["Rattamahatta" by Sepultura begins to play as shots from several different IIWF events fly by the screen... Takezo Musashi hitting the Starsault Press, Tiger Claw landing a Golden Tiger Strike onto Dan Kauffman, who lays outside the ring, Billy Shakespeare executing the Curtain Call, Marty Warnett locking The End figure four leg lock on Ned Norton, who screams out in pain, Otto Verhoeven raising his fist in the air defiantly in front of a jeering crowd... Suddenly, that logo we've all come to know and love crashes through the footage...]                  #####     ######   ###            ##########              ########## ########## ####       ##  ##########              ########## ########## ####  #   #### ########                #####      #####    #### ##  ##### ####                 ####       ####    #### ### ####  ####                 ####       ####    ############# #########                 ####       ####     ########### #########                 ####       ####     ####  ####   ####              #########  #########   ###   ####   ####              #########  #########   ###    ##    ####               ########   ########   ##      #    ####              =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- ## =-=-=-=                INTERNATIONAL INTERNET WRESTLING FEDERATION             =================================================               "COUNTDOWN TO SATURDAY NIGHT" - August 1, 1997             ================================================= [The shot opens up to Larry Morton and Brian Lau sitting behind the ring-like desk with the video wall behind them.] LM: Hello, fans, and welcome to Countdown to Saturday Night! I'm Larry     Morton, and next to me is my assistant... BL: Don't get so confident, little Morton... LM: Ummm, my partner, I guess... Brian Lau. We have quite a show for you     this week as we take a look at what went down on Wednesday night on     the War Room, and take a look at the action up ahead tomorrow on     Saturday Night. BL: Yes, yes, wonderful... And as always, the highlight of the show, my     segment, will be here. Stay tuned for that. LM: Speaking of which, Brian, it seems that we had some unflattering     responses to some of your comments last week. BL: That's because they can't handle me. See, Steve Roberts says what he     wants, and does anything happen? No... Why? Because he's the pretty     little Caucasian with the leather jacket and that Generation X     attitude. "Biscuits, biscuits, everywhere, and I can't shut my     mouth." When that attitude comes from me, though, people worry. Why?     Because I can actually do something about the things I don't like,     and that scares the suits. LM: Well, whatever the case may be, I believe there's something else you     wanted to say... BL: What? The apology? You have to be kidding me... You want an apology     from me? What do you want me to say, huh? [puts on a buck toothed     face] Oh, so soddy, Mistah Moh-tahn, I be a good China-man from now     on. [Looks off camera in distaste] LM: I thought you were Japanese. BL: Like you'd know the difference. What was that you asked me a month     or two ago? You asked me why Japan had to give Hong Kong to     Singapore, didn't you? LM: I... well, you know... I was never good with geography or politics. BL: Yeah, I guess not, huh? LM: Okay, now you're speaking Canadian... BL: Ha! You're a piece of work, Morton, a real piece of work. LM: Thanks, Brian... Thank you very much. Folks, let's get down to     business and check out what happened on the War Room... ["Scratch the Surface" by Sick Of It All plays as the graphics scroll up the screen.] ======================================================================== ----------------------WEDNESDAY-WAR-ROOM-RECAP-------------------------- ======================================================================== Results from Wednesday War Room - July 30, 1997 1. Team Sychosys def. The Rotundos [J] (via Submission) 2. Marty Warnett def. Scott "the Whine" Bloom [J] (via submission) 3. Tony Starks def. "Nifty" Ned Norton [J] (via submission) 4. "The Intrepid" Ryan Howard [debut] def. El Super Gecko [J]                                             (via pinfall) 5. Hollywood Bloods def. Pain Inc. (via pinfall) 6. Licensed for Devastation vs. The Harlequins (double countout) 7. Scott Rogers vs. "Real Deal" Luke Steele (no contest) 8. Dog Collar Match:    "Showstopper" Simon Lebec def. Derek Mota ======================================================================== LM: It was a great night of action despite the technical difficulties we     experienced... BL: Typical. LM: We saw the debut of "The Intrepid" Ryan Howard and the end of an     unlucky streak for the Bloods. BL: Also, Simon Lebec goes on to face Unique Allah at Midsummer Madness     for the Cruiserweight title, more turmoil for Genesis from Luke     Steele and the Phoenix, and Tony Starks join the Age of Rage. LM: That one surprised me, Brian. Usually things like that happen on     Saturday Night. The fans were definitely surprised as well, although     not too happy. BL: Of course not. These fans like their little heroes, and it seems     that Starks has let them down with this alliance. Personally, I see     nothing wrong with it. LM: We also saw Marty Warnett issue a challenge to Simon Lebec for     August 19. Both men are to be put in a steel cage on the set of     The Final Cut, and the door will be welded shut. They'll go until     one man can't continue. BL: That promises to be a good match, if you can call it that. What it     looks like to me is two guys in a pseudo-street fight, and the cage     is just there to make sure they don't hit any fans. Of course, that     wouldn't be so bad. After the little stunt the Disciples pulled, I     kind of got into seeing fans beat on each other. LM: We also saw those crazy Harlequins up to their mischief. Again, that     mysterious fifth Harlequin showed up. BL: And apparently, it's Tragedy's cousin. You've got to wonder what     Christmas is like in that family, huh? I wonder if they have     stipulations in the gift opening. Could you imagine daddy carving up     Chaos for dinner? My goodness. LM: They certainly are... Unique. BL: And they resemble clowns, Larry, so I know that you like them... LM: Let's not go there. Folks, this all basically leads up to the     exciting card we've got lined up for tomorrow night. Let's take a     look at that one match by match. ======================================================================== ------------------------SATURDAY-NIGHT-PREVIEW-------------------------- ======================================================================== ------------------------------- The Machines vs. The Harlequins ------------------------------- LM: We'll start off by looking at this tag team contest between the     Harlequins and the Machines. BL: And undoubtedly, we'll get another entertaining bicker-fest from the     Machines. Let's save everyone the trouble and book the match between     those two right now. LM: Brian, I don't think their bickering is any cause for a breakup.     People as close as brothers generally go after each other like that. BL: I'll tell you something right now, I don't like the people I bicker     with... And I don't like you, Larry. LM: [sarcastically] I'm flattered... BL: Growing some culjiones, hey, Larry? We'll have to fix that... LM: What do you mean? Never mind. Folks, we got these comments from the     machines... [Paul Wong is lifting weights on the weight bench, while Simon O'Neal is watching a tape of some matches.  Written on the board behind them are a series of names: HARLEQUINS ---------- TRAGEDY CHAOS MELODY COMEDY BANDAGED MAN ??? Paul finishes his set, sits up, and faces the camera.] PW: Well, LFD is... SO: ...not worth our time.  [Paul rolls his eyes]  Don't worry, I'll     shut up in a second.  Looking For Defeat hasn't won a match yet, so     why should we worry about them?  We've got to face a team Saturday     that's actually beaten a few teams.  The floor's all yours, Paul. PW: Okay.  The Harlequins are very tough... too bad you seem to need to     have an army at your side.  Leave the guy with the bandages at home.     We want a clean match.  You want the World Tag Team titles?  Fine.     Try and beat us -- without all the extras.     [sighs]  But you're not going to do that, are you?  We'll just have     to anticipate for the worst.  I'm sure we'll think of something... [Fade] BL: If they don't smack each other out, I'm going to have to have it     done for them. LM: I'd like to see that, actually. BL: Oh really? You think I couldn't? LM: You're not exactly a wrestler, Brian. BL: Looks like you forget the whooping I dished out to the Coroner... LM: No, actually, I didn't. Folks, tonight we're going to check out     another installment of Tim Dross' coverage of the Harlequins, a team     that seems to get overlooked a lot in the IIWF. BL: I guess because they've been here too long. LM: Don't start, Brian. Ladies and gentlemen, Tim Dross... [Clips of past Harlequin matches, mostly featuring Tragedy go by as Tim Dross can be heard in the voiceover.] TD: WFSW, ESWP, CWL, LAW, UEA, and most recently, to the IIWF. All of     these places have been stepping stones in the history of the most     bizarre family in professional wrestling, The Harlequins. But the     story doesn't begin with WFSW's Gold in the Cold. It begins in the     small town of Sleepy Hollow, Illinois. Where a man by the name of     Peter Quinn lived with his wife Mary and two sons, Travis and     Christopher. [Clips of the two brothers as children play.] TD: But this seemingly ordinary family would be hit with troubles early on. At an early age, Christopher would show signs of a severe chemical imbalance that threatened both his body and his sanity. The Quinns tried to tough their way through it, but eventually, the five year old Christopher would be sent to a hospital indefinitely, something that didn't sit well with his protective older brother Travis. [Switch to a taped interview with the Puppet Master, Peter Quinn.] PM: Hearing Chris' screams were bad enough, but when I heard Travis     crying, I didn't know what to do. He just kept yelling, "They're     taking my brother away! They're taking my brother away!" It was hard     for all of us. On the way home, Travis didn't say a word. And from     that day forward, he didn't laugh, he didn't cry, he didn't smile.     He was just cold as a block of ice. [Switch to some video footage of a high school wrestling match.] TD: Feeling that he could no longer turn to his parents, Travis     turned to the one thing he knew, wrestling. In short time Travis     Quinn became captain of the Sleepy Hollow High School Wrestling     Team. But he would still be haunted by the disturbing     circumstances surrounding his little brother. The most disturbing of     which happened during his high school physics class. [Footage titled "Mr. Delgado, Tragedy's physics teacher.] Mr. D: It was a demonstration on electricity. We were using metal     plates and acid to make our own batteries, and... there was     this guy, Gary. He was kind of jealous of Quinn, him being the     wrestling  captain and his father being a celebrity, so he tried to     get at him the only way he could, his brother. Gary held up these     two wires, sparks jumped between them and he said, "Hey Quinn,     remind you of anyone?" The one thing about Travis was that he was     very defensive of his family. Well, he lunged at Gary, and Gary, in     an act of desperation, took one of the vials of acid and smashed it     in Travis' face. The acid was diluted a bit, so it didn't burn as     much, but the glass left a huge scar down his face near his eye. TD: I've seen that scar. Mr. D: But that didn't stop Travis at all. He grabbed Gary and put him     in that hold his dad used to use. What was that? TD: The Marionette, a combination chickenwing/half nelson. Mr. D: That's it. And he broke Gary's shoulder with it. Travis was    suspended after that, but wasn't kicked of the team, he did lose    his captainship though. Gary, he got expelled. [Clips of Travis holding various state titles.] TD: With the only emotion available to him being anger, Travis used     his credits to graduate early and head off to the University of     Illinois to study architecture and continue wrestling. Next week, we     will see how it would be at college, that events that would push him     to the professional ranks would occur. [A photo of a beautiful redhead girl is shown.] TD: And Travis Quinn would meet the woman who would become the most     important person in his life. [Fade.] BL: How the hell does a physics professor know what a chicken wing half     nelson is? LM: Everyone's a wrestling fan, Brian... Everyone. BL: Oh, yes, you're right. 95% of the population watches it, and the     other 5% lie, right? LM: That's right. Back to this match, though... Who do you pick as the     winner, Brian? BL: Is there any doubt? The Harlequins. Strength in numbers, it's as     simple as that. See, the Harlequins know who's coming to that match     in the Machines, but the Machines have no idea who's hiding under     that ring. Could be the guy with the bandages. Could be the Puppet     Master. Could be the family Psychotherapist. You never know. They've     openly stated that there's six of them, and we've only seen five.     The harlequins hold all the cards... Incidentally, they're all     Jokers. LM: That's pretty deep. BL: Like you know what deep is... ------------------------------------------------- Kevin Christiansen vs. "The Intrepid" Ryan Howard ------------------------------------------------- LM: Two relative newcomers to the IIWF will square off in this match. BL: Wasn't Ryan Howard in that Happy Days show? LM: No, I don't think... BL: You know, the same guy that played Opie. LM: That's _Ron_ Howard. BL: Yes, "The Intrepid" Ron Howard. LM: No, _Ryan_ Howard. BL: Well, what is it? Make up your mind! It should be pretty funny to     watch Richie Cunningham go up against the Cavalier... They'd spend     about four hours trying to decide who got to go into the ring first! LM: I... You... Oh, why do I bother? BL: I don't know, Larry, but you can leave if you want. LM: Not a chance. This should be an exciting match, folks. Both men are     so intent on training for this match, they didn't have time for     comments. One thing I'm wondering, though... Will Tim Turner make an     appearance? He's been on Christiansen's case lately. BL: Tim Turner is probably too busy running his own wrestling show,     Larry. LM: Huh? BL: The one on that big network... LM: No, no... You're thinking of _Ted_ Turner! BL: Who? Am I... [Brian smirks a bit.] LM: You're doing this to me on purpose, aren't you? BL: Yes, Larry. Yes I am. --------------------------- Derek Mota vs. Scott Rogers --------------------------- LM: A Genesis representative, Scott Rogers, will face a man who has     targeted the whole stable, Derek Mota. BL: However, you've got to wonder if Scott Rogers will fake an injury     again to try and get out of the match or to set up a sneak attack. LM: Well, that card has been played already, so I think Mota will be     ready for any monkey business, but you never know. Steve Summer had     the chance to get these comments from Scott Rogers... [SCENE: Scott Rogers stands outside a locker room door with the word "GENESIS" to the right. Steve Summer is with him, mic in hand, ready to conduct an interview. Rogers wears a red robe which covers his entire body and has two days stubble growth on his face.] SS: IIWF fans, standing with me at this time is G.M. Rogers... [Rogers double takes with a puzzled look on his face.] SR: You what, Summer? What's this G.M. crap you're on about? SS: It stands for Genesis Member Rogers, Scott. See? SR: Yeah, Summer. I see alright. I see an undersized worm tryin' to be     funny. SS: Where? [Summer looks on the floor.] SR: Listen Summer. Unless you've been drinkin' somethin' *very*     strong, I'd advise you keep ya mouth shut. Breathe out. [Summer breathes out on Rogers' face. Rogers looks at the camera, as if dazed.] SR: [BLEEP]! You been eatin' horse manure or somethin'? SS: No, Scott. I've been eating only my mom's lasagne for the past     week. SR: Summer... SS: Yes, Scott. SR: Just get on with the damned interview. I'm a busy man. SS: But you asked me to breathe.... SR: Summer! SS: Okay. So, Scott, earlier in the week -- well, earlier this evening     in fact -- you and 'Real Deal' Luke Steele wrestled to a no contest.     Simple question. Why? SR: Simple answer, Summer. I don't got no idea. Obviously I'm injured,     right? I got me leg in plaster, doc's advised me to use crutches so     I come down to the ring to explain me situation. But this guy I used     to call a friend -- Steele -- he goes and grabs me crutches and then     wrestles me to the mat. I tell ya, Summer, I ain't never been so     pleased to see anyone as I was to see Serge right then. Steele was     like a man on smack! SS: Hmmmm. Scott, I doubt many people out there are believing what you     say to be honest with you. I'm sure they saw what really happened     and therefore will feel you're lying, or joking, or something... SR: Hold on a minute, Summer. You were down here when my match took     place. I know -- I saw ya with me own eyes! Now, I sure as hell     don't need no glasses or contacts so I guess my people, those great     fans out there, know _you're_ the liar. Not me... SS: I did actually watch the match on a monitor, Scott, and I heard     from the Phoenix and Luke exactly what happened. SR: And you believe them backstabbers over me!?! Shitewing turned his     back on Genesis and Steele, well, he just turned his back on me. I     thought this'd be a match the fans'd love to see; two guys they love     dukin' it out and all. And I thought we'd shake hands at the end and     that'd be that. But no. SS: Exactly. How could it have been? You were on crutches. SR: Yeah, Summer. I said that's what kinda match I thought this was     gonna be when I signed it. SS: Oh... SR: Yeah, I thought Steele'd realize I was injured and not try and     beat me, a defenseless man, senseless! And when Shitewing joined in,     I thought it was the enda my career! But as I said just then, Serge     came in and helped me out so I guess all's well that end's well, eh,     Summer? SS: I suppose so...yes. Right. On Saturday Night you're going up     against Derek Mota, a man who has been on the receiving end of many     Genesis attacks over recent weeks. SR: Yeah but just now he tried attackin' me and Serge just 'cause we     were watchin' his match. The man's got real problems, Summer, and     I'm gonna sort 'em out on Saturday. No doubt about it. If he thought     what happened to him before was bad then boy he's gonna get the     fright of his ugly life... as long as my leg heels in time. SS: Oh yes. Of course. Your broken leg. SR: And my hands, Summer. I put 'em into some boiling fat a coupla     weeks back and they still ain't healed. SS: That's right. Your broken leg and scarred hands. Any other     injuries we should know about? SR: Yeah, I got a few injuries, but nothin' you should bother yaself     with. I got problems in areas you got problems, but mine's bein'     overused and yours? Geez, I doubt it ever sees anythin' but the     toilet bowl! SS: I'm not sure what you're talking about Scott and quite frankly I     don't want to either. I'm more interested in Derek Mota... SR: I think yer in luck then. I heard he just broke up with his last     loverboy. Ask him out! Don't be shy... [Rogers puts his arm around Summer. Summer shrugs it off.] SS: Yes, erm, right. No. Erm. I meant you... SR: Oh I see. How does tonight at my place grab ya? Maybe we could     catch a movie or somethin'? SS: No. Let me finish... please. You, wrestling Derek Mota.... SR: You're a kinky [BLEEP] Summer. SS: ...on IIWF Saturday Night. SR: Oh that. I already told you about _that_. I don't got no more to     say. In fact I've spent more time with you than my doc advised. He     seems to think if I spend more than five minutes with ugly people, I     may catch what they got. [Rogers opens the locker room door then slams it shut. Cut back to the studio.] BL: You know, I might have liked Rogers if he didn't align himself with     Genesis. It's just one mistake after another. First Steele, then the     whiners. LM: I've got to say I don't agree with the tactics of Genesis either,     but I can't say that I like the attitude of Rogers at all. He's     arrogant, and it's obvious that he doesn't want to face someone toe     to toe without his gang watching his back. BL: Hey, there's nothing wrong with confidence, and there's nothing     wrong with having guys watching your back. There _is_ something     wrong if those guys are Genesis, however. LM: Well, I think if you were to ask Derek Mota, he would agree with     you, Brian. Tim Dross grudgingly took this assignment to get     comments from Mota... [Cut to Tim Dross climbing a long flight of stairs.  Dross is sweating like a pig, already having walked many floors.  Dross just stops for a second, and glances resignedly at the corridor as he turns another landing and heads up the next flight. Dross finally reaches a door with the number 10 on it, and he gets out. An elevator lies right around the corner, but a sign that reads "Out of Order" is taped onto it.  Dross just looks at the apartment across the hall, and knocks on the door.  Loud music is playing inside, and is turned off as the sound of feet shuffling to the door is heard.  The door opens, and Derek Mota is standing there, greeting Tim Dross.] DM: Well well well, I thought you'd never interview me again?  Ya miss     me? I had a great time stealin' that dog collar! TD: I guess... I guess it wasn't that bad, now that I think about it.     That Jorgi Girl Bitch Diva was kind of cute. [Mota just looks down to the ground and starts laughing.] DM: That was a man, you idiot!  Ever hear the word transvestite? [Dross just puts his hand on the wall nearest him, and begins to look quite ill.] TD: Ooohhhh... my stomach ... DM: Okay, _pal_, take a seat, I got somethin' ta show you.  Ever see the     movie "Spawn"? TD: No, I can't say I have. DM: Well I got me a hand on the out-takes.  Didja know that Genesis,     being the cartoon characters they are, casted for some of these     positions?  And they got them, dammit!  Take a look at this tape! [Mota sits down on the couch and grabs his remote control, pressing play. A picture appears on the screen of the NewGen Video logo.  The preview begins to roll.] VO: He was a creation born of fury.  He came back to avenge the death of     a loved one.  He is mankind's only hope.  He is ... SPAWN!     Starring ... Requiem as Spawn! [A man who bears a striking resemblance to Requiem swings down from a window wearing the full Spawn uniform.  He lands on a bunch of old ladies who are playing bridge, who immediately begin swinging their purses at him.]     And Adam Smith as the Violator! [A wide angle shot of the Violator is shown, and the role is played by someone who could easily pass for the Highwayman any day.  The Violator crashes through the doorway, and grips his shoulder in pain.  With his good arm, he points at Spawn and says:] V:  Prepare to be violated, girlie man! [The face of the man who looks a lot like Requiem appears on the screen, and the Spawn mask is transposed over his face.  The letters "S P A W N" appear on the bottom screen and explode into flames.] VO: Coming soon to a theatre near you! [Mota presses the stop button on the remote control, and gets back up to his feet.  Tim Dross is looking around in confusion, knowing all too well that these two men weren't Requiem and the Highwayman.] DM: So I guess you can see why they remade the whole thing. TD: These guys weren't ... this isn't ... what do you think you're doing here? DM: What are you talking about?  I just got my hands on some rare     footage, and wanted to show it to the fans of the IIWF, to see what     Genesis is all about. TD: But your opponent tomorrow wasn't even on it.  Where was Scott     Rogers in this movie? DM: He's in there.  Watch this. [Mota rewinds the tape a little to the part where Spawn lands on the old ladies. Upon examination, one of the ladies appears to be much larger than the others.  It could possibly be...] TD: Is it...? DM: A bit player.  Yes it is.  Watch this one... [The camera begins pulling away as Mota turns on the VCR again.  Tim Dross turns around and looks longingly at the cameraman, as he leaves the room. Cut back to the studio.] BL: Ha! He's a funny guy. You know, I approached Derek Mota some time     ago to join the Syndicate, but we both agreed that it would be     better for his career if he went up against Tiger Claw. LM: Wh... What are you talking about? Why would you set your man up to     fight with the guy? BL: Oh, come on, Larry, you know how it is in this business... Everyone     knows... LM: I don't want to hear it, Brian... Ummm, let's move on... Who do you     pick for this one? BL: I guess I'm supposed to say Mota, right? LM: I'm asking your opinion! BL: Oh, yes, of course. I would like to pick Mota, because I like his     style, and he can pull a few tricks of his own out of his sleeve.     Genesis may have the numbers, but Mota has the unpredictability     factor. LM: Thank you, Brian for getting... back on track. BL: What, you mean Kay... LM: [interrupting] Hey! Cut it out! --------------------------------------- Deathbringer vs. "Sychosys" Joe Petrow --------------------------------------- LM: Former champion Deathbringer takes on the self-proclaimed champion     of the IIWF in what promises to be an exciting bout. BL: Oh, yeah... Both men are delusional. One thinks he's dead, and the     other thinks he's a role model. They'll probably be hearing voices     from Sparkplug Lee's pet dog soon. LM: It's a shame about Sparky's dog, isn't it? BL: Yes, it is. No creature should have to go through the pain and     suffering of having Sparkplug Lee as its master. LM: No, I meant the thing with the doggy sweater. BL: Huh? LM: Never mind. Folks, we got these comments sent to us by Joe Petrow... [Cut to a long shot of a street in downtown Portland.  It is just daybreak, and the street is empty except for a bus coming down from the horizon, coming closer and closer to the camera.  As the bus approaches, a voiceover from "Sychosys" Joe Petrow is heard:] VO: The IIWF is in a state of chaos.  There are some who say that I'm     largely to blame for that.  I don't know much about that, all I     know is that up til now, I've been worried about nothing but taking     care of me and my people.  But it doesn't matter who started the     fire... [The bus is now in front of the camera, and veers to make a left turn] VO: ...it only matters who puts it out.  And it's time for the     recognized leader of the IIWF, to take control. [As the bus turns, the camera follows along side of the bus, the writing along side the bus clearly visible in big, bold letters as: MIDSUMMER MADNESS "SYCHOSYS" JOE PETROW WORLD PORTLAND AMERICA EXPRESS The song "Turn the Page" by Bob Segar plays, as highlights of Petrow's tour of everywhere the IIWF goes (in other words, Portland) play on the screen:   * Nils the Bus Driver, filling the gas at a local Amaco gas station   * Joe Petrow, staring blankly out the window, watching houses go by   * Nils the Bus Driver, filling the gas at a local Amaco gas station   * Joe Petrow, staring blankly out the window, watching houses go by   * An annoyed Nils the Bus Driver, filling up at Amaco again It's nearly dusk now.  The music fades out, and the camera cuts to Petrow, once again wearing the IIWF United States tag team belt over his shoulder, sitting inside the bus] JP: You know, everywhere we go, all the gas stations along the way on     this journey into the hearts and minds and souls of the world, the     people come up and say, "Joe, we appreciate what you're doing, but     you can't keep up this pace forever!"  It's grinding, I'll give you     that.  I'm the only superstar you see, working his butt off every     Saturday AND Wednesday night.  Between that and all the promotional     work of this tour that's so near and dear to me, I don't have time     for anything, least of all that unwatched stack of porn videos back     home.  But this is the role bestowed me on June 12th, to take over     as the franchise of not just this little wrestling league, but of     all humanity.     You know, I had a dream the other night.  I dreamed I saw my life     flash before my eyes.  I dreamed I saw a beach, and in most places     I saw my footprints, and the stray track marks of a kiwi, rolling     along beside of me.  Then I saw parts along the way where there were     no track marks, only footprints.  And these were during the most     difficult parts of my life.  So I asked the kiwi, "Why did you     desert me during the most difficult parts of my life?"  And the     kiwi...of course it couldn't speak, but I heard it say, "Joe, I was     with you for all those times.  Those times you needed me, it was I     who sprouted legs, and carried you." [Petrow breaks into a slight smirk]     You know, I didn't believe it then, and I still don't believe it     now! But I like the analogy.  I've been through the hard times, I've     seen the hell that no man should see.  I don't want to see anybody     else go there.  Nobody else has to go.  So I've made it my mission,     to take those souls who wander through the rye fields, and catch     them before they fall off the cliffs of insanity.  Some catches are     easy, some are like Takezo Musashi, that you just have to stick as     close to the flames as possible to keep them from burning     themselves.  But I made a pledge the stop the bleeding of ALL the     wounds, and thy will be done. [Nils shouts out from the drivers seat of the bus] NILS: JOE MAN, THIS IS THE 57th TIME WE'VE PASSED CITY HALL!  CAN'T WE     CALL IT A NIGHT?! JP: One more hour, my man.  We gotta push on... we gotta push on... [Nils mutters something about "Waffle House", "Noir's Leather", and "blackmail", as the camera once again focuses on Petrow.] JP: Saturday night, the soul de jour is supposedly not a soul at all.     Deathbringer, the Vulcan wonder of the world, the man who feels no     pain, and thus gets no gain.  You, like so many others, have     deluded yourself into thinking your something you're not.  Well     Saturday night, I'm going to exorcise your worst fears, and show     you what you really are.     A man.     People have defeated Deathbringer.  But nobody has made him admit     that he is just a man like one of us, just a slob like one of us.     No one has made Deathbringer realize that he feels pain.  No one has     ever made the MAN, howl in agony, and admit his true self.  And so     his pain collects interest, like a cyst in the belly, waiting     someday to explode.  It's time to release your pain, Deathbringer.     I don't care if I have to use the Sychopractic... I don't care if I     have to use the Funky Chicken... but it will happen.  You will hurt.     You will cry.  You will think your life is over... and then it is     over.  Not your life.  Your pain.  You will be free to live, free to     accept the pain of life, and rejoice in all the gory glory that it     is.     And you will become one more man who stopped being part of the     problem, and became part of the solution.  Part of the proof the     rest of the world needs to accept the fact... that I... [Sychosys pats his belt] am the IIWF's...champion. [Fade out] BL: The IIWF's catcher in the rye, huh? LM: Didn't someone write a book about that? What was it called? BL: Larry? LM: Yes? BL: Shut the hell up. --------------------------------------- Timothy N. Turner vs. Sebastian Jericho --------------------------------------- LM: We'll see the Saturday Night debuts of two men in this match. Both     man have already begun making waves. BL: Mr. Turner has made waves... Jericho makes little piddly noises... LM: What? BL: Never mind. LM: Alright... Folks, let's hear these words from Sebastian Jericho... [The camera fades in on a sparsely wooded forest in Michigan, most likely on the outskirts of a small town. The evergreens are as emerald green as ever, the loblolly pines' needles in full. Perhaps a storm has just rolled in, as the ground looks a bit moist, soiled. Sitting on an overturned tree stump is Sebastian Jericho. He is in a thinking man's position, hunched over slightly, his fist crammed into his chin, his eyes not swaying one bit from the ground at which he stares. He wears a pair of navy blue sweatpants, a white t-shirt with "Jericho: All Business" on it in red, varsity lettering, and a pair of black, red, and white Nike crosstraining shoes. His head is covered by a navy blue baseball cap with an old Gaudy style "D" on it, symbolizing the Detroit Tigers. He speaks, keeping his thinking position, his mouth a tad muffled by the fist he has jammed into his chin.] SJ: My IIWF debut has come and gone, and "Nifty" Ned Norton has been dropped again, just like a sack of potatoes. [He brings his fist down, and clamps his hands together, squeezing tightly. One might infer that if he were to have a neck inbetween his powerful mitts, it would be crushed nearly instantly, like a brittle bone.] SJ: But my first test, my first real opponent will be Timothy N. Turner. Turner seems to be preoccupied with his vendetta with Kevin Christiansen, whatever the case for that may be. [He points at the camera, his face baring a blank expression, his dark skin glistening under the relatively low light of the gloomy day.] SJ: But I give you this word of warning, Timothy. You had better not     look past me, not for a second, or you will find yourself flat on     the mat, looking up at those bright lights on the ceiling of the     arena. [He chuckles sharply, his nostrils flaring.] SJ: Turner, I've been doing some scouting on you. Pretty impressive to     the laymen, but not to me. You want to prove yourself? You want to     be a bigshot world champion in what many consider the best     federation in the world? Those are nice goals, nice dreams. Hey...I     don't blame you. There's just one thing standing between you and     that at the moment... [He pauses... then points to his chest, tapping it fiercely.] SJ: ME. [He brings his hands back down to his sides.] SJ: This is your debut on Saturday Night, and this is also mine. Well my     friend, I have no intentions of losing, and I'll give you one hell     of a fight for the right to have my hand raised. Ask anyone who's     been in the ring with me, they'll tell you, even though I'm not the     biggest, I'll go with you any day of the week and twice on     Sunday... or in this case, Saturday. [He points at the camera once more, a wry smile creeping across his pugnacious mug.] SJ: I only know of one way to muffle the explosion of TNT... [Sebastian makes a snipping motion with his right index and right middle fingers, a stern grimace on his face.] SJ: Cut the fuse. [With these strong words, the screen fades into obscurity.] BL: Cut the cheese? LM: Who? Not me! BL: Yeah, right. You know what they say about cutting the cheese... 95%     of the population does it, and the other 5% lies about it. LM: They do? Well, I don't. BL: Sure thing, Larry. We have comments from Mr. Turner, don't we? Yes?     Okay, let's roll those. LM: I did this interview! BL: And I'm supposed to believe you now, right? LM: No, really... Look... [Timothy N. Turner is seated at an elegant looking, outdoor patio at a posh urban restaurant.  Larry Morton is seated with him] LM: We've been invited here to have a quick word with one of the newest     additions to the IIWF ranks, Timothy N. Turner. Timothy... TNT: Mr.Turner. LM: Of course. Mr.Turner, there has been a bit of a buzz around the     halls of the IIWF about some kind of gathering you are having on     Saturday. I haven't heard any details... TNT: You shouldn't have. This particular gathering is my invitation     only, and you haven't been invited. LM: Yes, well, fine. Can you elucidate on who has been invited? TNT: Yes I can, but I'm not going to. These are the top, classiest     people in the IIWF. There are a few others that deserve invitations     but because of current squabbles between some of my guests, I had to choose. You will just have to wait until Saturday like everyone     else. LM: With all this going on, are you still focused on Sebastian Jericho? TNT: I'm as focused as I need to be. We'll just leave it at that. No go     away. I'm expecting company and you might scare them away. [Fade.] LM: I wonder what he's talking about... BL: You'll have to find out with all the rest of the morons when he     unveils his secret... LM: Like you know... BL: Of course I do. I'm classy. Look at this suit. Do you have any idea     how much this suit cost? LM: No. BL: I rest my case. ----------------------------------------- IIWF INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: Creed Vs. Ike Sampson ----------------------------------------- LM: We'll see the first title defense for our new Intercontinental     champion Creed as he faces... BL: A friend of his. Yay. That's quite a title defense, Creed. What's     the matter? Can't step up to the plate and defend the belt against a     real contender? LM: Sampson is a real contender. BL: But he's a friend and training partner of Creed. You know what makes     this match? A sparring session. Keep the sparring in the gym, guys,     and let's try and actually put the belt on the line, okay? I tell     you, this Creed is going to have the belt for a long time at this     rate. Two weeks in a row, and we haven't seen a legitimate defense. LM: This _is_ a legitimate defense! BL: To morons like you it may be. Even _I_ didn't try and pull this     stunt back when Claw had the belt. Did I put Joe Latta against Claw?     No. Why? Because I'd have been pulled up into the offices so fast     I'd get the bends. But since it's _Creed,_ oh, no... Go ahead Creed,     defend the title next week against a game hen. That should be     exciting. LM: You're on pretty thin ice, here, Brian. BL: Get bent, Larry. LM: I'm warning you... Anyway, folks, we got these comments from Creed     as he trains with Mad Dog Watkins... [SCENE:  A darkened Portland gymnasium.  Marvin Gaye's "What's Goin' On?" plays gently in the background as two shadowy figures engage in what appears to be then end of a grueling - but familiar - sparring session. The two men are Mad Dog Watkins and the red gloved rookie, Creed. Each man seems to move in synchronicity with the other, Creed attempts to execute his spinning spinebuster -- Watkins counters with a modified Thesz press, but catches the rookie too low, allowing Creed to rise and deliver a sharp clothesline... Which Watkins slips, lifting Creed into the air for an atomic drop attempt, Watkins yelling out "Counter!"... And the rookie goes over top,  grabbing a double hammerlock and driving the veteran Watkins down with a tiger Creedplex. Watkins leaps to his feet as Creed does not bridge, driving forward with a forearm as he again yells the apparent command, "Counter!"... Creed drops quickly into a crouch, then with his panther-like quickness uncoils across the back of Watkins with a crucifix takedown that the veteran Dog seems powerless to prevent, sliding easily to the mat. 1--2--3. Creed is up quickly, tapping his chest with pride as Watkins remains in a seated position on the canvas, shaking his head in apparent bemusement as to the energy level of the younger man. Watkins accepts Creed's outstretched hand, the two men sharing a brief laugh as MDW turns off a video camera which is perched on a ringpost, taking a tape and casually tossing it into an IIWF gym bag which appears filled with dozens of similar workout captures. The two men begin some cool down exercises as the music fades, this clearly a routine which has been played out on dozens and dozens of occasions previous.] C: I ain't ever gonna have time to look at all those tapes, Dog.    'Tween the appearances, the workouts, and goin' through all those    counter moves we been workin' on - I hardly have time to breathe --    I thought it would ease up once I got the belt. MDW: That's what you get for thinkin'.  This lifestyle ain't ever been    easy, Creed.  That belt around your waist may feel like heaven, but    winning it just put you into your own personal hell.  Everybody and    his uncle's gonna want to take you down.  That includes Ike.  You    better get pumped for him or your first title defense might be your    last. C: Still don't understand that, Dog.  Why you press so hard to get    Ike the shot?  I know Ike can go - but there guys ranked higher -- I    ain't want no one to think I'm duckin' em. MDW: You don't think Ike's good enough for the shot?  You better clear    that head of yours and remember that he's already put an "L" in your    loss column once.  You think that doesn't mean anything?  Don't you    ever forget who's beat you. Payback doesn't end just cause you ran    Byron out of town.  There are demons from your past to be exorcised,    and even if you, me and Ike are buddies -- that don't mean that you    don't need to put him down for the count.  Start off the title reign    in style. C: Yeah, you right, Dog.  You right.  There a lot more to do --    Otto, Petrow, Quigley -- I wouldn't mind another piece of Genesis,    that Highwayman want another shot at me. MDW: Those punks couldn't hold your jock strap, kid.  Ain't no way in    hell that I'm going to let you give one of those ingrates a shot.    Just because you get you some nice story about being damned or back    from the dead, don't make you a contender in my book.  There are    dues that gotta be paid, and that comes from blood, sweat, and    tears.  Punks like the Highwayman don't know what I'm talking about.    I ain't ever had a coattail to ride on...  You ain't ever had    anything handed to you, either.  You want respect, you take respect.    All that "New Gen" propaganda may sound great, but it's a load of    crap.    Hell, this is your rookie year - you're just as new as they are.    But look where you stand... Intercontinental Champion.  And all you    had to do was be yo'self.  No reinvention of Creed.  Real deal,    right out of the gate. Just like I told you - no front, no fake, no    excuses.  Just success. C: Yeah, whatever you say Dog.  Wouldn't be here without you. [The two men exit the ring, Creed grabbing a red towel and Watkins tossing a black Ring Wars 3 t-shirt over his shoulder.] C: When you see Ike tonight, make sure he know it not personal    right, it just business. There one thing I learned, is there a time    for everything -- but in the ring -- it gotta be about the business    -- just make sure Ike know that, right Dog? MDW: He'd better.  Hope you believe it when you say it, pup....it's the    only way you gonna last in this business.  Trust me - I know. ["What's Goin' On? kicks back in as the two men continue their walk to the locker room, Creed apparently telling the Mad Dog a joke of some sort as they depart, Watkins playfully chucking the rookie on the shoulder - Creed responding with what almost seems to be a laugh as he places his red gloved left hand on his mentor's back as the shot fades.] BL: [Imitating MDW] Jus' stick with me, kid, and you never have to put     that belt up against nobody! LM: Stop that, Brian. That's not the case. BL: And what the hell is Mad Dog talking about that Creed never had     anything handed to him? What about that belt? LM: Folks, I'd like to take this opportunity to tell you that we'll have     a replacement for Brian Lau next week... BL: No, we won't. LM: We will if you keep it up... Let's take a look at a video package     from Ike Sampson before you really get in hot water. [The screen is darkened, and begins to gradually lighten, until we see the face of the IIWF Intercontinental champion, Creed...] VO: He is one of the most dominant forces the wrestling world has ever known... [Scene of Creed landing the Goodnight, Farewell, Amen flying powerbomb on Lord Byron...] He has met nearly every top star the IIWF has to offer... [Creed planting Mad Dog Watkins from the top of the SkyDome's right field wall at Ring Wars III... Creed slamming Casey James...] And defeated them all... [Creed pinning Lord Byron...] Save one. [The screen goes dark again, only to be replaced by the determined visage of Ike Sampson.] Indeed, the only man to hold a pinfall victory over Creed... [Ike pinning Creed in the first round of the Coronation Clash tournament...] Is a man he considers his friend. [Ike and Creed celebrate after Coronation Clash.] Two men, hungry with the same desire... to learn at the foot of a ring master... [Ike, Creed, and Mad Dog Watkins standing in the ring...] Two men... [Ike and Creed staring each other down in the ring...] One title. [Shot of the Intercontinental Belt.] And a whole lotta pride. [Creed and Ike trading blows.] Can lightning strike twice?! [Shot of Ike standing in the locker room, with a towel draped around his neck, wearing a t-shirt that reads simply:  "BELIEVE."] IKE: You're damn right it can.  And that's the truth... [The camera zooms in on Ike's determined face, gradually replaced by a shot of the Intercontinental Title, which in turn fades into black.] BL: A whole lotta BS, more like. LM: Oh, man... BL: Quit being such a baby, Morton, and look at this match like it     really is... A sham. The suits want their little babyface to market,     so they have to put him in action, but they don't want to risk him     losing his belt. It makes me sick. LM: Folks, I want to apologize for the outlandish comments from Mr. Lau. BL: Outlandish... Right, Morton. Listen to me, folks. I know I've got     some followers out there. If you can hear me right now, then listen     up. Show your distaste for this whole sham of a match. If you're at     home, turn the television off for this match. If you're in the     Coliseum, turn your backs on this match. Send the suits a message. I     know I will. LM: And what colour would you like your walking papers in, Brian? BL: Shut up. ------------------------------------------ IIWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: Requiem vs. Mr. Damage ------------------------------------------ LM: Requiem also has his first title defense against Mr. Damage. BL: Hrmpf... LM: What was that? BL: Never mind. LM: Don't you have any comments for this one? BL: Alright, fine. Here's another case of defending the belt against     someone you are sure you can beat. You and I both know Mr. Damage,     Larry. He's a tough guy. Apparently, though, Requiem feels     otherwise. He couldn't even bother to come out and make an effort to     address this title defense with any comments. LM: I don't know if that's because he is overlooking the challenger... BL: Get real, Larry. You know as well as I how important interviews are     in this business. Your interviews can make or break you in this     sport. You can be the best athelete on paper, but if you can't work     the mic, then forget it. LM: I hope you're not saying that it's the interviews that win     matches... Why would the ability to talk have anything to do with     the ability to wrestle? BL: Larry, sometimes I wonder if you're just acting the clueless part.     We've found time and time against that those who talk the talk     usually can walk the walk. Requiem not doing an interview with us is     just like a slap to the face of Mr. Damage. It's a statement. He     feels that Mr. Damage is not worth his words. Well, Requiem,     tomorrow night, I'm going to watch Mr. Damage wipe the aloof look     right off of your ten cent face. LM: Damage hasn't exactly been tearing up the rankings, Brian. BL: So what? It's been said that any man on any given night can beat the     champ. I'm looking for Mr. Damage to do it tomorrow night. Requiem     isn't expecting a challenge, but you can guarantee that Damage is. LM: So you're picking Damage. BL: For the love of god, Larry, will you start listening to me? LM: I do, it's just that I... Never mind... Folks, this should be an     exciting card, with two title defenses! Be sure to tune in tomorrow     night for IIWF Saturday Night! Up next, folks, we have our Weekly     editorial from none other than Brian Lau. What is it called this     week? [On cue, the graphics fill the screen] ======================================================================== -----------------------THE-ART-OF-CONTROVERSY--------------------------- ---------------------------WITH-BRIAN-LAU------------------------------- ======================================================================== BL: I like that title, guys. I think we should keep it. Okay, so here we     are with another week on Countdown. I just want to take this time to     say a fond farewell to three guys in the IIWF. These guys were     probably the easiest guys to work with, and we all had some fairly     interesting times here in the IIWF. I'm talking about Don McQueen, Kane, and Wulf. I know the fans at home may not realize this, but after working with these three guys for so long, I dare to say that I view them as friends. Yes, there were feuds and harsh words, but, well, you know how it is in business... Especially _this_ business.     Anyway, with that said, I'd like to move on to my topic for the     week. Again, it deals with the dividing of the ranks that seems to     be going on between the New Generation and everyone else. In the     beginning of the movement, there was Steve Summer spouting his mouth     off again and again how the New Generation could not be overlooked,     and finally, those words became reality. Well, I nominate myself to     be the anti-Summer. What I am saying is that now, the wrestlers who     have been here longer are being overlooked, and it's hard to book     time with the administration, since they seem to be all wrapped up     in negotiating new contracts or guitars or whatever for the newbies.     I happen to know that there are several "veteran" wrestlers in the     IIWF who are tired of this. I can hear the muttered curses, see the     frowns of disappointment, feel the tension in the air. Remember,     friends, that it was Genesis that sparked this revolution. A group.     Strength in numbers. What I propose is this... Band together. Put     all of your dislikes aside for the greater good of this cause. We're     at the point right now where we can't be worried whether _he's_ a     badass, or _he's_ a dead guy, or _he's_ an arrogant sod... We have     to think about our careers. This is the job that puts food on our     tables, and a roof over our heads. I'll be damned if I'm going to     let someone take it from me. Remember where you came from, IIWF. The     so called "veterans" of the roster are the ones who shed blood and     sweat to make our company the number one in the _world._ Now these     fancy pants new guys come in and suddenly it's their playground? I'm     sorry, but the vets won't stand by and let this happen. New Gen, you     got lucky by getting away with not paying your dues once. Now the     men that you _should_ have proved yourself against are coming to     collect, and there's quite a steep late charge built up. LM: Brian, you've _really_ got to relax. BL: I'll have plenty of time to relax when I'm dead. Until then, I'm     going to make sure the "veterans" take back what's theirs. LM: I don't think the IIWF really belongs to anyone, Brian. BL: Figure of speech, nitwit. LM: Alright, then... Let's get on to the IIWF Trash Talk... ======================================================================== --------------------------IIWF-TRASH-TALK------------------------------- ======================================================================== LM: Wednesday night, Marty Warnett made a challenge to Simon Lebec for a     huge cage match on the set of the Final Cut. I'm told that this     match will go down on August the 19th, but let's get some comments     from Lebec right now... [Camera opens with "The Showstopper" Simon Lebec, still clinging to the dog collar used in his match with Derek Mota] SL: Do I lie or do I lie?  I went out, and made Mota my dog.  He even     barked louder than Becks after a few tequilas!  HA!  Now, onto the     first order of business, Dork Dog Umbilical Ally or whatever you     call yourself!  I earned the right to face you at Midsummer Madness,     and I'll earn that title at Midsummer Madness.  Count on it.    So     get on your knees, turn to the East, and pray to whoever you think     is cool.  Because it don't matter. 'Cause come Judgement Day at the     Madness, you're ass will belong to me. Now, onto Farty.  You know,     they been putting me in all of these speciality matches lately.  A     four way dance, a day collar match, and now... a big ass steel cage with all the trimmings!  Well, if you gotta be special to get ahead, just call me Corky Thatcher! Walnut!  Don't worry about Francois.  I was the one who requested this match, remember dummy? I can beat you.  Everyone knows it, except you. And you'll find it out, mark my words.  And hey... I don't lie! [Camera fades] LM: Lebec seems to be looking forward to that big match, but so does     Warnett. Tim Dross got these comments... [SCENE: A darkened corridor deep within the bowels of IIWF Arena, the suits being too busy negotiating over-inflated salaries for 'New Generation' stars to worry about more mundane things like light bulbs. Five shadowy figures are stood around, talking.  As the camera comes nearer, the microphone is able to pick up snippets of comments.  'Damn straight', 'Time to make some noise', 'Hey, Marty, wanna meet my sister Kay Fabe?'.  Laughter then breaks out. Suddenly, one of the shadows turns around and spots the approaching camera crew, 'Hey guys, get the hell out, it ain't time yet'.  With that the others run, leaving a single man alone.  He steps out of the shadows.  It's Marty Warnett. Tim Dross approaches him, microphone in hand.] TD: Hey, Marty, I was on my way to interview the Highwayman since he's     number one contender to the Intercontinental title, but since you're     here, care to do an interview? MW: Sure, Boss Dross, I won't take your valuable time away from the     Genesis boys.  I know they boost the ratings so much. TD: So, you're back in the ring, ready to face the challenges ahead? MW: Naturallement, Timmy-babes.  Obviously, there's business with LeBec     to finish, and then it's a case of looking ahead to the future,     hopefully against Quigley. TD: Those bouts should be superb, Marty. MW: Yup, Timmy.  Chris I may dislike violently for his attitude and ego,     but I know we should have a series of purely technical bouts.  That     is, if he can leave the perfume alone ... TD: By the way, who were those guys you were with? MW: What guys? TD: You know, the four that vanished when I arrived? MW: Oh, them.  Just some friends, Dross.  You know what the suits are     like, they don't like having too many unauthorized guests around     backstage in case they see any friendships that shouldn't be.  Mind     you, the New Gen guys seem to be able to do what they like.     Anyways, since they're strangers around here, I guess I'd better     show them out.  See ya later, Tim-dude. [Marty leaves, running, as Dross heads towards the locker room.] LM: I wonder who those guys were? BL: Why? Warnett said who they were... Just friends of his. LM: Something tells me there's more to it than that. BL: Oh, yes, of course, Larry... Always taking things out of proportion,     right, Morton? LM: No, it's not that... It's just... Oh, never mind... Next up we've     got comments from the newest member of the Age of Rage, Tony Starks.     From the sounds of it, he's ready to take on the whole IIWF, New Gen     or old. Let's take a look... [Scene: Staten Island, New York. The heat makes waves off of the concrete. The streets are littered with people: kids cooling off in the streams of broken hydrants and there is an odd mix of sirens and street beats in the air. The shot focuses in on a tan Landcruiser near the end of the block, we see Tony Starks and Raheem Cles talking to some friends] TS: Ayo, Raheem, I told these boys, I don't play. I am going to make     it my personal mission to split anyone's wig who gets in my way.     Anyone wants a piece of me? Step up, and when you do, you gonna     get done like Hoffa... RC: No doubt, no doubt. People been takin' you like you some kinda     joke. See all this right here? [Starks nods] These streets made     you, made me and made all these men around you... like I been     tellin you, you gotta wake up to who you are. TS: Right, right... you right and I been listenin' to you. Livin'     'round here, you learn real quick that you gotta go for yours     in life, you gotta make your own future. If you don't, then     you damned to live the life you ain't suppost to. I am makin'     my future, makin' it for me...     I wanna tell all these people listenin' somethin', you wanna     talk all 'bout reality? Ayo, reality here, is just that...     real, stone cold real. We seen many of our family fall in     the streets, mothers stressed, blood on the pavement. Ain't     a day go by, I don't close my eyes to rest and I hear them     screams. Know what I'm sayin'?     I am doin' this for me, I am gonna get mine, for real. The     pain of life is somethin' I know real up close and personal.     Standin' there, someone goes down, and they Old Earth come     cryin' tears cause they son got killed...my pain is all that,     death, broke bones, shattered dreams all kinds of pain...     And all that pain that I know, I am gonna make all you feel     it...you gonna know my pain and loss. RC: Word, word... TS: See, this here is a war, and they ain't no rules in war...     The sides all been drawn up, know what I'm sayin'? If you     ain't on my side, then that is just too bad...all you     wonderin' what gonna happen next? You better be wonderin'     if I got you in my sights...cause if _anyone_ get in my     way, or in my brothas grill, it's time...     Time just 'bout run out for the whole IIWF...I know who the     real are and who fakes, I got my team down since the     foundation...this time is mine. RC: What 'bout you hookin' up wit the Rages? TS: Ayo, that is just New York right there, we been knowin' each     other foreva', you know that. People say I turned on the "Black     Pack"? All that group is just servin' up the whims of Creed or     Watkins, that boy Sampson think he gonna get a good deal? You     better think again, that's why I left... I wanted my own, I ain't     want to be no lackey for nobody.     I heard all that you was sayin', what Unique was sayin', I forgot     where I came from, but now, I am back at the foundation, the time     to bend wit the wind is over, my time is now...     I asked ya'll if you believe in God, you do? Then you better ask     him to save you, cause I am tryin' to slay you... RC: Then lets do this... [The shot focuses in on Starks' strange intense gaze. Fade] LM: Word. BL: Homey? LM: Propah... BL: Stop it. LM: Sorry. BL: Let's take this time to hear from some newcomers to the IIWF. First,     we've got comments from Dexter St. Croix... [The scene is a packed nightclub in Miami. Sweat-drenched club-goers dance to a techno-salsa beat, and the bartenders work furiously to keep up with their customer's unquenchable thirsts. The camera pans across this decadent scene to focus on a young, black man relaxing in a booth. He is wearing a tie-dyed t-shirt and a Florida Marlins baseball cap. His smile is bright enough to light a room as a young, Hispanic woman sits down beside him, her bosom exploding from bikini-top. The man is Dexter St. Croix...] DS: Hey, mon, so glad ya could join us! Siddown 'ere and let me tell ya     a t'ing or two 'bout me. Baby, could ya do ol' Dex a favor and get     me somet'in' cool ta drink? [The girl bounces, and I mean bounces, from her seat and scurries off] DS: Anyway, as I was sayin', da name is Dexter St. Croix. I been     wrestlin' now for a little while, but I been feelin' like a big fish     in a small harbor, ya know what I'm sayin', mon? So I decided to try     me luck in da IIWF, home of da biggest superstars in da world of pro     wrestlin', mon! [The girl is back, with a tall, neon concoction. She hands it to Dexter and he takes a sip, smiling as he sits back] DS: T'anks, baby. I needed dat. So anyway, I t'ink dat even dough I have     da skills to take dat cruiserweight belt for m'self right away, da     top cats at da IIWF gonna make me work m'way up da ladder. So, I     t'ink I'll start with dat El Super Gecko and work m'way up, mon.     Once da top cats see me in da ring, it's goin' to be all gravy! Now,     excuse me while I soak up a little o' dis here beauty, mon! [Dexter sits back in the booth and the bouncy girl sits back with him, nuzzled up to his neck. Dex is all smiles as the screen fades to black] BL: Wonderful... Another guy I can't understand. LM: He's just got a slight accent, Brian. BL: Whatever. So he's challenging El Super Gecko, huh? Way to set your     sights high. LM: I respect that. He's willing to work from the bottom up. At least     then you won't be able to blame him for not paying his dues. BL: You've got a point, actually. LM: I do? You think so? BL: Don't get too happy, Morton... You'll screw up soon. LM: Oh... Hey! BL: Folks, next up we've got comments from a man who's a legend in many     different areas, but is a newcomer to the IIWF. That man is     Tonnage... [The cameraman is stepping out of a cab onto the sidewalk of a suburban street. It's a pleasant neighbourhood...trees in the yards, kids playing around the houses, and so forth.  He pays the cabbie, giving the guy a fat tip which earns him a hearty "Thanks!" before the cab drives off. The house at which the cameraman has been dropped off is white, with two stories and a high gabled roof.  A small, narrow path made of gravel connects the cement steps to the sidewalk, and small bushes decorate the lawn. By the foundation of the house, a small flowerbed holds a patch of daisies. Off to the left, the cameraman spies a driveway; in it is parked a massive Hummer, painted fire engine red and bearing the license plate "HEVVYW8T".  He proceeds to the door and knocks.  Not surprisingly, it is Tonnage who answers.] T : Ah, IIWF, I presume.  Glad to see you made it on the first try.  I     swear, some of these cameramen they get elsewhere couldn't find     their assholes without written directions.  Anyway, come in. [The cameraman follows the massive Beast into his home.  A large staircase, with a heavily reinforced bannister, aims its way skyward to the right of the front door.  The big man leads the cameraman left, into the living room. Tonnage sits in a wooden rocking chair, while directing the cameraman to take a seat on the couch across the room. T : Lou likes to keep himself busy all of the time, so he doesn't do     much talking. He may make an appearance later, but I doubt it.     Anyway, it's me you've come here to see, so let's get on with it.     As you already know, I am Tonnage, also known as the Beast for     obvious reasons, including my preferred entrance theme.  I suppose     there are a lot of things you'd like to ask me about, and I'll try     to address each of them as best I can.  If I forget anything, feel     free to remind me.     Firstly, why am I here?  Well, the answer to that is twofold.  As     with most people, I'm here to lay claim to the World title.  Unlike     many, however, I'm not going to come on with some kind of lame     garbage like "I'm the greatest, so I'm owed a title shot right now!"     It's true, I _am_ the greatest, but I fully intend to prove that in     the only place it matters... the ring.  That's always been my way, of course, as several people in the IIWF know all too well.  So for the time being, Requiem, whom I believe holds that particular title at this moment, has nothing to worry about.     The second reason I'm here is more important, in my mind.  You see,     I've been in this business for over a decade.  I've beaten the     living hell out of every type of scrub there is in this sport... the     human ping pong balls, the powerhouses, the technical wizards, and     those lowlifes who supplement their lack of any talent with the use     of things like a two by four.  One by one, I've stared down the best     all those individual categories of competitors had to offer, and put     the boots to them.  Except for a few... a very important few.     For far too long, I've been a legend in a few organizations and     virtually unknown outside them.  Now, I don't have to prove my     ability to anyone, but I do feel the need to have my name in the     record books.  Let's just say that fame is a just form of payment,     which I enjoy collecting.  I love what I do, and I'm damned good at     it, so it's only fitting that I be recognized for my awesome skill.     So, I'm here to reverse this strange phenomenon that's been     occurring to date.     What phenomenon is that, you may ask?  Well, it's very simple.  A     whole lot of slimy little scuzbuckets get a whole lot more credit     than they deserve, and I'm sick of it.  And where do all these     dirtbags come from?  The IIWF, for some reason.  I don't know why it     is that the worst examples of that all seem to be here, but it was     enough to bring me.  People like the Queer Man, or Q-Ball, or     whatever the hell he calls himself now... I mean, I stomped his ass     silly in the TAEWF about a _year_ ago, and yet his name carries more     weight than mine.  Then you've got Deathbreath, a lameass loser if     I've _ever_ seen one.  As far as I know, he's nothing special here     anyway, so that's good. But, I do owe him an ass kicking, just on     principle, so if I don't get him into the ring in the IEWF, this     venue is as good as any.  Who else?  Pity that Kauffman got away... I was looking forward to trashing him.  Maybe in the KoW tourney, if     _that_ ever gets off the ground again.  Well, I suppose I could     mention LeDrek, but he's really beneath my notice.  Not that any of     the others _isn't_, mind you, but even they're worth a little wasted     time.  The point is that these kind of people are just totally     overrated, and undertalented.  Yet they still get treated like     they're something special, simply because they got in here.  Like     _this_ place is anything to write home about; it's got nothing on     WAR!, I can tell you that much.  And that reminds me... Byron.     I've heard that he already got chased out of here.  Kind of a shame,     really; he and I never did settle up.  Of course, he probably heard     I was coming, and voluntarily lost that Loser Leaves Town match     anyway.  He was never anything but a Tonnage wannabe in WAR!, and     after he stabbed me in the back, I simply wanted to take care of     business.  Naturally, he hit the bricks like a bat out of Hell     immediately thereafter.  Oh well, just goes to show you that he     never could measure up to me.     Oh well, best not to dwell on the past.  Like the announcers said at     the five man tag, what happened before doesn't mean anything.  But     what happened at that match was certainly telling, wasn't it?  It     tells a story of agony, of suffering, of the carnage I'm going to     leave in my wake as I tear each and every maggot that they send     against me to shreds.  I really don't care what anyone in the IIWF     thinks of their resident brownnosers... and once I'm through with     them, neither will they.  You can kiss the president's ass as hard     as you want; he can't save you when you're across the ring from five     hundred sixty five pounds of career ending devastation.  Sooner or     later, you'll have to take the match, and when that happens, God     have mercy on your sorry asses. In the meantime, however...     There are a couple of people in the IIWF as new as I am.  People who     are just as overrated as the pusbags that have been here awhile.     I've seen one of them in the IEWF, and I've been longing to wipe the     mat with his fool head. Jericho.  Yeah, that scrawny crapweasel has     been hiding behind an announcer's table ever since I came to the     IEWF, because he knew what was waiting for him in the ring.     Smartest thing he's ever done, topped off by the stupidest in coming     here.  I see you've recovered from that "injury", Jericho, and     that's good.  Now, I can send you back to County General and make     sure the job's finished.  I haven't been interested in retiring     anyone for a long time, but your worthless presence has piqued that     interest in a big way.  In fact, this will make up for the way that     Newjerk ducked and dodged his way right out of the league, knowing     how badly I'd show up his wrinkled hide.  What better way to shatter     a myth about a so-called legend than to whallop one who's had such a     convenient excuse for avoiding me over the past two months?  So,     Jericho, if you can manage to stop soiling your shorts long enough     to make it to the ring, I'm calling your punk ass out.  It's rare     these days that I have a real reason for wanting to pummel somebody,     other than pure entertainment, so this will be that much more fun.     Listening to all those pathetic tosspots in the audience crying over     your limp carcass... that's worth a trip to the ring, methinks.     Anyway, I'm wasting time here.  I'll have more to say about things     when the time is right... for now, sit back and enjoy yourself.     Dinner's almost ready, and nobody who's a guest at my house leaves     hungry.  To the rest of you, toodles! [Fade out] LM: He sure had a lot to say. BL: He's a big guy. It's only natural that his mouth is proportionate to     his body. LM: He didn't have too many nice things to say about the IIWF. BL: That's because he's a heel. LM: Brian, will you stop that!? BL: What? LM: You know what... Folks, up next we have... BL: Cut it right there, Larry. _I_ do the intro for these guys. Ladies     and gentlemen, here is The Syndicate. [Scenes fade on to the screen from Midsummer Madness '96... The cheering fans, the Syndicate stable walking own the aisle... Tiger Claw holding a sign that reads "Hakiro, How could you?" Hakiro Matsuoko brushing off the fans, Joe Latta coming to the ring with Carla Daugherty, then Brian Lau on the microphone.] BL: Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the fourth member of the     Syndicate... The "mystery partner." I give you Casey "Blackheart"     James!" [The crowd gives a heel pop, and James comes out to the head of the aisle. The volume on the footage lowers, and the voice of Casey James is heard in a voice over.] CJ: A year ago... That's when it started... I came out, and with the     rest of my team, my family, my friends, I became part of a legacy. [Footage of James pinning Brandon Bennett, then gloating at Dan Kauffman.] CJ: That was the first day of the rest of my life. Unfortunately, we     lost that one. [Footage of Deathbringer holding the IIWF World Heavyweight championship belt high in the air.] CJ: Right there... That was the moment. That was the moment when one man     started thinking. [Footage of The Masked Outlaw sneering at Deathbringer through his mask.] CJ: That man went on to divide the IIWF. Two factions fought for     control. That one man brought all the stables together, and sought     to wipe out any who opposed us. Leading the opposition was     Deathbringer. [Footage of the Outlaw without his mask, taking on his true persona... J.W. Hardin.] CJ: We almost tore the IIWF apart. [The footage changes to Ring Wars II, showing Otto Verhoeven holding the Heavyweight title aloft, and chaos reigning in the ring, around the ring, and in the stands. The image fades, and dissolves into a shot of Casey James and Tiger Claw standing in darkness, illuminated by a single light.] CJ: The IIWF is divided again. [Looks at his watch] A little early this     year, but it's happening. This time it isn't the dark against the     light. It's the old against the new. The New Generation have run     rampant in the IIWF for long enough, and now it's time for the rest     of us to rise up again. It began at the Clash, and it's going to     continue to grow until it's too big for anyone to ignore. We will be     heard. [The light gets brighter.] CJ: This is no longer about who's the nicest or the baddest. This is no     longer about double and triple crosses. This is no longer about     titles. This is about pride. Pride in who we are, and where we've     been. Kids, we've been here since the start, and we're not going to     roll over just because someone took a liking to you. We don't buy in     to this has-been crap. Before you stand two men. Next week it might     be four, then eight, then sixteen. Of course, next week, there may     still only be the two of us. It doesn't really matter, because you     know what they say... One man protecting his homeland is worth ten     invaders. The IIWF is our homeland. We have a duty to stand up for     it. What we do may hurt, but it's for the better good. When all is     said and done, we'll have the scars to show the world, but we'll     also have something to call our own... Again. TC: IIWF... New Generation... We're going to tear you apart. [Fade.] LM: What are they talking about? Casey James and Tiger Claw terrorized     the IIWF for over a year! BL: So what? It's still their turf. LM: No, that's not right! BL: Why don't you sit down and shut up, Morton? You wanted someone to     stop Genesis, right? LM: Well, yeah... I guess... BL: Well we just saw two men who will give it their all to stop Genesis,     whether anyone helps them or not. Casey James and Tiger Claw are two     of the most intense men I have ever known. If anyone can get the job     done, they can. LM: Well, I guess we'll have to see what Genesis thinks about that in     the weeks to come. Folks, we're out of time this week, so I'd like     to take this moment to say, "So long, and we'll see you next week."     Except, maybe for Brian. BL: Not likely, Morton. Everyone loves the controversy. LM: We'll see about that. So long, folks! [The tribal drums of "Rattamahatta" start up again as the shot pulls away, exposing the entire studio. Larry turns to Brian to say something, but Brian quickly gets up and walks away.] +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+