##### ###### ### ########## ########## ########## #### ## ########## ########## ########## #### # #### ######## ##### ##### #### ## ##### #### #### #### #### ### #### #### #### #### ############# ######### #### #### ########### ######### #### #### #### #### #### ######### ######### ### #### #### ######### ######### ### ## #### ######## ######## ## # #### =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- ## =-=-=-= INTERNATIONAL INTERNET WRESTLING FEDERATION =============================================== M + O + N + D + A + Y M + U + S + I + N + G + S ----------------------------------------------- 30 June 1997 ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Lord Byron ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The scene opens on the IIWF interview area, and on Lord Byron, who is practically shaking with rage.  The Lady DeWinter stands next to him, looking more than a little concerned.  Byron shoulders the IC title, and spits out at the camera:] LB: So.  You wanted this, rookie?  This is your idea of "payback"?  Well, I tell you, my young ambitious "friend", it isn't going to happen! [Byron pulls the IC title off his shoulder, and points to it.] You really want to try and take this from me again, rookie?  Well, you've got your chance, and believe me, this time, I'm going to finish the job I started at Birthday Bash.  This time, Creed, you will leave the arena crippled for life! [The Lady DeWinter bites her lip and tugs at Byron's arm, trying to pull him off the set, but Byron shakes her off, and brushes his hair back angrily, before continuing.] No!  I'm not finished here yet!  Come to Coronation Clash, rookie.  Bring everything you've got, but I guarantee you it won't be enough!  It's over, rookie, you hear me?  I've had enough of you to last a lifetime!  You still think you can outsmart the greatest technical wreslter in the world, don't you?  You still think you have a chance to beat him!  I don't think so, rookie, I don't think so at all!  And after Coronation Clash, when the dust settles, and you find yourself once again wracked in pain and staring up at the arena lights, I'll have not only finished your career here, rookie, because I will make sure you never step into a wrestling ring again!  And you'll have to you home to Oakland with your tail between your legs, rookie, you'll have to limp up that small grassy hill and kneel down next to your mother's grave, and tell her you failed again, just like your daddy. [Byron sneers] You hear me, Creed?  Because I'll burn in hell before I let you take this title now! You hear me?  I'll burn in hell! [Byron shakes DeWinter off and storms off the set.  DeWinter, after a moment's hesitation, quickly follows.  The scene fades out.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Creed ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Nearly two full days following his elimination from the Coronation Clash Tournament and the subsequent bombshell announcement of the Loser Leaves Town match against Lord Byron, the red gloved rookie Creed stands in the IIWF interview area.  The young superstar has returned to the quiet intensity from which he so starkly deviated at the close of IIWF Saturday Night.] CREED: I thought there ain't nothing could top the feelin' I got leadin' up to Ring Wars 3, when I knew I 'bout to beat the Dog, beat the Dog and take my place at the top of this sport. Then I walk into the 'rena Saturday Night, barely even felt the bad wheel when I hooked it up with my boy Sampson.  Damn that was great, I knew the minute I hit the ring I was gonna be the next Heavyweight Champ. Now... now I here.  Byron -- I ain't mad at ya. I ain't mad at ya.  See, you my ticket, Byron.   I all 'bout bein' the best.  Provin' to the whole world that I the best wrestler on the planet.  And to do that, I gotta be Champ... Or... Or I gotta beat you, Byron.  Again. You wanna talk pay-back, Byron?  You took my leg... you took my streak... you took my shot at the o'ly thing that matter to me... And I 'bout to take your career.    Pay-back, Byron.  Pay-back. Tell yo' friends goodbye, Byron.  You twelve days from goin' home forever. [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Camera cuts to Chris Quigley, who is wearing a now torn t-shirt and jeans.] CQ: You're probably asking yourself, "Why, Quickstrike?!  Why did you go and get involved with Lebec and Warnett tonight?" I told Tim Dross in Phoenix, anyone who interfers in a championship caliber match like that makes me absolutely sick!  Warnett comes down and taunts Lebec!  Lebec comes down and _costs_ Warnett his match!  You both talk about how focused you were, but it's just a joke!  Next Saturday, you'll see an _example_ of focus, when I take my first step towards the IIWF World Championship!  _That_ is a promise! [Quigley walks off the set. Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Showstopper" Simon Lebec ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Camera opens with an irate Simon Lebec, nursing a cut over his temple.] SL: Warnett, you wanna play ball, faggit?  Interfere in my matches, and you'll get the same.  You cost me a shot at the IIWF gold, so I did the exact same to you.  Quigley, Shakespeare... neither of you two queers had any business in any business in any business in any business! Quigley, Shakespeare... rest assured that neither of you will be going to Coronation Clash for that title either.  I'll make my goal to see to it.  I'm the King of Persia, so keep your damn lemons off my table! [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Billy Shakespeare backstage after Saturday's brawl with Lebec, Quigley and Warnett.  He rebuttons his dress shirt, runs a hand through his hair an addresses the camera.] BS: "Your Spotlight," Lebec? _YOUR_ Spotlight?  Methinks the lad doth protest too much.   You're acting entitled to something which isn't yours to claim.  This week's end I meet one Joe Petrow... You _will not_ upstage my performance. So too you, O Petrow.  Said Henry VI, "More can I bear than you dare execute."  You are the performer who comes from the audience to claim a place on the stage.  Not in this show, sir.  The script for this scene will be re-written, the strange, the new, the unexpected. When you're Born to Perform, you can't give the same show every night.  Come Saturday, it will be, as Antony said to Cleopatra, "...the true beginning of the end." [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Cut to a shot of Brody Thunder standing in the IIWF interview area. He is covered in sweat as his chest heaves with each breath. All the while his eyes are fixed in a steely stare into the camera.] BT: That's... one, Danny-boy. The first of five carcasses... that are gonna get wheeled... outta the ring... when that bell tolls. This ain't jus' about belts now... this is a personal mission. I'm fixin' ta show the world... that I _am_ the best there is. An all o'yer political games ain't gonna stop me from acheivin' my destiny. [Thunder pauses long enough to spit on the ground. He returns his gaze to the camera.] Come hell or high water I _will_ walk outta that arena in Boston with that world title strap. Y'know why? Ya wanna know why?! Because there ain't a man lacin' 'em up that can beat me one-on-one in a fight. Plain an' simple. So set up the next victim. Dot the 'i's an' cross yer 't's... ...an' pray ta whatever gods ya hold dear. Cuz Mama Thunder's l'il boy is through playin' games. This ain't jus' fer titles now, Danny-boy... [Thunder wipes away the sweat from his forehead and flicks it to the ground.]      ...it's fer real. Yer precious world strap is comin' ta the Wolf.      It's jus' a simple matter o' time. Tick... tick... tick... [Thunder storms off camera. Fade to black.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Requiem ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: The IIWF interview set, just moments after IIWF Saturday night has gone off the air. The set is brightly lit, but the lights dim and flicker momentarily as Requiem strides in to stare at the camera, his unsettling white eyes boring directly into the souls of the thousands upon thousands of IIWF fans sitting at home...] R: Derek Mota... Truly a pathetic, ungrateful, ingrate. Mota, that was a brief taste of things to come, should you cross us again. Deathbringer and Serge Annis saved you this night, but do not rely too closely upon this "Unholy Alliance", for they are fickle and unreliable. We can be relied upon. We can be relied upon to annihilate you should you cross our path in future. But, ingrate though he might be, Mota has a point. We have let ourselves be distracted, we have lost our way from the goal we set ourselves. Deathbringer, I expect you are expecting me to tell you "I am not impressed" and to swear vengeance. No. Frankly, you're not worth my time. You do not possess gold, and so you are merely a distraction. The same goes for Ronnie Paris and friends. Even Violence Unlimited, though rest assured they shall pay for their deeds tonight, are distractions from the goal. No more. The IIWF may throw Paris and his friends in our path, they may hurl a broken Deathbringer at us, but that will not stop us. At Coronation Clash we shall make history, and if not... Pray that you never have to know the alternative. [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Highwayman ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Highwayman is sitting in one of the ringside seats in the empty Gund Arena the morning after Saturday's show.  The noise of workers tearing down the ring is a constant background noise that does not seem to penetrate Highwayman's daze.  Ten seconds pass before a nervous camera-man carefully clears his thoat to bring the big Englishman from his revere.  Adam Smith seems briefly startled before his surroundings come flooding into his conscienceness and he remembers the camera.  A quick smile flashes across his face as he begins to speak in a quiet voice:] HWM: The Tournament.. Saturday Night.. Group 'D'.. Nightwing.  The formation of Genesis started with our friendship, Nightwing. Some laughed, even more thought us an unlikely pairing, but the friendship endured throughout all the critisism and throughout our personal torments.  The question now is, can it endure throughout our Saturday match... [His head lowers and his voice becomes barely audible over the background noise.] ...and more importantly, throughout Genesis? [A long moment passes before he raises his head to look at the camera, and his eyes betray a distant look.] I seem to be making enemies far quicker than I make friends around here, my friend, and I wonder... I worry that... you might... that Paris, Steele and Rogers might... [His head drops again and his face becomes obscured by his hair. Seconds pass and it raises again to reveal a familiar grimace and hard, cold eyes.] We have come far together, Nightwing. Saturday may be a turning point in our friendship, but I will tell you as I tell everyone else.  I WANT THAT BELT, and I DO NOT care who I have to go through to get it! [The background noise stops momentarily as the venom of the words echo around the arena.] No favours asked, Nightwing, no quarter given.  Until Saturday, my friend, until Saturday... [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Duncan Macbeth ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Backstage at the Gund Arena in Cleveland, Ohio, Duncan Macbeth strides into the IIWF interview area, wiping away a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth but otherwise looking none the worse for wear after his brawl of a match with the NLWP's "Cowboy" Ken Curtis.  As Macbeth paces around the studio, collecting his thoughts, a tall, massively-built man in a Savile Row suit quietly steps into the background behind him, dwarfing everyone in the studio, including Macbeth himself.  The man has curly, flame-red hair and a beard, cold, narrow grey eyes, and he is carrying what appears to be a notepad and pen.  Macbeth's own eyes lock on the camera with his trademark green stare as he begins to speak.] DM: So Curtis, ye really thought ye'd just two-step in t' th' IIWF an' walk away wi' th' World Title?  Tha' I was just goin' t' lay down an' die like th' rest o' yis NLWP jobbers?  Well, I reckon Brody Thunder forgot t' tell ye one important thing about tonight's match -- NEVER turn yuir back on Duncan Macbeth!  Looks like yuir past dealin's wi' James came back t' haunt ye tonigh', but tha's no' my concern.  I'm goin' t' th' next round, an' ye're goin' back t' Drippin' Springs t' shag yuir cattle!  Always wondered why they call yis "cowpokes"... An' Byron, I'm still watchin' ye, tosser, an' I'm STILL waitin' fer ye t' impress me with yuir "technical superiority", 'cause ye surely did nae look all tha' superior tonigh'!  Like yuir man Curtis, yuir past actions have a funny way o' catchin' up with ye, do they no'?  An' now, if ye dinnae get run out o' th' league by Creed, ye'll have ME t' face if ye stay!  So I'm at th' back o' th' queue fer yuir title, am I?  I'm no' surprised -- tha's where all th' SERIOUS threats t' yuir title end up, while ye busy yuirself wi' jobbers, also-rans, an' hand-picked challengers!  Well, one day, maybe ye'll have t' face th' man at th' end o' th' line, an' that'll be th' end o' th' line fer yuir reign as Intercontinental Champion! [Macbeth's face twists into a scathing sneer worthy of Lord Byron himself.] O'course, maybe I'll have the very title tha' escaped YE tonigh' 'round MY waist by then... an' if so, ye may find YUIRSELF at th' end o' tha' queue... [With that, Macbeth turns and lopes out of the interview area.  The giant bearded man regards him for a moment, makes a quick note in his book before placing it in the inside pocket of his suit jacket, and follows the Scot out of the studio. Fade.]   ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Ronnie Paris ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Ronnie Paris stands in front of the Monday Musings backdrop, allowing a larger than usual smile and a much less calm than usual voice to be the main indications that he's feeling pretty good. He begins to speak, the smile never once fading from his face.] RP: You know, you gotta be good to be lucky, you have to be lucky to be     good, and having a guy like Creed mad at your opponent tends to fall     more in the "lucky" department. But I'm not a fool, contrary to what     some people might think, so I'll take a victory over Lord Byron any     way I can. I'll also try not to dwell on it too much, because to be     honest, Byron's got bigger problems than me, and I don't like     overstepping my bounds.         What I _am_ going to dwell on is that, despite all odds, Luke Steele     and I beat the last two guys to be Intercontinental champions, and we're both going to appear at Coronation Clash. Luke might have to fight friend or foe, but I'm not so lucky... I only get to choose my poison. Highwayman is a big, powerful, and wily man despite being what, 400 years old or something like that? I've never fought a dead man before, and considering what a crock Highwayman is I won't any time soon.         As for Nightwing, well, I've fought him and lost to him. Sure, he     needed help to do it, but I somehow still have my reservations, no pun intended, that he wants help. Hold on, can I retape this? That last pun was just awful... I'll probably get some nasty letters from the First Nations Council or something. Well, c'est la vie I guess.     Anyway, I'm in the Sweet Sixteen, and I don't intend on giving up there. Someone try and stop me! [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Real Deal" Luke Steele ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Fade up to the IIWF interview area, which at present is empty.  Luke Steele walks into the camera shot, sweat pouring down his face.  Steele is wearing his in-ring attire and a white towel around his neck.  Luke is tired, but nevertheless smiles at the camera.] LS: Now that is a homecoming!  Before I say anything, I want to thank each and every fan that came out tonight to support me in the biggest match of my career.  It's people like you that make this all worthwhile, and it's so much sweeter when it happens to be in the place where I was born. Now, Marty Warnett... What can I say, you are the toughest man I've ever had the pleasure of facing.  I'm not thrilled with the way the match ended, and I'd very much like to face you again at some point.  But this is a single elimination tournament, and regardless of how you get to the top, the goal for every wrestler is the same -- just get there.  If I win the title at Coronation Clash, consider yourself the first challenger in my books. Scott Rogers and Ronnie Paris, my new buds.  We haven't been together for an extremely long period of time, but you've both proven yourselves to be terrific allies.  Ronnie, congrats on your win over Lord Byron.  And Scott, I'm sure you'll have a ticket to the pay per view once you dispose of Requiem. [Steele pauses to reflect for a moment, looking at the road ahead.  He sees the brackets posted on the wall next to him.] I'm not quite sure who I have to face in the next round, but if it's you, Scott, then may the best man win.  And if by some way it's Requiem instead, well, you can bet your bottom dollar that the Real Deal will be in the Elite Eight after the next round.  The Real Deal is for real, IIWF, and as for you, Soundbite -- if I win the title I'll be knocking on the doors of IIWF Towers to reinstate you too. Later, baby dolls! [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Scott Rogers ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: Scott Rogers stands before an IIWF backdrop wearing his familiar "IIWF Crew" t-shirt and cross and chain. His hair is dyed black and his face is clean shaven. He has a beaming smile across his face.] SR: What a night! What a fu... a great night Saturday was! Luke won, then Ronnie beat the _Intercontinental Champion_! Yeah! Two of us through, and just me to go! You guys really heaped the pressure on me, but I just know I can do it! All three of us in the next round. Sure we'll have to meet each other at some point, but that don't matter! We're the best, and now everyone knows it! Genesis, beware, I'm comin' for ya and _nothin'_'s gonna stop me! See ya in the ring, Requiem. [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Prophets of Rage ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The Prophets of Rage stand before their backdrop.  Derek has his arm draped around Pizzazz as she puffs away on a cigarette.  Shadoe has his arms crossed in front of him.  He smiles grimly.] DR: Harlequins, how many times are we going to dance this dance?  How many times do we have to beat you before you quit coming back?  [shakes his head]  Y'all just don't learn too quick, do you?  This isn't "Send in the Clowns."  This is a real man's business.  We took you out what four times now and you still want to mess with us?  You can't compete with us. Tragedy, Chaos, Melody, Comedy, you four just don't compare to the Rages. Face it.  You're not talented enough, you're not hungry enough.  You're just plain not smart enough.  This is the Age of the Rage standing before you, the most dominant force in the IIWF.  You think you can knock us off our throne?  You think you can just take our titles away? SR: Boys, you ain't gonna do it.  Tragedy, you got nothing but singles aspirations.  Chaos, you're just an overgrown teenager with glandular problems.  You think you can match up with the master of the Rage?  You've got to be mad.  You aren't savage enough.  You aren't good enough.  Look, we're waiting for a real team to come take away our belts.  That isn't you.  Forget about it.  Forget July 12, too.  Because you're going down to a place that has never had a Cold Spell.  Yeah, the Prophets have looked down from on high and deemed you unworthy.  And we're going to dispose of you. P: Soyez pas doux, mon amour.  Shadoe, Derek, cet fois ci, les tuer. D'accords? DR: No problem, Pizzazz.  No problem.  It's time they learned.  It's time they understood what it really means to match up with the Prophets.  It's time we showed them the real deal. SR: Hell, I might even bite off their ear!  Naw, I don't need to get that savage, but Harlequins...  you will be taken out of that ring on a stretcher.  You will get hurt.  You will fall victim to the Angel of Death.  And you will DIE IN DARKNESS! [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Harlequins ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Harlequins Tragedy and Chaos stand in the IIWF interview area.] HC: Hello, Prophets. It looks as if we are to face each other again. It     seems that the four of us just can't seem to avoid each other. First it was over the U.S. Tag Team Titles, and now the World Championship. The last time we battled, there was no winner... this time will be different. HT: You've tried everything to stop us. You've attacked our loved ones. You called out friends to help you. But we keep coming back to haunt you, don't we? It may sound strange hearing this from me, but Harlequins are like cockroaches. We are everywhere and you just can't kill us off. The Harlequinners will swarm the stands of the arena this Saturday, and their cries will drown out your very thoughts like the buzzing of the insects overcomes the songs of the birds. It's not a pleasant analogy, but in the end, only the insects, feeding on the flesh of humanity, will be the survivors. HC: So go ahead, Prophets. Try and step on us. But this Saturday, you will be overcome! [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Pain Inc. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Hellraiser and Morningstar, their faces as ever concealed by their chain-mail masks, stand behind their manager, Mr. Mic, who addresses the camera:] MM: Hopelesswood Blondes, you have the gall to label Pain Inc. as a fourth or fifth-rate team? Listen up for your history lesson, bozos. Pain Inc. has been the IIWF World Tag Team Champions, one of the longest reigning tag team champions. You two are gonna feel a whole lotta hurt on Wednesday night. Pain Inc. has something special in store for you. Dark Disciples, pay attention! [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Hollywood Bloods ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The camera opens to a luxurious hotel room. The Hollywood Bloods are on the sofa watching a video of a match between Pain Inc. and the Dark Disciples. Doug Wayne pauses the tape and begins to speak.] DW: [in a deep demonic voice mocking Pain Inc.]  We got kicked out of our gang. We are bad, mean monsters... Arhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!  When we get our steroid arms on you, we will tear you apart. Arhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! CW: [almost falls off the couch from laughter]  I don't know who to laugh at more, Pain Inc. or the Dark Disciples.  Well, you guys all win prizes for best Hallowe'en costumes. We don't know if we should kick your [BLEEP] or give you guys candy! DW: Pain Inc. has a huge press conference and all they can say to us is that we are in the wrong place at the wrong time.  Two stinkin' lines about the guys they got to face on Wednesday.  You guys underestimate us one bit and I guarantee you will be watching us tear apart your former buddies from your hospital beds.  You better pray the hospital they take you to after our match has PPV because that is the only way you'll be connected to the Coronation Clash. CW: And Mr. Mic, or whatever your name is, you get in our way, I'll stick my foot so far down your throat your breath will stink like shoe polish for a month. DW: And if Dark Disciples want to get involved in our match in any way, they won't make it to Coronation Clash either.  You guys can all watch the Clash together from the hospital.  Maybe you can patch things up. [There is a knock at the door.] DW: That better be room service. They're an hour late with my food. [Wayne opens the door. He grabs his dinner off the cart and slams the door in the waiter's face.  The waiter knocks at the door again.  Wayne opens it and the waiter has his hand held out for a tip.  Wayne has an enraged look on his face and superkicks the waiter in the face.  He then picks the man up, puts him on the cart, rolls him down the hallway, and shuts the door.] DW: There's your [BLEEP] tip. CW: That was cold, Wayne. [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Licensed for Devastation ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The camera opens to Licensed for Devastation standing in front of an ocean mural background.  Reggie Starr is garmented in a ripped-up white t-shirt and a pair of leopard spandex pants.  Jonathan Chaos doesn't wear a shirt, but wears low riding blue jeans and a pair of sunglasses. Chaos has a stern look on his face, and Starr looks very absent minded.] STARR: It's finally here!  The debut of the best thing since sliced kilbasa, Licensed for Devastation!  The most arrogant, brash, destructive force ever spawned by the devil himself.  CHAOS: Stop tryin' to impress the people, Reggie.  The impressions'll be made in the ring, when we show the Machines what happens when you make a Breach of Contract.  You get taken out, Baltimore style! STARR: Two punks, one from Denver, the other from Cleveland, both are some tough-ass cities... but we grew up in the toughest city of all... Baltimore M-D.  It isn't gonna happen for you, Machines... it ain't gonna happen for _any_ IIWF tag teams... CHAOS: You can't handle the best.  And the best is us. That Simon O'Neil guy, we like your style... but your partner... he's gotta go, and we'll put him in the outbox, money! STARR: Yeah, we like your style, but it damn sure isn't LFD, the elite, so bring on the Machines, bring on the Robots, bring on every damn mechanical structure that you can find! CHAOS: We'll short-circuit 'em all. [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Machines ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Simon O'Neal is in the background, having a very animated phone call.  Paul Wong is sitting on a weight bench, reading an IIWF notice.] PW: Hey, Simon.  We've got Licensed for Devastation this Wednesday. [O'Neal doesn't appear to be hearing, as he is kicking the back wall.] SO: ANOTHER alimony hearing?  The last one was four years ago... [Paul rolls his eyes, and faces the camera.] PW: Simon's on the phone with Julie, his second... no, make that third, ex-wife.  Nice girl, actually, but never mind.  We have our first IIWF match this Wednesday, against Licensed for Devastation.  We've faced wrestlers like you before... [He pulls out one of the AEWA Unified Tag Team Titles belts, and displays it for the camera] ...and won, but we shouldn't make the mistake of underestimating you.  SO: [shouting into the phone]  No, I am not hiding any money from you.  Paul, come over here and tell her how broke I am. [Paul sighs, walks over, and picks up the phone.] PW: Julie?  Yeah, Simon's always borrowing money from me... SO: [yelling to no one in particular] You see?  And the Boy Scout never lies... PW: Yeah, ever since he bought that new stereo, he hasn't been able to... [Simon yanks the phone out of Paul's hands and quickly hangs up the phone.] SO: [through very clenched teeth]  SHE... DOESN'T KNOW... ABOUT THE... STEREO! PW: Oh.  Umm... Sorry.  {Paul gets up and leaves.  Simon kicks the wall again, then reads the IIWF notice.} SO: Licensed for Devastation this Wednesday, huh?  Bad news for you guys.  I'm in a bad mood, which means that I'll put HIM [points towards the direction Paul left] in a bad mood, so your License is going to be revoked.  We'll kick your asses back to Baltimore.  Now, get out of here.  I've got to call my lawyer. [As the camera fades, Simon picks up the phone, muttering "Damn SOB had to mention the Onkyo..."] +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= I * I * W * F =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-+ | President: Daniel Spreadbury | Vice-President: Jim Jividen | | univ0322@sable.ox.ac.uk | brokeback@webtv.net | | iiwf@sisko.demon.co.uk | | +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- http://www.sisko.demon.co.uk -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+