makes me the premier play-by-play man in the IIWF, and Larry Morton the guy who runs about backstage. Speaking of whom, I understand there's some kind of disturbance back there. Larry? [Cut to backstage. Larry Morton stands in the foreground, and behind him, Mr. Damage is swamped by fans, but he is refusing to sign any autographs, telling the fans to kindly kiss his arse. Harlequin Melody is nearby signing some autographs while singing "Zippity Do Dah"!] LM: Thanks, Tim. Yes, some of the IIWF superstars are taking a few minutes out of their schedule to sign autographs for some of the IIWF's most avid fans. Here in the Coliseum, the security staff are often so stretched in the arena that some fans manage to sneak in backstage here, and the wrestlers are only too happy to sign... hang on, Mr. Damage and Harlequin Melody are here together! This could mean trouble after the encounter between Damage and Chaos this past Wednesday... hey! [Melody sees Damage and storms towards him, jostling Morton out of the way in the process. She starts punching Damage. The punches have no physical effect on Mr. Damage but it gets his attention. Suddenly, strange haunting music starts. The crowd look to see where it is coming from. Mr. Damage breaks into song in a tenor voice.] MD: [singing] Ha you fell into my trap! Now why don't you shut your yap! Melody: [singing] I will not shut up! MD: [singing] Now look into my eyes; for you I have a surprise! Crowd: [singing] Don't do it! Don't do it! Melody: [singing] I don't want to, but I can't help it! Crowd: [singing] Don't do it! Don't do it! MD: [singing] Look! Look! Look! [A smile appears on Damage's face. Melody succumbs as she looks into his eyes, she seems to be hypnotised and infatuated with Mr. Damage.] Melody: [singing] Oh, Mr. Damage, how do I love thee? MD: [singing] I don't love thee, but I need a maid, the floors need scrubbing and you won't get paid! Come with me, oh Melody. Crowd: [singing] Go with him, oh Melody. [Damage and Melody walk through the crowd and out the door as the crowd break into a finishing number, Oklahoma-style! Larry Morton steps back into the shot, rubbing his face, looking completely flabberghasted.] LM: Well... I... can safely say I have never seen anything like that in my entire career. Er... back to you at ringside. [Two members of the crowd link arms with Larry, and he gets swept along by their infectious singing. Cut back to the announcers' table. Steve Roberts has his head in his hands.] SR: [muffled] For heaven's sakes! I think I'm going to cry! TD: Er, I don't know quite what all that was about, but it appears that Mr. Damage has... er... come to some arrangement with Harlequin Melody. What a bizarre turn of events. Well, we must move on to our next encounter: Serge Annis battles the Hangman. Before we get up to the ring, let's hear from both competitors, beginning with the Hangman, who spoke with Becky LaRue yesterday: [Cut to footage subtitled, "Yesterday." Becky LaRue stands with the Hangman.] BL: Hangman, the last time we talked you were ranting and raving about Fisto Flash, or at least what's left of him here in the IIWF -- his fist... TH: Excuse me for interrupting you, but I am not out here to talk about the past. I am here to talk about the now. Saturday night, I get to face somebody I never even heard of. Another wants to try and build a reputation here on my name. I have one plan for my foe tonight and that is to beat him into submission. I do not want the pinfall, the count out... I want him to say, "Mr. Hangman I GIVE UP!" Even though this is not an "I quit" match, tonight for me it is. BL: You mean you are going to make him say "I Quit" and not go for the pinfall?! Hangman, I think you may have gone over the edge... TH: EDGE.....EDGE... What are you trying to say, that my style of wrestling can be taken to an even higher level? Miss Becky, you have not even begun to imagine the WRATH that I can cause... Now I have one other thing to say about tonight. BL: I didn't mean to upset you, Hangman, but it was just an observation that the rest of us here in the IIWF have noticed... TH: You tell your partner that his opinions and thoughts are of NO CONCERN to me or my friends. I do what I want and pay no attention to what others think around here. That is unless they start telling lies again. Becky: Okay, Hangman, I understand what... TH: Venusian Death Cell, you think that putting me off so you can attempt to take out a better wrestler than you ever have been is such a smart idea? [The Hangman tilts his head back and spits a green mist from his mouth] Do you think you are the only one who can spit colors? Well, friend, I have only one thing to say to you and that is: BEWARE of what can happen while you are on your way to the arena, getting dressed, walking in the park or just trying to win a match. [TH points his finger towards the camera and as it goes black a red ball of fire lights up the screen. The screen spins around, and cuts to Serge Annis standing in his locker room.] SA: On Saturday night, I will face a Hangman. It doesn't matter which one... it doesn't matter at all... on Saturday... one of the Hangmen will feel the wrath of Annis... much like Dan Kauffman will... and same with Deathbringer... hehehe... Dead man, you seem to think I fear you... it seems that you have not been reading your Future book enough because as I have already proven... and as I will prove again... I do not fear you. And for you Deathbringer, Kauffman... Quigley... Hangmen... I shall stand up to you all... perhaps my shoulders may sometime be pinned one, two, three... but at least I stood up for myself... hehehe... and show no fear of any man... And why do I fear no man? BECAUSE I AM THE ONLY MAN WHOM CAN DELIVER A TRUE FEAR THAT RIPS THROUGH YOUR HEART! And I assure you, I'd be afraid of me... if I had a heart... hehehehe! [Annis turns from the camera and continues to laugh maniacally. Cut back to the announcers' table.] TD: Neither of these two individuals is what I would call well-balanced, Steve. We could be in for a real slobberknocker here. SR: Bring 'em out, Dross -- let's see some blood! TD: Let's get up to the ring. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Serge Annis vs. The Hangman =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= [Sparkplug Lee steps into the squared circle once more.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the following encounter is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, hailing from Loredo, Texas, and weighing in at 322lbs, here is... the Hangman! [Big heel pop as "Desperado" starts up over the PA and the lights drop. Lights cast the shadow of the shape of a black noose amid a red glow on the aisle and the canvas of the ring as the Hangman steps out at the head of the aisle and makes his way down to ringside.] SR: Where are the other two Hangmen? TD: I understand the IIWF President took a stand concerning all the swapping of legal and illegal men that's been going on in the Hangman's matches, and put a temporary ban on the other Hangmen being at ringside. SR: What a spoilsport. [The Hangman approaches the ring, and comes nose to nose with Creed. The two men stare each other down for a few moments, and then the Hangman passes by and climbs the ringsteps, stepping between the ropes into the ring. He hangs his noose over the corner post, and then stands in the ring, awaiting his opponent. "Some Days It's Dark" starts up over the PA.] RA: And introducing his opponent, hailing from Oakville, Ontario, Canada, and weighing in at 293lbs, here is the "Epitome of Evil", Serge Annis! [Big mixed pop for Annis as he appears at the head of the aisle. He glints under the lights, and beads of water stand out on his skin. He turns his head from side to side, looking out into the crowd with wild eyes, and droplets of water fly off him. He pulls out his Zippo lighter and flicks it open, waving it gleefully at the fans in the front row.] TD: This man disgusts me. What kind of an example is he setting our young fans, waving that lighter around like that? SR: Lighten up, Dross. A bit of wanton pyromania never did anybody any harm. [Annis waves the lighter under Creed's nose, and the big man simply grabs the lighter with his gloved red hand, closes it, and hands it back to Annis, who looks a little taken aback. But then he slaps Creed on the back and continues to the ring, climbing the ringsteps, and jawing with the Hangman. Annis steps through the ropes, and the referee signals for the bell as the two athletes begin to circle one another. They lock up collar and elbow, and Annis pushes the Hangman into the ropes. The Hangman attempts to clothesline Annis, but Serge holds his ground. Annis attempts to return the favour, but is unable to take the Hangman down. Again, the Hangman bounces off the ropes and hits Annis with a clothesline, but the "Lethal Protector" stays on his feet. Annis bounces off the ropes himself, but he too is unable to fell his opponent at the second attempt. Finally, both men bounce into the ropes and hit each other with a double clothesline. Pop! Both men go down, and quickly get back to their feet.] TD: These two powerful competitors feeling their way in the early going here, Steve. SR: I think the Hangman has the edge in pure power, Dross, but Annis could be that little bit faster and more agile, and that could be a decisive factor. [Annis raises both arms above his head, inviting the Hangman to test his strength. The Hangman gingerly obliges, and immediately begins to force Annis down onto one knee. The crowd begins to cheer as Annis forces his way back up to his feet, and then gives good heat as he nails the Hangman in the lower abdomen with a swift kick. The referee warns Annis for his illegal kick, but Annis doesn't listen, bouncing off the ropes and felling the doubled-over Hangman with a kneelift. He drops on the big man with an elbowdrop, and then makes the cover - 1 - kickout! Annis drags the Hangman to his feet, and hits him with a short arm clothesline, sending him straight back to the mat. Annis makes another cover - 1 - kickout!] TD: It's going to take a lot more than that to put the Hangman out, Steve. SR: Annis knows that, Dross. He's just playing with the Hangman at the moment. One of Serge's strengths is his ring psychology. He knows how to undermine the confidence of his opponents, and this is a good way of doing it. Keep him on the mat, and show him who's in charge. [Annis flexes for the crowd, who give him a heel pop, and drags the Hangman to his feet. The big man in black nails Annis with a shoulder to the midsection, staggering Annis, and the Hangman fires out with a clothesline, knocking Annis to the mat. The Hangman stomps on Annis, who rolls under the ropes to escape the attack. Annis walks around the ring on the floor, before jumping back up to the apron. The Hangman meets him with a hard right hand, and then suplexes Annis back into the ring! Pop! The Hangman makes the cover - 1 - 2 - kickout! The Hangman allows Annis to rise, and then scoops him up for a backbreaker! Pop! The Hangman drags Annis to his feet, doubles him over, and then puts his head between his legs, setting up for a powerbomb. However, at that moment, the Hangman hesitates, and seems to be looking out into the crowd.] TD: What's stopping the Hangman? What's he seen in the crowd? [The shot cuts to a figure standing by one of the exits up in the crowd. The camera zooms in, but before a clear view can be gained, the figure turns and walks towards the exit, his back to the camera. He disappears from view.] SR: Dross, that looked like the Senator! TD: Yes, Steve, it did. This isn't the first time that the Hangman has seen this apparition. I'm sure there's nothing supernatural about these appearances, but you have to wonder who's trying to get at the Hangman. [The distraction offers Annis enough time to recover, and he drives his shoulder into the Hangman's midsection, staggering the big man. Annis gets to his feet and bounces off the ropes, hitting the Hangman with a clothesline that knocks him to the mat. Annis goes to the ropes, climbs to the second buckle, and leaps with an elbow smash. He hits hard, and goes for the cover - 1 - 2 - kickout!] TD: That distraction nearly cost the Hangman the match right there! Annis firmly back in control. [Annis drags the Hangman to his feet and tries to whip him into the ropes. The Hangman reverses, and sends Annis for the ride. The Hangman puts his head down for a backdrop, but ducks too early, allowing Annis to anticipate, and the "Epitome of Evil" fires out with a DDT which floors the Hangman! Big pop! Annis signals to the crowd for his chokeslam finisher!] TD: Annis should have gone for the cover right there, Steve! The Hangman looks like he's out! SR: For once, I agree. That DDT was well-executed... hey! [Suddenly, the lights in the arena drop. Big mixed pop! A couple of seconds later, they rise again, and Deathbringer stands in the ring behind Annis. The referee immediately signals for the bell as Annis spins around and is grabbed by the throat. Deathbringer lifts Annis up and chokeslams him to the mat to a big mixed pop! On the outside, Creed darts into action, leaping to the apron and climbing into the ring, where he begins brawling with Deathbringer. The crowd cheer.] TD: Well, that's one way to get past Creed, Steve. SR: But Deathbringer might have more problems getting past him now -- look at Creed go to work in there! [Creed pummels Deathbringer with his gloved left fist, before whipping him into the ropes and flooring him with a clothesline. Meanwhile, the Hangman and Annis have dragged themselves to their feet using the ropes, and they begin stomping on Deathbringer, who merely sits up, shrugging off the attack. A huge brawl breaks out between all four men, and the crowd pop like crazy!] TD: Whoa! This situation has got right out of hand here! [The referee signals for the bell again, and security personnel stream down to the ring in an effort to break up the brawl. They drag the Hangman and Annis from the ring, and try to create human barriers around them as they force them back up the aisle. In the ring, Deathbringer and Creed face off, and the lights in the arena suddenly drop once more. When they rise again a few seconds later, Creed stands alone in the ring. He receives a sizable number of cheers from the crowd as he leaves the squared circle.] TD: And just like that, Deathbringer disappears as suddenly as he arrived. But the crowd seem to be warming to Creed here, Steve. SR: These morons are finding out now what I've known all along: that Creed really is a force to be reckoned with in the IIWF. He's not going to be held down any longer, and tonight he's showing us why! TD: Before we get up to the ring for our next match, let's go to some comments from Mr. Mic and Hades, who aren't happy at all with the Players' Club at the moment: [Cut to footage subtitled, "Yesterday": a large study in Mr.Mic's mansion. Mr.Mic is seated behind a large solid oak desk. He is typing away on a computer, while checking the Wall Street Journal. Hades is seen across the room watching videotape of last Saturday Night's attack on Chris Quigley.] Hades: [still watching the screen] Mr.Mic, have you seen this? MM: [letting out a big sigh and looking up at Hades] Yes, I have... so what? Hades: They used your spike powerbomb. I mean Pain Inc. have been using the spike powerbomb as the Simply Pain for a lot longer than the Players' Club has. [Mr.Mic stops typing on the computer, looks over at Hades.] MM: So! What does that have to do with anything? [Hades stops the videotape and looks over at Mr.Mic.] Hades: Well, shouldn't we do something about it? MM: All in good time, Hades, there are plenty of wrestlers who would love to get their hands on Kauffman. Deathbringer, Tiger Claw, even Chris Quigley! Hades: Chris Quigley! MM: I may not like Quigley, but I respect him. If he wants to tag with Pain Inc. against the Three Stooges then so be it. Hades: Did you see the Armed Forces last night? MM: [chuckles to himself] Yeah, I saw them. Hades: Can you believe those guys?! To think we were going to team up with those no-good backstabbers. MM: Now, Hades, the Armed Forces are not as intellegent as Pain Inc. They don't understand that if they can't win the tag titles from the bad, the awful, and the ugly then don't come crying to the closest camera saying how we cost them the titles. Hades: What exactly was all that about Aaron saying he mismanaged them by trying to keep the peace between you two? MM: Listen, Aaron couldn't manage a fit. Sgt. Bilko and Beetle Bailey can't get the job done so they blame us. We were there for them. We came out and defended them to the IIWF. Army brats, that's all they are, Army brats. Hades: What about the Players' Club? [Mr.Mic gets up and looks out his window to the pond he has in his huge garden.] MM: Boy, Hades, you just want the Players' Club to get their dues, don't you? Hades: Sorry, sir, maybe I'm losing my focus but Kauffman interfered at Snow Brawl and I don't think he should get away with it. [Mr.Mic storms over to Hades and grabs him by the throat clenching it tighter and tighter. Hades just stares at Mr.Mic., his grasp seemingly having no effect.] MM: [in a low dark tone] Did I ever say he was getting away with it? Hades: [in an apologetic tone] No sir, I'm sorry. [Mr.Mic straightens his clothes and starts to pace around the room, stopping to spin a large globe in the center of the room.] MM: Kauffman and the Pathetic Club are going to have the six-man tag of their lives. In fact, let's make it interesting. How about bunkhouse rules for the six-man tag? Imagine being able to smack Kauffman around like the little girl he is with a baseball bat and it's perfectly legal! Hades, please inform the IIWF offices of my latest idea. [Hades nods and leaves the room as Mr.Mic goes over to the window once again.] MM: Soon, Kauffman, very soon... [Cut back to the announcers' table.] TD: Pain Inc. may have plans for the Players' Club, but that match may have to wait before it's signed, since the Players' Club have other ideas at the moment. Let's hear from the IIWF Champion, Dan Kauffman, and his two partners: [Cut to footage subtitled, "Earlier this week." The back stage area during an IIWF house card. Kauffman stands in the center while Dynamite and Reyna stand on either side, the FWLI tag titles around their waists, and the GCW Global and FoPEW U.S. belts in hand and over their shoulders.] DDD: Hey, Disciples... You hear us knocking, but you won't let us in... Now why is that? AFRAID? Afraid of the team that dominates EVERY federation they go into? Reyna: Before we start on the tag champs, let's talk about the former CHUMPS! High Plain Drifters... Bitchin' isn't becoming... Just SHUT UP and handle that you two got beat... Whether it be by Danny and I interfering and TRYING to save your asses or not, that doesn't matter... YOU GOT BEAT! Just thank God it was by the Disciples, and not us! DDD: That's right. And that brings me to Casey. You say YOU'RE the champ? IIWF, LOOK AT YOUR CHAMP! [slaps Kauffman on the chest] This man is what makes the IIWF today. Casey, that belt is stolen, and boy, you're looking at the collection agency. DK: James... You want to bring back Khaos? You wanted to see the hardcore side of Kauffman... You ain't seen NOTHING yet! Like Dan said, I am YOUR champ, and soon, the three men before you will have ALL the major titles. Syndicate... Beware... Pray... Pray to your God, pray to all the Gods, that we have SOME pity on your worthless hides when it's all over. James, there was a major flaw in your taking of my possession... It made YOU the hunted, and it made ME the hunter! Bad idea. Just remember, Casey. Sooner or later, at any time, I could be right behind you, and Neverland is never more than a second away. DDD: Three pairs of tag belts.. IIWF, we're ready for number four. Dark Disciples.. There's NOTHING you have to say about it! Syndicate, you wanted a war? Disciples, Claw, James... It's time to go to war, and you're looking at the masters of war. MR: It all begins and ends with the Players' Club. Never forget that one simple fact. [Cut back to ringside.] TD: Well, although neither the Players' Club nor the Dark Disciples are scheduled for action here tonight, I understand both teams are here in the Coliseum. I hope they stay away from one another. SR: [scoffs] Yeah, right, Dross. TD: Okay, let's get back up to the ring. The Alphabet Boys, who continue to harbour their obsession for Rising Sun Revolution, who have just returned from a whistle-stop tour of their homeland, challenged the Arabian Knights to a match to settle old scores on RSR's behalf. Heaven knows what we're going to see in this encounter... Over to Sparkplug Lee for the introductions. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Alphabet Boys vs. Arabian Knights =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= [Sparkplug Lee steps into the ring once more.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the following tag team encounter is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, at a combined weight of 589lbs, here are Abie and Zed... the Alphabet Boys! [The chorus of children singing the Alphabet song blares out over the PA, and the crowd give an appreciative pop as Abie and Zed amble out from the locker room area, both wearing official RSR t-shirts.] TD: Here they come, Steve -- the IIWF's most unorthodox tag team. SR: They also have the worst entrance music in history. Shut it off, somebody! [Abie and Zed eventually make it to the ring, having played patticake with as many members of the crowd as possible. They clamber through the ropes and proceed to run round Sparkplug Lee, playing tag. Sparkplug craftily sticks out a foot, and Zed trips, falling headlong. Abie goes over to tend to his partner.] SR: Nicely done, Sparkplug. RA: And introducing their opponents, hailing from Ar Riyad, Saudi Arabia, accompanied to the ring by Mr. Kaseem, and at a combined weight of 595lbs, here are Prince Abdul Akmar and Omar... the Arabian Knights! [Big heel pop as the theme from the "Arabian Knights" starts up and the Prince appears at the head of the aisle, with Kaseem and Omar close behind. However, behind the Knights walk another two figures in wrestling attire.] TD: Who are those guys? SR: Well, it _looks_ kind of like Rising Sun Revolution... but I'm not sure Hiroshi was ever that fat... [Sure enough, two figures wearing Rising Sun Revolution's ring attire follow the Knights down to ringside, and they stop at the bottom of the aisle, where they are confronted by Creed. The Knights step into the ring, and the referee signals for the bell. The Prince points Abie towards the RSR-lookalikes in the aisle, and Abie does a double-take. He yells at Zed, and together the ABoys dash from the ring, nearly knocking Creed over as they dash past him to get close to their idols.] TD: Oh dear. That isn't Rising Sun Revolution at all. SR: But the Alphabet Morons think it is -- look at them! [Abie and Zed hug the imposters round the waist like small children hugging their parents, but slowly it dawns on them that these two individuals aren't Ryudu and Hiroshi. Abie stands, and finds himself face to face not with Ryudu, but with Scott "the Whine" Bloom. "The Whine" grins weakly, but is clotheslined to the floor by Abie, who stomps on him. Zed looks up at "Hiroshi" and sees it is in fact one of the Rotundos. He yells, and headbutts the huge man, knocking him to the floor. Meanwhile, the referee has been counting Abie out, and the count has reached five.] TD: This has all turned ugly pretty quickly, Steve. The Alphabet Boys feel cheated, and they could find themselves cheated out of this match if they don't get into the ring right now! SR: You've got to hand it to the Knights, Dross -- this is one of the most effective techniques we've yet seen for confusing these two inbred morons. [Abie and Zed realise that something is wrong, and turn back to the ring, where Prince Abdul Akmar wipes tears of laughter away from his eyes. Omar points down at the ABoys and guffaws. Abie and Zed look at one another, and then charge into the ring, breaking the count. All four men brawl around the ring, and finally Zed knocks Omar over the ropes to the outside, before yelling a battle cry and throwing himself over the ropes after him. Meanwhile, Abie finds himself on the receiving end of a thumb to the eye from the Prince, and the referee warns the Prince.] TD: At last we have just two men in the ring! Perhaps we can get on with the match now. SR: I wouldn't be so sure, Dross. [Suddenly the crowd starts to give a tremendous heel pop] TD: Hold on... What's this?! The Dark Disciples are making their way down to the ring! What could they possibly want with this match-up? SR: Dross, you moron! Kane and Wulf just wanna kick some heads. [The camera shows Kane and Wulf making their way slowly down to the ring, the World tag team belts dangling from their hands like dead cats.] TD: Hang on... those belts look a little different. [The camera focuses in on the tag team belts. They appear to be all blackened and charred, and the frontpieces have been distorted into demonic looking symbols.] SR: Heh, heh, it looks like they made good on their comments last Friday night. TD: This is absolutely disgraceful! The IIWF championship belts are supposed to represent great athletic achievement, not some sort of perverted demonic cult. This is a stain on the great championship lineage these belts have held. I strongly suggest President Spreadbury considers stripping Kane and Wulf of the belts, or at least levies a hefty fine. SR: Why? I think the Dark Disciples have given the belts a certain something. [Kane and Wulf arrive at ringside, where they are confronted by Creed. Without so much as a thought, the Disciples both clock him viciously with the charred belts, knocking him to the floor and allowing them passage.] TD: The Disciples made short work of Creed right there! SR: One man versus two monsters with gold belts. It was a foregone conclusion, Dross. [They head on to the ring, ignoring the jeers of the crowd. They roll under the ring ropes and immediately lunge at Abie and Prince Abdul. The referee signals for the bell: Ding! Ding! Ding! Kane lambasts Abie with his half of the tag team championship and Wulf waffles Abdul with the other. Zed and Omar immediately rush into the ring to aid their fallen partners, only to meet the same fate. The Dark Disciples proceed to stomp the fallen wrestlers for a while before heaving them bodily from the ring. Security quickly storms ringside and encircles the Arabian Knights and The Alphabet Boys, herding them away down the aisle. Prince Abdul and Omar make threatening gestures at the Dark Disciples who snicker back at them from the ring. Abie and Zed clutch their heads in pain and then headbutt each other, prompting a brief scuffle down the aisle.] TD: That was a completely unwarranted attack by the Dark Disciples! They had no place here at ringside and I distinctly hope... SR: [interrupting) Pipe down your ranting, Dross. It looks like the Disciples have something to say. [Wulf holds aloft the disfigured championship belts to a chorus of jeers from the crowd. Kane signals a nervous Sparkplug Lee to hand him the mic.] KANE: Behold, the new World tag team champions, and the harbringers of a new era in the IIWF! [Heel pop] KANE: Meek fools! your eyes do not decieve you. The Dark Disciples have mutated the championship belts as was promised. In the past they were so pure and bright, it made my stomach boil just to look at them. Now they possess a style more befitting the men who hold them, they reflect the darkness of our hearts and the violence in our souls. It is time for the wrestlers of the IIWF to recognise what they long have feared, there is no order, there is no justice, there is only Chaos! The officials of the IIWF may believe they are in control, but it is merely an illusion, they are all pawns in a bigger game, the struggle between good and evil. At the very moment the Dark Disciples were crowned as champions, the rules were changed: now evil rules supreme in the IIWF! [Big heel pop] KANE: Dare any team now stand against us? Dare anyone challenge our might? If any such a team exists, then come forth, come forth and be destroyed! [There is silence as the crowd waits expectantly. Suddenly the audience explodes into a big mixed pop as Dynamite and Reyna of the Players' Club come down the aisle, their eyes focused determinedly on Kane and Wulf.] TD: The Players Club won't take any guff from the Dark Disciples. They're out to prove they deserve the tag team titles. SR: Give me a break, Timbo. The Players' Club may have been working on their killer instinct recently, but Kane and Wulf wrote the book on brutality. KANE: Come hither Players' Club, come and meet your destiny! [Before the Players' Club have even hit the ring there is another tremendous pop as Domination, accompanied by Mistress, appear at the head of the aisle.] TD: Domination are here! Domination are the number one contenders and they don't want to be left out of the title race! SR: This is gonna be great, the Dark Disciples are gonna stomp the tar out of Domination as well! [Kane beckons Domination to the ring, all the while maintaining his evil grin. Wulf leans over the ropes and snarls, causing Mistress to give a little shudder of disgust. The Players' Club open the ropes and cautiously step into the ring, keeping an eye out for a rush attack. They are soon followed by a fierce-looking Domination. All three teams stand in the ring facing each other warily. Psycho rubs his fist and eyes the opposition while Dynamite and Reyna rip off their shirts. Kane and Wulf throw the tag belts and mic out of the ring. The crowd remains dead silent as the tension can be felt in the air.] TD: Oh my, we're on the verge of a colossal confrontation here, folks. Where the hell is the security team? SR: They're probably backstage breaking out the popcorn and Bud in preparation for the big slopsticker we're about to witness. TD: [sighs] for the last time, that's _SLOBBERKNOCKER_, Steve! SR: That's what I said, you moron! [Suddenly, as if on cue, the three teams lunge at each other and the crowd explodes in a tremendous mixed pop. Kane and Dynamite begin trading shots, as Monster and Wulf attempt to rip chunks out of each other. Reyna aims an elbow shot at Kane but distracted by the chaos miscues and tags Psycho!] SR: This is great, it's absolute carnage in there! TD: What kind of image is this presenting to the impressionable young fans out there, Steve? The security team needs to break this up _now_! [Pair by pair, the teams fall from the ring, and as a security team descends on the ringside area, officials try to force the brawl away from the ring. Dynamite and Kane continue to duke it out, the big man ramming Dynamite repeatedly into the steel crowd barriers before being leaped on by Reyna from behind. Kane simply swats Reyna from his back, and clotheslines him to the arena floor! Huge heel pop! Meanwhile, Wulf and Monster continue to go at it, and bounce off each other like rutting stags. Security teams vainly try to get between the three teams, and have difficulty forcing them back to the locker room area.] TD: This is totally out of control! Mr. Psycho is down on the floor -- he just took a blow to the head from a chair courtesy of Kane! Monster is trying to tear strips off Wulf, and Dynamite and Reyna look like they're out! Hang on... the Disciples have made a break for the locker rooms! [Kane and Wulf suddenly break from the brawl, and leave the carnage behind them, holding their charred belts up high. They disappear into the locker room area, and Monster and Reyna lumber after him.] TD: It looks like this brawl is going to continue back in the locker room area... SR: Have we got any cameras back there, Dross? Get some cameras back there! [Cut to a backstage corridor. Kane and Wulf walk around a corner, sweating but with evil grins on their faces. Suddenly, they are attacked by the High Plains Drifters, who dash into the shot and begin beating on Kane and Wulf with anything they can lay their hands on. The Disciples sustain the early attack, and Wulf throws Pale Rider through a nearby closed door with a huge crash. Kane, meanwhile, brawls with Easy Rider. More security officials are soon on the scene, but so too are G.W.R. and the Hangmen, who get involved in the brawl as Monster and Reyna return to the fray. The camera is jostled and the image is lost. Cut back to the announcers' table. The crowd is still buzzing.] SR: Aw, shoot. We always lose out on the good bits. TD: Fans, it's completely wild back there. I understand officials and security personnel are doing their best to restore order... Wow, what a brawl. We didn't even get much of a match between the Alphabet Boys and the Arabian Knights. The official word is that the bout was ruled a no contest... SR: That was great, Dross. I want to see that kind of thing more often. TD: You would. Okay, up next we're going to see Lord Byron return to action here in the IIWF as he goes up against the unpredictable Dirt Dog Unique Allah. Larry Morton is backstage with Lord Byron now: [Cut to the dressing room area. Larry Morton is standing by with Lord Byron.] LM: Thanks, Tim. I'm here to catch up with Lord Byron, returning to the IIWF after an extended tour of Japan. Mr. Byron, in a few short minutes, you will be facing one of the IIWF's erm... stranger competitors, the Dirt Dog Unique Allah. Byron: Much to my disgust. I am no stranger to this individual, and let me put it this way, I remain unconvinced that he poses any significant challenge to me. LM: Byron, from his comments, Unique intends to teach you a serious lesson. He sees you as the perfect stepping stone to win back his favour with the fans. Byron: His mistake. Despite what imbeciles like him and the Subway Psycho believe [Byron smirks] -- what does he call himself again? The "people's champion"? What a joke. [Morton makes to say something, but Byron cuts him off] Regardless of what they believe, the peons' opinions count for absolutely nothing. They are merely a distraction and an annoyance. It is wrestling ability and intelligence that win matches, and I'm afraid I supercede the Dirt Dog in both areas. LM: Unique's a very wily competitor, Byron. He's not to be taken lightly. [Byron glares at Morton] Byron: I know exactly what Unique is capable of, Mr. Morton, and I take none of my opponents lightly. But, to Medusa Rage and the Dirt Dog, I will say once again, I WILL NOT allow you, nor anyone else, to interfere with my ambitions. My time in Japan has served only to heighten my desire for success. As the [a look of distaste flashes across Byron's face] "Dirt Dog" will realise none to soon. LM: And the Lady DeWinter? [Byron raises an eyebrow] LM: She's been conspicious by her absence ever since your match with Warnett. Will she be joining you at ringside? Byron: [A strange smile playing across his face] But of course. I have full confidence in my ward's ability as a valet. The Warnett incident was my entirely my fault. But if you will excuse me, Mr. Morton. I have a few final preperations to make. Ciao. [Byron reenters his dressing room.] LM: Let's go back to Tim Dross at ringside. [Cut back to the announcers' table.] TD: Thanks, Larry. I understand we also have some pretaped comments from the Dirt Dog which pertain to this match. Let's roll that footage: [Cut to footage subtitled, "Yesterday." Dirt Dog sits rocking back and forth wildly on the floor of his bare apartment. It now stands empty, but Unique doesn't seem to notice. He just rocks wildly.] Unique: Gon get some revenge. Yeah, that's what I'm gon do. I'm gon' get some revenge on that Blue Blood. YEAH! Lord Byron, you won the first time we met with that painful sh!t of yours, but don't think it can happen two times if you really want to look at like that. I don't got time to lose again. See, Medusa said everytime I lose, she's takin' away some furniture. I didn't have nothin' but a stove and a pot to piss in anyway. Now what I got? A dirty pot, that's what. Man, you lucky I don't pour it over your head. Know what I mean? You hear me, Lord Byron. You can't get by this Dog twice because my bark is worse than my bite. I mean bite is worse than my bark? Whatever the hell that is. I see you now. You want to bring that fancy stuff to a fight. You bring, because I'm the one that can't be touched. You don't know nothin' about people like me. You don't know nothin' about gettin' a ass-whuppin' like the one I'm gonna give you. You think you's the superlogical wrestler, the loved darling of millions? Well a nation of millions can't hold me back. And I really think you should get to know me like that. I'm a put some stink on ya ya muhfuh and then get real nasty! Yeah, you gonna get real messed up, Boy. [deranged laughter then tears] Damn, I wish my wife was here! Medusa! Medusa! Couldn't ya just give me a little piece while I'm waitin' fo' my wife to come back to me? I got nasty needs, girl! Nasty, nasty needs! [more deranged laughter] And my biggest need is bust you open, Byron. That Lady Dewinter lookin' pretty good, don't she? She lookin' real good. Easy on the ol' eye. I wonder if she ever been wit' a dog before. Maybe. She got that kinda nasty edge to her. Maybe I'll just find out what she taste like. Heh! [Tears] Bet she not as sweet as my Shakeemah! Aw damn, why she gotta leave me like this? Why? Everything was just so beautiful! Just so wonderful! You know whutI'msayin'. I had love y'all! I had love! Man, cut the cameras off. Cut the cameras off. I wanna cry and stuff. I gotta do that alone! [Cut back to the announcers' table.] TD: There's not a great deal one can say after a display like that. Let's get back up to the ring. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Lord Byron vs. Dirt Dog Unique Allah -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= [Sparkplug Lee raises his microphone once more.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is set for one fall; introducing first, accompanied to the ring by Lady DeWinter, weighing 265lbs. and currently residing in New Orleans, Louisiana, Lord Byron! [Heel pop as Byron and DeWinter stride down the aisle, a hundred young hands thrusting over the retaining barrier in an effort to simply graze the beautiful DeWinter whose obvious physical endowments are augmented tonight by a short, black Versace dress with a neckline which plunges further than modesty would dictate. Byron ignores the commotion, commandeering a security guard to aid the good Lady to the ring. Byron pauses to smugly speak briefly to the powerful Creed, drawing only a glare from the red gloved one.] TD: Well, the fans are certainly glad to see this man's return to the IIWF Coliseum -- in their own fashion. SR: Wow, I missed that Byron. Hey Dross, got a couple of bucks? TD: The loan sharks again, Steve? SR: Cute. I need to save up for our upcoming IIWF pay-per-view, "Loveshack '97." TD: Will you stop? SR: Valet table dancing. Call Spreadbury, we're all gonna be rich. SL: His opponent, being led to ringside by Medusa Rage, he weighs 238 pounds and hails from Brooklyn, New York, Dirt Dog Unique Allah! ["Snakes" accompanies the Dirt Dog's stumble into the aisle, his customary bottle of spirit teetering precariously as he careens into the crowd, throwing his arms around a middle aged man in a too tight even at XXL "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley t-shirt. The angular Rage snaps her fingers as she passes by, immediately drawing the attention of Allah away from the mainly confused fans. Allah offers a palm to the stoic Creed as he reaches the ring, but is rebuffed without even an acknowledgement from the tough newcomer.] TD: I almost hesitate to say this, but Allah's 3-1, and with his victory over the American Patriot he's becoming someone to be reckoned with here in the IIWF. SR: [long pause] You're never gonna get any better are you, Dross? Look, forget the bum and the Patriot, Lord Byron has returned from his overseas tour looking better than ever and he'll make quick work of Dirt Dog. [Dirt Dog lurches across the ring in a spasm, arms flailing toward Byron, who sidesteps with a look of disgust beyond that of his usual countenance. Byron looks to lock up, but Allah slumps to the mat, resting his head on the bottom turnbuckle. Byron steps back briefly, looking quizzically at the official and then walks quickly to the corner, looking down at the prone Allah. Byron waves for him to rise and then takes a step back, holding his nose as much from offense at Allah's ring technique as the stench which fills the squared circle. Byron approaches again, not waiting this time for a reaction from Dirt Dog and delivers a series of boots to the head and shoulders of the Unique one, stomping him down into the canvas. Byron then meausres Allah and drops a series of crisp elbows to the right knee, causing Allah to emit a wail of pain and roll outside.] TD: A surprisingly aggressive opening from the technician Byron. What do you make of this, Steve Roberts? SR: I like it, Dross. We need more guys like Byron who aren't afraid to bring half-dressed women to ringside... what was I talking about? [Dirt Dog attempts to collect his bearings as Medusa meets him on the outside, he's however quickly distracted by a tentative wave from an approaching Lady DeWinter. Dirt Dog pushes past Rage and saunters up to a now retreating DeWinter, Allah rubbing his belly absentmindedly as his drunken stumble turns into an all out strut as he turns the corner... and runs smack into a knife edge by the waiting Byron. Byron chops at Allah's chest three more times before sending him into the apron and then executing a German suplex which leaves Dirt Dog laid out outside the ring to a big heel pop for the Englishman.] SR: Oh yeah! Oh yeah! Look at that fool, slobbering over Lady DeWinter like that, how could a grown man embarrass himself like that, Dross? TD: That question needs no answer, Steve. [Byron rolls Dirt Dog into the ring and begins working on his right knee, first with two vicious leg lariats and then a modified grapevine. Allah is able to crawl to the ropes after nearly 30 seconds, forcing Byron to break the hold. Allah rises, but his focus turns not onto Byron but to DeWinter on the outside, who once again waves toward Dirt Dog, who doesn't get the opportunity to respond as Byron drives a forearm into the back of his right knee and then rolls the fallen Allah up into a small package for a pin - 1 - 2 - Allah weakly kicks out and frantically rolls to the other side of the ring. Byron wastes no time in advancing, again diving at the right knee of Dirt Dog, who again falls into a heap and again is covered for the pin - 1 - 2 - kickout. Byron picks up Allah by his nappy hair and feverishly slams two forearm uppercuts to the jaw, Byron then Irish whips Allah who is able to stop but shakily drops his head too quickly allowing Byron to execute an excellent swinging neckbreaker! Big heel pop! Byron stomps down hard on Allah's head for good measure and then gives an exaggerated mock bow to the crowd which boos him loudly.] TD: I've got to say, I've never been more impressed with Lord Byron. He seems to have come back from his extended tour with renewed vigor. SR: He's mean, Dross. It ain't tough to see which way the wind is blowing in the IIWF these days, even Kauffman's gone hardcore. You gotta punish or be punished -- and Byron's taking out the garbage tonight. [Medusa Rage now draws the attention of the showboating Byron, climbing to the apron and pointing a finger into his face, Byron advances and is met from behind by a knee from Allah who then whips Byron to the ropes and meets his return with a big tilt-a-whirl suplex, leaving the Englishman down for the first time in the match. Medusa yells for Allah to seize the opportunity and drop his Fatal Flying Guillotine, but Allah is again distracted by the presence of Lady DeWinter, who has now climbed to the apron and is flashing a good deal of thigh at the Dirt Dog. Allah leaves the prone Byron and heads for DeWinter, pulling up his waistband and running his fingers through his hair as he stumbles toward her, "Let the big dog eat!" Allah shouts as he reaches the waiting DeWinter. Allah perches his right elbow on the top turnbuckle and then rests his head on it, blowing a kiss toward the valet of the man who is a split second from taking out his right knee again. Byron drills Allah. Then picks him up and takes out his knee again, wrenching the Dirt Dog into another pinning predicament - 1 - kickout! Byron picks up Allah, whips cross corner, and applies an atomic drop which sends Allah reeling and then down with a short clothesline. Byron covers again - 1 - 2 - kickout. Byron is getting frustrated, whipping Allah into the ropes again and again meets him with an atomic drop! Byron then sizes up the staggering Allah, balls up his fist and delivers a thunderous right hand that floors the Dirt Dog!] SR: That's it, Dross. Aristoclutch time. This dog's day is over! [With Dirt Dog now laid out near the ropes, facing his own corner, Byron drops down to apply the Aristoclutch, locking up Allah's legs and then cinching up the modified sleeperhold, his smirk widening as Allah grimaces in pain. The official asks for a submission -- none is given -- the official asks again and again none is given. The official drops down to the mat and Allah arches his back, screaming in pain as he attempts to bridge out of the hold, Allah arches further, bending in a way he wouldn't have thought possible 30 minutes before and he bridges out of it! Allah bridges from the hold and with the official down on the mat, Allah grasps the waiting hands of Medusa Rage from outside, using the surprisingly powerful woman for leverage as he bridges from the hold and the official, oblivious to the interference sees that Byron's shoulders have become implanted in the mat and quickly counts - 1 - 2 - 3!] RA: The winner of this match, as a result of a pinfall... Dirt Dog Unique Allah! [Allah rolls away, thoroughly spent as Medusa climbs into the ring to raise his hand and reward him with a swig from his bottle of comfort. Byron is disgusted, shouting at the official that the count was too fast and pointing at Medusa in an accusatory manner. Allah stumbles to Byron and offers his hand, offers to shake the hand of the haughty Englishman in congratulation for a tremednous matchup. Byron refuses, getting right in Dirt Dog's face and jawing at the victor, yelling that he doesn't belong in the same ring with someone like Lord Byron. Allah doesn't allow these last words to reach his ears, however, before spewing his "Deadly Venom" full into the face of Byron. Byron staggers away, falling to the mat and furiously wiping at his face as Allah cockily shrugs his shoulders and leaves the ring.] TD: Oh my! Steve Roberts, we have just seen, of all things, Dirt Dog Unique Allah defeat Lord Byron to advance his IIWF record to 4-1. Absolutely amazing. SR: What we just saw, Dross, was a man getting beat up for an entire match. That's what we just saw. And if a guy like that vagrant Allah can come into this Federation and become a contender, then maybe I oughta come out of retirement, Dross. TD: I don't think the IIWF could handle the feather boas right now, Steve. SR: Dirt Dog. I can't get over it. I've seen everything, Dross. TD: Well, how about this, Steve Roberts? Our next match features the "Superstar", Stud Stetson, but he'll be without his so-called World Superstar Championship Belt, that adornment having been unceremoniously relieved of him Wednesday night. [Cut to footage subtitled, "Last Wednesday": The conclusion of Stetson's match with Casey James is shown, the masked man, now known to have been Billy Shakespeare, coming to ringside, distracting Stetson, taking the belt and allowing James to get the pinfall.] SR: Let me get this straight... Shakespeare comes in off the street, puts on a mask and steals Stud Stetson's personal property; and the response is not to arrest him, not even to suspend him, but to give him a match? Hell, I guess if J.P. Steele had kidnapped Ned Norton, stuffed him in a box and taken him from house show to house show as his "travelling companion" L'il Petey, he'd be halfway to a title shot by now! TD: Are you through? SR: Have you heard something? TD: Let's go to ringside. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare vs. "Superstar" Stud Stetson -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= [Sparkplug Lee waves to an elderly lady in the front row as he raises his microphone:] RA: The following contest is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, accompanied to the ring by [Lee gulps] Lace, at a weight of 285 lbs., from Everyone's Darkest Desires, "Superstar" Stud Stetson! [Heel pop as Stetson and Lace hit the aisle to "Rain Will Fall." It's tough to determine which of these specimens is prettier, but Stetson leaves no doubt as for whom his vote would be cast, finding a camera and shooting a big double bicep. Creed, still patrolling ringside, prepares to give a wide berth, but Lace and Stud veer away from the ring directly toward the powerful rookie. Stetson stands in front of Creed, his pectorals slowly flexing as his valet dances her beautiful fingers across Creed's massive upper arm. Lace whispers in Creed's ear, as Stetson smiles expectantly. The narcissists do not get their expected response apparently as Creed shakes his head and turns his back on the duo.] SL: His opponent, [huge face pop!] accompanied to ringside by Brody Thunder, weighing 230 lbs., from Ashland, Oregon, the former IIWF Intercontinental Champion, former IIWF Cruiserweight Champion, "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare! [The still masked Shakespeare dances into the aisle, slapping hands with the fans while Brody Thunder strides purposefully to ringside. "Little Willie" begins to fade away as Thunder is stopped by Creed at ringside. Thunder starts to talk... and now the men are nose to nose! Thunder's hand is pointed in Creed's face as Thunder says he's staying at ringside, Creed makes it clear that he won't tolerate any interference and the two men quickly part, Thunder taking a post in Shakespeare's corner. As soon as Shakespeare hits the ring, the World Superstar Championship Belt draped over his shoulder, Stetson charges with a clothesline attempt which Shakespeare ducks and then he nails Stetson with a gorgeous dropkick. Shakespeare dangles the belt above Stetson, who rises and then finds himself taunted with the belt, Shakespeare using it as would a matador; waving the belt at Stetson and quickly snatching it away, inches from a rushing Stetson. The crowd begins to roar at an increasingly frustrated Stud, now stomping and kicking his feet at the mat. Stetson makes an all out mad dash toward Shakespeare, who nonchalantly ducks and backdrops Stetson over the top rope and clear out to the floor! Big pop! Creed points to Thunder, who raises his hands to indicate he's going nowhere near Stetson. Shakespeare climbs to the top rope, hoists the faux belt in the air -- and drops in down atop the fallen Stud. Shakespeare then removes his mask with a theatrical flourish and flings it to the crowd.] TD: Billy Shakespeare is back! This is the man we know, the man who is ready to recapture the Intercontinental Title! SR: Your lips are movin' faster than your eyes again, Dross! Look at Stetson! [Stetson is back in the ring, and is winding up to plant Shakespeare in the back with the Superstar belt, he swings... but Spotlight backflips off the top to a standing position and then dropkicks a shocked Stetson again as he whirls around, knocking Stetson to the mat and the belt to the floor! Shakespeare quickly climbs to the middle rope and drops a fist to the head of the prone Stetson, Billy hooks a leg and then covers - 1 - 2 - Kickout. Both men are up and Shakespeare Irish whips Stetson into two lightning quick armdrag takedowns, Spotlight applies an armbar which Stetson powers out of, working his way to a vertical base. Shakespeare cross corner whips Stetson who reverses, sending Billy hurtling to the corner. Shakespeare gathers himself to leap to the midrope and channel all of his momentum into a crossbody flying forearm smash which connects to Stetson's jaw, sending the big man down! Enormous pop as Spotlight quickly covers - 1 - 2 - kickout! Shakespeare covers again - 1 - kickout. Both men are again up and again Shakespeare whips Stetson, this time leapfrogging and the coming hard off the ropes for another flying crossbody -- except Stetson catches him. Stetson tries to position Shakespeare for a fallaway slam but Billy maneuvers into a twisting head scissors that sends Stetson crashing to the mat and then rolling to the outside. Big face pop!] SR: Are you still telling me that this man has been injured for the last two months, Dross? Shakespeare is damn reckless out here. TD: He's one of the best, Steve Roberts, and he's giving the people exactly what they want. [Stetson attempts to re-enter but is jarred by a baseball slide from an exiting Shakespeare. Shakespeare quickly capitalizes with a series of rapid right hands and then a left handed slap to Stetson's face for good measure, leaving the bodybuilder laid out. Shakespeare then hops back up to the apron and then to the lower rope and then comes down with a double axe... but he's too late. Stetson has risen and guides the airborne Shakespeare's head into the retaining barrier! Big heel pop! Stetson seizes the opportunity, smashing Spotlight's head into the barrier a number of times, and then begins choking Shakespeare out, his neck draped over the retaining barrier, his head dangling into the crowd. Thunder makes a move to aid Shakespeare on the other side of the ring, but is quickly blocked off by the larger Creed. Thunder raises a hand at the big man and the crowd squeals as Thunder is hit from behind by the flying knee of Tiger Claw! Thunder topples forward knocking down Creed who is quickly up again and shoves Thunder to the floor! Creed then gets his first glimpse of Tiger Claw who is stomping Thunder down. Claw pauses, motioning for Creed to join in -- but Creed instead delivers a hard right hand which staggers Claw and draws a big crowd pop! Thunder takes his opportunity and tackles Claw, the two men rolling around at ringside and then brawling all the way back up the aisle!] TD: This is totally out of control! SR: Only to an untrained eye, Dross. Creed did exactly what the CEO promised and kept the fight away from the real fight -- and the real fight is what Stud Stetson is taking dead to Billy Shakespeare. Talk about control! [Stetson has continued to work Shakespeare over outside, with Lace continually distracting the official and interrupting the count. Stetson is in complete control now, having beaten Shakespeare soundly about the head and shoulders during the melee and now picks him up in a gorilla press and hurls him over the top rope back into the ring. Stetson shows the fans a side pose to a heel pop and then advances again on the broken ex-IC champ. Stetson drapes his body over Shakespeare's and counts with the official - 1 - 2 - Shakespeare kicks out! Stetson smirks and then applies a cover a bit more forcefully - 1 - 2 - another kickout. The crowd roars and Stetson is frustrated, complaining about a slow count to the official and then rapidly circling Shakespeare. Stetson bounces off the ropes and drops a huge elbow to Shakespeare's head! He hooks a leg and covers - 1 - 2 - KICKOUT!] TD: Billy Shakespeare has the heart of a true champion, Steve Roberts! SR: And the brain of a rotting musk melon, Dross. Stetson's gonna end his career! [Stetson scoops Shakespeare up and drapes him over his shoulder, set up for a running power slam. Shakespeare counters with a fling of his legs across Stetson's back in a crucifix attempt which Stetson counters with a big Samoan drop. The crowd moans as Stetson covers but then Shakespeare is able to reverse and pick up a 1 count before Stetson kicks out and angrily snaps to his feet, dragging up Shakespeare with him. Stetson whips Shakespeare hard into the corner, again Shakespeare is able to stop before reaching the buckle but this time his turn toward the center is forcefully stopped by a Stetson forearm which drives Spotlight deep into the corner. Stetson rams a second forearm to Shakespeare's head and then belly-to-belly suplexes Shakespeare for a 1 count. Shakespeare escapes and rises to whip Stetson, who reverses and Shakespeare again goes hurtling to the corner, this time running chest first into the buckle.] SR: [hoarsely] Finish him off, Superstar! For the love of God, finish him off! [Stetson walks to the corner and delivers a quick right hand to the jaw of Shakespeare, then shoulderblocks Billy into the buckle once, twice, three times, four times, five... no! Shakespeare drops down and Stetson's shoulder rams all the way into the ringpost! Stetson is in obvious pain as he staggers away from the corner out into the center of the ring, Shakespeare scrambles to the top rope and with the screams of the crowd in his ears launches himself toward Stetson with his backflip flying cross-body block!] SR: No! TD: There it is! The Curtain Call! [The referee makes the count - 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] RA: Your winner, as a result of a pinfall, "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare! [The crowd gives an enormous pop as Shakespeare's arm is raised by the official, he gives a pronounced bow to the standing fans and then hops over the top rope to the floor where he scoops up the World Superstar Championship Belt. Lace blocks his exit and with her hands on her hips, demands that Shakespeare relinquish the prize. Shakespeare takes a step back, looks out into the crowd and with a sly smile offers the belt up with his right hand. Lace reaches to grab it but her right is met by Shakespeare's left, spinning the winsome one around and into Shakespeare's body where the former IC champion plants an enormous kiss to the lips of Lace. Shakespeare breaks the clinch, gives a wink to Creed and then jogs back up the aisle, leaving a weak-kneed Lace and a furious Stetson in his wake.] TD: Wow! Look at Lace! I think she enjoyed that! SR: She's only weak-kneed because she feels physically sick, Dross. What a disgusting assault by Pukespeare! TD: Well, that was an absolutely tremendous match, folks. I'll have some exclusive news about the "Superstar" Stud Stetson on the new IIWF hotline tomorrow, so don't forget to call, fans. The number is 1-900-325-IIWF, and calls cost just $12.95 per minute. SR: While you're there, skip option 1 and head straight for option 2, where you'll get the real news. TD: Fans, both myself and Steve Roberts will bring you up-to-the-minute information on all the happenings here in the IIWF each and every week on the IIWF hotline, and more options will be added in the coming weeks! That number, once more, is 1-900-325-IIWF. SR: Remember not to forget not to ask the permission of the person who pays the bill before calling. TD: What are you talking about, Steve?! Hang on -- who's this coming to ringside? It's... Ronnie Paris! SR: Don't worry, Dross. Creed will send him on his way without too much trouble. [Ronnie Paris, dressed in a denim jacket and blue jeans, starts to make his way down to the ring, walking very purposefully to his destination. He seems oblivious of any crowd reaction, and is focused only on getting in the ring. He approaches Creed at ringside, and stops a few feet away from the big man. The two wrestlers look directly at each other for a few moments, and then Paris simply walks straight past Creed to ringside.] TD: You were saying, Steve? SR: What's up with Creed?! Why didn't he smear that little puke all over the arena floor? [Once he rolls into the ring, Paris politely asks Sparkplug Lee for the microphone, and the announcer obliges.] RP: I'm not due to wrestle tonight, and it seems that despite my beating Mad Dog Watkins in a _32_ minute match, I'm still having a little respect problem. I've said already that I'm here for respect, your respect [points to the fans, who pop moderately] and the respect of my peers. However, even after wrestling four times, all great matches for me, and all great examples of athleticism, I still find myself being referred to as a jobber, the rookie, or as Becky LaRue put it so eloquently last week, "Widdle Wonnie Paris". Well, I'm here in the IIWF, the _best_ wrestling organization in the world, [crowd gives a big pop] to prove myself, and the only way I know how to do that is in the ring. So, to my detractors, I have a little proposition. [Paris starts to shake his arms a bit, as if he were limbering up for a match. The fans look on quietly, not quite sure what to expect.] RP: Guys like Steve Roberts have been knocking my skills ever since I arrived here. SR: [over the headset] Damned right I've been knocking his skills, Dross. He comes from El Paso, Texas, and that's kind of appropriate. He ends every match passed out on the mat. RP: Well, Steve, as a journalist you should always check your sources, and I'm giving you that chance. Get down to this ring, take off the headset, and see how much of a jobber I am! [Crowd starts to chant "Sound-Bite", obviously trying to entice Roberts to leave the broadcast position.] SR: [over the headset] Is he actually calling me out, Dross?! TD: [over the headset] He certainly is, Steve! SR: [over the headset] I can't believe this guy! What a moron! I've forgotten more about wrestling than he'll ever learn. RP: I'm hereby challenging you, Steve Roberts, to a match. I'd like it to be here, right now, in this very ring. But, if you need a few days to get some guts together, I'm willing to do it anytime. I'll prove that I'm no jobber, the only way I can... in the ring! Come on down, Steve! [Paris walks over to the ropes and holds them open, inviting Roberts to enter the ring.] SR: [over the headset] I've had enough of this, Dross. [Roberts stands at the broadcast table. Big pop from the excited crowd as Roberts raises his hand to his headset and goes to take it off. He hesitates.] RP: Afraid? Are you afraid to try and prove me wrong? I thought so. SR: [over the headset, shouting] Afraid of you, you little jerk?! I don't think so. [Roberts throws down his headset, and storms out from the broadcast position. Huge pop! He grabs a microphone, and yells up at Paris from the arena floor.] SR: Paris, you jerk! Listen up, and listen good, 'cause when the Soundbite speaks, the morons listen! [Heel pop!] Let's just get one thing straight right from the get-go here, Paris. I'm one of the greatest wrestlers this sport has ever seen. I can hardly count the number of titles I've won in my career... TD: [over the headset] Well, it _is_ kind of hard to count to zero. SR: ...I can hardly count the number of butts I've kicked from coast to coast down the years. And, what's more, if it wasn't for my back injury... [The crowd starts jeering.] ...Shut up, you peons! If it wasn't for my injury, I'd be in that ring right now, giving you a new career as a circus side-show. You understand, Paris?! [Paris leans nonchalantly on the ropes, looking down at Roberts with his chin resting on his hands.] SR: You think you're going to look real clever by coming out here and challenging a guy who's not going to risk his life getting into the ring with you?! You think you're going to get respect by challenging a guy whose career was ended by injury?! You little jerk, Paris. [The crowd begins chanting, "Paris! Paris!"] Shut up, you morons! [Heel pop!] TD: [over the headset] I hope Steve doesn't have a coronary. SR: Paris, you think you can mix it up with me, huh? I could beat you blindfold, with both arms tied behind my back. [Paris holds open the ropes again, then after a couple of seconds, staggers into the ring, holding his back, mocking Roberts.] SR: Oh yeah, real clever, Paris. Real big. I've had enough. I accept your challenge, you little jerk. I accept. I'll wrestle you! [Huge shocked pop from the crowd.] TD: [over the headset] What?! [Even Paris looks surprised, and stops staggering around the ring.] SR: Yeah, I'll wrestle you, Paris. Right here, in the Coliseum. You have two weeks to get yourself in shape, Paris, because in two weeks' time, I'm going to give you the fight of your life. I'm going to give you a wrestling lesson you're never going to be able to forget. You be here in two weeks, Paris. I'll give you a fight. [Huge mixed pop as Roberts throws down his microphone and returns to the broadcast table, taking a few swipes at fans who clamour to touch him around ringside. Paris applauds Roberts, waves to the fans, and jogs back up the aisle, a huge smile on his face.] TD: Steve, what in hell's name are you thinking about?! You haven't wrestled in four years! SR: Shut up, Dross. If that jerk thinks he can come out here and humiliate me, then he's got another thing coming. TD: What about your injury? SR: What about it, Dross?! Paris isn't even going to come close to hurting me in that match. He's never been in the ring against a guy like "Soundbite" Steve Roberts, and he's going to regret calling me out of retirement. That's a promise. TD: Try to calm down a little, Steve. What a match that's going to be, here on IIWF Saturday Night in two weeks! We must move on. Brody Thunder will get a chance to settle the score for a battle which took place a week and a half ago, on Wednesday War Room, when he faces Tiger Claw, up next. Let's go back and take a look: [Cut to footage from Wednesday War Room subtitled "1 January, 1997." Casey James and Brody Thunder are in a parking lot area talking trash back and forth. We go immediately to Thunder's comment which set James ablaze...] BT: You better fergit 'bout gettin' to that pencil-neck Kaufman cuz I'm gonna wring YER stinkin' neck right now! [Thunder lunges at James only to be rebuffed by Kane and Wulf. As they hold Thunder back James offers the opportunity to Tiger Claw. Claw smiles broadly, then grabs a chair and hoists it over his head.] BT: Ya better make it a good one son! [Claw then waffles Thunder with metal chair. Thunder collapses as if he'd been shot. Laughter is heard from the Syndicate members. Thunder slowly tries to get off the ground. As he gets to his knees Claw potatoes him with another chairshot. Down goes Thunder again. More laughter. Thunder tries to sit up but falls back down. The Dark Disciples and Casey then hoist Thunder up and take him to his Ranch Cherokee. Once there, they throw him through the windshield. Thunder is now motionless. Throughout this incident a voice is heard saying "Are you getting all this?!" and "Are you still rolling?" Cut back to the announcer's table.] TD: Brody Thunder, however, somehow lasted through that attack, and lived to fight another day... [Cut to more footage, this subtitled "4 January 1997", from IIWF Saturday Night. Thunder attacks Claw, who meets him with a series of kicks to the legs and midsection. Brody, seemingly unphased, grins at Claw and begins hammering away on him, to the chants of "BRO - DY! BRO - DY!" from the crowd. The two men begin rolling on the ground, struggling for the upper hand. The bell sounds. Thunder begins choking the life out of Claw, who has no reinforcements coming from the back.] SR: Yes, Dross, Brody Thunder lost that match to newcomer Luke Steele, thanks to Tiger Claw's presence -- but Thunder got two good beatings in on others, one on Claw, and another after the match on Steele. TD: For this upcoming grudge match, let's get up to the ring, and Sparkplug! =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder vs. Tiger Claw -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= [Cut to Sparkplug Lee in centre ring.] RA: The following contest, set for one fall, is a special grudge match, here on IIWF Saturday Night! SR: Isn't it our job to set the stage for a match? RA: Introducing first, accompanied to the ring by his manager, Brian Lau, and stablemate, Casey "Blackheart" James... [The jeering begins.] at 220 pounds, from Thailand... Tiger Claw! [Brian Lau swishes the curtains off to his side and steps through first, followed by Tiger Claw. Casey James is not far behind, hoisting the IIWF World Championship Title high to a massive heel pop. James stops in front of Creed and says something to the effect of, "hey, what's up?" and extends his hand, looking for a low five or handshake. Creed just looks at James as if he's from Mars or some equivalent, so James just gives Creed a look of disgust and heads to ringside. Tiger Claw passes Creed on the other side of the ring, staying as far away from the monster as possible.] TD: Here comes the thug patrol. Casey James has Dan Kauffman's IIWF Title in tow, Brian Lau has the ponies ready in the back no doubt, and Tiger Claw is here. That's all it takes for a deadly scenario by itself is Claw, but with James and company, you never know what will happen. SR: Things certainly stacked against Brody Thunder, but if anyone has a shot at taking on the Syndicate, Thunder... well, forget I said anything. [Tiger Claw, the former Intercontinental Champion, climbs into the ring to the strains of Thai Boxing music. His head is shaved, but he has a long braid in the back, and he is barefoot. Lau seems to enjoy calling attention to Claw on the way to the ring. Upon Tiger Claw's arrival at the ring, he stops at the apron to have a last minute conference with James and his manager, and then he hops onto the apron and enters the ring.] TD: Tiger Claw's done it all here, Steve... except win the IIWF Championship, currently held by Dan Kauffman. SR: It currently belongs to Kauffman, but it's currently being _held_ by that man, Casey James. [As James shows off the title belt some more, the theme from "High Plains Drifter" starts playing, to a moderate pop from the crowd. Suddenly, Brody Thunder emerges from through the curtains.] RA: And his opponent, making his way down the aisle, from Tombstone, Arizona, 267 pounds... the man known as the "Lone Wolf"... Brody Thunder! [The crowd pops as Brody Thunder sprints to the ring, flipping his cowboy hat off on the way. The referee, sensing a fight, calls for the bell, and Thunder slides under the bottom rope. He is met by the feet of Tiger Claw however, and is never let to his feet by the Thai star.] TD: Thunder tried to get the jump on Tiger Claw, but it did not pay off, and it appears that Brody has just dug himself a hole in which to start out. SR: Tiger Claw isn't about to be caught off guard by anybody, Timbo. [Tiger Claw snaps his opponent back to his feet and whips him to the turnbuckle. Claw measures his man up and then comes in with a vicious back heel kick. Thunder slumps to the mat, and Claw immediately applies a headlock.] TD: Tiger Claw slowing down the match in the early stages, but I'm not sure why. If there were a speed and aerial maneuver exhibition between these two, I know Claw would win... I think he should just take the match to Thunder quickly and prevent Thunder from executing his high impact moves. SR: [sarcastically] There you have it, folks, a true ring veteran in Tim Dross giving us his take on match strategy. Face it, Claw can do whatever he wants in this match and he'll still win. [Brody gets back to his feet and looks for a place to go. He tries to reach the ropes, but realizes that he can not reach. Thunder grabs onto Claw's left arm and reverses the hold, twisting Claw's arm. Thunder then steps over and around his adversary's arm, and rides up Claw's back in a hammerlock. Claw screams in anguish, and just as he is about to attempt a reversal, Thunder slips off and executes a sunset flip - 1 - 2 - kickout by Claw.] TD: Nice display of technique by Brody there. [Thunder gets to his feet first and attempts a clothesline, but Claw ducks and heads for the other ropes. Claw comes off and Thunder catches him in a powerslam - 1 - 2 - kickout! Tiger Claw, frustrated, tries to roll to the outside, but Thunder grabs him by the foot on his way, and drags him back in. The Lone Wolf proceeds to drop an elbow on the thigh of the former champ, and then kicks him in the back of the calf. Pop!] SR: These morons are really taking to Thunder; but I think it's more like cheering _against_ the Syndicate, not _for_ Brody Thunder. TD: Thunder doesn't much care what the fans think anyway. [Claw gets back to his feet and tries assaults Brody with a fury of fists, which is staved off by Thunder's weight advantage. Brody is able to overwhelm Claw with a series of left jabs, followed by a short clothesline. Thunder drops an elbow, but Claw is able to escape, and Thunder comes crashing to the mat. Tiger Claw quickly jumps back to his feet and drops a leg across the throat of the fallen Thunder. In the meantime, Casey James and Brian Lau are shooting the breeze on the outside, making their way over to the broadcast table.] TD: What do you want, Lau? BL: Hey, Dross... how's it goin'? [Casey holds the belt in Steve Roberts' face.] CJ: That's what the IIWF is all about, and I've got it, baby! Come and get it, Kauffman, come and get it! [Roberts high fives Casey James and laughs, poking Dross in the side. Suddenly, a murmur erupts from the crowd, and Lau and James leave the area to check it out.] TD: Well, that was pleasant. What's this? [In the aisle, Dan Kauffman, the IIWF World Champion appears. He is greeted by a rather hostile reaction from the crowd, as some throw cups and paper at him. Kauffman looks at the massive Creed in at the bottom of the aisle, and signals to him as if he doesn't mean to disrupt the match. Creed seems satisfied with this, and does not attack. Kauffman folds his arms and watches the match from a distance, which now has Tiger Claw walking around a fallen Brody Thunder. Claw covers - 1 - 2 - kickout.] TD: The Flash is going to at least make a cameo appearance, but I don't think he'll get any closer to the ring than this. SR: Kauffman finally pulled his head out last week when he and those two wimps, Reyna and Dynamite, helped him put the boots to "Copperminer" Chris Quarry. TD: It's QUIGLEY! What do you think he is? SR: A lowly copper miner? Get it, "Quarry", "Mine"... TD: Yeah, real cute. Don't you usually get rocks, not metals, from a quarry anyway? SR: Not my quarry. [Tiger Claw throws Thunder to the floor and follows him out himself. Casey James heads over in the direction of the fallen Thunder, but the referee is quick to cut off both he and the devious Brian Lau. The Thai sensation is able to hit Thunder with a series of kicks to the lower leg, but again, Thunder fires right back with an onslaught, bringing Claw to the ground with a kick to the stomach followed by a neckbreaker. Pop! Thunder picks Claw up, draping him across his shoulder, and rams his back into the ringpost, before dropping him on top of the ring stairs. Thunder heads back into the ring.] TD: I'm surprised that Thunder was able to avoid all three men, James, Lau, and Tiger Claw there. Brody Thunder has a good shot at winning this match. [Casey James takes a few steps toward the head of the aisle, holding up the IIWF Championship belt and taunting Kauffman, who makes no movement at all. James yells a few more choice words at the champion before heading back to ringside. Brian Lau helps his combatant, Tiger Claw, back into the ring, and as a result, Claw is at the feet of Brody Thunder. Thunder picks Claw back up and whips him to the ropes. Claw falls a victim to a back body drop by Thunder. Brody covers - 1 - 2 - kickout. Thunder, redetermined, gets Claw back to his feet and sends him, again, to the ropes. Thunder runs in and nails Claw with a clothesline. When Claw hops back up, he is able to duck under a clothesline and hook up a crucifix - 1 - 2 - kickout by Thunder!] SR: A great match so far, as Brody Thunder has prolonged the inevitable -- a loss -- for a long time to this point! TD: Steve, I would say that Thunder has just a good a chance as Claw does at walking out of here a winner... even with all these goons at ringside! [Brody Thunder gets up first and grabs Tiger Claw by the braid on the back of his head. The crowd pops as Thunder spins him around and executes a beautiful double underhook suplex. Dan Kauffman leaves the ringside area, nodding his head. James just laughs and points at him, as the crowd jeers him the whole way out. As Kauffman heads out, Brian Lau heads up the aisle.] SR: Where's Lau going? He wouldn't dare desert his Claw like this! TD: He's headed toward Creed... [Lau makes his way toward Creed and begins speaking to him. Creed seems quite disinterested, but he keeps listening. In the ring, Brody Thunder picks Tiger Claw up to his feet, and begins setting up for the Thunderbolt. As Thunder reaches over to execute the devastating torture-rack-into-shoulderbreaker move, Tiger Claw is able to chop Thunder in the throat, and crawl toward the corner. The referee heads over to the corner to warn Claw for his illegal blow, when Casey James opportunistically jumps on the apron behind the staggered Thunder. James cracks him across the back of the head with the IIWF Title belt, as Creed is busy with Brian Lau. Lau looks back in time to see the shot, and comes running back down to ringside to celebrate with James.] TD: Did you see that? That is terrible! SR: Well played. The ref was in the corner with Claw, Creed was busy being played like a bass fiddle, and James cracked him over the head. [Claw gets to his feet and heads to the top rope.] TD: It's been a while since Thunder got hit with the belt... is this attempt too late for the Syndicate? [Tiger Claw launches himself across the ring with his flying knee to Thunder's head, the Golden Tiger Strike. A massive heel pop helps the referee count - 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] SR: Nope, not too late, Dross. RA: Here is your winner... Tiger Claw! [James and Brian Lau jump into the ring to celebrate with their victorious teammate. Claw kicks Thunder out of the ring, who is still unconscious from the belt and Claw's finisher. Lau holds up Tiger Claw's arm in victory, which brings jeers and flying debris. Lau stands there in his glory before the three men leave the ringside area.] TD: Well, if that match proved anything, Steve, it's that one man -- not even Brody Thunder -- can't go up against the Syndicate alone and come out laughing. Thunder's going to need some reinforcement if he's going to get the better of Tiger Claw. SR: Perhaps Kauffman was out here scouting Thunder for inclusion in the Players' Club. I don't think Thunder's going to give up his "Lone Wolf" style easily, but it might be in his best interests to get a few more numbers on his side. TD: This brings us up to our final match of the night, Steve, and do we have a slobberknocker in store! A triangle match main event, pitting Harlequin Tragedy, the Sandman, and Otto Verhoeven against each other. It should be incredible. SR: There's a lot of history behind this match... take a look for yourself: [Cut to footage from IIWF Saturday Night, subtitled "4 January 1997", complete with original commentary. As Harlequin Comedy looks on in anguish, her beloved Tragedy gets stomped in the head by the former boxing champ. Verhoeven flips him over and covers - 1 - 2 - kickout! Verhoeven snaps him up by the hair and executes a huge backbreaker. In the meantime, the Sandman has given Heidi a peace offering - a red rose. Heidi reluctantly accepts the gift, and takes a sniff of the beautiful flower, sending dust flying everywhere. The Sandman laughs hysterically as Heidi faints, knocked out by the "magic" powder.] TD: You have to wonder whether that stuff does any permanent damage. SR: I don't know about the dust doing permanent damage, but Otto Verhoeven is going to do some permanent damage to the Sandman when he gets his hands on him -- look at him go! [The Butcher becomes enraged by the acts of the Sandman and dashes toward the cage, jumping up and beginning to climb it. In the meantime, the Sandman drapes Nurse Heidi over his shoulder and heads for the back, apparently not knowing about Otto's obsessive rage. Huge pop! Verhoeven gets to the other side and leaps down for the last 12 feet of the cage, lands on his feet, and makes a bee line for the Sandman. The Sandman turns and sees Otto, and drops Heidi off to the side. Otto nails the Sandman with a right hand, but the mysterious one fires right back. Cut back to the announcers.] TD: As a result of that, Otto lost the match to Tragedy by countout, and you can bet he'll be looking for revenge on both he and the Sandman tonight, Steve. SR: If Otto gets his hands firmly planted on one of these two, there's going to be big trouble. Tragedy will have to try to dance around him, like the princess he is, to avoid certain death... and the Sandman is going to need more than just that magic powder. TD: Let's get up to the ring... it's main event time here on IIWF Saturday Night! =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= TRIANGLE MATCH: =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven vs. The Sandman vs. Harlequin Tragedy --------------------------------- [Cut to the ring, where Sparkplug Lee steps into the glare of the spotlight.] RA: The following matchup is a Triangle Match, and is tonight's main event! [The crowd pop as Sparkplug smiles ear to ear.] Introducing first, at 275 pounds, The Sandman! [The "Concerto of the Desperado" hits the air, greeted by a mixed pop. The Sandman emerges from out behind the curtain, donning his white mask with only eye holes. On his way down to the ring, he stops in front of the camera and points to his tattoo "Sleeper", and says, "Nighty night, boys." The Sandman ignores the jeering of the fans and walks to the ring in silence from there, passing Creed with a suspicious nod. Upon his entrance of the ring, he stops and shows Sparkplug Lee his tattoo, at which Lee grins sheepishly.] TD: The Sandman tried to walk off with Nurse Heidi last week, and would have gotten away had Verhoeven not caught him in the aisle. SR: Then Creed came out and got the jump on the Sandman as well, in some footage you did not see. I'm surprised that Creed let the Sandman go by without incident tonight. TD: Yes, Creed has been very well behaved tonight, keeping the interferences out, to the best of his ability, but not really putting the jump on people. Maybe we need him out here more often. RA: Introducing participant number two, at 340 pounds... [The theme music from John Carpenter's "Halloween" seems to chill the arena.] ...from Essen, Germany, accompanied to the ring by Nurse Heidi and Cheshire, a former IIWF World Heavyweight Champion, this is... Otto... "The Butcher"... Verhoeven! [A massive heel pop greets the former boxing champ from Germany, who is followed to the ring by the beautiful Nurse Heidi and Cheshire. Verhoeven is wearing a black singlet and black boots. Cheshire, a winner earlier in the evening, is walking to the ring laughing. As Otto makes his way to the ring, he stops in front of a sign which says, "Welcome to the Slaughterhouse" and nods in agreement, but when the fan turns the sign over to reveal the word, "NOT!!!" in big red letters, Verhoeven snaps and swipes at the sign, destroying it. Cheshire stops by Creed and goes to tweak his nose, but decides better of it. The Sandman isn't even looking at Verhoeven or Nurse Heidi as they make their way to the ring.] TD: This should be a tremendous match, Steve. Who you going with? SR: I say that that man right there, the Butcher, will walk off with the win. He's got the motivation of last week's incident, and he's just a better man than the other two. TD: I take the wild card action of the Harlequin coalition here. Tragedy was doing very well for himself last week, and I think he'll be the only one focused on the match, with the Sandman and Verhoeven feuding in the ring. RA: And their opponent... weighing in at 220 pounds... from Sleepy Hollow, Illinois, accompanied by the Harlequins: Chaos and Comedy... Harlequin Tragedy!!! ["My Lover's Box" by Garbage plays. From behind the curtain, Harlequin Comedy appears first, holding a toy called the "Happy Hammer". Comedy then hits Harlequin Chaos on the head as he comes out, and the shot makes a loud "SQUEAK" sound, much to the amusement of the crowd. The hammer is an inflatable mallet with a small switch on the bottom of the handle, and it is blue. As Comedy proceeds to bonk fans on the head with the Happy Hammer, producing the "SQUEAK", the crowd becomes more amused. Harlequin Chaos is passing out foam replicas of the Harlequins' masks to fans, as well. The Sandman chuckles along with the antics, as Verhoeven shoots him an evil look. Nurse Heidi is shaking her head in disbelief at the Harlequins.] TD: Well, all the Harlequins right there, we're certainly in for a good time tonight. SR: That's not all of them, Dross. Where in the hell is --- TD: Melody, yeah. Harlequin Melody certainly conspicuous by her absence. She was beguiled, for want of a better word, by Mr. Damage earlier on tonight, and you have to wonder what kind of effect her absence will have on this match. SR: No, Dross! Where's the man who's supposed to wrestle in this match? Look out! [Almost on cue, as the Sandman and Verhoeven are busy watching the circus, Harlequin Tragedy leaps down out of the rafters up above and lands on the back of Otto. Big pop! Tragedy quickly moves over to the Sandman and whips him to the ropes, nailing him with a knee smash to the gut on the rebound. Verhoeven stumbles back into the area, and Tragedy rocks him with a drop kick, then clotheslines the big Sandman, staggering him. The Sandman falls over, and then Verhoeven hops back to his feet, charging Tragedy. Tragedy is able to duck under and give the Butcher a back body drop, which sends Otto flying onto the Sandman's chest. The referee, confused, counts - 1 - 2 - Tragedy kicks Otto in the head, breaking the count. Finally, the ref forces Tragedy out of the ring and indicates that the Sandman and Verhoeven are to start. By now, the crowd is laughing at the two goons laying on the canvas.] TD: What a start to this match! Tragedy flies from the ceiling and puts the jump on both men, but then almost wins the match for Verhoeven! SR: I can't believe the referee let all this take place. Where's the control in that ring? TD: Didn't hear you complaining earlier when Casey James cold-cocked Brody Thunder with the IIWF Championship belt. SR: The ref was in control in that match; he just wasn't paying attention. [The Sandman gets to his feet first, and hits Verhoeven with a kick to the knee. Nurse Heidi jumps up on the ring apron, and the Sandman heads her way. He acts as if he's going to throw a handful of something at her, and she quickly leaps off the apron. The Sandman didn't throw anything, and he begins laughing at Heidi. The crowd laughs right along.] TD: The Verhoeven camp has quickly become the laughing stock of this match, Steve. SR: What's wrong with _that_ picture, Dross, when you've got those two painted idiots on the outside?! [Verhoeven gets back to his feet and hits the laughing Sandman with a backside suplex, but the Sandman, in an incredible display of agility, lands on his feet and takes the German down with a clothesline. He covers - 1 - kickout with authority by Verhoeven. On the floor, Harlequin Comedy and Harlequin Chaos are dashing around the ring playing tag, as Nurse Heidi watches them run around her. As Comedy gets behind Heidi, she quickly changes direction, confusing Otto's fiancee, and bonks her on the head with the Happy Hammer. Heidi becomes furious and throws a fit on the floor, chasing after Comedy. Heidi is about to catch up when Harlequin Chaos steps in to the picture. Pop!] SR: He's not going to put a hand on that lady, is he, Dross? TD: Of course not, he's just standing there. [Chaos does in fact just stand there, and Heidi backs away. Cheshire makes his way over toward Chaos, but decides not to attack, just smiles at Chaos and then starts laughing. In the ring, Harlequin Tragedy tries to storm the ring and get in the action, but the referee cuts him off, turning his back to the action. The Sandman is able to get the Sandman up against the ropes and begins choking him over the middle rope, as Heidi slaps him in the face. Tragedy finds it quite enjoyable to watch, so he keeps the referee distracted for a few more seconds.] SR: Harlequin Tragedy sure is having a lot of fun, but he's not going to win the match on the apron, that's for sure. [The Sandman gets back up, holding his throat. Otto comes in and hits him with a closed fist. The referee warns Otto, who doesn't heed the warning and does it again. The referee warns him a second time, to which Otto replies with, "I thought I only got von varning." Nurse Heidi laughs as Otto scoops the Sandman up and executes a body slam. He covers - 1 - 2 - kickout! Verhoeven bounces himself off the ropes, and Tragedy reaches over and touches him on the back. Verhoeven clotheslines the Sandman and covers him, but the referee will not count, telling Verhoeven that he has been tagged out. Otto becomes enraged and storms toward Harlequin Tragedy, but the referee shields him, directing the angry boxer out of the ring, leaving Tragedy and the Sandman as legal.] TD: That referee better look out, Otto's been known to attack American refs in the past! SR: Oh, one time in boxing, Dross. Big deal. [Harlequin Tragedy walks over to the fallen Sandman and covers him himself - 1 - kickout. Tragedy whips him to the ropes, and drops his head for a back body drop. The Sandman leapfrogs and comes off the other side with a huge lariat. The Sandman picks him back up and executes a waistlock suplex, bridging for a pinning combination - 1 - 2 - kickout. Tragedy is dragged back up, and is whipped to the turnbuckle. Tragedy stops before impact and leaps over the charging Sandman. He is able to hit the Sandman with a weak Superkick, slumping the Sandman to the mat. In the meantime, Nurse Heidi is telling something to her lover, Otto, on the ring apron. Verhoeven becomes angry and storms toward Harlequin Chaos, threatening him. As Chaos backs off, Cheshire clips his knee out of from underneath him. Otto is about to chokeslam Chaos, when Harlequin Tragedy comes flying off the apron with a huge plancha, saving his brother from doom! Big pop as Otto flies to the steel guard rail!] TD: Even with his brother in trouble, Harlequin Tragedy was able to rock the Sandman and save Chaos. SR: All these dependents around the ring are just trouble, Dross. Look at what happened there. Otto leapt from the apron because Heidi was angry. Then Tragedy had to come save his brother, Chaos. The Sandman doesn't have any friends, and that helps him out a lot! [Cheshire helps Otto back to his feet, and Harlequin Tragedy jumps onto the apron. As Otto reaches up to grab his ankle, Tragedy is able to escape by slingshotting himself over the top rope, hitting the Sandman with a cross body block - 1 - 2 - kickout. The Sandman, frustrated by the continued beating he's taken, tags Otto in to the ring by means of a slap in the face. Otto charges in and tries to get the Sandman, put he ignores the legal man, Harlequin Tragedy, who quickly picks Verhoeven up, and in an incredible display of strength, executes a knee breaker. Verhoeven falls to the mat, holding his leg. Tragedy drops an elbow across the chest of Verhoeven and covers - 1 - 2 - kickout! Suddenly, the Sandman takes off towards the aisle, where Creed is stationed.] SR: What now?! [The Sandman hits Creed with a clothesline upon his arrival, and the two begin brawling. Creed, seemingly worn out from a night's work, is taken down by the Sandman for once, and the fight comes back up the aisle toward the ring. The Sandman grabs a chair, and begins swinging it wildly. Creed dodges, though, and the chair gets cracked across the guardrail. In the ring, Harlequin Tragedy hooks Verhoeven for a dragon suplex, but the big German proves to be too large. Tragedy, holding his back, is nailed by Verhoeven's right hand, sending him crashing to the mat. Verhoeven is quick to begin choking the life out of the painted-faced jester. The referee, this time, doesn't even try to get Verhoeven off, much to the displeasure of the Harlequins on the floor. Down the aisle, Creed is laying on his back, injured, and the Sandman heads back to the ring. Harlequin Tragedy is snapped back up and piledriven by Verhoeven - 1 - 2 - kickout!] TD: Well, after a nice brawl, the Sandman has returned to ringside, and he's apparently back in this match. SR: I've never seen Creed get overpowered like that! The poor guy must be tired out. [The Sandman jumps back onto the apron and screams at Verhoeven, taunting him. Otto leaves the wounded Tragedy laying on the mat and storms toward the Sandman, jawing with him. The Sandman craftily slaps Otto on the hand and jumps to the floor. The referee again forces Otto out of the ring, who has been outsmarted a second time. Otto chases after the Sandman, but the he cannot get through all the traffic on the outside, so the Sandman is able to re-enter the ring. He snaps Tragedy up by the hair and lifts him up for a suplex. At the last second, the Sandman brings him down into a brainbuster. He does not cover Tragedy, though, as a massive pop distracts him from the action.] TD: Harlequin Tragedy is in big trouble, he better hope this crowd noise is for his reinforcements. SR: Who? Melody? That won't save him. [In the aisle, the spotlight hits a man wearing blue jeans and a T-shirt which reads, "IIWF Ring Wars III -- Coming March 22nd". The crowd pops again as the man, Chris "Quickstrike" Quigley, works the crowd and walks right by the fallen Creed, who sees him go by but cannot recover to stop him. Quigley has a huge grin on his face, and he takes a seat in the front row of the crowd. A few teenage girls swarm him for autographs, but he doesn't oblige. He is focused on the ring.] TD: Chris Quigley, who fell victim to a brutal attack by the Players' Club last week, has arrived... but why? SR: He's called Quickstrike because he's usually quick to strike out with the ladies, Dross. He hasn't had a date for two years. TD: Will you please stop?! SR: Um, no. [The Sandman picks Tragedy back up and sets him on the top turnbuckle, punching him to stun him further. As Verhoeven yells from the apron, the Sandman goes up with Tragedy, and hooks him for a superplex. Harlequin Chaos begins squeezing on the end of the Happy Hammer, creating a "SQUEAK" which distracts the mysterious Sandman. Tragedy is able to throw him off the turnbuckle, and he flies across the ring at the feet of Otto Verhoeven. Verhoeven punches him as he gets back to his feet, and enters the ring himself... having made a "tag".] TD: Now big Otto is back in the swing of things. Tragedy's not in good shape. SR: I told you Dross. Otto is about to finish this match off for good... just watch. [Otto, grinning, heads toward the reeling Tragedy, who is perched on the top rope. Tragedy, though, mounts a quick recovery, and comes flying off the top with a stunning lariat. He covers - 1 - 2 - kickout. Verhoeven gets to his feet quickly and takes Tragedy down with an inverted atomic drop. On the outside, Chris Quigley nods in appreciation of the move.] TD: Chris Quigley seems to be in support of Otto Verhoeven? That doesn't make much sense to me. SR: I don't know either, Dross. Maybe he just appreciates good wrestling, who knows? Quigley doesn't seem bright enough to side with Verhoeven, though. TD: Well, we saw Kauffman scouting the last match, and now we have Quigley here. What's going on? [Verhoeven takes the time to yell something at the American fans then covers - 1 - 2 - the Sandman makes the save. Verhoeven hops up and chases the Sandman out of the ring. As the ref starts counting Verhoeven out of the ring, Nurse Heidi jumps up on the apron and "distracts" him. Creed has recovered by now, and when the Sandman reaches him, he ignores Verhoeven and begins to assault Creed. Verhoeven shrugs and heads back to the ring.] TD: Too much time wasted here by the Butcher. He should stay on Tragedy and try to finish off this grueling matchup. SR: He's just having fun, Dross. [Harlequin Comedy begins slapping the mat, encouraging Tragedy to get back up. As Otto enters the ring, Cheshire tries to distract Harlequin Tragedy for him by jumping on the apron. However, Harlequin Comedy quickly scurries to the feet of Cheshire and pops him in the back of the leg with the Happy Hammer, letting out a huge "SQUEAK". Only this time, the hammer has some effect, as Cheshire comes crashing to the floor. Comedy giggles and flips a switch on the hammer. She then hits Chaos over the head with it, this time doing no damage, to "prove" its innocence.] TD: Look at that acting job. Cheshire just magically fell off the apron, trying to get Comedy disqualified, but the ref isn't buying. SR: Wait a minute, Dross! You saw Comedy flip that switch? That must have rendered the hammer useless again... which means that if you flip it again, it will make it deadly, just like it was when she hit Cheshire! TD: Do you mean to tell me that there is a switch on that hammer which makes it a weapon? SR: See, look at it! TD: Yawn. [Verhoeven protests the use of hammer, but the ref does not do anything. Verhoeven gets chest to nose with the shorter ref, who warns Otto about intimidating referees. The only thing that saves the ref is Harlequin Tragedy coming from behind and rolling Otto up - 1 - 2 - kickout. Otto gets back to his feet and tries to hit him with a clothesline, but Tragedy ducks underneath. Verhoeven keeps going, to the ropes, and comes back with a kick to the midsection of Tragedy. Otto then executes a kneelift, and covers - 1 - 2 - Tragedy gets a foot on the ropes.] TD: Verhoeven cannot finish this man off! SR: He will, just keep watchin'. [As Creed and the Sandman brawl on the outside, Otto looks points at Harlequin Chaos and then applies a camel clutch on his brother. Tragedy screams in pain, and then his eyes slowly begin to glaze over. As the ref checks to see if he's unfit to continue, Comedy dashes toward Otto's feet with the hammer. She flips a switch and nails Otto in the back of the knee. Otto screams out something in German and lets go of Tragedy, who falls face first to the mat.] SR: See, Timbo, I told you! That "Happy" Hammer is nothing more than a lethal weapon disguised as a toy! It's like a switchblade, Dross, sure I can get it past security looking like a --- well, nevermind. TD: Okay, thanks for your criminal interjection there, Steve. SR: Hey, I haven't said anything incriminating... have I? TD: Well, let's just hope that the boys in blue don't show up. SR: Yeah, I hate the Baltimore Colts. TD: Hello? Anybody home there? They moved to Indianapolis years ago. SR: What? So who has Vinny Testaverde? Baltimore, right? TD: Different team. Moved from Cleveland. SR: From where? TD: You're hopeless. [Quigley appears to be getting restless, and he gets up. Creed and the Sandman brawl, the Harlequins are giggling about their Happy Hammer, Cheshire is holding his calf from the shot, Heidi is screaming at Comedy, and Verhoeven dominates in the ring. Quigley begins pacing, looking at his watch at ringside. Verhoeven sends Tragedy to the turnbuckle, and charges in. Tragedy is able to hit Verhoeven in the mouth with an elbow, and then he takes him down with a backside suplex. The Harlequins cheer.] TD: Tragedy will not die! SR: It wouldn't be a real tragedy if he did, though. [Tragedy sets up Verhoeven for a superkick. He executes it, and the big man stumbles about the ring, holding his jaw. Quigley leans on the ring apron, and Tragedy sets Verhoeven for the ride, but he is too heavy, and the big man reverses it into an Irish whip of his own. Verhoeven misses a clothesline, and as Tragedy turns on the juice to mount an attack on the other side, Chris Quigley reaches out and trips him as he bounces off the ropes in front of him. The crowd jeers the antic, and Harlequin Chaos heads his way, but is cut off by Cheshire.] TD: What was that? Have all the superstars of the IIWF gone nuts? Last week he fell a victim to a cheap attack, and this week, he's leading the charge! SR: I love it! Get him, Butcher! [As Quigley heads up the aisle, past Creed and the Sandman, he waves to Otto. The Butcher grabs Tragedy by the throat and executes his vicious chokeslam-backbreaker combination, the Slaughterslam. Verhoeven hooks a leg - 1 - 2 - 3! Big heel pop!] TD: Another tragedy -- no pun intended. SR: Sure, Dross. The best man won. RA: The winner of the triangle match is Otto "The Butcher" Verhoeven! [As the theme from "Halloween" plays again, the Harlequins help Tragedy up and get out of the area. On the outside, the Sandman, who has once again gotten the upper hand on the tiring Creed, is kicking and stomping away. Cheshire and Verhoeven celebrate, and seem to both be pointing to the back of their legs, indicating something about that loaded hammer. Security comes and breaks up the fight between Creed and the Sandman.] TD: The Sandman finally getting the better of that fight. He's taken way too much punishment as of late at the hands of Creed. SR: But he lost the match, Dross. [Suddenly, the music of "Halloween" stops. Otto wonders why, and suddenly there is a huge crowd pop. Racing down the aisle comes the Subway Psycho.] TD: The Subway Psycho! He'll be facing Otto next Saturday Night in a Third Rail Match, but he doesn't appear to want to wait the extra week! [The Psycho gets the jump on Verhoeven, but is quickly beaten down by Otto and Cheshire. Just as Cheshire is headed after a chair, a loud shrieking noise can be heard throughout the arena. A large bird swoops down and attacks Verhoeven, cutting into his flesh with his talons. As Verhoeven swings at the bird, Nightwing appears from the back.] SR: This is mayhem. Pandemonium. Carnage! I love it! TD: It's Nightwing! Apparently he took exception to Otto trying to attack his eagle, Chiquiot, and he's coming at the Butcher full boar! [Verhoeven and Cheshire quickly run out of the area, along with Nurse Heidi. Chiquiot the eagle sits on the turnbuckle and watches them leave. Nightwing then hops into the ring with a microphone provided by Sparkplug Lee. The Subway Psycho, recovering, rolls into the ring and looks up at Nightwing...] NW: I know of European invaders, my friend. Ruthless men seek to feast on those who are pure of heart and spirit. But surely, it is _their_ blood which shall be shed this time. So the fire spirit has told the spirit of the eagle. So it shall be done. [Nightwing leaps over the top rope to the floor. Chiquiot lets out a cry and then flies to his shoulder as he leaves, perched there for the rest of the way out. Soon after the Psycho gets out of the area, a spotlight catches a man in a luxury box, who begins making his descent to the ringside area.] SR: Who's that? TD: Looks like the "CEO", Jack Montgomery. SR: Oh yeah, the sheriff's manager. He he. [Creed picks himself up off the floor, and staggers to the ring, his efforts of the evening noted by the IIWF fans, many of whom are actually cheering the warrior. Creed begins twitching his left hand wildly as the CEO hits the ring, slapping Creed on the back. He is clearly ecstatic as he takes the mic.] CEO: You see! You see! This is what I hate been talking about. This man is the future of professional wrestling and we are ready for the future to begin now! We hereby issue a challenge -- one week from tonight, on January 18th, Creed will meet _ANYONE_ in the IIWF. Anyone. You can pick any type of match -- any stipulations you want. You name the dance and this man will play the tune. If there's anyone in the IIWF who will accept the challenge -- my man is ready to fight! [As his left hand continues to twitch, Creed grabs the mic with his right hand. He spits out his black mouthguard as he raises the mic to his chiselled face.] Creed: [calmly] Anyone. Anywhere. Anytime. [Beethoven's Ninth Symphony blares throughout the arena as the red spotlight trails Creed and the CEO out of the ring. Cut back to the announcers' table.] TD: Well, folks, we'll have to wait to find out who will step up to the plate to accept Creed's challenge, but the big man has been fairly effective out here tonight... SR: ...except against the Dark Disciples, and when he got hoodwinked by Brian Lau... TD: We're out of time here from the Coliseum tonight, folks, but what a night of action it's been! We've seen some incredible action, and there's more to come next Saturday Night, when the Subway Psycho and Otto Verhoeven will meet one more time in a Third Rail Match, Intercontinental Champion Steve Kowalski will defend against Billy Shakespeare and Marty Warnett in a Triangle Match, Chris Quigley will take on a member of the Players' Club, and a whole lot more. Don't forget to call the IIWF's new hotline tomorrow for all the latest news, behind the scenes rumour... SR: ...and my take on events in the wrestling world... TD: The number to call is 1-900-325-IIWF. Larry Morton and Becky LaRue will be back with you on Tuesday for another edition of the IIWF Report, and I'll be back on Wednesday for our weekly visit to the War Room. Until then, this is Tim Dross, for "Soundbite" Steve Roberts, saying: so long, everybody! [Cut to an aerial shot of the IIWF logo spinning on the canvas of the ring. Fade] +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= I * I * W * F =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-+ | President: Daniel Spreadbury | Vice-President: Steve Owens | | univ0322@sable.ox.ac.uk | sowens@admin.presby.edu | | iiwf@sisko.demon.co.uk | IIWFadmin@aol.com | +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- http://www.sisko.demon.co.uk -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+