[Fade up to an image of the familiar IIWF Coliseum in Portland, Oregon. Absolute Zero's "Welcome to the Resurrection" starts to play as scenes from the Coronation Clash fly by the scene. Cold Spell holding up their new tag titles, Lord Byron leaving the ring, head bowed, Verhoeven attacking Byron, and Creed making the save... Requiem holding the IIWF World Heavyweight title aloft along with his stablemates. The music fades in to "The Music of the Unknowingly Damned" as Genesis members fade up on to the screen. As the music hits a high point, the IIWF logo seems to seep on to the screen in blood red letters...]                  #####     ######   ###            ##########              ########## ########## ####       ##  ##########              ########## ########## ####  #   #### ########                #####      #####    #### ##  ##### ####                 ####       ####    #### ### ####  ####                 ####       ####    ############# #########                 ####       ####     ########### #########                 ####       ####     ####  ####   ####              #########  #########   ###   ####   ####              #########  #########   ###    ##    ####               ########   ########   ##      #    ####              =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- ## =-=-=-=                INTERNATIONAL INTERNET WRESTLING FEDERATION             =================================================               "COUNTDOWN TO SATURDAY NIGHT" - July 25, 1997             ================================================= [Scene cuts to the Countdown set, complete with a desk with small ring ropes on the edges, and a large video wall behind the two figures seated at the desk: Brian Lau and Larry Morton. Larry tries desperately to initiate a "talking before the mics are turned on" bit with Brian, but Lau just ignores him and examines his nails. Finally, Larry turns to the camera.] LM: Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to Countdown to Saturday Night! I'm     your host... BL: No you're not. You are the clown. LM: [a bit put out] No, I'm not... No need to get nasty, Brian. BL: When dealing with your big shoe wearing kind, Morton, there is all     the need in the world to be nasty. LM: [shaking his head] Well, folks, what great action we saw at the     Coronation Clash. Three of the four titles in the IIWF now have new     holders. BL: Convenient that you put it that way, Morton, because those people     are only holding those belts until someone with real talent comes     along and takes them. LM: Well, Brian, some might say that the people holding them are     talented enough... BL: Talented enough to flip burgers, perhaps, but as wrestlers? I think     not. LM: Oookaaayy... Well, needless to say... BL: If it's needless, then don't. Let's just get on to the Wednesday     results, okay? I don't want to talk about that sham that was the     Coronation Clash. LM: Alright. Some great action went down on Wednesday, and though the     IIWF took a week off, the stars definitely didn't show it in their     performances. Let's take a look... [Clips of the final moments of each bout are shown with the results superimposed at the bottom.] ======================================================================== -----------------------WEDNESDAY-WAR-ROOM-RECAP------------------------- ======================================================================== Wednesday War Room - Results from July 23, 1997 "Sychosys" Joe Petrow def. Scott "The Whine" Bloom (via Pinfall) Sebastian Jericho def. "Nifty" Ned Norton (via Pinfall) The Phoenix def. El Super Gecko (via Pinfall) Scott Rogers & Serge Annis def. The Rotundos (via Pinfall) Timothy N. Turner def. Casey C. (via Pinfall) The Harlequins def. The Hollywood Bloods (via Pinfall) Kevin Christiansen def. Mr. Damage (via Pinfall) The Syndicate def. Pain Inc. (via Pinfall) [A very Brian Lau-like voice yells out "YES!" at this one.] ======================================================================== [Cut back to Morton and Lau. Lau is grinning ear to ear while Morton looks concerned.] LM: Brian, impartiality is a very important part of our job. If you     can't... BL: Oh, shut up. If you had some friends competing, you'd cheer them     too. Thing is that you have no friends. I wonder why? You keep     showing that scrapbook to everyone, and... LM: You leave Chuckie-baby out of this, okay? [looks to the camera] Oh,     I said that out loud, didn't I? Oh dear... BL: Hah! LM: [under his breath] Ummm, okay, I can deal with this... [raises his     head] Well, a lot of new talent on Wednesday, huh, Brian? BL: Oh, yes, sure, Larry. LM: Both Timothy Turner and Sebastian Jericho made impressive debuts... BL: Tim Turner... Any relation to...? LM: No, I don't think so. The Phoenix showed everyone he doesn't need     Genesis in his match, and the Harlequins scored a win over the     Bloods. But who was that bandaged man that came to the ring     afterwards? BL: Some B-movie reject, I'm sure. Everything about those Harlequins     stinks of Western trash entertainment. LM: I guess we'll have to wait and see. Scott Rogers and Serge Annis     absolutely dominated the Rotundos, although their tag technique was     a little shaky. I guess that's what happens when you take two     singles wrestlers and throw them together... BL: Well, sure, two singles wrestlers of _that_ calibre. A unit can only     be as good as the sum of its parts, after all. LM: Ummm, yeah. In other action, Kevin Christiansen pulled out a win     over Mr. Damage, and Turner was there to bring home an offer that he     made earlier in the night. He offered Christiansen the chance to be     his "squire." BL: I'd say that Christiansen should take it. I mean, we all know what     squires are there to do. Basically, be the lackey of the knight,     right? But in return, they learn a few things. Christiansen could     stand to learn volumes from Mr. Turner. Look at his loss to Musashi     in the tournament. He could have won, but this perverted sense of     honour... Bah! LM: Perverted? BL: Yes, perverted. You want real honour? If a man is down, you kick him     before he can get up to save him the trouble and effort. LM: Amazing... BL: Thank you. LM: On another note, Joe Petrow seems to think that he won some sort of     title, bringing out one of the old US tag belts and parading around     as if he were some sort of people's champion. Apparently, he sees     himself as a role model now. BL: Crazy... Plain crazy. Here he had the respect of so many people, and     he jeopardizes it with this? LM: I guess we'll have to see what happens in the weeks to come. Well,     folks, let's move on... BL: No, no, no... I don't think so. You forgot one important thing. The     Syndicate ran straight through Pain Inc. on Wednesday. Did you see     that? I was proud... LM: I'm not too sure I'm comfortable with you using your position to     push wrestlers you have a personal interest in. BL: You don't? LM: No. BL: I guess that's just too bad, isn't it? LM: Can we go on now? BL: Sure... I'm done for now. LM: Okay. Folks, we've got a great card coming up tomorrow night. This     will be the Viewer's Choice card, as booked by Coronation Clash     contest winner, Roger Fletton. BL: Way to go, Roger. Nothing like rigging the draw, huh? LM: It wasn't a draw. He predicted the outcomes of the matches in the     tournament. BL: Oh, yes, that's right... He _predicted_ the results. Good     _predictions,_ Roger. You know, Larry, I made a few good     _predictions_ in my time... LM: Really? BL: Yes... I remember one of them... "Go down in the third round or     Mongo here breaks your knees." And what do you know? It happened! LM: Wonderful. BL: I thought so. I made a lot of money on that one. LM: Folks, let's take a look at tomorrow's card... [Stuck Mojo's "Who's the Devil?" plays as the matches scroll up the screen.] ======================================================================== ----------------------SATURDAY-NIGHT-PREVIEW---------------------------- ======================================================================== IIWF Saturday Night "Viewers' Choice" 26 July 1997 1. Dog Collar Match:    "Showstopper" Simon Lebec vs. Derek Mota    [Winner gets shot at Cruiserweight title at Midsummer Madness] 2. War Games Match:    Prophets of Rage vs. The Machines vs. LFD vs. Violence Unlimited 3. Falls Count Anywhere:    Serge Annis, Scott Rogers & Highwayman vs.    Deathbringer, the Phoenix & "Real Deal" Luke Steele 4. IIWF World Tag Team Championship:    Cold Spell [c] vs. The Last Resort 5. Ten Man Tag:    Thunder, Starks, Kowalski, Cavalier & Sampson vs.    Quigley, Petrow, Enigma, Macbeth & MYSTERY PARTNER 6. Winner Gets Shot at IIWF World Champ at Midsummer Madness:    Otto Verhoeven vs. Mad Dog Watkins 7. Champions Triangle Ladder Match:    Requiem vs. Creed vs. Dirt Dog Unique Allah ======================================================================== LM: Wow. Any one of these matches could headline a card, but they're all     happening in one night, tomorrow night! BL: Bah... Where's the "I lose my title, even if I win" match between     Creed and Requiem? And what about the "Syndicate beats up their     bound opponents" match? I'm telling, you, Roger, you wasted your     chance. LM: Come on, Brian, there are some great matches here. Let's take a     gander at them one by one. BL: A gander? -------------------------------------------- 1. Dog Collar Match:    "Showstopper" Simon Lebec vs. Derek Mota -------------------------------------------- BL: A dog collar match. Aren't these matches reserved for those     dog-types? LM: What do you mean? BL: You know, I'd expect Mad Dog Watkins to be in a dog collar match...     Or even the legendary Scrapyard Mutt... LM: Well, I'm sure it's not necessary to have a dog like personality to     participate in a dog collar match. Besides, several people in the     IIWF find the idea of Simon Lebec in a dog collar fairly     entertaining. BL: Not me... I find it sickening, actually. LM: Well, I don't know... I think this match could be fairly     entertaining. This one is definitely a battle of the Heat Machines.     It could get fairly violent. BL: Well, that's good. There's nothing like starting off a show with a     bloody mess, is there? LM: Well, it's not just that. The winner of this match gets a shot at the Cruiserweight Champion at the IIWF's next pay-per-view spectacular, Midsummer Madness! BL: So why wasn't the dog collar saved for the pay-per-view? Dirt Dog... Dog collar... See? The dog thing. LM: Ummm, because the dog collar this week was chosen by Roger Fletton. BL: Oh, yes, the Viewer's Choice. Well, there you go. LM: Tim Dross recently got comments from Derek Mota in Toronto, Canada.     This is, well, interesting... [The interview opens on a dark city street.  A bunch of kids are sitting outside, talking loudly and laughing.  An older couple walks by them quickly, hoping to go unnoticed.  One of the kids splits from the group, taunting the older man, who just keeps walking.  The camera pans over to the road, where a number of cars are parked, people coming in and out of them.  The street lights poorly illuminate the circus that is downtown Toronto.  Tim Dross is seen standing alone amidst the chaos, looking more than a little uncomfortable.] TD: Oh boy, Summers gets to visit the ballpark, Morton his apartment,     but I have to do this.  The life of a broadcast journalist ... [Dross continues walking down the street, the cameraman following closely behind.  A woman propositions Dross, who looks flattered until he realizes she is a prostitute.  Dross just shakes his head and turns around, where he sees a man standing against a brick wall.  The man is wearing a black leather jacket and jeans, with his black hair wisping over his eyes  and hanging just over his shoulders.  The neon letters flashing above illuminate the man's face, who we know to be Derek Mota.] TD: Hi Derek, I never thought I'd find you here!  I should be getting     danger pay for coming here, that woman ... she ... DM: What, you never seen a hooker before, Dross? TD: Well, uh ... of course, but I ... Well, why did you bring me out     here anyways? DM: I'm gettin' the Cruiserweight title here, buddy! TD: Somehow I doubt that the Dirt Dog Unique Allah will be found on     these streets. DM: Oh yeah, it's too clean here.  He'd be down the street in the     cardboard boxes, with a bottle of vodka in his hands.  Dross Dross     Dross.  You know I'll find the doggie in the ring eventually, but     tonight I'm takin' the steps to make sure I get there.  But before     we go in, I got me one thing to talk about. TD: Given that I'm not too enthusiastic about our next step, why don't     you elaborate on this? DM: You know what it's about.  The pack rats they call Genesis.  They're     in a great spot now, two titles and all, but it's all comin' down.     Boys, it ain't just me comin' for ya now.  You got a whole whack     load 'a top guys who want you outta here. TD: But as their opponents increase, so do their ranks. DM: That's their big problem, Drossman.  You see, Genesis was strong in     the beginning.  But now they're just a bunch 'a loose ends.  Do you     think that Serge Annis and Cold Spell can work together for long? TD: Well, probably not. DM: Damn right they can't.  They got a group that's based on shaky     ideals, but they're gonna have a unified front against them.  You're     gonna feel it all comin' down on ya, Genesis.  It's all comin' down.     Ok, let's go in. [Mota steps into the building and Tim Dross just stands there staring at the neon lights above.  The huge sign simply says "Bondage a Go-Go". Dross looks around him and realizes he's alone, and seeing the prostitute winking at him, runs into the bar after Derek Mota.  Both men stand in the entrance, realizing what they've gotten themselves into. Music from the Chemical Brothers is playing past the noise threshold.  A woman wearing a black studded leather bra and a g-string approaches Mota and Dross.] Woman:  Hi, I'm Wanda G.  You here for a tie down or spanking? DM: Uh ... we're just here to watch. WG: Oh, one of those!  Come right in, and make yourself comfortable!  If     you ever feel like jumping in, feel ... free. [Wanda G leaves Mota and Dross alone.  Dross is looking like he's ready to bolt at any time.] TD: You'd better have a damn good reason why we're here! DM: Lighten up, fatboy!  Ever done anything exciting in your life? TD: Sure I did.  Me and my brother Hoss, we went to a farm once and we     tipped a cow ... DM: Enough! [The sounds of whips are heard in the background over the loud music. Dross looks even more uptight.  Mota walks to the bar, where a few people in full leather attire seem to be having a normal conversation.] Man: Hey man, never seen you here before.  You here to see Jorgi Girl     Bitch Diva later on? DM: Sure. Man: I'm sure she could use some fresh ... meat.  Oh, and there she is! [The camera turns to record the woman known as Jorgi Girl Bitch Diva and her companion at her side.  Diva is wearing a full dominatrix uniform, complete with full leather face mask and dog collar.  The entire bar becomes silent as she makes her presence known.  She walks up to Mota and stares him down from head to toe.] JGBD: So, I hear you're the new flesh here?  I am in need of some     assistance here. How would you like to hold the whip for Francesco     and I? DM: Only if I can use it. JGBD: Why else would you be there?  Follow us. [JGBD and her "friend" Francesco walk to one of the private "viewing" rooms as Dross just shakes his head repeatedly.  A man standing next to him says a few words, after which Dross just desperately eyes the viewing room, and then the exit, and then back to the viewing room once more.  The man eventually leaves, and Dross decides not to run away. Loud noises begin to erupt from the viewing room, and the people nod in respect for the new blood, respect which grows along with the noise level, which has now reached a loud clamoring pitch, with things being banged around the room. A few scattered people begin clapping.  We hear Francesco scream, to which everybody looks impressed, until they see him go flying through the door, a folding chair closed on his head.  Derek Mota comes out of the room, wearing a dog collar around his neck.  He runs out, grabbing Tim Dross by the arm, screaming "RUN!".  A few bouncers chase them out of the bar, and they keep on running for a few minutes, until they reach a more lighted area.  Both of them stop, Dross looking almost paralyzed from fatigue.] TD: What the hell was that?  You went way over the line this time, Mota! DM: But I won my first Dog Collar match!  Look! [Mota proudly displays the dog collar he stole from Jorgi Girl Bitch Diva at the bar.] DM: You see, I'm undefeated in Dog Collar matches so far, and tomorrow     night I'm gonna show Simon Lebec that his guarantee of a win has     just as many holes in it as his stupid condoms do!  Ask his 88 kids!     LEBEEEEECCCC!  I'M COMIN' FOR YA!  YEAH! TD: Is it just my imagination or has a little bit of Joe Petrow rubbed     into this man?  I guess we'll see tomorrow!  But Mota, I'll     guarantee you this is the  LAST interview I ever give with you!  Okay, cut this ... [Dross just drops his microphone to the ground and walks away, and we cut seeing Mota just looking at him, a huge smile on his face. Fade.] BL: Unbelievable. LM: Yes... That was quite a scene. BL: No, I find it unbelievable that a hooker would go after Dross. I     mean, come on ladies, aren't you supposed to go after the guys who     look like the have money? LM: I happen to know that Mr. Dross is very well-paid. BL: Sure doesn't look like it. Look at the hamster he staples on his     head. It's not exactly a high quality rug, if you know what I mean. LM: Leave his hair alone. I happen to know that he loves that thing like     a pet. He brushes it every night, you know. BL: And lets it run through the Habitrail maze for a few hours, right? LM: No, no... I... Stop it. Okay, folks, we were unable to get any     comments from Simon Lebec. Apparently, he's auditioning for a part     in a baseball movie. BL: Baseball movie? With a title like "Bats and Butts?" Think what you     will, Larry... LM: What, I happen to like baseball movies... You know, like Field of     Dreams... "If you build it, they will come..." BL: I'm not even going to go near that one... LM: Okay. Back to the match, though, I'm assuming you're picking Simon     Lebec for this one. BL: No. Derek Mota. LM: What?! BL: You heard me. Sure, I used to like Simon Lebec, but let's just say     that things have changed. Besides, Derek Mota has scored a win over     Tiger Claw in a strap match, so I think he's got a very good chance     here. LM: I thought you'd have a grudge against Mota for beating Claw. BL: No, of course not. I saw some talent in him when he beat Tiger Claw.     Perhaps if I were still a manager, I'd try to work out a contract     with him. He's decided to put that New Generation crap behind him,     so he's a lot more bearable. LM: I see. Okay... I guess so. ------------------------------------------------------------------- 2. War Games Match:    Prophets of Rage vs. The Machines vs. LFD vs. Violence Unlimited ------------------------------------------------------------------- LM: This one promises to be huge. The rules will follow War Games     standards, and the last team standing wins the match. There's     ex-champions in there, definite contenders for the titles are in     there, and two new teams are included as well. It's just hard to     pick a winner for this one. BL: That's right, because there won't be one. Even if one of these teams     comes out victorious, they'll end up having to face the Syndicate,     and none of them can compare. LM: Brian, stop it. We're supposed to cover the teams involved in this     one. BL: I'll tell you who will cover these teams... For the one, two,     three... The Syn... LM: Okay, enough... Come on now. Folks, we're going to hear from the     Prophets of Rage later in the show along with the rest of the Age of     Rage, but right now, let's get comments from the Machines... [The camera fades in to a markerboard.  In green ink are three names: VIOLENCE UNLIMITED, PROPHETS OF RAGE, and LICENSE FOR DEVASTATION.  LFD is underlined.  The camera pulls back, and the Machines are shown standing in front of the board.  Each is wearing their grey fedora hats and sunglasses, and Simon is tightening the black glove on his left hand.] PW: This Saturday, four teams enter a War Games matchup -- the three teams on the board and us. SO: Let's see.  We have the former champions Prophets of Rage, who claim     to be the baddest team in the league.  We have Violence Unlimited,     who claim to be the baddest team in the league.  And we have LFD,     who -- all together now -- claim to be the baddest team in the league. And we agree completely.  You're all bad -- very, very bad. PW: We don't claim.... SO: [Interrupting] We're not the baddest team in the league.  We don't     claim to leave a trail of bodies behind us.  We just win our     matches -- like we're going to Saturday. PW: [Sighing]  And Licensed for.... SO: [Interrupting again]  LFD, your little playmates decided to run     away. Smart thing on their part.  Now we can focus all of our vengeance on you two. We have experience making people who jump us live to regret it, and you're in for a learning experience. PW: Now, we're... SO: Another thing.  We haven't been given... PW: Will you stop interrupting me! SO: Hey, I'm just trying to get our point across. PW: Exactly.  YOU'RE trying to get OUR point across.  We're a team,     remember? SO: Yeah, but... quite frankly, Paul, you're not that great of an     interview subject.  You keep rambling on about respect and being     nice... and it's boring.   Let me do the talking.  I'm able... PW: You're able to tick off half the wrestlers in the league, and     requiring ME to save you when they want your head on a platter.  And     at least I'm not annoying as hell. SO: ANNOYING?!  Okay, Paulie.  You want the damn camera, there it is.     Later.  [He grabs his jacket and walks off] PW: [mutters to himself] Sonova... [To the camera]  He'll be back.     Look, the best way to earn respect is to take on the best.  LFD,     Violence Unlimited, and especially the Prophets are very good, and     it's going to be tough to get by all three teams.  But we've done it     before, and while I think all three of these teams are good... I     think Simon and I are better. [Starts to walk away.] And LFD...  it's our turn now. [Fade] BL: Get on the same page, will you? LM: What? I am... Right here... "Segue into LFD!" BL: Not you, idiot, the Machines. These two guys can't even agree about     what they want. One of them wants to be the "shake your hand" type     of guy, and the other one wants to be successful. Guys, get on the     same page. LM: Oh... Ummm, well, Brian, I don't think the friction between these     two guys is a real threat to the team as a whole. Their bickering     only seems to be of the brotherly sort, and... BL: Can it. If they can't even agree on an interview format, how are     they going to win this match? How are they going to overcome the     enemies they have made in Licensed for Devastation? They can't. LM: Speaking of whom, let's go to their comments... [Scene opens to IIWF studios.  Where Tim Dross and Steve Roberts were sitting on "Inside the IIWF" are now Reggie Starr and Jonathan Chaos, better known as Licensed for Devastation.  Both men wear black suits, with white dress shirts and red ties, along with sunglasses.] RS: This Saturday, Jonathan, my friend, we have the opportunity to     diverge into a whole new journey!  We have the chance to enter the     IIWF all over again... no Nightriders.  Just you and me, and     Jon... I'm ready. JC: Ya know Reg, that 0 and 1 record of ours doesn't show our true     skills in the ring, ya know? RS: Yeah, I know. JC: 'Cause we're the best team in the industry, G, and I'm sick of     people like the Prophets of Rage always gettin' matches when we've     been sitting back waiting for our second match for three weeks! RS: Speak the word, my brotha!  So now we go on to Saturday Night, with     a chance to redeem ourselves.  A chance to prove to the world that     we don't really suck, if the IIWF bureaucrats would just let us     prove that fact, then we would... we've got one night to do it in,     Jon.  _One_. JC: We'll make good use of it Reggie, 'cause it's a War Games Match... my kinda match. [Reggie turns to Jonathan.] RS: Really?  Oooh yeah!  That means No DQ, _and_ a cage!  Oh boy,     somebody's gonna bleed!  JC: That's right Reg.  The Prophets of Rage, Violence Unlimited _and_     the Machines are in there. RS: Violence Unlimited?  Yes!  That's awesome, Jon, I've always wanted     to slice 'n dice a five hundred pound man, now I have that     opportunity! Wait... where the hell did I put my Ginsu knife? [Reggie walks off camera, in search of his Ginsu knife.] JC: After we take care of Violence Unlimited, there's always the number     one contenders to the titles held by the great Cold Spell, the     Prophets of Rage.  Prophets... I honestly can say that I have no idea who you are. No, really, I have no clue.  I also can honestly can say that I don't care... you'll go down at our feet, just like the rest that will fall in our path to gold. [Reggie returns, Ginsu knife in hand.] RS: Well, I assume that you talked about everybody, right? JC: Lemme see... yep, I made fun of VU _and_ the Prophets of Rage. RS: Great.  Wait, we didn't leave anyone out, did we? JC: Nope, not that I can think of. RS: Good.  Now then, we've got a little problem with the two men that     were sitting in these very seats a few days ago. JC: Timothy and Steven. RS: Tim Dross and Steve Roberts... you two classified us as "black" when     you said that we say "sucka" a lot.  Well, Tim, Steve, I've never,     ever  said "sucka" in my life. JC: I've said it many times, sucka.  And I am black.  He ain't, but I     am... got a problem with it?  Come down to ringside and solve it. [Both men remove their shades simultaneously and walk off camera.  Fade to black.] LM: They seem to have overlooked someone... BL: The question is: was that on purpose, or are they just stupid? Are     they trying to prove a point, or did they just forget about the guys     that are snapping at their heels? LM: I guess we'll see in the ring on Saturday. That's right, folks, four     tag teams... Eight men... A steel cage, and no DQ. It's going to be     the tag team match everyone will be watching. BL: No it's not. LM: Oh, you're referring to the title match? BL: No. LM: There aren't any other tag team matches on the card. BL: Oh, I guess you're right, then. I guess you know best. LM: I guess I... Wait, what are you saying? BL: Nothing... I didn't say anything. Go on... LM: Okay, folks. Let's move on to Violence Unlimited. These guys stand     to gain quite a bit in this match. They have a chance to eliminate     the former champions and top contenders, which would definitely move     them up the ladder to get to the team that everyone knows they hate,     Cold Spell. BL: If I had to pick any team to make it in this one, it would be these     two guys... Jaguar and Mutilator are just intense. There's no other     way to describe them. They're championship material. LM: Except for... BL: What? Except for what? LM: Didn't you want to plug a few friends of yours? BL: I wasn't planning to. Do you want to plug some friends of mine? I     don't think I know anyone that's your type. LM: [shakes head] Okay, folks, we got these comments from Violence     Unlimited... [SCENE: Fade in to the IIWF Towers, shortly after Wednesday War Room. In the area where the show was broadcast from, we see more objects not shown on camera.  There is an Alex Rio Mirror, a Robski English Flag t-shirt, a pair of authentic Dan Kauffman tights, and in a huge casing, the actual canvas from the first ever IIWF event's ring.  Walking down the hallway are IIWF tag team Violence Unlimited.  Mutilator is stopped, looking at a video of Robski... he knows Rob well, and is somber while watching highlights of him, and remembers some highlights he had wrestling with and against him as well.  He is wearing a black Violence Unlimited t-shirt, a pair of blue jean shorts, and Nike Cross Trainers, as well as his mask.  Walking down the other side of the hall before stopping at a picture of Dan Kauffman, entrapped in the Quickstriker, is Jaguar.  He is wearing a white t-shirt, with the IIWF logo on it, black Champion® shorts, and a pair of black Nikes.  His long, stringy black hair hangs down in front of his face, concealing his eyes.  They both come together, taking a seat on a bench between two cases.] M: Ahhh, the history of the IIWF.  It touches me. J: Are you sure about who you are today?  Since when are you    "touched"? M: Yes, I'm touched.  I'm touched that such a horrendous promotion was    even worse in the past.  It touches me that IIWF has gotten so much    better since the arrival of Violcence Unlimited. J: I understand ya now, Mut. M: Anyway, it seems as if the "Viewer's Choice" matches, as determined    by the IIWF "fans", has pitted us in a war games match against    Licensed for Devastation, The Machines, and the Prophets of Rage.    The games of war, they are nearing. J: War is a lengthy series of battles.  War cannot be ended by merely    one match.  Why, then, do they give but one match the title of War    Games? Is it because of the feeble-minded fans clamoring for a war?    Is it because this is to be the Final Battleground?  I can understand    the title of "Final Battleground", so I assume this is the only time    we will be able to break every single bone in the body of the other    six men in the match.  And it is bone breaking, we will do. M: The Final Battleground, between some teams that have yet to meet.    The first, and last.  We do intend to make it the last match we have,    in fact we intend to make it the last match you'll EVER have.  A    broken bone is a broken bone, an ended career is an ended career, and    a severely damaged life force is a coma.  What do all three of them    ALL have in common, though? J: They are the results of a war games match with Violence Unlimited.    They may come one at a time, but we decide at this moment that they    shall all come in combination.  For Licensed for Devastation, their    devastation shall come.  They have been given a permit to do so,    according to their name. After all, with devastation comes death, and    how better to die than in the hands of a maniac...someone... [Jaguar gives an evil smile.] J: Like me.  You've asked for it in your name, and now the apocalypse    that is your "coming of age" is upon you. M: As for the Machines, they must think they're not human enough to be    wrestlers, so they have to say they're machines.  Well, if you're not    human, failure is inevitable.  A machine is only as good as the input    a human gives it... and with no guidance for you LOSERS, you're doomed to get... AN ASS WHIPPING, VIOLENCE UNLIMITED STYLE!  YEAH! [Mutilator feels proud at his chance to get mad.] J: Lastly, the Prophets.  Former IIWF World Tag Team Champions.  They    seem to be pushing some sort of thing where they get screwed over.    You don't even KNOW what being screwed over is, Derek.  You don't    even KNOW what being mistreated is, Shadoe.  Although...if you would    like to KNOW what being mistreated is...we can arrange the    mistreating, punishment, and total pain injection for you.  Heck, we    can do you a FAVOR.  We can bring you to the true understanding of    mistreat, and wrong...and we can do it ON SATURDAY! [Jaguar's evil smile becomes more of a smirk.] J: And we can do it all for free... aren't you lucky? M: And maybe, just maybe, this Saturday our surprise will be revealed. J: Let's recap.  It stands six feet nine inches tall, weighs six hundred    twenty two pounds, was just recently forced to retire from the IIWF,    is currently dead, doesn't have too good of a mental state, is a    group of people moving to Florida or wherever else they decided on,    is the all time Major League Home Run leader, and wears a mask.  Is    that clear enough? [Mut taps Jag on the shoulder.] M: Hey, Jag... it's time to go to war... and there can only be one winner. Us. J: As for the others... are you ready? It's time to feel... the... [Jaguar snaps his head upward in a straight position, his long hair flies back away from his eyes, which are extremely eerie looking.] J: ...Pain. [Fade to black.] BL: You see that? Those, my friend, are winners. LM: What about that surprise they mentioned? BL: What about it? LM: What is it? BL: I don't know... Why are you asking me? I just like the guys, I don't     manage them. You've really got to get things straight around here,     Morton. I'm a journalist now. LM: Of course you are. Folks, this is going to be one exciting match. Be     sure to tune in to the Viewer's Choice card tomorrow night. Check     local listings. BL: Or just call my special hotline to tap into the direct satellite     feed. All legal, of course. LM: Are you done? BL: Far from it. ------------------------------------------------------ 3. Falls Count Anywhere:    Serge Annis, Scott Rogers & Highwayman vs.    Deathbringer, the Phoenix & "Real Deal" Luke Steele ------------------------------------------------------ LM: You want to talk about a war? This match promises to be an all out     fight from beginning to end. Former friends battle it out in this     amazing falls count anywhere match. BL: So we could be back in Becky LaRue's dressing room, huh? LM: I guess it's possible. BL: As long as it doesn't end up in your dressing room, Morton. I don't     even want to think about what you do in there. LM: What? I don't know what you're talking about. BL: Oh, okay, why don't I refresh your memory? I seem to remember     hearing a little rumor about you being seen in your dressing room     with nothing but a Pinnochio G-string on and a... LM: What!? Where did you hear that? It wasn't a Pinnochio G-string, and     that deli platter was left there by catering! And where did you hear     that anyway? BL: Actually, I didn't, but what about that deli tray? LM: I, ummm... Hey! BL: Okay... Back to this match, though. It's been hard to get comments     from some of the participants here, since most of them are training     hard for the battle to come. We did, however, get these comments     from Serge Annis... [The scene shows a city park. It is a beautiful day full of sunshine with barely any clouds visible. The camera shows a bike path, and a hiking path where five beautiful young ladies jog by. A bicycle police man rides by the camera. The camera then pans to the left, along the hiking trail where an elderly couple walk by. The shot follows the pathway yet, and arrives to the feet of someone sitting at a park bench. The camera pans up, to show the man's black jeans. As the shot continues to pan we see a 'TOTALLY EVIL' shirt. Finally, the camera pans back a bit to reveal the UWF's Epitome of Evil, Serge Annis sitting at the bench. Annis looks around and then looks to the camera.] SA: Ahh... it all looks so simple, doesn't it? NOT REALLY! Things are     much more than meets the eye, to coin a phrase. That old man up the     path... happens to be seeing a 26 year old nurse... that couple over     there... [Annis points off in another direction, but the camera does not follow.] SA: The boyfriend beats her almost every week! People may seem so     simple... yet their lives, and their minds are so much more complex!     Deathbringer... my betrayal was not the shock that it was! I am     sorry to inform you that you had it coming for weeks! Ever since I     lost the four corners match to you, Requiem and Highwayman, I     pondered how I could defeat The Deathbringer? I often praise myself     on my ability for mind games, but I wondered for many weeks and even     months... how can I truly deceive the Dead Man? And Deathbringer,     the answer did not come easy. But eventually, I thought of it... the     best way to defeat Deathbringer, was to deceive him! But how can I     deceive him when we were not allies? I made sure of everything     Deathbringer. I made sure that Requiem attacked you and I at precise     points in time. My "arrival" to Genesis has been long in the making.     Requiem, Highwayman and I planned out the best strategies to upset     the Dead Man. And it worked... Deathbringer fell straight into our     hands, and we crushed him. [Annis breathes in the hot, muggy air.] SA: Now, Deathbringer, my turn of allegiance was a shock to you and the     rest of the world. But why question it? It makes sense. Genesis can     offer me what I need to climb to the top in the IIWF. And I can do     the same for Genesis. We work off of each other. Like a brotherhood     if you will. Collectively, we cannot be beat, for example Coronation     Clash. Although plans did not all go down the way we assumed, one     thing is fact: Requiem is the IIWF World Champion. And I cost     Deathbringer his chance to regain his claim to the title... too bad.     He he he... Deathbringer has let it be known that the time for     vengeance is now. Well, allow me to make myself clear here     Deathbringer... THAT TIME HAS ALREADY PASSED! IT HAS COME... and     gone. Just like the lives and souls you claim you receive. See     Deathbringer, my deception _WAS_ my vengeance on you! I avenged that     Four Corners loss! I avenged everything you said and did. I proved     you to be wrong... and ended up making you look like quite a fool at     that. Let's be blunt shall we? I played you for all that you are! I     have no honor Dead man. I do not need it. For the things I have     seen, the things I have lived with and the things I have     experienced each and every day of my damn life taught me one     thing... Honor is in the eye of the beholder. Quite frankly, I have     vindicated myself. I am honored to be in the best group of     wrestlers ever in wrestling: Genesis. [Annis stands up and stretches, then puts on foot on the bench in which he sat.] SA: Call yourself the King of Destruction, Master of the Damned. or     whatever you want. Fancy names are just fine and dandy. I am the     Epitome of Evil, I am the Lethal Protector, I can play that game too     Dead man. But why bother? I know you are just another human being     under the mask. I know you know nothing of which you speak. But     soon, oh so very soon you shall end my life and dance upon my grave.     Wouldn't people pay money to see that? But you are mistaken Dead     man, because I have no life to give! MY LIFE IS A DAMNATION FOR THE     SINS OF THE PAST! And I wouldn't have it any other way... he he     he.... tsk tsk, poor Dead Man. You are a bitter loser, aren't you?     Ha ha. [Annis begins to walk down the pathway, with the IIWF camera crew following close behind. Annis passes a group of three elderly women. Annis politely nods and says 'Ladies...' and they extend their greetings as well. Annis continues walking.] SA: I am not that bad of a person... only when required of me. Here in     the park, I can relax... let my mind be free. But anywhere else...     my mind's a trap, waiting to be sprung upon someone new. This     Saturday, I have the esteemed pleasure of teaming with my fellow     members of Genesis, Scott Rogers and The Highwayman against The Dead     Man, Nightwing... oh, excuse me... Phoenix and Luke Steele. Falls     count anywhere. Good... that is my specialty match up... I know full     to well how to handle myself under these rules and terms. And I have     shared my knowledge with my team mates. And as we know, and you will     all see... Deathbringer, Steele and Phoenix will crumble at the     hands of Genesis. And I won't cower out of my responsibilities.     Deathbringer, no secret! I am coming after you! Prepare all you     want, it will do no good! Fact is.... I'm going to prove to the     world just why I belong in the IIWF... AND THAT I AM NOT AN OVERRATED HAS-BEEN AND THAT I BELONG IN IIWF!... and in Genesis... this Saturday, I am set to show the world, just who Serge Annis truly is... [The camera fades to black.] BL: I guess that's one good thing about Genesis. They're promising to     take out Deathbringer. LM: I disagree with you on that point. However, one of Annis' partners     seems to think there will be no problem dominating the opposing     team. Here is Scott Rogers... [SCENE: Scott Rogers and Steve Summer are inside a living room, presumably that of Rogers. Both men are seated on a couch with a large bowl of peanuts on a table in front of them. Summer wears a black suit while Rogers wears luminous green Bermuda shorts and a yellow flowery top. Rogers takes a handful of nuts and starts chomping on them, loudly, apparently irritating Summer, who gapes at him almost with a look of disbelief. Rogers just grins, broadly, and beckons Summer to start.] SS: Scott, thanks for inviting us to your home this evening... SR: Listen, Summer, I didn't invite you here for _you_. I invited you     here 'cause I didn't wanna leave this place today. You wanted an     interview, you had to come out here. SS: Oh, okay. Well thanks anyway. Now, this is the first interview     you've given to any of us, the reporters and broadcasters, since     Coronation Clash, nearly two weeks ago. Is there any reason for this     delay? Why did you shy away from the cameras? SR: Me, shy away from the cameras? What planet you on, Summer? Hey, the     more exposure I get, as Roberts called me a couple nights back, "the     bodybuilder who ain't never beaten nobody," the better. Bodybuilder     or not, Roberts, at least I got _some_ kinda talent. The way I see     it, you are now, and always were, just an outta shape old man. In     fact, you looked worse when you wrestled than you do now. Ugly son     of a bit... SS: Yes, Scott. I'm sure many of us feel similarly about Steve Roberts     but at least we accept he has a point. You _are_ just a bodybuilder     and, as he also stated, you haven't beaten anybody... SR: ....yet. Yeah I beat up a bitta cannon-fodder. That's Danny Dynamite     and Ike Sampson. [Rogers laughs] And those two goons I don't even     know the names of. Alright, I'll give him that. I ain't beaten     no-one any good. SS: But against those four victories, you've had two major losses.... SR: Yeah. Against the men I'm now good buddies with. SS: You don't harbor any resentment for those losses? You wouldn't     rather avenge them? You're surely conforming to the old cliché "if     you can't beat them join them." SR: Not at all, Summer. Boy, you're one dumb son of a gun. Listen,     Summer. I guess you want me to answer the question you're too     scared, or stupid, to answer, right? Why did I join Genesis? Why did     Scott Rogers, friend of Lukey Steele and Ron Paris join up with the     men who've made their lives miseries over the last few weeks? Is     that it? SS: Not in as many words.... SR: Well I'll tell ya anyway, Summer. The reason was... [Rogers takes another handful of nuts and proffers the bowl to Summer, who refuses with a simple motion of the hand. Rogers eats while he speaks, with Summer occasionally wiping his eye, or suit from the debris coming from the 6'7" Utah native's mouth] The reason was, Summer, I knew, and still do for that matter, I got as much, if not more, than anyone else in this whole damned federation. In fact, I got it all apart from that scientific crap Byron mastered, God Rest His Soul. [Rogers laughs again.] But you see, Summer, that got him nowhere. Strength, power and somethin' most o' the losers in this fed don't got and never will have, intelligence. Yeah it'd be nice to use the occasional octopus hold but what's the point? Even that damned Aristoclutch weren't foolproof. SS: But you're not answering the question, Scott. SR: [smiling] Ain't I? Ah, so I'm not! Alright, I got the lot, we     already established that, but what I didn't have when I was     wrestlin' Shitewing and Requiem was the will to win. The will to win     at all costs. And even if I did, Steele and Paris were more of a     hinderence than a help. If I need a hand in any matches now, I know     either Serge -- oh Christ, yeah, Summer... SS: What? What? SR: Me and him looked damn good on Wednesday, didn't we? SS: I wouldn't say so. You looked very rough around the edges actually. SR: Who gives a crap about edges? We got the job done and that's all     that matters. But we did look good. SS: Alright, whatever you say. SR: Peanut? SS: No thanks. I'm more interested in getting to the end of your reasons     for turning on the fans actually. SR: Okay, Summer. Tell me this. [Summer nods his head.] Am I any     different to when you last interviewed me a couple weeks back? SS: Well... not really. SR: Exactly. If the fans don't support me now I'm a winner, that's their     problem. If they wanna keep cheerin' for Warnett, Paris, Steele,     Shitewing or anybody else for that matter, that's fine by me. But     nine times outta ten they'll go away disappointed. Support Genesis     and you got guaranteed happiness every night o' the week. SS: Yes, Scott, but they don't agree with the rulebreaking... SR: Listen, Summer, winnin' is all that matters. This takin' part crap     you hear all the goody-goodies talk about is just an excuse. And     they believe it about as much as I believe you're as attractive as     me. [Summer smiles then he realizes it wasn't a compliment and shies     away.] Does that answer your soddin' question or what? SS: I think so, yes. [Rogers takes some more nuts and beckons Summer to     speak more.] Well, Scott, you've got a big six-man falls count     anywhere match on Saturday Night where you'll be tagging with Serge     Annis for only the second time, and the Highwayman for the first     time ever I believe. SR: Believe that and you're more stupid than you look. We got everything     sorted out and, trust me, there's no way we'll be losin' to a team     with those three saddos in. You think we ain't wrestled together     before? Just look at them three. Christ, the guy who came up with     this match certainly made it in our favor! Deathbringer's washed up.     Shitewing's just as he sounds, and Steele. Man, I feel sorry for     anyone havin' to team with _him_! He ain't worth wastin' breath on. SS: That's very unfair, Scott, and you know it. He was a good friend to     you... SR: And I was a better friend to him. And where did it get me? Sod all     anywhere. Saturday Night he, and his two "partners" are gonna see     the "real" Scott Rogers in action, and they ain't gonna like it.     [Rogers thinks for a second] Hmmmm, maybe they'll follow suit. SS: I doubt that very much Scott. Unfortunately we're out of time right     now... SR: Outta time? Crap. SS: Yes, Scott, we've got other appointments I'm afraid. Thanks for your     time, and your gracious hospitality. SR: Pleasure. [Fade out.] LM: You know, I never trusted him, and it looks like I was right not to. BL: Larry, you can't even trust your own faculties, you're so feeble. I     like Scott Rogers' somewhat new outlook, I just don't like the guys     he's aligned himself with. LM: Well, another person who shares your sentiments is The Phoenix,     formerly Nightwing. BL: Another person who had a change of heart. Phoenix, I've got to     commend you for breaking away from those nobodies, but this whole     new gimmick of yours... Well, let's just say that disappoints me. LM: Let's get comments from this young superstar... [SCENE: A small fire burns in an otherwise dark clearing surrounded by forest.  As an eagle's cry is heard, a single figure steps into the flickering light cast by the fire.  The Phoenix's hair hangs to his shoulders and he opens his palm to show the image of the Phoenix that has been burned into it, then looks into the camera with eyes that have had anger burned into them.] TP: Requiem... you are _disappointed_ by my decision to cast aside     Genesis?  You make threats against me and say that I must pay for my     decision to choose the fire over the black void that is your life?     Do you not think that I know you and your methods by now?  I have     been into the Cathedral of Souls... the Cathedral of "Darkness".  I     have seen you scheme to "punk" those who challenge or spurn you.     And most importantly, I know what... and who... makes you lose your     discipline. [The fire pops, sending a spark flying into the night sky.]     Have you heard from Gabrielle lately? [The Phoenix half-smiles as he continues.]     You do not want to eliminate me because you are _disappointed,     Requiem.  You want to destroy me because you _fear_ me.  Your     predictability will be your downfall.  A fire burns stronger with     more fuel, but Genesis is on a path to dark destruction.  Look     around and wonder who you can trust, Requiem, then take solace in     your gold belt. It may be all you really have... [Another spark pops from the fire]     ...until someone takes _that_ away. [The Phoenix looks off into the dark forest.]     Saturday night, I will stand with Deathbringer and Luke Steele     against three members of Genesis.  Steele and 'Bringer have no     reason to trust me, but I swear to the Great Phoenix Spirit that I     will go into battle as their brother with a common goal.     Highwayman, we once fought as allies, but those days are gone.     Scott Rogers, you have not yet begun to understand the mistake you     have made.  And Serge Annis... Shinja Chow once taught you the power     of the fire... and the Phoenix knows you all too well.  You, Annis,     serve the fire... I serve the _master_ of the fire which shall     consume you! [The Phoenix turns to leave, then hesitates.]     And Icehawk, does the belt belong to you... or to Genesis?  We do     not need to talk, my friend.  It is you who merely needs to     listen... to yourself. [Fade to black.] LM: I think The Phoenix's team has the advantage here. That man knows     the inner workings of the Genesis, having been a former member. BL: Yes, but you could make up the best laid plan in the history of the     world, and all it would take is one moron to screw it up. The     Phoenix may know how to beat Genesis, but he's going to need better     men to align himself with if he wants the job done. LM: Well, that's all a matter of opinion, of course. We'll see for sure     tomorrow night. Falls count anywhere, so I'm looking for this one to     be total chaos. BL: Oh, sure. I doubt you'll see a lot of fluid tag work from these men,     but I don't think they have to worry about that. I predict all six     men going at it at the same time. Unfortunately, I think Genesis     will come out on top. It's sad, really. LM: Well, I really have to say that your judgment of a man like     Deathbringer is way off the mark. He's got a great tactical mind,     and he's focused on this one. Here are his comments... [SCENE: The graveyard. Deathbringer is standing in front of the huge crypt. As always he's wearing his cowl and holds a scythe in his right hand. His piercing red eyes can be seen shining through his mask. After a while he begins to speak in his low, growling, emotionless voice:] DB: Nothing will be as it was after tomorrow night... The Reaper will     finally have the opportunity to put his hands around the throats of     three of the members of Genesis... Three throats, connected to three     necks... Not long and those necks will no longer have to carry the     weight of the corresponding heads... Annis... Rogers...     Highwayman... In just a few hours your beheaded bodies will lie     right there in the spotlight, with the capacity crowd staring into     your lifeless eyes, the eyes which will then stud my crown... The     crown of the Master of Chaos... The crown of the King of     Destruction... The crown of Death itself... [Deathbringer laughs in his diabolic way for a few seconds] DB: Love is dead... Mercy is dead... and you will be dead as well... I     told you that something is growing within me... something that I     cannot describe... But I know that it will not be pretty... No, the     beast which I will unleash at you will represent your worst     nightmares... it will make you remember the days when you were just     a child fearing the evil that would lurk in the shadows, the days     when you were lying in your bed, wide awake and bathing in sweat,     the days when you heard that voice coming out of the dark forest     calling your name... In those days you always feared the same     thing... and I am the personification of that thing, of that fear...     You were wondering what would happen at the end your days, at the     end of your life... You no longer have to wonder about that as in     just a few hours the three of you will know what lies behind that     thin line which you call the border between life and death... Yes,     from now on, every step takes you closer to your last and every     breath leaves you one less to your last... [Deathbringer makes a few steps towards the camera, which at the same time moves in to his face, fully revealing his piercing-red eyes] DB: What has happened to the days when mortals like Dan Kauffman or the     Subway Psycho were the ones which whom I had to feud?... What has     happened to the days when honor and pride were more important than     the lust for gold? What has happened to the days when real     competitors stepped into the ring to find out just who the better     man is?... Even I cannot answer this question... But I can tell you     that this so-called New Generation here in the IIWF puts itself     above all the principles which the founders of this league once had     thought of... Someone has to do something against this new breed of     evil... And who could be more competent to do it than the creature     which, since the beginning of time, successfully battled the disease     they call life? Yes, who could be more competent to do it than Death     itself... But even the Dark Destroyer needs help in this task... I     need the help of the Soldiers of Hell once again... And I need the     help of those mortal competitors here in IIWF who still believe in     the true principles which made the league to what it is today... And     believe me when I say that we might be the Legion of the Lost, but     that we are also the Army of the Damned which has nothing to lose,     but all to gain... And when the smoke clears, it will become clear     that it is the standard of Death which has been planted on top of     all those bodies, on all those casualties of war... [The camera moves in even closer to Deathbringer's eyes, which now fill the whole screen] DB: Tomorrow night we will land the first blow against the breed they     call Genesis... Luke Steele and the Phoenix will walk at my side...     But we can just be the infantry... So follow us into the battle and     make yourself known as the brave soldier who gave his life for a     better world... And shout it out... Shout out the chant which will     take us all the way to the top... GENESIS, PREPARE TO MEET YOUR     MAKER! [Fade] BL: [imitating Deathbringer] And Casey James' ass is a banjo... LM: What?! BL: Never mind... Inside joke. LM: I'm surprised, Lau. Deathbringer said some things there that I was     sure you'd be supportive of. BL: Like I said, the effort is nice, but he lacks the tools to execute.     Sure, my feelings towards Genesis and my thoughts about what should     be done are similar to Deathbringer's, but a little more than a     walking corpse is going to be needed. Even I can admit that. LM: You never know, Brian. Deathbringer may just surprise you tomorrow     night. BL: I doubt it. ------------------------------------- 4. IIWF World Tag Team Championship:    Cold Spell [c] vs. The Last Resort ------------------------------------- LM: The tag titles are on the line! BL: You're an idiot! LM: What was that for? BL: Just reminding you. You know, the thing that gets me is how lucky     these two teams are. Cold Spell shouldn't even be allowed to wear     those belts... LM: Why not? BL: Because I don't like them. Stop interrupting me, Larry. Anyway, Cold     Spell don't deserve the belts. They muffed up the first two PPV     shots they got. What is this? Keep trying until they win? Ludicrous.     It just goes to show you what whining gets you in the IIWF. Then     there's the Last Resort. How the hell did they win against the     Bloods at the Clash? They must have lulled the Bloods into a daze,     and while the whole crowd was asleep, the entire Mexican army must     have stormed the ring. Could you imagine these guys as champs? That     would be absolutely awful. LM: I don't think so, Brian. The Last Resort are a talented team, it's     just that their luck has been down. It's nice to see them get their     break. BL: Oh, yeah... How did these guys become contenders, anyway? LM: They beat the Bloods. BL: In a tournament they weren't even supposed to be in. LM: Well, that was partially the fault of your buddies, Casey James and     Tiger Claw. If it wasn't for them, the Dark Disciples might have     stayed in and we might have seen them fight Cold Spell. BL: Actually, let's stay on the subject of the Syndicate... LM: Let's not, okay? BL: They're a great team. LM: Stop it now... I'm actually looking forward to this one. Even though     many of the broadcasters think that any Last Resort match is a     sleeper, I happen to like their style. It's basic, sound, wrestling.     It's nice to get back to your roots once in a while. BL: I don't even want to know why you're contemplating your root. LM: That was uncalled for, Brian. BL: So's this match. Whiners and sleepers, oh joy, oh joy. LM: Who do you pick in this one, Brian? BL: The ref. ----------------------------------------------------- 5. Ten Man Tag:    Thunder, Starks, Kowalski, Cavalier & Sampson vs.    Quigley, Petrow, Enigma, Macbeth & MYSTERY PARTNER ----------------------------------------------------- LM: What a huge match! Five men on each team, some newcomers, some     veterans of the IIWF, all tough as nails. BL: Except for Quigley. LM: No, _especially_ Quigley. He can go all night if he has to. BL: Sure thing... Troy. LM: Where? Huh? Oh, I get it... Ha, ha... Very funny, smart aleck. Well,     let's get some comments from the man who I believe is the largest     threat to Requiem's crown, and that's Chris Quigley. [SCENE: The inside of a hotel room.  Chris Quigley is sitting next to a window, looking out at the street below.  In the background, you can hear commentary from what sounds like "IIWF Birthday Bash".  Resting on Quigley's knee is a bottle of Moosehead Premium Dry beer.  He takes a swig every few moments, while intently staring out the window.] CQ: Ask any tag team wrestler what the key to success is.  Usually the     answer will be, "You have to understand your partner completely."  I     know that well enough.  I've been a tag team champion before.  Then     I look at the line-up for IIWF Saturday Night, in this "Viewer's     Choice" or whatever the hell they're calling it.  The fan that won     could have had a Chris Quigley/Simon Lebec barbed wire death match.     Hell, why not have Chris Quigley vs. Steve Roberts in a "Watch a     Has-Been Get Slapped Around" match. But no, I'm in a ten man tag     team match.  That's fine.  Getting this win is as important as     winning any other match simply because I don't go out and give a     half assed performance _ever_. [Quigley downs the beer and tosses the bottle onto the floor.] CQ: Take a look at my partners in this thing.  I've got Joe Petrow,     Duncan Macbeth, Takezo Musashi, and a MYSTERY PARTNER.  How in the     hell are you supposed to understand _any_ of these people?  Joe     Petrow is a helluva wrestler, he's as tough as nails, but he's a     screwball and that's all there is to it.  Duncan Macbeth needs to     figure out what century he's in.  Takezo Musashi's name says it all.     He's an "Enigma".  And the mystery partner?  Oh hell, I know full     well I don't have a lot of friends in the IIWF, so 9 chances out of     10, this is not going to be my "ideal tag team partner". But... the     one thing you can count on is, no matter what it takes, no matter     what physical cost, I'm not going to lose on Saturday.  I'm coming     off a high from the Coronation Clash, and it's not going to end on     account of 4 other guys who can't get along. [Quigley finally turns to look at the camera.] CQ: Don't get me wrong.  I'm not totally carefree towards this match.  I     have one personal vendetta to take care of.  Brody Thunder.  You     cost me at Birthday Bash, if you remember, and I'm sure you do.     Now, after all this time, it's finally time for some payback.  And     believe me, you'll get it, with _interest_! [Quigley turns back to look out the window, as the scene fades to black.] BL: And once again, Quigley shows why nobody here in the IIWF likes him.     Tag him up with someone, no matter who it is, Quigley will start     putting him down. What a little egomaniac. LM: He's one of the best wrestlers of our time, Brian. BL: He's one of the squeakiest wheels, you mean. I hope his mystery     partner is a gag that the rest of his team can use to shut him up. LM: Well, I'm not sure any of Quigley's partners for this match really     care about what Quigley says. They've got their own agendas. Duncan     Macbeth is more interested in his own affairs... [SCENE:  Duncan Macbeth is in the locker room of the IIWF Coliseum, returning his wrestling gear to his locker after the long Coronation Clash Tour.  It is often hard to tell what kind of a mood the young Scot is in these days, but as he turns to face the camera, it is clear that he is not his usual cocky, genial self.  He glowers into the camera, eyes seeming never to blink all the while.] DM: I dinnae much have time fer yis lot today, so yis had better get     this in one take, wha'.     First off, Verhoeven.  Ye whingin' little bollix, ye.  Ye're all red     in th' face 'cause ye didn't manage t' get past me at th' Clash,     even after ye an' yuir Teutonic tart tried every dirty trick in th'     book t' get th' win. Reap what ye sow, tha' what I say.  If ye've a     problem wi' tha', then either deal with it like a man, or get Heidi     t' change yuir diaper, ye great blubberin' bairn.     Next, Creed.  Ye're pretty quick t' start shootin' off yuir mouth     after ye got yuir hands on tha' Intercontinental title, rookie.     Ye'd be wise t' remember tha' 'twas no' too long ago tha' Duncan     Macbeth had th' so-called "future o' th' IIWF" - there's tha'     foolish phrase again - lyin' at me feet in th' middle o' th' ring,     an' 'twas only tha' tosser Byron tha' saved ye from a sure loss.  I     put ye down once, big shot, an' I'll be more than happy t' do it     again.     As fer ye, Spreadbury, who th' blazes is this Roger Fletton, tha'     ye'd have 'im waste me valuable time wi' this "ten-man tag" garbage?     All I can reckon is tha' yuir ratings must be slippin' down in     hillbilly country tha' ye'd consent t' book this tripe.  Well, if I     get t' kick th' livin' Jaysis out o' five tossers instead o' one,     'tis fine wi' me.     Turner... good t' see ye again, mate.  We'll have a dram an' talk     later, wha'. [Macbeth turns back to his locker and resumes replacing his gear.  The confused cameraman waits a moment for the Scot to continue, but he now seems oblivious to the camera's presence.  Finally, Macbeth slams his locker and brushes past the camera, turning back for a moment as he reaches the door of the room.] DM: I've nothing more t' say t' ye, so sod off.  Ye've wasted enough o' me time as it is... [With that, Macbeth leaves the locker room, slamming the door behind him with a loud bang.  Fade.] LM: Duncan Macbeth seems not to worry too much about his adoring fans... BL: How can you tell? LM: You heard him... He seemed like he didn't want to do that interview     at all! BL: Sure I heard him grunting and all, but he never said anything. LM: Oh, yeah, ha, ha... The old "I can't understand people" bit... You     must know the people down at the bakery where I live... They play     that game too. BL: What the hell are you talking about? LM: Oh, sorry... I kind of went off on a tangent there. Okay, fans,     well, I can assure you that not everyone is as aloof towards the     fans as Macbeth was there... Joe Petrow, for instance, is busy     becoming the next icon of professional wrestling. Take a look... [The scene is a simple black background.  "Sychosys" Joe Petrow sits in a chair, wearing his hair down over a simple Polo shirt.  Sychosys also holds an IIWF U.S. tag title belt over his shoulder.  The camera perspective changes occasionally, but otherwise the scene never changes.  Petrow speaks as if he were being interviewed by somebody, but only his voice is heard, and only his face is seen. Camera right angle shot:] JP: Oh no question, 1997 has been by far the most difficult year of my     career.  My first few years in this sport I was the top dog the     whole time, I mean, that was never in question.  The promoters     need a big main event, they turn to Joe Petrow, no thought needed.     But when I decided to return to the sport after a prolonged     absence, not necessarily by choice by the way, I had to start from     square one.  It was as if all the things I had done in my career     had never happened.  It was the greatest challenge I've ever     faced.  I not only had to win the matches, but I had to prove     my ability, and my loyalty, to a bunch of people who'd already     assumed that both were long gone.  But after six long months it     finally paid off, and I sit before you today as the recognized     franchise wrestler of the IIWF. [Shifts to left angle shot] JP: Yeah, I heard Danny Dynamite's parting challenge to me as the door     was slapping him on the ass on his way out of here, but he didn't     realize that leaving here was leaving his last shot at me behind     as well.  For all the problems, for all the conspiracies, for all     the spineless people behind the scenes here in the IIWF, it's     still the best league going today.  It took me six months to be     able to say this, but it's also my home.  What overrated,     overpushed mental midgets who've done more damage to this sport     than all the chairshots combined don't realize is that one great     match is far more important than five mediocre matches in the same     time period.  I ain't got the strength to break myself into     another league again, and quick frankly I don't see the point.     The day I leave the IIWF is the day I leave wrestling behind     forever.  That's a promise, and my Sychopaths know how I feel     about my promises. [Left shot] JP: See, more than ever, this league needs a leader.  This league needs     someone who'll rise above the sneak gang-attack cliches that are     running wild around here.  This league needs someone who'll speak     out not just for the sake of hearing his own voice, but for the     good of this league and the sport.  I've said it before behind     closed doors, and I'll say it right here right now:  the IIWF     Administration doesn't have the balls to run this federation.     After Coronation Clash, I realized that's my job now.  I am the     champion for the IIWF, and from now on I will act as such. [Right shot] JP: I'm not talking about vigilante justice, because that's the     problem we have right now.  See, it doesn't matter who you're     talking about:  Steve, Danny, Cold Stones Jimmy, it doesn't     matter, they all rule by one thing:  the almighty dollar.  Let     Joe Petrow finally get what he deserves, then take it away for     no good reason, cause they think they make more money with me     on the outside looking in.  These are the people that think you     want to see the Enigma run down to ringside and attack me each     and every week, and make sure every match ends with anything but     a clean 1-2-3.  That's the biggest myth in the business, and I'm     fighting that with some cold hard truth.  It's not good enough     for me to win anymore.  I got to brawl with the brawlers, I got     to wrestle with the wrestlers, I got to get EXTREME...with the     fruitcakes in this league.  In short, I got to play by their     rules.  Because while it makes things hard on me, it makes for     one hell of a match.  The fans are gonna come to expect that,     and they ain't stand for the two-brain cell run-in anymore.     Instead of the sound of boos, it'll be the sound of silence     from fans leaving the arena because they don't get to see     Sychosys get the job done.  But one way or another, I will see     this league into the 21st century, and I will see that when Joe     Petrow steps into the ring, the fans are getting their money's     worth. [Straight shot] JP: Ten man tag match, the perfect place for a lot of people to show     their skills.  I ain't the fastest man alive, I ain't the most     technical athelete, there's people out there doing things I would     never dream of.  I can't even say I'm the smartest man in the     field, though I know I'm damn close. [Fade from shot of Petrow to a slow motion shot from Coronation Clash, showing Petrow being carried from ringside on the shoulders of his fans, while voiceover from Petrow continues.] JP: All I know is, is that when you put everything I've got together,     there's not a man alive that's better.  And on Saturday Night, I     will lead my team to victory, just as I will lead the IIWF on to     ultimate glory... [Fade out] BL: Look at the camera, Joe... LOOK AT THE CAMERA! God, I _hate_ it when     people do that! LM: Okay, Brian, clam down. I think Joe is trying to make himself into a     hero for the fans. I, for one, am glad to hear it. For the longest     time, the IIWF has needed an upstanding person to guide us through     these attitudes, the cussing, the bloodletting... I don't know if     you've noticed, Brian, but a lot of guys are using that "a" word... BL: What? You mean "ass?" oh, dear, Larry, how can you stand it? LM: Well, I try my best, you know. Anyway, folks, the opposing team is     no group of slouches, let me tell you. Tony Starks, Kevin     Christiansen, Ike Sampson, Brody Thunder, and the man who's created     some waves in the IIWF lately, Steve "The Fury" Kowalski... He says     the "a" word a lot, come to think of it... BL: Oh, shut up... [The camera fades into a long hallway, obviously some unknown sporting arena. At the far end of the hallway, double doors slam open, revealing the menacing presence of Steve "The Fury" Kowalski. The New Jersey Nightmare starts marching towards the camera, never taking his eyes of the camera. He walks with a noticeable limp and the butterfly stitches on his forehead don't look pretty. Stopping just before he bowls over the camera...he spits, then speaks.] SK: New Gen, my ass! Rectum, ya sorry excuse fer man, I bet that belt's     pretty heavy. Ya know why?  'Cause it takes a real man to carry     it. An' ya ain't got the nuggets to survive 'gainst me alone. All     yer can-kissing lap dogs couldn't get it done. It took a real crazy     SOB to finish my ass off. An' him I ain't even pissed at. I ain't     got a lot of morals an' I am real prick, but hell hath no Fury like     mine! So why don't we get this [BLEEP]in' charade over... an' get it     on fer the belt! 'Cause even the stupid bastards out there know I'm     the real... [BLEEP]in' champ! An' if I didn't have to waste my time     in this multi-man tag crap on Saturday, I'd be slam dancin' yer     noggin straight to hell! [Kowalski takes a deep breath and spits to the side, then continues.] SK: By the way, Brody, I woulda squashed ya like a grape if ya ran into     me in the finals. So don't get all high an' mighty, Jackass. We just     meet up in the mix on Saturday. [Kowalski turns from the camera, as if to leave. Suddenly, he stops.] SK: Aw, what the heck. [The Fury spins around and clocks the camera, the picture going fuzzy. The Fury can be heard laughing. Fade.] LM: Hear him? What a potty-mouth. BL: If you're done with your grade-school names, Larry, there's more to     cover. One of Kowalski's partners is a joke if I've ever seen one.     Here's this guy who thinks he's some sort of chivalrous knight or     something. Personally, when he comes on the television, I like to     retch uncontrollably while laughing. Folks, I'd like to take the     time to suggest the use of large plastic drop cloths for this one.     You wouldn't want to stain your [sneers] _fine_ carpeting... [Scene opens in the locker room that evening.  Kevin Christiansen is sitting with a towel draped around his neck, alternating between wiping sweat from his face and drinking from a nearby water bottle. He sees the camera and looks up.] KC: Timothy N. Turner... who in the hells art thou?  I know thee     not, yet thou dost feel that I am at thy beck and call, that     mine presence here is to serve thy every whim.  Sir, and 'tis     a title I use loosely, thou art gravely mistaken. [Christiansen puts the water bottle down and continues talking.] KC: And thy first command is that I shall step aside so that thou     shouldst take mine place in the upcoming match this week?     Bold words, from a brash upstart whose mouth knows not when to     stop.  Thou hast said that thou hast seen me wrestle, and mine     skills are not that good?  Perhaps thou shouldst look again-     Two of mine matches hast been victories, the third not being     so because of one man's... imbalance.  Thou hast had one match     so far, and thou dost dare to judge?  Dolt.  I care not for     thy misguided and arrogant rantings. [Christiansen takes another sip, then looks back at the camera.] KC: Know this, knave... I shall NOT step aside for the likes of     thee.  Shouldst thou care to "contest" this decision, thou     dost know where one might find me to present thy argument... [The Cavalier tosses his towel at the camera.] KC: ...and have it crammed down thy insolent throat.  Servant,     indeed. [Fade to black. Shot returns to Lau and Morton. Lau's face is very red.] BL: Whoa... That was a doozy. Come on, Christiansen, get angry or     something, will you? LM: Would you rather he use foul language? BL: I don't know. I good laugh does wonders, you know. LM: Great... Folks, the last interview we have for this match comes from     none other than Ike Sampson. I bet he's really happy about his     friend Creed winning the IC belt, Brian... Just like you. BL: I'll help you save face by waiting until the cameras are off before     I slap you for that one, Morton. LM: You wouldn't... Would you? Never mind... Ladies and gentlemen, Ike     Sampson... [SCENE:  Ike Sampson sits alone in a darkened locker room, barely visible. He has a towel draped over his head after a hard workout, obscuring his features and muffling his voice.  He speaks calmly, slowly, and with great determination.] IS: Big match Saturday.  Another golden opportunity.  Score the win in     this one, and I'll shoot right up that ladder.  A lotta top stars on     the other side of that ring.  Quigley.... Macbeth... that loony     Petrow... Enigma... and a mystery man.     I do _love_ surprises.  But not this time.  No more rookie     mistakes, no more catching me off-guard.  The Big Dog's ready for     anything... the Big Dog's ready for _everything_.     I ain't expecting no favors from my teammates, either.  Starks --     who knows where he's coming from these days -- "he's just keeping it     real".  Thunder, Kowalski -- I don't trust those guys no further     than I could throw 'em.  Actually, I could throw Kowalski a long     way -- and wouldn't nothing make me happier.  Skullpump this.     It's a big-time brawl on Saturday Night.  And I'm ready to step up     to the plate, and be a big-time player in this fed.     And that's the truth... [Fade] LM: Who do you pick in this one, Brian? BL: The Syndicate. LM: No, really. BL: Really. LM: They're not in this one. BL: They should be. LM: [Shaking his head] Let's move on... ------------------------------------------------------------- 6. Winner Gets Shot at IIWF World Champ at Midsummer Madness:    Otto Verhoeven vs. Mad Dog Watkins ------------------------------------------------------------- LM: What better incentive to win a match than a shot at the champ? BL: Money. LM: Money can't compare to the prestige of holding the IIWF World title     belt, Brian. BL: Oh, and you know this for a fact, do you? Been on both sides of the     fence, have you? No. Why don't you stick to talking about things you     know about, Larry... Like Chuck Norris. LM: [Under his breath] I don't think I should do that here, actually...     But seriously, folks... Both Verhoeven and Watkins want the shot at     the big gold... The shot to face whoever is the champion at     Midsummer Madness. Who will come out on top? BL: The Syndicate... Oh, I mean Otto Verhoeven. LM: You're pushing it... BL: And you're going to do what about it? LM: [Seething] Alright, then... Let's get comments from the Mad Dog. [SCENE:  The camera fades in on the IIWF Heavyweight Championship belt. It sits alone on the timekeeper's table in a darkened IIWF Coliseum.  A brihgt spotlight shines off the new gold and silver of the belt, the glare from the metal flashing a wicked, yet awe-inspiring light into the camera. The music starts of slow.... a loose drum beat and a smooth bass line which provide a mellow, yet intense background to the voice over that begins...] VO: This is what it's all about... [Shots of the Sweet Sixteen flash across the screen from the Coronation Clash pay per view.  Brody Thunder with a powerslam... Luke Steele with a vicious right hand... "The Enigma" with a spinning kick to the face of Mad Dog Watkins...] VO: An item borne in heaven....which men gladly walk through hell to achieve... [A shot of Joe Petrow and Steve "The Fury" Kowalski in their incredible rematch... followed by a shot of Brody Thunder being way-layed by the boys of Genesis.] VO: A Champion was crowned... [Requiem, standing in the ring, with the belt raised high to the jam-packed crowd who sit stunned in Boston's Fleet Center.] VO: And the damned can only line up for a shot... [All of a sudden the music comes to a halt and the picture fades to black... in an explosion of action and sound, the picture errupts with a fast-paced montage of Otto "The Butcher" Verhoeven as he decimates opponent after opponent.  The music of Led Zeppelin's "The Immigrant Song" drives the montage home...] VO: And the road to the champion begins... in the Slaughterhouse. [The fury and raw power of Verhoeven are almost overwhelming to behold as the montage comes to a close with the "dismantling" of the European Alliance by Verhoeven.  As "The Butcher" pounds on his former ally Lord Byron...] VO: This Saturday... the Slaughterhouse has an unexpected visitor... and he's not too happy. [Mad Dog Watkins's chiseled visage explodes on the screen as a similar video package rolls and the sounds of the Stones' classic "Paint It Black" cue up.  The action is hot and furious, with the ending shot one of the black man's crimson soaked face as he powerbombs Steve Kowalski on the concrete floor. Verhoeven's angered portrait slams into the screen as a fierce drumbeat reigns down...] VO: The Butcher... [Otto's face is quickly covered by that of Watkins', his face caked in more than his own blood.] VO: The Mad Dog... [Cut to a shot of the World heavyweight championship lying once again on the timekeepers table in a darkened IIWF Coliseum.  A big ebony paw reaches across the steel-security railing and swipes the gold trophy, and the shot swings to reveal Watkins...] VO: We both want it, Otto.  Boy Rectum's got it.  If I've got to beat the [bleep] out of you, then so be it. [Grining ear from ear, Watkins takes the belt and heaves it towards the ring.] VO: Come Saturday Night, Requiem's gonna find out which man he's warming that belt for, and everyone's gonna find out why I'm the #1 contender and you're the #1 PRETENDER... It's time to seperate the boys from the bitches. [Fade. Cut back to Morton and Lau in the studio.] BL: The #1 _pretender_? Give me a break. Somebody should put that old dog out of his misery -- and it may as well be tomorrow night. LM: [shaking his head] Well, folks, we might as well go to comments from     the other... BL: Hey... Don't even try it... _I_ get to introduce the man who     _should_ be champion, Otto Verhoeven. LM: Fine, then... Go on. BL: Folks... The _great_ Otto Verhoeven... [SCENE: Verhoeven's luxurious apartment. The floor is covered with tapes. The Butcher is sitting on a black leather sofa, wearing a blue and red NIKE-track suit. His facial expression is tense. He is ignoring the camera and watching a wrestling match on a huge screen, although the sound is turned off. The quality of the tape is rather poor and it seems to be pretty old, too, as one of the participants is a younger Mad Dog Watkins, probably 5 or 6 years ago. He is fighting a large man in a sleeveless blue and grey camouflage suit. That man seems to be in his late forties. The muscles of his arms are flabbing with every movement, his hair has turned grey and his movements look stiff and slow.] OV: Mad Dog Watkins. Veteran of the squared circle. Mentor of Creed.     Independent circuit legend. Certainly impressive. [He points at the screen. The young Watkins is pounding the older man who is reeling from the blows and only being able to answer with some weak looking European uppercuts.]     You and me were chosen to fight it for World Heavyweight title shot     at Midsummer Madness. We both claim that we are hungry for that     title. We both have next to no respect for the current champion.     I don't know if you really want that World Title. When I look at you     I see a tired man, a man who has dedicated his life to this sport     but never got the recognition he deserved in real life. It is time     for you to bury your dream, Watkins. Do you know what happens to old     wrestlers who miss the right time to retire? I have seen this sort     of thing happen in the past. [In the meantime, Watkins has practically dismantled his opponent with suplexes and a devastating spinebuster.]     Do you remember that match, Watkins? I bet you don't. For you, it     was just another success in a long row of success, back when you     were in your prime. The year was 1991, and you were on a tour     through Europe with some of your friends of the independents. The     promoters called it "US Invasion" and you were pitted against some     of the best European wrestlers. [The large man has made a comeback with a headbutt to Watkin's midsection and quickly pulled off a spinning piledriver. Now he just sits beside the barely motioning Mad Dog, trying to catch his breath.]     On this particular night you faced the European wrestling legend     Baron Klaus von Frost. He was for 20 years the reason for Germans     to go to wrestling events, he was one of the founders of the     European Wrestling Federation, a true icon of the sport...but he did     not know when it was to leave the spotlight. [Von Frost sets Watkins up for a vertical suplex, but he only gets him half-way up. Watkins immediately reverses the move with incredible momentum, slaps the prone Baron two times, then shakes his head and drags the motionless body over to the corner.]     His glory days were over, yours had barely begun. You humiliated the     greatest wrestler in German history in front of his hometown crowd.     That man taught me everything about this business, he was my     trainer, my manager, my mentor, my friend, but he never forgot that     night which marked the end of his in-ring career. [Watkins dumps the Baron down to the mat with the Samoan Drop of the second rope and covers him. The referee slowly counts, but von Frost is obviously unconscious.]     One night, for you another step of many, for others it was the end     of an era. [A small muscular man in the same outfit like von Frost storms the ring but Watkins just clotheslines him out immediately. Another one, a light- heavyweight with the same clothes, is just punched of the apron. The third attacker in a camouflage suit is large and heavily muscled man who lunges at Watkins but Mad Dog dodges, kicks the big man in the gut, and executes an incredible Tiger Driver. The young Watkins looks around at the unconscious bodies, then leaves with a satisfied expression on his face.]     On Saturday, it will be you who has to deal with some payback.     On Saturday Baron Klaus von Frost will get the respect from you     he deserves. This is about more than a title shot, Watkins, this is     about history. [Slow fade to black as the camera zooms in on the TV screen where the face of the third attacker can be seen, still unconscious because of the Tiger Driver. It is a young Otto Verhoeven.] LM: Oh, my... BL: Oh, I can't wait. Verhoeven is a monster when he's just doing his     job, but when he has a point to bring across? Watkins, you're going     to be a very, very sore old man when this match is over. LM: Hey, Watkins is no slouch... BL: Yeh, but Verhoeven is stronger, faster, smarter, and just plain     better. He's the man. LM: The man? BL: The... [pauses] Man. LM: Ooookaaay. ---------------------------------------------- 7. Champions Triangle Ladder Match:    Requiem vs. Creed vs. Dirt Dog Unique Allah ---------------------------------------------- LM: All three champions will be taking part in this special Champions     triangle match. Now, to the best of my knowledge, none of the titles     will be on the line, but instead, the winner of the match receives a     cool half million dollars. BL: Oh, what wonderful champions we have here... All three singles     champions in the same match, and none of them are putting their     belts up. Am I ever proud to have them representing the IIWF, let me     tell you. LM: It's not up to them. Contest winner Roger Fletton chose this as the     main event. BL: Please... Let me tell you that it wouldn't surprise me in the least     to find out that at least one of these three men had a hand in     booking the main event this way. I'll tell you right now that     Creed's agent is pretty persuasive, especially when it comes to what     matches he gets his man in to. LM: Please, Brian, let's not create any tension here. BL: You're so spineless, Larry. LM: Well, speaking of Creed, let's take a look at a recent installment     of the Daily Show... [SCENE:  Manhattan, the small television studio which is the home to Comedy Central's "The Daily Show."  The shot pans the audience of just under 100 people and then onto the genially acerbic host Craig Kilbron, who is mid-way through another episode of this quality television product.] CK: ...Let's take a quick moment for us.  You all know how I get the     mail - I'm popular that way - and it all sounds pretty much the     same, "Craig, we enjoy the comedy thing -- but we miss the old days,     you know - the sports.  The Feel Good Edition...Pooh-pooh Ca-Choo,     Arvydas, Your-Vydas, Everybody's Vydas.  Yeah..come back to the     sports, Craig. And..can I please have an autographed photo?"     Aw.  That's sweet.  First things first...as anyone who knows me     could tell you -- I'm not really much into the "sports".  Big     Crowds.  Glory. Nubile, firm breasted cheerleaders -- who needs     that?     I'm really more about the life of the mind.  Yeah.  Opera, ballet,     poetry..in fact, here's a haiku which I composed in my dressing room     just before the show:     Christy Turlington     especially from the back     mmmm, come to poppa. [audience applauds]     Thank you.  As for your second question--no, no pictures dammit.     I'm shy.  You people are better than that.     And we're... right over here. [Cut to Camera Two.]     Our guest tonight is a professional wrestler.     Seriously.     He is the IIWF Intercontinental Champion... [Highlights of Creed's Coronation Clash victory are shown.]     ...having defeated Lord Byron in a "Loser Leaves Town" Match at a     recent pay-per-view broadcast, please welcome the man with the     lethal left hand -- Creed! [Applause as the red gloved rookie appears in the shot.  Creed is wearing an immaculately tailored bone white suit, complimented by his everpresent blood red glove -- and fastened around his waist is the Intercontinental Championship Belt.] CK: So, Creed... that's what -- Scotch... Scotch-Irish? CR: Naw, that's my beliefs, that stands for credo - or creed, that     means that I'll fight "Anyone.  Anywhere.  Anytime."  and I don't     take a backstep from nobody. CK: You're pretty buff -- you work out a little bit, right? CR: Uh, yeah I've been known to go to the gym a time or two, yeah.     I've got a routine since I was say, eight or nine years old -- maybe three to four hours a day, seven days a week... I go hard, running, swimming, isometrics -- maybe a little more since I've been rehabbing my knee. CK: Yeah, that's a lot of work.  But you're a wrestler, right?  I mean     wrestling is... well I mean, we all know that it's... [Creed stands and removes his jacket as Kilborn laughs nervously and the audience hoots and hollers.] CK: It's a tough, demanding sport.  That's what I was going to say,     hey, sit back down.  Okay... hey... listen... what does "suplex" mean anyway?  They just made that word up, right?  Never mind -- I'm just kidding... oh, do you hear that? [Generic synthesized music plays while the shot cuts to a kung fu movie in which a man's skull is crushed.] CK: Those are the questions... let's play the five questions.  Please.     Let's play the questions.     Number One -- What's the best boxing movie of all time? CR: Rocky. CK: Yes.  Who needs that Scorcese anyway?     Number Two:  Who was known as the King os Sting... the Master of     Disaster... the Count of Monte Fisto? CR: [almost smiling] Apollo Creed. CK: Apollo Creed is correct... you're two for two.     Okay, Number 3 -- Who was Rocky Balboa's toughest opponent? CR: Apollo Creed. CK: No... I'm sorry that is incorrect.  The correct answer is     Thunderlips the Ultimate Male.  That's Thunderlips -- whatever     happened to that guy anyway? CR: [laughing softly] I don't know man... nothin' good. CK: Question Number Four -- why was Carl Weathers' character killed off     in Rocky 4? CR: Stallone couldn't handle being upstaged by a brother. CK: [pause] That is correct... yes.  Sylvester Stallone's massive ego     couldn't take the insecurity of being compared to a large black     man... you are correct.  Three out of four.  Last question:     Who's the man? Creed: [pause]  You da' man, Craig. [Laughter and appluase by the audience.] CK: Yes!  I am the man... very good!  4 out of 5!     Creed will be appearing at the IIWF Coliseum in Portland, Oregon     this Saturday Night in a "triangle ladder match" where the winner     will receive half a million dollars.  Not a bad gig.  Ladies and     gentlemen... the red-gloved rookie -- Creed! [The audience applauds, some of them chanting "Creed...Creed...Creed." as the two men shake hands and the shot fades.] BL: Unfortunately, Creed didn't do as well on his SATs. LM: Well, they _are_ culturally biased. BL: Oh, yes, of course... Stupid people tend not to do as well on them. LM: Oh, I can just see the phone lines lighting up at the network now...     [pulling a classic Larry Morton subject change] One of Creed's     opponents will be newly crowned IIWF World Heavyweight champion,     Requiem. BL: Who stands to lose absolutely nothing in this match. LM: Well, pride is on the line. BL: Oh, yeah, of course... Give me a break... LM: Ladies and gentlemen, Requiem... [SCENE: The Cathedral Of Souls, dimly lit by the flickering light of untold thousands of white candles. The camera slowly moves past plinths containing Requiem's night black electric guitar and the IIWF Heavyweight Championship belt, past a stack of video equipment, past a long black rack containing hundreds of video cassettes marked with the IIWF logo... past all these to rest upon a door in the side of the cave. The door slowly swings open, and the camera moves in...] RQ: 142... 143... 144...Welcome... 145... to... 146... my... [The camera reveals Requiem, clad only in a pair of black shorts,in a fully equipped gym. The bright chrome of the equipment contrasts eerily with the rough hewn rock and dim yellow candle light. Requiem is busy benchpressing, exerting himself mightily to lift an impressive amount of weight. In the background the strains of "Gangsta's Paradise" can be heard coming from a concealed stereo] RQ: 147... Cathedral... 148... once... 149... more... 150... [Requiem stops, and grabs a towel before sitting up, a half smile on his face as he towels away the sweat.] RQ: Even an Angel of Destruction must stay in shape. But that     isn't why you're here. I asked you here so that I could clear     matters up. Since Coronation Clash there have been a lot of...     unpleasant... accusations going around. Suggestions that I need     Genesis to get the job done. Suggestions that it took all six of us     to get the job done. Suggestions that I could not get the job done     on my own.     Maybe I couldn't.     Or maybe I could.     You'll never know until you step into the ring with the Herald of     Damnation. Make up your own mind about my ability when you step into     the ring with me and I hoist you up to the heavens and drop you down     to hell with the "Final Lament".     So go ahead, all those who spread these tales. Go ahead and     underestimate me. Go ahead and underestimate Genesis. You did so     once before, and look who wear the belts now. Go ahead, laugh and     call us lucky.     Perhaps we _are_ lucky, but if that is so then rest assured: We make     our own luck.     It pleases me to see the IIWF in uproar. We in Genesis said that we     would change the face of the IIWF forever, and I think we can all     agree that we did that. Never has the IIWF been such a hotbed of     activity, never has the race for the gold been so dramatic. Never     has so much energy been unleashed. And it is all thanks to Genesis.     There is no need to thank us.     Tomorrow night I face Creed, the Intercontinental Champion, and this     "Dirt Dog Unique Allah" the crazed Cruiserweight Champion, in a     special triangle ladder match with a purse of half a million dollars     at stake.     The money is an irrelevance. Requiem does not fight for money. What     do I fight for? For Genesis. Always for Genesis. Always for the     Genesis Generation. Never forget that. [Requiem stands up, and makes his way toward a treadmill. He steps on it and begins to run, turning the speed up. As he runs he looks back over his shoulder] RQ: You may have your doubts over whether or not Requiem could have won     the belt. Go ahead. Your doubts are your weakness, and so my     strength. Never for one moment doubt, though, that I am capable of     defending what is mine. [Requiem turns the speed up once more, now fairly sprinting along on the treadmill as a fine sheen of sweat once more breaks out. Fade. Cut back to the studio.] BL: A shame... It's a shame that nobody took him seriously. LM: I think he's a fitting champion. He proves that you don't need to be     here forever to get a shot. BL: Oh no? Let's take a situation here... None of the belts are on the     line, all right. But let's say Creed pins Requiem. Oh my! Requiem     was pinned! That leads to the inevitable "I can beat you, Gimmick"     speeches, which in turn leads to the feud... That goes on for, what,     say three weeks. Three weeks in which not one, but two titles are     tied up in some pointless feud when the shots should go to who     deserves them... The contenders. It stinks, Larry. Through and     through. LM: But that hasn't even happened! BL: No, not yet... Just wait. LM: Well, we'll see. Folks, we'll get comments from the Dirt Dog along     with the rest of the Age of Rage in a moment, but first, we have our     weekly editorial... ["Holiday In Cambodia" by the Dead Kennedys plays as the graphic scrolls up on to the screen.] ======================================================================== ----------------------------THE-HERE-AND-LAU---------------------------- -----------------------------WITH-BRIAN-LAU----------------------------- ======================================================================== BL: What? What's with these far from witty manipulations with my name?     Who comes up with these? Why, I oughtta... I want that changed. Yes,     again... Don't look at me like that. Okay, on to my editorial. With     the crowning of three new champions, all of which are part of this     "New Gen" movement, I'd like to touch upon the politics involved     with the age of the contracts of different stars.     Now, all kidding about how our new champs are not worthy of the     titles aside, these guys do have some potential. One look at Creed     and you can see that he's worked hard to get to the point he's at,     and he deserves some respect. Requiem is definitely a piece of work.     Cold Spell, well, they're nice and all... And then there's a person     who had his title before the Clash, Unique Allah. All these men are     talented, but I honestly detest the route that many of them have     taken to get where they are. Fine, Creed did most of it on his own,     and Unique Allah... Well, he had a crutch, but it was in the form of     a bottle. Genesis, however, annoy me. Guys, if you want respect,     earn it through your actions, not through whining about how you're     all getting a raw deal for being new. Requiem, you're the champ.     Fine. Did you have to go through any of the veterans to get it? No.     Your bracket was filled with the younger blood here, and even though     you had to fight Kowalski in the final round, you haven't proven     yourself to me against the established stars in the IIWF that helped     put the IIWF where it is today.     Okay, you've got a lot of guys watching your back. Genesis. Even     though you claim to be new, everything you've done can be found on     the pages of the books of countless stables in the past, the     Syndicate being one of them. The gang attacks, the double crosses,     the subversive tactics... It's all been done. Of course, I never     claimed to be new or groundbreaking. I see what is successful, and I     do it. If you guys are so new and fresh, why don't you do something     we haven't seen before? There are guys that have been here for a     while who are thinking, "Yeah, I remember when so-and-so did     that..."     Which brings me to another point. Where do you guys get off talking     trash about the guys that were here before you? If a man's contract     is six months old, does that make him less talented? If an IIWF     athelete stands toe to toe and keeps up with everyone here, does     that make him any less of a competitor? If an established IIWF star     fairly beats a newcomer, is that holding the newcomer down? No, no,     and no. In one broad gesture, you've completely belittled everyone     who was here before you. Why? Because you're afraid that they may be     better than you are at what you're doing. I, personally, have been     here ever since the first Coronation Clash. I've seen people come     and people go. I've seen bright stars dwindle into a tiny speck.     I've watched friendships created, and then falter, degenerating into     hatred. Now because I've been here for so long, does that mean I     should leave, even though I've got plenty more to offer? You will     find that I won't leave so easily, and I suspect that those men who     have been here longer than you will make your reign as champions     very difficult, if not very short.     New Generation stars of the IIWF, you may see the Coronation Clash     as a feather in your cap, and you should, because it is. You sent a     loud message to the world that you will not be overlooked, and now     you won't be. Now, everyone wants a piece of you. Now, it's the guys     who have been here for a while to prove _their_ point. That point?     That you cannot overlook a man because of the length of time spent     in the IIWF. I'll give you one piece of advice. If you turn your     back on the "Old Generation," they will capitalize on your weakness     and punish you for it. The veteran IIWF stars are not silent, you     will find. They will force you to listen as their victory theme     plays. LM: Jeez, Brian, taking it a little personal, aren't we? BL: Shut up, Morton. It's people like you that let this happen. The     meek. You didn't bother to stand up and view this as a threat. To be     frank, neither did I. It was a mistake that I made. It was a mistake     that the entire IIWF made. And Genesis? There are many people in the     IIWF that I know for a fact don't make the same mistake twice. All     it takes is a little organization. LM: You're not talking about managing again, are you? BL: No, Larry, I'm not. Do you think you can get rid of me that easily?     I'm like that crotchety old man with the multi million dollar estate     that just refuses to die. LM: Intersting simile... BL: Nice word, Morton. Where'd you learn that? Have you been rifling     through Billy Shakespeare's locker again? LM: Again? I... No, it's just... Hey, nobody saw me going through     _anyone's_ locker, okay? BL: Sure, Larry. LM: I think we should just go to the Trash Talk segment... ======================================================================== ------------------------------TRASH-TALK-------------------------------- ======================================================================== LM: As promised, folks, we have an interview with the entire Age of     Rage. Let's go to that now... [Scene: The cameras fade in on a giant dinner table.  The red tablecloth is covered with the finest Irish linen.  On it is laid out a suckling pig, legs of beef, phaesant, squid, grapes beaded with ice water, slices of apple, bowls of salad and tureens full of hot and sour soup.  Two crsytal decanters of red wine stand by the feast, surrounded by crystal goblets of brilliant clarity.  At the table sit Derek Rage, Shadoe Rage and a drooling Dirt Dog Unique Allah who is half asleep, head lolling on his shoulder.] SR: So this is the viewer's choice and somebody chose to watch the     Prophets of Rage take the comeback trail by defeating in one night     three of the IIWF's rookie teams.  Somebody got good viewing habits,     yeah, that's right.  Somebody got good viewing habits, because the     Age of the Rage is coming to burn down the Genesis.  Get ready for     your own private Apocalypse, Cold Spell.  I want you to watch this     match real closely. We'll show you how to handle Violence Unlimited     and we'll show you how dangerous a team we really are.  One night,     six men try to defeat two gods.  They'll find out it can't be done. DR: This is gonna be sweet. Finally the Prophets get to exercise some     of their true talent.  It's been getting harder and harder to get     motivated in this day and age.  We've had real problems finding a     rhythm, finding the love.  We haven't had it in a while since they     refused to let Pizzazz and Medusa come with us to the ring.  But now     we're jazzed because we start on page one all over again.  War     Games?  How do you play War Games with the Hammer of God and the     Angel of Death?  You don't.  You don't play.  You fight for real.     Because this is gonna be like shooting fish in a barrel.  We don't     pull our punches for nobody.  We don't let anybody off the hook.  We     bomb them.  The Hammer falls and the Angel of Death sweps them away.     We've got a new mission.  Reaching the magic number of twenty wins     faster than any other team in IIWF history.  We're going to be the     busiest and the best.  And we're going to show the world how to     fight without a steel chair.  (smiles) Trust me.  That alone will be     worth the price of the show.  Dirt Dog? DDUA: (groggy) What y'all thought you wasn't gonna see me?  I'm the ...     what the hell am I saying?  I'm gonna triumph.  They done thought I     ain't busy enough as champ?  I been laying hoochies every damn     night.  I'm a busy muhfuh.  I see, though, that they training Lebec     or Mota to take me on next.  Well, they gonna see what it is to be     me.  They gonna see how it is to be a dog.  Look, I done had a lot     on my plate and the IIWF done told me a thousand times I can't be on     every muhfuhin' show.  But I don't gotta have it like that.  That's     all right with me.  I don't have to be like that.  But I ain't gonna     mess around, neither.  I'm the Osiris of this ish.  I'm a beat they     asses til the moon shine.  Oh, and for a cool half million well,     Creed, Whitey Don or whatever your name is you ghost-faced muhfuh,     I'm gonna whoop both a y'all's asses from here to Victoria, Texas     cause I done said so.  They done say that the Dog needs pushing.  I     done been pushed enough.  Time to stop jokin' around.  But Creed,     you heavy and you's my brother.  I'll give you half of anything I     get in that match. Promise.  I love you guys.  Now let me dream of     little doggettes. HEEEYEYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!! YEAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! [Fade out] BL: A drunk as a champ... Wonderful. LM: He earned it. BL: Give me a break... LM: Next up, folks, is a special interview with Marty Warnett. Warnett     sustained an injury of sorts to one of his eyes when some of Becky     LaRue's perfume was used in that wild Four Way Dance match at the     Clash. He might be out of action for a while, but he's still got     some words to say for everyone. Let's go to that interview... [SCENE : A darkened room, deep within the bowels of IIWF Towers.  A single figure, silhouetted by the light from the corridor sits, watching a video. Tim Dross lightly raps the door with his knuckles.] TD: Marty?  Are you in there? MW: Yeah, come on in Dross. [Dross enters the room.] TD: What's with the dark? [Dross switches on the lights, revealing Marty Warnett sat at a table in a sparsely furnished room.  At the end of the table is the video recorder, sat upon which is a television set.  Closer inspection reveals that the video playing is in fact the IIWF Coronation Clash video, not yet released.] MW: Awwww, Timmy, can you turn the light off please? [Marty is sporting dark glasses.] TD: He he he, so it's not only my cousin that gets a hangover, huh,     Marty? MW: No, Dross.  Watch the footage closely. [The camera cuts to the television screen.  The bout playing is the wild four way dance between Marty, LeBec, Quigley and Shakespeare.  Various images fleet across the screen as Marty fast forwards the tape, until it reaches the moment when Quigley and Warnett enter LaRue's dressing room.] MW: Again Tim, watch closely. [The footage shows the two brawling, until Quigley reaches up and throws perfume into Marty's face.] MW: See, Dross? TD: Well, it was a wild brawl, I mean you had beer thrown into your     eyes... MW: [sighs] Yeah, and that stings, but perfume is something else.  Right     after that bout, I had to go to hospital to have my right eye rinsed     out ... I was kept in overnight.  I'm Ok, it ain't like I'm going to     challenge Quigley for us both to put bags over our heads, although     his looks would improve with one.  I'll be fine, but unable to     wrestle, certainly this week.  My vision's a bit blurred, and my eye     is a bit puffy, but it's fine. TD: That's good to hear. MW: Yeah, cheers, Tim.  It's just nice to see Chris has such a vast     technical repertoire, huh?  The ol' liquid to the eyes suplex? TD: But you still wrestled well in the bout, again pinning LeBec, until     he yet again interfered. MW: Such is life within the IIWF, Tim.  It seems whenever somebody wants     to make an impact within the IIWF, I get clobbered! [laughs]  Still,     guess it's good to be the icon around here ... TD: When is it going to end?  I mean, you guys have been wrestling,     brawling for, well, as long as you've been in the IIWF.  Aren't you     worried that it'll drag your career down? MW: No.  The thought did cross my mind for all of, ooh, two seconds,     till I realised that wherever the Party Maniac goes, there's music,     alcohol and beautiful women ... Lebec, you wanted a no DQ bout, fine     by me.  Buddy boy, when nobody remembers your Z movies, or even your     Zzzzzz movies, what people will remember is that the last bout     between us will put an exclamation mark on things.  What people will     remember is the simple fact that you, yet again, end up the loser,     another deserted wreck on the Party highway.  LeBec, I accept your     generous offer, but what you have to face up to is that the bout     _WILL_ take place, but on my terms, not yours. TD: And your views on the success of Genesis? MW: No. TD: None? MW: I have no views.  I mean, for somebody who damns souls, I ain't seen     too many zombies staggering round this place ... except for the     officials, and those mid-card rejects Requiem's surrounded himself     with. TD: Those are talented people you've described there, Marty. MW: Maybe.  Flunky status is all they've achieved in the IIWF so far,     though. Requiem came in, decided to start his stable of mules, so     what does he do?  Throws one of those Rocker Droppers on me.     Funnily enough, I didn't appreciate that one little bit.  Requiem,     I've had other business to take care of.  Lebec.  Soon, Quigley.     Big guy, you're a party target, certainly the pigeons didn't miss     your hair, did they? [The camera shot fades to black.] LM: Marty, I think I speak for all the IIWF members when I say "get well     soon." BL: Don't even pretend to speak for me, Morton. Warnett, so you got a     little perfume in the eyes... Big deal. Be a man and quit     complaining... Although who knows? Keep it up and you may become the     IIWF's version of god. Look at where it's gotten so many... LM: Stop that, Brian... Next up is another man who took part in that     four way dance... One Billy Shakespeare... [Billy Shakespeare stands in a victorian library.  The furniture is plush, the walls burnished maple, each book handbound. A skull sits stereotypically on an oversized desk.  Shakespeare walks beside the shelves, his finger tracing each book title as he speaks.] BS: Hawthorne.  Wilde. Twain. Plato, and yes, Shakespeare.  All     classics. All have stood the challenge of time and the sting of     their critics, as have I.  It is unnecessary to justify their     impact.  But here I feel forced to do just that.  The fans no longer     appreciate the old, they clamor for the new, the flash, no     substance, no taste.  They christen themselves "New Generation", and     "Sychopaths".  The venerable Esther Osterhout claims to be the     number one "Fury".  They don Derek Mota t-shirts and wave foam     "Butcher" knives.  They sway to Requiem's Hamlinesque pipings.  They     demand tricycles in the ring.  I shun such cheap theatrics.   What I     have lasts eons, not moments. [He pauses a moment then takes a volume from the shelf.  Suddenly he spins in a rage.]     Do you want dead men?  I give you the ghost of Hamlet's father. [He grabs a handful of pages from the book, ripping them out and throwing them at the camera.  He drops that volume and grabs another.]     You want drunks?  I give you John Falstaff. [Again he tosses a handful of shredded pages at the camera, quickly grabbing another play script from the rack.]    Betrayal?  Brutus.  Feuding gangs?  Montagues and Capulets. [More shredded pages.]    I give you the demented Caliban.  The mad Lear.  The tricks of Puck,    and the vengeance of Titus Andronicus. [Slowly the rent pages drift to the floor.]    It has all been done long before.  Great performances, thy name is    Shakespeare. But obviously you tire of the entertainment I provide,    so the show must get better.  I will do something which no IIWF    wrestler has ever done before...another first from Shakespeare.  I    will tell you when, and I will tell you what when the time is right.    Til then, don't make the same mistake "The Intrepid" Ryan Howard made    on Monday and forget the name. [He pulls a large tome of the shelf and slams it hard on the desk.  The camera dollies in for a shot of the binding which reads, gold letters on red:  SHAKESPEARE. Shot cuts back to the studio. Brian Lau is taking notes.] LM: What are you doing? BL: Nothing. Mind your own business. LM: You're not meddling again, are you? BL: Larry, when have you ever known me to meddle? LM: [sighs] Well, the number of people fed up around here continues to     rise. You'll see what I mean after listening to these comments from     the Hollywood Bloods. [The camera goes to footage of the Hollywood Bloods in the back locker room after their match on Wednesday.  Watson's face is badly burned from the fireball while Wayne has cuts and bruises on his neck.  Watson seems to be waiting for medical attention while Wayne begins to talk) DW: Well, There really ain't much to say after tonight.  We are getting     sick and tired of all the [BLEEP] we have to deal with in our     matches. Let's recap our match tonight against the Harlequins. Not     only do we have to worry about them, but we have to deal with those     two bimbos at ringside, fans throwing toys at us, The Last Resort     getting involved, getting hit with fireballs, and getting attacked     by a third Harlequin. You would think the IIWF suits would do     something. I gave up on them a long time ago. I think we are gonna     have to take matters in our own hands. [Wayne looks at his partner then continues talking] DW: Look at my partner's face. Look at all the pain.  Harlequins you     will definitely pay for what you did. [Begins to Laugh] You know if     the fireball wasn't bad enough. Then I get attacked by a third     Harlequin.  Maybe the Hollywood Bloods should get a third member to     go cheap shot people. I know we could get some huge ex-convict,     dress him up in chains and spikes and call him "The Killing     Machine". He could then go hit people when they are down. Oh wait     I'm sorry, The IIWF has already signed a guy like that. Oh well. CW: [Let's out a painful scream] Don't forget the Last Resort. DW: How could I. You guys just keep digging yourself deeper and deeper.     You guys have our title shot and now you get involved in our match.     Masked Avenger, When I get my hands on you I am gonna tear off your     [BLEEP] mask and shove it down your throat. Then I am gonna retire     that dirty El Diablo once and for all. Don't be surprised if we     start popping up a little more frequently if ya know what I mean. [Clark Watson stands up and stares at the camera] CW: Last Resort, Your days in the IIWF are numbered. We will not quit     until we run you guys out of here and back to Mexico.  Consider that     a promise. [Fade.] LM: Next up, folks, we have a special treat. We've just received a     letter from former IIWF stars the Alphabet Boys! BL: Why are we giving them time? They're old news. LM: What do you mean? They were entertaining. BL: That really doesn't matter, now, does it? The only thing that     matters is that we have _new_ and _fresh_ talent showcased on this     show, right? LM: I don't think that's necessarily the... BL: Oh, come on! Why would we want to see the people we've all come to     know over - how long has it been? I don't care if they're the most     entertaining thing on the planet... They're old news... Forget it.     We're New Gen, remember? LM: Something tells me you're being snide... BL: You think so, huh? What makes you say that? LM: That doodle you're drawing on that paper with the knife through the     head of... BL: Oh, yeah, I guess you're a psychologist now, huh? LM: Let's go to this letter... [The letter itself is focused in the shot, and as the camera follows the words, Larry Morton reads...] Dear IIWF: It was a little time ago that Abie and I left to go to Japan and become real good wrestlers.   Abie was wrong.  We can't just fly to China and walk the rest of the way.  China and Japan are different places, did you know that?  We didn't. We started walking and found ourselves in a country called Tibet where we met some really great bald guys who taught us many things.  They did not teach us to wrestle good.  These bald guys can't fight at all.  Abie was able to take out four or five of them by himself.  Then they told Abie all sorts of things about peace and not harming living things. That made sense to Abie, and he has joined their monastery.  I have too. We will not be wrestling again. Please call the newspaper and stop delivery. regards:  Brother Abie and Brother Zed [An accompanying photo shows the Alphabet Boys standing with the Dalai Lama.  Abie and Zed wear saffron robes and their wrestling masks.] LM: Well, let me just say that we've come to expect no less from the     Alphabet Boys. BL: Come on, Larry... We can't go forward if we keep grasping     desperately to the past, right? RSPWF has no idea what they're     talking about. Awards... Pshhh... LM: What the hell are you going on about? BL: Shut up, Larry... Can't you see I'm busy? LM: Alright, Brian, whatever you say. Folks, we're just about done for     this week. We hope that you'll join us tomorrow for the special     Viewer's Choice card at the IIWF Coliseum. Remember to also tune in     next week to Countdown to... BL: Countdown to Syndicate Night! LM: No... _Saturday_ Night.  Folks, we're out of time... So long! [Fade quickly as Brian begins to stand up and move towards Larry, his hand raised, shouting "Okay, here it comes, just like I promised!"] +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+