[Fade up on footage captioned "Last Week on IIWF Saturday Night." It is mere moments before the scheduled bout between IIWF Intercontinental Champion Creed and his "Black Pack" partner, Ike Sampson. Creed slaps a few of the outstretched hands on his way down the aisle, though Watkins remains impassive, and both men climb through the ropes and into the ring. Creed receives the microphone from Sparkplug Lee.] CREED: Heard 'bout what some gutless punk did to my boy Ike earlier        tonight. [Footage entitled "Earlier in the Evening" begins to roll and shows Steve Summer explaining the viscious attack of Ike Sampson by a masked man in Ike's dressing room.  Summer can be heard to say "attacked by a bar-wielding assailant in an evil "smiley face" mask and wearing a shirt that read "Be Afraid.  Be Very Afraid." The smooth baritone voice over of IIWF annoucer-supreme Tim Dross kicks in over last week's footage.] TD: Last week, the world was prepared to see the first ever title defense of the phenom -- the red-gloved rookie Creed.  But someone had other plans.  [A shot of Ike Sampson being escorted to Portland General hospital flashes across the screen.] TD: But being a champion isn't worth much unless you take on all comers. And Creed is a fighting champion. [Return to footage of Creed and Watkins in the ring as Creed works the microphone.]    CREED: I came here tonight to defend my title -- and I gonna defend my title -- and I gonna defend my title right here and right now! [Big pop as Creed thrusts his blood red left glove in the air, accepting the chants... "Creed! Creed! Creed!"]       Now -- I know there someone back there who want some... I know there someone in the IIWF who ready to fight.  I want any man in the IIWF to come out here right now and find out why Creed is the best wrestler in the world today! [The crowd grows silent as each and every neck cranes to the top of the aisle... each fan looking to see whom it will be who accepts the challenge of the red gloved Intercontinental Champion. There is a pause... and then the opening strains of a song all too familiar to the young champ...] TD: That's... that's "Paint it Black"!  That's "Paint It Black"! [Shocked pop as Creed turns around and stares dead in the face of the man who has served as his mentor for the past few months... the man who saved Creed time and time again in his battles with the European Alliance... the man who now pulls his sweatshirt over his head to reveal a black T-shirt which reads... "Be Afraid.  Be Very Afraid."] TD: IT'S MAD DOG WATKINS!  IT'S MAD DOG WATKINS!  I can't... I don't... SR: Hah!  He set him up, Dross!  I think that old Watkins set him up! TD: We're gonna see this!  We're gonna see Creed/Watkins 2 -- and we're     gonna see it right now!     [The warping, driving sounds of the opening guitar riff to "Casual Affair" by Tonic kicks in as footage of Mad Dog Watkins taking it to the Intercontinental champion and _friend_ Creed fills the screen.] TD: The betrayal... [Highlights of last week's brutal match flash across the screen as "Casual Affair" plays on... # So you give it all, in the world today # # You say it's all about the passion, and the wars you wage. # A shot of Watkins gut-wrech powerbombing the big rookie to the canvas is followed by the image of Watkins viciously hammering the knee of Creed across the unforgiving steel of the ringpost. # I'm not saying I'm one for violence, but it keeps me hanging on. # A shot of Creed's face, contorted in a grimace of pure pain as he reaches out to the ropes.] TD: The brutality... [The song continues: # It's a casual affair, when everybody loves you # Shots of the fans in the IIWF Coliseum as they sit in shock, dumbstruck by Watkins' actions, then later as they rally behind Creed as he hops to his feet. # Oh, they'll pay top dollar - make you wear the dog collar... when everybody loves you. # The sounds of the crowd chanting "Payback! Payback! Payback!" can be heard and then Watkins nails the hobbling Creed with a thunderous lariat to drop the big rookie to the canvas.] TD: A new-found kinship destroyed... [Shots of Watkins and Creed together only a week before turn to a shot of the two ebony warriors, standing toe-to-toe and slugging it out in the middle of the ring.  #I said I'm not afraid of change.  I'm not afraid to lose # Shots of Creed's rally and subsequent destruction of his former mentor... and Creed's preparation of the "Goodnight, Farewell, Amen" powerbomb. # They say it's all about the sacrifice, and the weapons you chose #  The lights go out in the Coliseum and a sick, dull "thud" is heard... when the shot returns Creed is laying, bloodied, in the ring and his attacker retreats down the aisle -- sporting an eerie smiley face mask and a t-shirt that reads "Be Afraid.  Be Very Afraid."] [The song continues: # Like I said, I'm not one for violence - but it keeps me hanging on # Shot of Watkins nailing the "Every Dog has His Day" Samoan Drop finisher for the turnbuckle and the warping, grinding guitars of "Casual Affair" coming to a thunderous stop.  Drumbeats echo as Watkins makes the cover and the count is made: 1 - 2 - 3!] TD: A new Intercontinental Champion is crowned... [The last line of "Casual Affair" is replayed: # Like I said, I'm not one for violence, but it keeps me hanging on # as Watkins leaps from the top rope in a turnbuckle-to-the-floor powerbomb that leaves Creed out cold and the crowd sitting in a sickened silence.] MDW: "Payback"... [MDW's words echo over and over again as the highlight package replays in fast forward and ends with Watkins holding the IC belt up high as he makes his way back to the dressing room.] TD: Can the pieces be put back together? [Drumbeats eerily echo as the shot of a fallen Creed is shown sitting upright in shock as Watkins' exits with not only his belt, but a little but of the big rookie's heart.  The montage closes with the sounds of "Creed! Creed! Creed!" being chanted to the crimson-clad rookie as he struggles away up the aisle.] TD: Find out tonight, on... [The opening graphics explode onto the screen admidst a blaze of percussion and heavy bass:] ##### ###### ### ########## ########## ########## #### ## ########## ########## ########## #### # #### ######## ##### ##### #### ## ##### #### #### #### #### ### #### #### #### #### ############# ######### #### #### ########### ######### #### #### #### #### #### ######### ######### ### #### #### ######### ######### ### ## #### ######## ######## ## # #### =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- ## =-=-=-= INTERNATIONAL INTERNET WRESTLING FEDERATION =============================================== S + A + T + U + R + D + A + Y N + I + G + H + T ----------------------------------------------- + LiVE! + 9 August 1997 + LiVE! + IIWF Coliseum, Portland, Oregon [The opening graphics fade through to a montage of interior shots of the IIWF Coliseum, panning wildly over the sea of some twenty thousand fans lining the stands, many waving banners and wearing IIWF merchandise, some even dressed up as their favourite wrestlers. The various factions are evident in their little pockets of the stands -- the Sychopaths, the Furies, the Genesis Generation, the Dirty Doggies -- as the shots continue to cut quickly. Suddenly, the crowd is brought alive by a huge volley of fireworks exploding above the ring, rockets and flare shooting down towards the top of the aisle, where they seem to trigger another volley of explosions, another bank of fireworks exploding in sequence down the aisle towards the ring, where flame-pots on the four ringposts erupt in red fire. Huge, huge pop! Above these scenes come the voice of Tim Dross:] TD: Welcome everybody to downtown Portland, Oregon! Welcome to the home of the finest wrestling organisation in the world today! Welcome to the IIWF Coliseum! Welcome... to IIWF Saturday Night! [The shot continues to pan past row upon row of excited fans, finally coming to rest on the broadcast table at ringside, at which are seated Tim Dross, dressed in his customary IIWF blazer, and "Soundbite" Steve Roberts, who wears his leather jacket over a t-shirt that reads "Day 28 - IIWF Under Siege."] TD: Howdy, folks, and welcome to the show. It's been another incredible week here in the IIWF, both in the ring and behind the scenes, and what better way to round it off than with the most explosive, most exciting two hours of wrestling entertainment on television? I'm Tim Dross, and alongside me is my broadcast colleague, the inimitable "Soundbite" Steve Roberts, whose pleas to have the week off have once again been ignored. SR: Dammit, Dross, the suits don't pay me enough for this job. Every week, I sit through matches with ugly midgets -- like Sebastian Jericho, what a combination, Dross -- crazy tag teams with more guys on the outside than in the ring, and people I just plain don't understand, like Boy Requiem and his Culture Club. They just don't pay me enough. TD: Well, Steve, with a lineup like the one we have in prospect here tonight, I'd quite happily pay my money like every one of the twenty thousand fans cramming the arena just to be a part of the action. And there is nothing quite like seeing the IIWF live, folks. SR: Aw, can it, Dross. You're full of the big pitch tonight, aren't you, buddy? TD: It's going to be a tremendous two hours, folks -- we in our championship match for the evening, Genesis members Cold Spell will defend their titles against the impressive Violence Unlimited. [The camera pans over the ringside fans, pausing on a group of Furies, many of them wearing "Garden State Kid" t-shirts and drinking beer. Amongst them are seated Jaguar and Mutilator, Violence Unlimited, in their wrestling attire, beside three masked men, dressed in black.] TD: Once again, Steve, Violence Unlimited are seated in the crowd. Two weeks ago, they appeared in the midst of the Sychopaths, and promised to surprise us all -- but so far, no surprise has been forthcoming. SR: Perhaps their surprise was that there _was_ no surprise, Dross. TD: I doubt that, Steve. I'm sure that the three masked men seated with them are going to be of some importance. [Cut back to the broadcast table.] TD: On top of that, our main event will see two men who many observers have called uncrowned champions -- Steve "the Fury" Kowalski and "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley -- face off in a huge, huge match -- and we'll also see the Fury's bitter rival Brody Thunder, minus his trademark hat, which is currently in Kowalski's possession, take on fellow Texan Ronnie Paris, making his first appearance since his wedding a few weeks ago. SR: So widdle Wonnie actually married Maggie, did she? Wake up, Ronnie, I think I've got something to say to you... TD: Quite. We will see Genesis members in no less than three matches here tonight -- as I have already mentioned, Cold Spell will be facing Violence Unlimited, while the Highwayman will take on Derek Mota, the man who was on the receiving end of two brutal beatings from Genesis last week, but who just keeps on coming back for more, and Serge Annis faces the Phoenix in a match which the "Epitome of Evil" has stated will be his chance to prove to us all that he is a worthy member of Genesis -- and he has promised to beat the Phoenix on his own. SR: Yeah, yeah. Annis is always moaning that people call him an over-rated stiff -- and they're not wrong, baby dolls. TD: No doubt some would agree with your analysis, Steve, but I am not one of them. Annis is undoubtedly a very dangerous and formidable opponent, and his battle with the Phoenix could be a fiery one indeed later on tonight. [Suddenly "Little Willie" blares from the speakers and there is a face pop from the crowd.] SR: Oh no. TD: And here comes "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare! Right here, next week, on the very special fiftieth edition of IIWF Saturday Night, one of the most decorated men in IIWF history, Billy Shakespeare, will face three opponents in succession without so much as a breather. Last week, he issued the challenge and stated that he had three open contracts -- and I can only imagine that none of those contracts have been filled. But they're about to be! [Billy Shakespeare steps from the entry arch into a spotlight, gives his customary deep bow, and then makes his way to the ring, hi-fiving the fans as he goes. Behind him come two lovelies, to familiar to long-time fans as the nymphs who assulted Moondust. Amidst wolf whistles from the male fans in the crowd, they wheel in the wire hopper filled with the wrestlers names.  They park by the ringside broadcast table. Billy grabs a mic, and Steve Roberts grabs a nymph.] BS: The show must go on.  I've got three contracts to wrestle but no opponents in the matches.  We're about to fill those spaces by lot. [He spins the basket.]     You could have made this easy, you know.  But in all the excitement     surrounding Genesis, the wrestlers of the IIWF don't realize when     they're being called chicken to their faces.  More is the pity.      Let the Drama begin. [He pulls out a name, looking at it.]     Well, well, well.  This is a heck of a first act.  It can't get any     uglier than this. [He pulls another name.  The crowd is beginning to murmur, and a chant of "Tell us!" begins. He pulls another name.]     Not so bad as the first, but not any good either.  Looks like Little     Billy may be playing the role of a lifetime. [He pulls another name.  The "Tell us!" chant is at a fevered pitch]     And here is the third man, just where I want him.  That is all, remember, the play is the thing. [He starts to leave, the chant almost deafening.  Coyly he turns]     You want to know who I'm gonna face, don't you?  Well, here Dross,     read 'em. TD: Tonnage... [Huge pop from the crowd! Dross pauses.] ...Sebastian Jericho... [A chant of "Ugly! Ugly!" rises from the L'il Soundbiters behind the broadcast table. Roberts turns away from his nymph long enough to give his fans the thumbs up.] ...and Ronnie Paris! [Big surprised pop from the crowd! Shakespeare grins and then raises the microphone again:] BS: I promised you three opponents, and here they are.  As was writ in     Othello: "This is the night that either makes me or fordoes me quite." [He exits with the girls and the basket, Steve Roberts reluctantly unhanding his nymph as she struggles to extricate herself and follow her comrade.] SR: [trying to contain his laughter]  Tonnage!  It's gonna be over before it begins, Dross.  Remind me to bring my camcorder so I can record little Pukespeare's end. TD: Steve, you know videotaping is illegal in the Coliseum. SR: Shut up, Dross.  If I can only figure a way for Quigley and Warnett to face Tonnage... TD: What a night it's going to be next Saturday Night, right here from the IIWF Coliseum -- a real party atmosphere as we celebrate fifty editions of the finest weekly wrestling show anywhere on the planet! But right now, it's time for our opening match of the evening -- two newcomers, one a veteran journeyman, the other a hopeful young rookie -- Tonnage battles Dexter St. Croix: two of the IIWF's young bloods one on one. SR: Did you say "blood", Dross? Where? TD: [sigh] _New_ bloods, Steve.  We should see two complete opposites clash in a pivotal match in these two newcomers' careers.  Tonnage is a seven foot, 560 plus pounds New York giant, whereas Dexter St. Croix is a 6'1", 220 pound Jamaican.  A super-heavyweight powerhouse against a scientific, mat-wrestling cruiserweight.  Who's getting the tick in the win column, Steve? SR: You wake me up with talk of blood, then tell me I'm expected to watch a squash-match and ask me who's gonna win?  C'mon Dross, be realistic for a change.  Tonnage is two and a half times his weight, he's as strong as they come, and you gotta know when he gets his hands on this rastafarian he's gonna turn him into a chocolate-coloured pancake! TD: Don't write Dexter off, Steve.  He's not in the IIWF because he took a wrong turning -- he more than knows his way around a wrestling ring and is capable of tying Tonnage in knots -- seven feet, 565lbs knots, but knots all the same. SR: "The bigger they are, the harder they fall", "He's not seven foot when he's on the mat", "A good wrestler will always beat a good brawler", blah, blah, blah!  Let's get all of these crap clichés out of the way now, Dross, 'cause they're nothing but pathetic excuses!  They say being bald is a sign of virility, but that's a saying quoted by bald men who don't stand a chance of landing a woman by ordinary means!  You should know that all those other clichés are quoted by short, pathetic wrestlers to help them believe they have a vague chance of winning against guys the size of Tonnage! TD: Well, Steve, I didn't realise you felt this strongly about... SR: [Interrupting] ...and before you ask, I _was_ thinking of you when I mentioned baldness, Dross, because if you believed that crap about virility you wouldn't wear that dead rat on your head! TD: I never.. SR: [Interrupting] ...and another thing!  You just wait until The Smooth gets into the ring. That guy could go a handicap match with the whole of the Cruiserweight division! TD: [waits a moment before speaking] Uh, let's get down to the ring for the introductions. SR: Yeah, let's! =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Tonnage vs. Dexter St. Croix -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: MB [Sparkplug Lee, having recently climbed into the ring, brings the mic to his mouth and begins the introductions:] RA: Your first match of this evening is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, weighing 565 pounds and hailing from Albany, New York... Tonnage! ["The Beast" by Twisted Sister piped over the loud-speakers as the huge figure of Tonnage appears at the head of the aisle to a heel pop. Tonnage is, as usual, accompanied to the ring by his manager Little Louie, who is positively diminutive alongside his long-time friend. Tonnage rolls into the ring and with a sneer at referee Joey Patrick, stands in the corner of the ring to await his opponent.] RA: And his opponent... Hailing from Kingston, Jamaica, and weighing in at 220lbs... Dexter St. Croix! [A crowd pop accompanies "Exodus" by Bob Marley and the Wailers in welcoming the already-popular Jamaican to the ring.  Dexter St. Croix is, however, not alone as he walks the aisle; walking alongside him is a group of two men and three women, dressed in tie-dyed T-shirts and shorts.] SR: Who are the idiots, Dross? TD: Those must be the close group of friends he affectionately calls his "Posse". SR: No bad thing them being at ringside, I suppose.  Dreadlock will need someone to scrape him up and carry him to the hospital when this match is over.  Who better than his closest friends? [A few clamouring fans ask for autographs, which he duly signs with a smile, before he too gets into the ring to await the bell, performing a few warm-ups, while his friends take up some pre-booked seats at ringside.] TD: Popular young man.  Always finds a smile and some time for a fan. SR: Squash match, Dross!  Pancakes, anyone? [Joey Patrick signals for the bell when Lee climbs from the ring and regains his ringside seat.  The two combatants lock-up in the centre of the ring, Dexter slipping off to one side before Tonnage can bring his weight to bear in the hold, hanging onto one arm and placing the bigger man in an armbar.  Tonnage simply hits him in the side of the head with an elbow shot to free his arm, then follows up with a couple of closed fists which drops the Jamaican to the mat.  Tonnage lifts a huge leg horizontally and drops it across Dexter's head.  Heel Pop!  Tonnage pulls up his opponent and bodyslams him down hard, then runs to the far ropes and comes bouncing back with a well targeted splash... though the target has long since moved!  Dexter regains his feet and as Tonnage climbs to his feet -- no mean task in itself -- he catches the Albany native flush on the side of the head with a perfect standing dropkick!  Big crowd pop!] TD: Did you see the height on that drop-kick?  Amazing! SR: Is it over yet?  C'mon, big guy, don't drag it out any longer than necessary. [Dexter gets back to his feet to discover the drop-kick had staggered the big man, but hadn't succeeded in putting him on the mat. Unperturbed, he charges Tonnage and lands a clothesline, which staggers him further, pop!  One, two, three knife-edge chops force Tonnage into a corner where Dexter delivers a sharp kick into the stomach, followed by a second which has the seven foot man bent double, whereupon he hooks the head and drops into a DDT!  The crowd groan as Tonnage has the presence of mind to hang onto the ropes and Dexter crashes to the mat alone, cracking his head badly en route.  Tonnage takes a moment or two to get his bearings, before smiling to Louie and picking up his fallen opponent and throwing him into the same corner to show him how to do _real_ chops.  The first has Dex reeling holding his chest in obvious pain. The second lifts him clean off his feet and Dex needs the support of the ropes to stay on his feet!  The third and final one deposits him on his backside in the corner, where Tonnage places a massive boot against his throat and chokes him against the bottom rope!  The crowd and Dexter's Posse boo sharply and Patrick, the referee, warns him and forces to relinquish the choke on a count of four.  St. Croix is allowed to regain his feet before Patrick allows Tonnage near him again, and as he stands he is met with clubbing forearms and fists, followed by a suplex that knocks the air right out of the Kingston native.] SR: Nearly over!  Pin him Tonnage and let's get onto the next match. [Almost as if Tonnage heard him, he leans across for a pin: 1 - 2 - kickout!  Tonnage drags him to his feet and clasps him in a headlock, the massive arms threatening to suffocate Dexter, who struggles and eventually, after a deep breath, wraps his arms around his opponent's large girth and...] TD: Oh my! A back suplex out of nowhere!  What strength! SR: No way, Dross!  He slipped. It could happen to anyone. [The ring positively shakes as Tonnage hits the mat, and the fans shout their approval! St. Croix, still sucking air, sits up and drapes an arm across his chest for a pin: 1 - kickout! Dexter drops a quick elbow on the rising Tonnage which drops him back to the mat, and two snap legdrops keep him there.  Another pin: 1 - 2 - kickout!  As Tonnage tries to get back up, Dexter drives him back down again with a bulldog!  Pop!] TD: Slipped again, Steve? SR: So you saw it too? TD: [sigh] Dexter has him in a reverse chinlock, now.  A good move -- it should keep the big man on the mat. [Tonnage suffers the pain of the move for a moment or two, before rolling to his knees and climbing to his feet, with Dexter still holding the move and being carried on his back!  Pop!  Tonnage finds his bearings and charges backwards into a turnbuckle to crush his opponent.  Dexter, however, is ready for it -- and at the last moment, jumps up onto his shoulders and hangs on grimly while Tonnage crashes into the corner hard! Dexter leans forward, hooking his feet around his massive arms and, amazingly, pulls Tonnage off his feet into a victory roll!  Pop!  But the roll is rather sloppy and Dexter is unable to hold him down for the pin, so he drives the back of his calf across Tonnage's face a couple of times, and with the leg hooked, attempts another pin: 1 - 2 - kick out!  The crowd begins to sense an end coming, and their cheers begin to rise in volume. Dexter waits for his opponent to rise again and begins crashing vicious kicks into the side of the legs, keeping him off-balance, before running to the ropes and rocking him with a strong shoulderblock..] TD: No!  Tonnage caught him and delivered a punishing Powerslam! SR: Ring the bell -- this one is over, and not before time, Dross. [The crowd "boo"s the reversal of fortunes, and some of the Posse look downright worried as Dexter begins to feel once more the pain he had suffered during the earlier assault.  Tonnage climbs back to his full height on his slightly wobbly legs and pulls the hurting rastafarian to his feet along with him. After a look to Louie for inspiration, he grabs Dexter up and hoists him high into the air before dropping him almost ten feet back to the mat again with a press slam.  Dexter lies unmoving, so Tonnage begins to punish him further, pulling him up and lifting up and over, into a devastating powerbomb!  Tonnage's legs give out at the end of the move and he is forced to drop to his knees afterwards.] TD: This is really taking it out of both of them, Steve.  Not quite the squash match you and Tonnage expected, judging by the pain on the big man's face. SR: Tonnage feels sorry for him, Dross. He's just making him look good.  After all, he said it himself last night, Dex hasn't done anything to specifically hurt him. TD: I hate to disagree, Steve, but that pain is genuine.  Look at the grimace as he gets back to his feet. [Tonnage stands over his downed opponent and drags him to his feet again.  The crowd and the Posse are definitely worried for Dex's safety now, as the volume of the crowd noise rises again, and the massive form of Tonnage towers nearly a foot over the hurt Jamaican.  A pair of thirty-inch arms wrap themselves around Dexter and with a greater than necessary effort, he lifts him up and drives him into the mat with a stunning belly-to-belly suplex, keeping it locked in for the pin: 1 -  the crowd falls silent - 2 - a look of absolute horror on the faces of every member of the Posse, clashing starkly with the smile on Louie's! - THRE.. Kickout!  The crowd erupts!] TD: Oh my!  So very, very close! SR: C'mon Patrick!  That was a slow count if ever I saw one!  You been on the prozac again? [The move has taken its toll on Tonnage too, as he visibly has trouble getting back to his feet.  His opponent is wracked on the mat by spasms of pain and it seems as though some inner force is the only thing keeping him from simply giving up. He somehow finds the energy to get to his knees, breathing heavily, and as Tonnage stands, he hooks the head and hits him with an amazing spinning neckbreaker that has the crowd absolutely out of their seats!  Dex makes the cover: 1 - 2 - kickout -- just! Tonnage seems spent, and Dexter seems to find his second wind as he almost jumps to his feet and waits for the man from the Big Apple to follow, before once again bouncing off the ropes and jumping high for a crossbody block!] SR: He caught him!  It's over!  Waste him, chubby! TD: No -- no! He's off balance.  He's tumbling backwards! [Tonnage is unable to keep his balance any more as Dexter struggles furiously to topple him backwards.  The crowd goes wild and Louie, on the outside, is screaming.  He takes one final step back and topples...] TD: Saved by the ropes!  He's fell into the ropes and righted himself! He's back on his feet! [Tonnage has enough momentum from the ropes to take a few steps forward before he throws himself to the mat for a running splash, destroying Dexter in the process!  Heel Pop!  Patrick drops to the mat: 1 -- 2 -- 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] SR: About time too! TD: What an amazing match!  Let's get the official word... RA: Ladies and gentlemen, your winner as the result of a pinfall... Tonnage! [The crowd show their respect to both athletes for a clean, hard-fought contest as Louie, with a smile of relief, helps Tonnage to his feet and from the ring, showing rather remarkable strength himself!  Dexter begins to stir, and his friends jump the guardrail to help him to his feet.  He drapes his arms around their shoulders as they pull him up, and as he finally stands in the ring once more, the crowd gives him a good pop, bringing a weak smile to his face.] TD: There is no shame in losing a match of that quality, and the crowd is showing their appreciation of his efforts. SR: Still lost, though, didn't he, Dross? Huh? TD: Yes, but that was a match to be proud of.  He may have lost but he's shown us great resilience, and if he wrestles with such heart and determination in every match, he's sure to win many more than he loses. SR: Aw, come on, Dross? What about Tonnage?  He creamed him! Pancake city, baby!  If Dreadlock keeps losing in that style he might be respected, but he'll be at the bottom of the heap.  Maybe with Majestic Maurice McArthur getting a leg up with Petrow, we can get Dexter a job with the Jobber Justice Squad. TD: Thanks, Steve.  I'm sure Dexter appreciates those kind words. [St. Croix and his Posse head slowly up the aisle. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside as the crowd settles.] TD: So Tonnage and St. Croix have broken in the ring for tonight's action, and now we get to our next encounter on the card, as two historied men will take to the ring to square off. This certainly should be a heated battle, with the Highwayman, member of Genesis, facing Derek Mota, the man that Genesis left lying in the ring just last Saturday Night. Let's go back and take a look: [Cut to footage captioned, "Last Week." Derek Mota and Scott Rogers battle it out in the ring. Mota makes the cover on Rogers, but Requiem climbs to the apron, and Mota is straight back on his feet, blasting Requiem with a dropkick that sends the champion to the floor, where he is tended to by Annis, Highwayman and Fitz. Mota looks around at the crowd and points up to the sky. The fans give a huge cheer of approval as Mota moves to the corner and leaps up onto the top turnbuckle. Snippets of the original commentary are heard:] SR: He's -- he's facing the outside, Dross! Mota is facing outside the ring! TD: Oh my! [Cameras flash all over the Coliseum as Mota launches himself from the top turnbuckle to the outside with a perfectly executed Shooting Star Press, twisting into a full pike before opening up and hitting Requiem with the full surface of his body, knocking the champion to the floor once again! Huge, huge pop! Immediately, however, Highwayman, Annis and Fitz descend on Rogers and begin beating on him viciously. Meanwhile, in the ring, Rogers is beginning to stir.] TD: What a devastating manoeuvre from Derek Mota -- a Shooting Star Press to the outside, landing full square on Requiem -- but at what price? Mota is being absolutely brutalised by Genesis out here! [Highwayman drags Mota to his feet on the outside...] TD: Mota now -- oh my, the Daylight Robbery! Highwayman just executed that devastating neckbreaker on Derek Mota. This is horrible! Annis -- no! A chokeslam! Chokeslam! [Huge, huge heel pop as Mota is blasted to the floor by a chokeslam from Annis, who then drags Mota to his feet and rolls him back into the ring, where he is covered by a recovered Scott Rogers: 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner, as the result of a pinfall: Scott Rogers! [Huge heel pop as Genesis roll into the ring to join their victorious comrade, Highwayman raising one arm and Annis the other. However, their celebration is short-lived, as Mota begins to stir on the canvas, trying to fight to his feet -- and the full force of Genesis is turned on him once more, all five men beating on the plucky Canadian. Joey Patrick tries to interject himself, and is hit by a hard right hand from the IIWF Champion, knocking him to the mat! Suddenly, from out of the stands comes Duncan Macbeth, sliding into the ring under the bottom rope and dragging Mota out of Genesis' clutches, dragging him to the outside. Genesis yell insults and abuse at Macbeth from the ring, but the brawny Scot sensibly elects to remain on the outside, and helps Mota to the back. Cut to footage captioned, "Later That Evening." Requiem stands in the ring with the microphone:] REQ: Once again, Genesis stand tall -- and another foolish plot to discredit us is foiled. But still the Angel of Destruction hungers for new blood, for a true challenge. A warrior who will stand tall and fight like a man... but I know there is not a single soul who has the courage and the determination to face us. [Highwayman and Annis help Rogers into the ring, the Hurricane native wiping the blood away from his nose and shaking his head in fury, while all Genesis eyes are fixed on the entranceway.] REQ: Is there anybody out there? [Suddenly, the curtain is thrown aside, and somebody walks out into the aisle. Huge pop!] TD: Oh my! It's Derek Mota! Derek Mota is coming down to the ring! SR: Is this guy the freakin' Energizer bunny or something, Dross? TD: Derek Mota was brutally attacked by Genesis earlier tonight -- and he is coming back for more! SR: He's in no state to be dishing it out to five guys, Dross. He's done for. [Mota is limping slightly as he makes his way down to the ring, one eye swollen and discoloured, his left hand nursing his right shoulder -- but still he comes, this beaten man dragging himself down to the ring to face his enemies once more... and suddenly they are upon him! Highwayman, Annis, Rogers and Fitz launch themselves at the smaller Mota, and swamp him -- Mota gets in some good shots, sending Highwayman flying with a neat reverse kick, doubling Rogers over with a low blow and then hitting him with an uppercut which sends him to the floor, but Annis lays him out with a chokeslam on the concrete floor! Huge heel pop!] TD: Oh my! This is bad, Steve Roberts. [Annis rolls Mota into the ring, and Requiem lays his title belt on the canvas in front of him. He roughly grabs the back of Mota's head, almost enclosing his entire cranium in the grip of one big hand, and taunts him, rubbing his nose against the belt, before dragging him to his feet, doubling him over -- and powerbombing him right onto the belt! Mota's head hits the title belt hard as he is brought crashing down to the canvas! Huge heel pop!] TD: Oh my! Mota is out cold! He is out, Steve Roberts! [Zoom to a close-up of the battered Mota's face. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: After that kind of assault, Steve Roberts, most men would be out of action for a good few weeks -- but just seven days after taking everything Genesis could throw at him, Derek Mota is stepping into the ring with the Highwayman. SR: What a moron. TD: There has to be a big question mark over Mota's condition, Steve. This could be very serious. Let's get up to the ring for the introductions. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Highwayman vs. Derek Mota =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: NN [Sparkplug Lee steps into the spotlight once more, and twitches his eyebrows with a grin for the fans, before raising his microphone once more:] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the following matchup is scheduled for one fall! Introducing, first, from Toronto, Ontario, Canada... ["The Great Southern Trendkill" by Pantera starts on the PA. Derek Mota, a slim man with black hair, steps through the curtain.] RA: ...at 224 pounds, Derek Mota! [Mota ignores the fans completely, stalking to the ring in his long wrestling tights. One fans pats Mota on the back as he walks by, and Mota spins to spit at the fan.] SR: Ha! That was great! TD: That was disgusting -- and I think that Mr. Mota may have a great future here in the IIWF... one filled with fines and suspensions! SR: Oh, Dross... you should be suspended. Then I could get my due around here. [Mota bounces off the ropes, limbering up for the task. However, he seems a bit slowed by a problem with his right leg. A spotlight hits the curtain area.] RA: And his adversary... SR: [over the headset] His what? RA: ...weighs 285 pounds and is from Leeds, England. Ladies and gentlemen, a member of Genesis and a man who will, allegedly, celebrate his 330th birthday this year... Highwayman! [The crowd erupts in a hearty heel pop as the Highwayman steps through the curtain, oblivious to the noise. The Highwayman comes out in just his grey leather trousers and knee-high boots, eschewing the more decorative elements of his usual ring attire, and immediately hits the ring.] TD: I should point out something that may be very important in this match. Derek Mota seems to be slowed by some sort of injury to his leg, presumably sustained in the brawl with Genesis last week. That said, give me your thoughts on this match, Soundbite. SR: Well, I cogitate that due to the wind speed outside and the current economic state of mail order companies in America being affected by the UPS strike, that... oh, screw it. You know and I know, Dross, that one of two things will happen here. Either Highwayman will be disqualified due to outside interference, or the Highwayman will win the match due to outside interference. But either way -- we'll see the Genesis entourage. TD: Like vultures, Genesis swarms to a wounded animal, and if Mota is down on the outside, you can be rest assured that the renegades will take advantage. [The bell sounds and the two men circle each other. Mota comes in and executes a swift single leg takedown, then tries to spin around Highwayman's leg. Highwayman kicks away, though, and Mota takes a boot to the face. The Highwayman is jumps up and tries to drop an elbow on Mota, who was knocked to the ground, but Mota rolls away and applies a quick armbar. Highwayman tries to grab Mota's hair to escape, but the referee will not allow it.] TD: A very fast paced beginning to the match, but now we slow things down a bit as Derek Mota applies a wear down hold. SR: "We slow things down a bit." Are you some sort of night club musician? [Mota keeps hold of the arm as Highwayman struggles to get back to his feet. He gets up, and forces Mota into the ropes. Derek comes at the Highwayman, who drops to the ground. Mota hops over and comes at the Highwayman, who drops his head for a back body drop... and sends Mota flying halfway across the ring! Big heel pop! The Highwayman is quick to follow up with a clothesline, sending Mota to the canvas again. He covers - 1 - 2 - kickout. The Highwayman steps back and verbally berates Mota.] TD: Nice combination there by the Highwayman, but he's foolish indeed to lay off him like this. [Mota gets back to his feet and mockingly "brushes" his shoulder off. The Highwayman extends his left hand to Mota, offering a knucklelock. Mota looks puzzled, but slowly obliges, putting his hand in the Highwayman's. The Highwayman lures Mota in and executes a short clothesline, sending Mota halfway down to the mat. Mota is yanked back up, however, by the Highwayman, who still has a hold of Mota's right hand, and tossed into the turnbuckle. The Highwayman rushes in behind Mota and drops a shoulder, but Mota leaps back off the turnbuckle and over the Highwayman's head. He then locks Highwayman in a headlock and springs off the middle turnbuckle, executing a great headlock takedown! Highwayman's shoulders are down - 1 - 2 - he rolls out of it. The crowd applauds Mota's effort to regain control.] TD: A little respect being shown to Mota by this Portland crowd, Steve. SR: The kid's got some moves, that's for sure. [Boos echo from every corner, however, as Scott Rogers and Serge Annis are spotted, walking in on opposite sides of the aisle. Annis and Rogers beg for more jeers, while Cold Spell comes through as well, holding their IIWF World Tag Team Championship belts aloft.] SR: Culture Club have arrived. Yippee. TD: The rats flock to the scene. Must be cheese in the ring. SR: Something _smells_ like cheese. Is that you? TD: Mind your business. [Requiem steps in right behind Cold Spell, in the center of the action. He points to the belt around his waist as he makes his way to the ringside area. A strong contingent of the Genesis Generation offers a great amount of support for the gang. They all head to the ringside area together.] SR: I told you this would happen. [The action heads back up to the ring, where Mota sits in a Boston Crab, locked up by the Highwayman. The Highwayman sees his stable-mates making their way to the ring and nods in approval. About that time, however, Mota begins to struggle his way up out of the hold, and kicks the Highwayman off him and into the turnbuckle. Mota gets back up and whips the Highwayman to the other buckle. Mota follows up with a running elbow to the face of the Highwayman, who falls to the mat. Mota covers - 1 - 2 - kickout.] TD: Mota is one tough customer. Right now, the Highwayman is struggling to keep him down. SR: He is a very resilient young man, I'll grant him that. You've got to love his demeanour, too; the way he stalks around and gets down to business. [Mota grabs the Highwayman back up by the hair and takes him down with a scoop slam. Derek bounces off the rope and nails the Highwayman with a quick ropeflip legdrop. Mota heads to the outside and sets himself up on the top rope.] TD: Mota so exciting in the air, and though I don't know what he's going to pull out of his bag of tricks, I do know it'll be spectacular... [A hand comes from the floor into the ring, and grabs the Highwayman by the foot. As Requiem pulls the Highwayman out of danger, Mota turns and leaps upon the World Champion and the Highwayman with an outstanding plancha! Big pop!] TD: What a move! SR: The crowd sure liked it. They're not really cheering for Mota, though. He's kind of cheered by association, since everybody hates Boy Rectum. TD: Rather like Bill Clinton's election as President for his first term. People didn't really like Clinton. They weren't voting _for_ Clinton, they were voting _against_ George Bush. SR: I didn't realize you were such a political activist, Dross. Republican, I imagine? [Serge Annis and Scott Rogers come after Mota, but Derek stealthily re-enters the ring, just avoiding their grasp. Requiem and the Highwayman are laid out on the floor, and are attended to by Cold Spell. The referee lays a count on the Highwayman, who is pitched back into the ring by Rogers. Mota covers - 1 - 2 - kickout.] TD: What a great effort we're seeing here from Derek Mota. All of these men on the outside, and right now, Mota's outdoing them all! SR: Well, these guys aren't exactly putting up a great fight. They're making themselves look pretty stupid, actually. [Mota pulls the Highwayman back to his feet, who counters with a face rake. The Highwayman kicks Mota in the stomach and then drops him with a sloppy gutwrench suplex. The Highwayman looks at the Genesis Generation delegation and raises his hands to a huge reception from that section. The rest of the crowd boos and hisses. The Highwayman soaks up the GenGen pop and applies a bear hug on Mota. Mota soon gets one arm free, but the Highwayman takes him down with a belly to belly suplex! He covers - 1 - 2 - kickout. Highwayman, frustrated, begins to kick and stomp Mota in the head, until he falls out to the floor.] TD: I'll tell you one thing... I wouldn't want to be out there. SR: No kidding. [As Rogers and Annis lay the boots to Mota on the outside, Icehawk and Fitz keep the referee detained from the other side of the ring. Derek refuses to stay down, however, struggling to his feet and pummeling his assailer, eventually rocking both men. He is able to drop Annis with a big right hand, and then grabs Rogers by the hair and walks him over to the GenGen section. Mota yells, "Take this trash!" before pitching Rogers into the crowd at the feet of the Genesis backers. Mota heads back into the ring and hits the Highwayman with everything he has: lefts, rights, kicks and clotheslines. The Highwayman overwhelmed, and falls to the mat.] TD: What unbelievable fight out of young Derek Mota! SR: I cannot believe what I'm seeing. Here we have a stable which holds three out of the five belts in the IIWF getting taken out by Derek Mota... a street punk of sorts. [Icehawk and Fitz sense that things are breaking down, and they jump up on the apron. Mota grabs Icehawk by the head and knocks him off the apron with an elbow to the nose, but Fitz grabs Mota's ankle and pulls him to the floor. Fitz, much larger than Derek, pounds him repeatedly, but Mota slugs right back. As Mota gains the upper hand, Requiem sneaks around the corner and clips him in the back of his knee! Big heel pop!] TD: The champ gets in a cheap shot! [Fitz picks Mota back up and hands him to the champion. Requiem drops him with a mighty chokeslam and tosses him back into the ring. The Highwayman gets up off the canvas and slowly cranks Mota up for a neckbreaker and delivers it!] TD: This is awful! The Daylight Robbery has been planted upon Mota... and I have to say, this _was_ a Daylight Robbery. SR: Derek Mota put up a great fight, but came up short here. [The Highwayman covers, and the referee drops to the canvas to make the count: 1 - 2 - 3. The bell sounds.] RA: The winner of the match... The Highwayman! [Requiem points at Mota in the ring, sending the entire stable into action. Scott Rogers hops into the ring first to congratulate the Highwayman. Requiem slowly makes his way up the stairs and points to the top turnbuckle. The Highwayman sets Mota up on top, and Rogers goes up with him.] TD: No! This is absolutely terrible! Mota doesn't deserve this! [The Genesis fans pop as Rogers delivers his belly-to-belly superplex on Mota. Requiem nods his head in approval as debris comes flying into the ring. Serge Annis is the next to attack, performing his finisher, a huge leg sweep chokeslam, upon Mota's nigh-on unconscious body. Security races to ringside, and tries to clear the area, but after Cold Spell ejects a couple of suits, the rest back off. Requiem then heads up to the top rope and orders that his henchmen bring Mota to him...] TD: We've got to have some help out here. If he executes the Final Lament on Derek Mota, he may never again wrestle in the IIWF ranks! Mota doesn't deserve this! [As Requiem gets a hold of Derek Mota, a pop erupts. The Jobber Justice Squad, led by the incomparable "Nifty" Ned Norton, races to the ring. Requiem quickly executes a sloppy top rope powerbomb just before the JJS hits the ring. Genesis tries to fight the crusaders off, but are quickly overwhelmed and flee the area. The JJS then surrounds Mota, tending to him as medical staff make their way to the ring, bringing with them a stretcher and a back board.] TD: Derek Mota has once again been laid out by the Genesis stable. SR: I would imagine some fines will be levied on Boy Requiem and his thugs here, Dross -- although I doubt they'll even notice. TD: I hope so. We can't be terrorized in the IIWF by a bunch of goons. [The members of Genesis toss the Jobber Justice Squad out of the ring, and threaten the paramedics as the fans begin to pelt them with garbage from the stands. Scott Rogers and Serge Annis pick up choice pieces of debris and hurl them back from whence they came. Throughout it all, the crowd continues to give a solid heel reaction. Requiem moves to the ropes and mockingly holds them open for one of the medical staff to enter the ring. As the paramedic moves to the apron -- Requiem shoves him back to the arena floor! Huge heel pop!] TD: Oh, this is disgusting, Steve Roberts. SR: Oh, you're funny, Requiem. You're such a big man. Now let the people do their work, you moron. TD: Derek Mota is not getting the treatment he needs here, Steve -- this is a very dangerous situation. He's still not moving in there. [The stand-off continues as more officials make their way down the aisle. Highwayman bends over Mota and motions to the paramedics that he'll give them a hand -- and proceeds to slap Mota viciously around the face! Huge, huge heel pop! Finally, a pair of paramedics slide into the ring under the bottom rope and gingerly pull Mota towards the ropes. Springing into action, the rest of the medical crew help in moving him onto the back-board and strapping him down, before carefully placing him on the stretcher and finally heading back up the aisle, officials surrounding the stretcher and preventing either the fans or the cameras getting a look at the injured Mota.] TD: Oh, Mota is hurt, Steve Roberts. He is hurt. The kind of punishment he has taken from Genesis in the past few weeks is the kind of thing that can shorten, if not end, careers in this sport. And just look at them in the ring -- absolutely jubilant. SR: Very few things make me sick, Dross -- and Genesis sure as hell ain't one of them. The thought of seeing your mother in her underwear, now _that_ makes me sick. TD: Can we leave mama Dross out of this? SR: I certainly hope so, baby dolls. [Requiem pats the Highwayman on the shoulder, the Englishman motioning at his waist that he will soon be in possession of a championship belt. Annis and Rogers join the World Heavyweight Champion and the World Tag Team Champions in showboating to the crowd.] TD: It looks like Genesis are content to stay put in the ring here, Steve -- and it's Serge Annis who'll see action next, as he goes up against the Phoenix. What a disgusting display of violence by Genesis. SR: Even though I don't like these morons, I don't know how you can get the words "violence" and "disgusting" into the same sentence, Dross.  Blood is good.  I honestly think we need to see more of it around here.  I volunteer Quigley for bleeder duty.  Lord knows he's good enough at it. TD: Let's get to Sparkplug Lee for the announcements. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= The Phoenix vs. Serge Annis =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: RR [The shot cuts to the ringside area, where Lee is still standing next to the timekeeper and looking warily into the ring at the members of Genesis.  Hesitantly, he grabs the microphone and climbs between the ring ropes, and begins to announce the next match, the various Genesis members crowding him and threatening him.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, this next match is scheduled for one fall.  Introducing first, accompanied by Genesis who... ummm... who are already in the ring... hailing from Oakville, Ontario, Canada, and weighing in at 295lbs, here is... Serge Annis! [Crowd heel pops as Annis removes his leather jacket and tosses it to Highwayman, who drapes it over his shoulder as the rest of Genesis leave the ring and take up positions around it.] RA: And his opponent, weighing in at 235 pounds and hailing from Cherokee, North Carolina... The Phoenix! [An eagle's screech blares over the loudspeakers as The Phoenix emerges alone from the locker room.  He walks down to ringside, keeping a close eye on Genesis.] SR: Where's Chicken's friends? TD: That's _Phoenix_, Steve.  Apparently Luke Steele was unable to make it to the arena tonight, and Ronnie Paris has his concentration already occupied by his match against Brody Thunder later tonight. SR: Doesn't take much to occupy that man's mind.  Heard he was mesmerized for an hour by a brick once.  Besides, it looks like it's Phoenix against... [stands up and counts the Genesis members] a whole bunch of pissed off people that are bigger than him.  I think maybe Paris might want to reconsider what he's worried about. [Phoenix enters the ring and raises his arms, looking at the cheering crowd... but is rapidly snapped back to attention by a clothesline from behind by Annis.  The bell rings, signifying the REAL start of the match, but Annis is already laying into Phoenix with a series of hard boots to the head and ribs.  When he's conviced that he's done enough kicking for the time being, he grabs Phoenix by the hair, picks him up, and bounces him off the mat with a bodyslam.] TD: Agressive tactics here by Annis. SR: You always did have a pretty keen grasp of the obvious, didn't you, Dross? TD: Yep, I've always been pretty good at that. SR: So how come you still haven't noticed there's a weasel tacked to your head? [Back in the ring, Annis picks Phoenix up and batters him back into a corner with a number of forearm shots.  He sets his feet and pulls, whipping Phoenix across the ring into the other turnbuckle, and following closely behind.  Phoenix, however, leaps up as he nears the corner, kicking off the top turnbuckle and backwards over Annis, who runs chest-first into the corner pads.  On the way down, though, Phoenix unloads a dropkick right between Annis' shoulder blades, causing the larger man to stagger backwards after being smashed against the turnbuckle again, and into a quick roll-up by Phoenix.] TD: One... two... th... no, Annis got his shoulder up! SR: Looks like Genesis is itching for some action... Cold Spell nearly jumped into the ring there. [Indeed, Fitz is being restrained by his partner from climbing into the ring and causing mayhem, being told that the match isn't over yet.  Phoenix, oblivious to this, pulls Annis to his feet, peppering him with chops to the head and reverse knife-hand shots to the chest, then lands a stiff spinning heel kick to Annis' jaw which slumps him against the corner again.  Phoenix then runs back across the ring and slingshots himself off the ropes, rolling into a cartwheel then finally springing at Annis with an elbow than sends the big man to the canvas and rolling out of the ring to collect his thoughts and his breath.  Highwayman walks over to see if his partner is okay, while Cold Spell remains on the opposite side of the ring.  Phoenix has no intention of letting this breather occur and jumps onto the second rope, twisting his body and backflipping over the top rope to the outside, crushing both Annis and the Highwayman under his body as he comes down.] TD: Asai Moonsault by Phoenix! SR: No it wasn't. TD: Huh?  Yes it was.  That was an Asai... SR: No, Dross, it wasn't.  It was a cheap imitation of one.  The "Soundbite's" moonsault is a whole world better. [Phoenix picks himself up and rolls back into the ring as Scott Rogers comes charging around from the other side.  Annis, dazed after the aerial attack he just was on the receiving end of, stands up groggily and also rolls back in, where a waiting Phoenix meets him with a chop to the head, then an Irish whip against the ropes.  Annis reverses the whip, but misses the clothesline as Phoenix ducks on the rebound.  Off the other side, Phoenix comes back with a cross body block, only to be caught in mid-air and dropped down into a powerslam by Annis.  Annis rises slowly, standing over the winded Phoenix, and picks him up, but is met with a chop to the jaw that staggers him again.  Phoenix steps around behind Annis, and when Annis turns to try to find his opponent, is laid out on the mat by a Frankensteiner.  Phoenix stands up again and climbs to the top rope, lauching himself off in a frog splash that literally knocks the wind out of Annis.  The referee dives to the mat to begin the count... 1 - 2 - ] TD: Three!  Phoenix has pinned Annis! SR: Look again, Dross.  Ref's only holding up two. [The referee is in fact holding up two fingers, as Annis managed to lift his shoulder at the split-second before the three-count hit the canvas.  Once again, Cold Spell climbs dejectedly off the outside apron, and the match continues.  Phoenix rises slowly, pulling Annis up as he does, and slams a double palm strike to Annis' forehead, leaving the larger man standing stunned in the center of the ring. Phoenix points to the top turnbuckle and strides over to it to climb it, but the referee's attention is quickly diverted to the outside, where Requiem and Highwayman have gotten into a shoving match because Requiem spilled his beer all over the Highwayman.  The situation is getting more and more volatile as fans are starting to scatter away from the area, and the referee shouts down at them to break it up and for Highwayman to buy his partner another beer later on.  This gives Fitz plenty of time to shake the top rope that Phoenix is perched upon enough for the wrestler to slip and stradle the corner buckle, his face contorted in pain. Icehawk looks reproachfully at his partner, who simply fixes the young athlete with a steely gaze that says, "We have to do what we have to do."] SR: Oh, that was great.  Granted, a beer was lost, but at least there won't be any little Phoenixes running around anytime soon.   TD: You make me sick, Steve Roberts. SR: I know.  It's in my contract. [As Roberts explains the "nausea clause" in detail to Dross, Annis rushes towards the corner Phoenix is in and shoves him to the side, causing him to topple off the top rope and plunge through the table of the Spanish announcers and to the floor.  Annis takes a breather as Rogers helps Phoenix to his feet, landing the occasional shot for good measure, then tossing him back into the ring where Annis is waiting.  The referee finally turns around from his matter with Highwayman and Requiem, who are now chuckling with each other and pointing at the ref.  Annis kicks the prone Phoenix once, then picks him up and, with a grin the size of Steve Roberts' ego, chokeslams the Phoenix into the mat.  After that, the three count is simply a formality: 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] RA: The winner of this match, as a result of a pinfall... Serge Annis! [The rest of the members of Genesis, save Requiem, climb into the ring and congratulate Annis, then start to move towards Phoenix, who is still lying on the mat groaning.] TD: Oh no -- please, not a repeat performance of the attack on Derek Mota. [The crowd erupts! Before Genesis can really put the boots to the Phoenix, Ronnie Paris rushes from backstage in his street clothes and drags the young Native American out of the ring, helping him to the back before the members of Genesis can inflict any more damage on him. Paris, with the Phoenix's arm slung over his shoulder and his own arm around the North Carolinian's waist for support, shakes his head grimly at the massed forces of Genesis, who once again stand like a human wall, lining one side of the ring, and yelling down at Paris and the Phoenix to come back in and fight. The audience once more begins pelting Genesis with trash as Paris wisely turns and heads up the ring, a contingent of officials rushing down to ensure that he and the Phoenix have safe passage back to the locker room.] TD: The Phoenix got off a lot more lightly than Derek Mota, Steve -- but Genesis are just unstoppable here tonight, and they're still in the ring, but the biggest match is yet to come. SR: These losers are going down eventually, Dross. I just can't wait! TD: Maybe it will be tonight to Violence Unlimited. SR: Can we just get this over with? I'm waiting to see big Otto roll over that Scottish moron on his way to the World Title. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= IIWF WORLD TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Cold Spell [c] vs. Violence Unlimited --------------------------------------- WRITER: RP [All of Genesis are still in the ring following the Annis victory, and having felt somewhat intimidated previously, Sparkplug Lee declines to enter. He remains on the arena floor while he makes his announcements.] SL: The following match is for the IIWF World Tag Team Championship! Introducing first, hailing from Oulu, Finland and Rogers City, Michigan, weighing in at a combined weight of 500 pounds, they are the IIWF World Tag Team Champions... Icehawk, Edmund Fitzgerald... Cooooold Speeeeellll! [Icehawk vaults onto the ropes in the corner, desperate for the fans' cheers. He receives a good ovation from the Genesis Generation, but a chorus of boos from everybody else. He jumps down, obviously disappointed.] SL: And their opponents, hailing from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania and Hagerstown, Maryland... weighing in at a combined weight of 728 pounds... Mutilator... Jaguar... Violence Unlimited! [Violence Unlimited comes out from behind the curtain, but in a rather unorthodox style. Firstly they are sporting different outfits, matching black trunks, masks and tennis shoes. The masks have gold stitching and there is a gold stripe running down the legs of the tights. Secondly the are walking out in an odd single file combination. Jaguar is in front, walking forward with his head bowed. Walking behind him is a large man in a black mask, sweatpants, and sweatshirt. He has his hand on Jaguar's shoulder and is walking stiffly, almost mechanically. He is followed by another man who has assumed the same position behind him and a third who does likewise behind the second. Finally comes Mutilator, with his head bowed like Jaguar, with his hand on the last man's shoulder.] SR: That's sure an interesting ring entrance, Dross. Are these three big guys the surprise that they keep talking about? TD: It looks that way, Steve. I hope they don't think that it gives them an advantage, what with all of Genesis out for the match. SR: Yeah, and doesn't Icehawk look happy about that! I haven't seen pouting like that since that weekend with... TD: [interrupting] I _really_ hate to interrupt but it looks like Mutilator wants the microphone. [Violence Unlimited have climbed in the ring, leaving the three big men outside. The superfluous members of Genesis have also gone outside. Mutilator has been given a mic and he addresses the crowd.] M: It's time to unveil the surprise! [Just like that the lights go out and we can hear the sound of Mutilator hitting someone with the mic. The lights go back on and we see Mutilator pounding on Icehawk and Jaguar throwing Fitzgerald through the ropes.] TD: I guess we won't find out the surprise tonight, either. SR: What the heck was that! [When Fitzgerald went out of the ring he ran into one of the big men and the black masked man's head came off! It's clear that the figure -- in fact, all three figures are mannequins. Just then two of the real masked men come out from the locker room area, remove their masks and reveal themselves as the Rotundos. The Genesis members on the outside head out to attack them.] TD: What is going on here, Steve?! The match hasn't even started yet! SR: The big surprise is the Rotundos?! Do these guys think they're Petrow or something? TD: Wait! Look behind Icehawk! [While everyone else is watching Genesis beat the tar out of the Rotundos, the third masked man rolls out from under the ring and climbs in behind Icehawk. Icehawk turns in time to see the face of his assailant but gets a brutal chokeslam for his troubles!] SR: It's Otto Verhoeven! The Teutonic Terror is the big surprise! TD: And Icehawk has paid the price! He's down and Jaguar and Mutilator are putting the boots to him! [Fitzgerald, still outside the ring, sees what has happened and heads after Verhoeven -- who immediately turns to Requiem as if to challenge him to attack. Requiem fixes his white eyes on the Butcher, and goes to square up to him, but D'Amato intercepts and starts ordering people out of the ring and away from ringside. Verhoeven, Genesis, and the Rotundos are all sent out before the match can begin. Rogers and Annis are also ready to go right at the big German but D'Amato's threats stop them short and finally the ring area is cleared.] TD: Dave D'Amato is calling for the bell but it looks like the damage has already been done. Icehawk is in the ring and Jaguar has him at his mercy. Can Hawk and Fitzgerald keep the titles tonight? SR: The real question is how long can the titles be kept from the true champions... and look. Here they come! [Casey James and Tiger Claw have come out from behind the curtain and are watching the match from a safe distance. They seem to be enjoying Cold Spell's displeasure.] TD: The Syndicate has arrived, but it seems that rather than risk the official's wrath, and get banned like all of the previous "spectators," they are keeping their distance. SR: They just don't want to give anyone an excuse for losing. We all know what a whiner that Icehawk can be. [Meanwhile, in the ring, Jaguar has dropped Icehawk in a brainbuster and has followed it up with more kicks to his head. He then tags in Mutilator. Fitzgerald runs into the ring and lays Mutilator out with a clothesline. While D'Amato escorts Edmund back to the ring apron Violence Unlimited continues with their double-teaming.] SR: I don't normally like tag matches but I must admit I like the beating that the pouter is getting! TD: I think we could see new champions tonight! SR: No one can just jump up after a Verhoeven chokeslam, a fact that I'm sure Duncan MacWeenie will learn later on! [Jaguar has left the ring and Mutilator continues to work over Icehawk. A piledriver is quickly followed by a leaping DDT. A few more kicks to the prone Icehawk are added for good measure.] TD: Violence Unlimited could pin Icehawk at any time but they seem to be more interested in hurting him! SR: I guess they know that holding those titles would just put them in the Syndicate's path. No one wants that! [Mutilator hoists Icehawk onto the top turnbuckle and positions himself for a superplex. Before he can take him over, Icehawk starts to revive a little and throws a couple of body shots into Mutilator's midsection. This isn't enough to knock him off but Edmund Fitzgerald's clothesline running down the apron certainly is.] TD: It looks like Fitzgerald has had enough! Mutilator has gone down hard and Icehawk has stumbled over to the corner for a tag. It looks like Icehawk isn't happy! SR: When is he ever happy? [Fitzgerald comes into the ring but Icehawk is clearly mad about his interference. He then points back to the ring apron and heads back in to face Jaguar, whom Mutilator just tagged in.] TD: He never tagged Edmund in! He went to the corner but didn't tag Edmund! SR: I always knew that this guy was an idiot! He's giving away the tag titles! TD: I think he just wants to prove that he can wrestle without the help of underhanded tactics. [Icehawk levels Jaguar with a spinning leg lariat, but Jaguar is quickly back on his feet. Hawk hits the ropes and again takes down Jaguar, this time with a stunning cross body block.] TD: Do you see, Steve Roberts? Icehawk has a lot of fight left in him yet! SR: So what? These moves aren't actually hurting the big man. [Jaguar easily kicks out and both men are back to their feet. Icehawk pushes Jaguar back towards the ropes but hen spins around to catch Mutilator coming into the ring. D'Amato cuts the bigger man off before any damage can be done so he doesn't see Fitzgerald driving his fist into the back of Jaguar's head.] SR: The pouter can't put Jaguar down but Eddie there can. TD: And Icehawk is very upset. He feels that Edmund isn't letting him win on his own. SR: That's because he _can't_ win on his own! TD: What in the world? Icehawk's leaving! [Icehawk leaves the ring and heads down the aisle. Scott Rogers and Scott Annis come out from behind the curtain to intercept him. They move quickly past the Syndicate, who seem very amused by this entire sequence of events. Dave D'Amato is putting the count on Icehawk but at the same time Edmund Fitzgerald has moved around the other side of the ring and has nailed Jaguar with a chair!] TD: Icehawk is nearly counted out but Fitzgerald isn't done fighting! Mutilator has jumped on top of Edmund! SR: Hey, didn't we have a match here a second ago? [The ref, hearing the commotion behind him, stops the count on Icehawk to break Fitzgerald and Mutilator apart. In the fracas, Jaguar has been pushed out of the ring and is lying, barely conscious, on the floor. Up the aisle, Rogers and Annis have convinced Icehawk to return to the ring and are escorting him back when D'Amato re-starts his count, which reaches seven...] TD: Icehawk is walking slowly back to the ring and Jaguar is trying to pull himself up to the ring apron! Both of their partners are oblivious as they continue to pummel each other! SR: It looks like the pouter doesn't even want to reach the ring in time! [The count continues: 8 - 9...] TD: Icehawk has entered the ring! [The referee's count reaches ten -- Jaguar rolls into the ring just after the count as the bell rings -- Ding! Ding! Ding! Fitzgerald extricates himself from Mutilator and joins the departing Icehawk as they join Rogers and Annis. Chuckling away, Casey James and Tiger Claw pull folded pieces of paper from their pockets and expose them to be Olympic-style scoring cards reading "0.1" and "0.0".] TD: How insulting to a great Olympic competitor like Icehawk! SR: Whaddya mean, "great"? Where's his gold medals? I'm just surprised that Casey scored him so high! [Tiger Claw agrees with Roberts' suggestion and is clearly arguing with James about the score. Finally James pulls a felt marker from his pocket and changes the "0.1" to a "0.0".] TD: It doesn't look like the Syndicate are getting the rise out of Cold Spell that they hoped for. SR: These chumps are too busy being mad at each other! [Genesis file out through the curtain and the Syndicate follows, laughing heartily, and continuing to taunt Icehawk and Fitz. Eventually Violence Unlimited also leave after Jaguar shakes the cobwebs out of his head.] TD: I guess it was too much to ask for a straight ahead match here, Steve Roberts. SR: Who would want one? How boring! TD: A fine performance from Violence Unlimited here tonight -- but it almost seemed secondary to the chaos that prevailed throughout that match. Genesis, who seemed euphoric coming off those two impressive outings for the Highwayman and Serge Annis, were caught off guard by the appearance of the number one contender, Otto Verhoeven... SR: Yeah, go, Butcher! TD: ...but somehow, Cold Spell -- despite Icehawk's reluctance to employ the same rulebreaking tactics as his partner -- pulled off the victory. Jaguar and Mutilator will have strong claim for a rematch, that's for certain. SR: Yeah, they're not bad, Dross. I like their style. Big guys -- but they can sure go. TD: Well, Genesis have finally left ringside -- and let's hope we don't see them again here tonight in a hurry. Okay, folks, time to take a break from the action -- and talk some more about that tremendous fiftieth edition of IIWF Saturday Night coming your way next week. We have already heard that we will see Billy Shakespeare wrestle no fewer than three opponents in one incredible challenge -- and we will also see the Party Maniac, Marty Warnett, square off against the number one contender to the Cruiserweight Championship, Simon Lebec, inside a sealed steel cage. SR: Diced Welshman, anybody? TD: If you'll excuse me, Steve, I have an interview with Marty Warnett to conduct. SR: Be my guest, Dross. Bring me back a present. [Tim Dross leaves the broadcast position and steps hesitantly into the ring, holding a microphone in his hands. He looks around as the crowds' expectant buzz slowly dies down.] TD: Ladies and gentleman, now it's time for some coments from the Party Maniac, Marty Warnett! [The crowd pop big time as the familiar riff of "Cold Gin" kicks in. After a slight pause, Marty arrives at the head of the aisle, wearing tight ripped jeans, an official IIWF bandana, and a "29 days to go" T-shirt.  Marty saunters slowly down the aisle, gladly slapping every proffered hand, smiling all the way.  He walks all the the way around the squared circle, stopping at Steve Roberts, to whom he points at his T-shirt and mouths 'For all the biscuits, man'.  Marty then slowly climbs up the ring steps, before running along the apron and leaping onto the top turnbuckle, where he raises his arms then points into the crowd, who respond enthusiastically.  Marty then turns and leaps into the ring, landing near Dross.] TD: As always, a spectacular entrance, Marty. MW: Well, Timmy, within life, within the IIWF, I am, as they say, a character, and if you don't do the best you can every time, you deserve to be pilloried ... TD: Marty, so much turmoil going on within this federation, what's your take on events? MW: You mean all this New Generation thing? TD: Yes... [Marty grabs the microphone, and turns away from Dross.] MW: You know, people, everyone thinks that Genesis equals New Generation, and they're so incredibly wrong it's unbelieveable... I was always taught that workrate, and the ability to work a mic were the most important attributes that any wrestler can have, and I've paid my dues. Yet, still the bookermen, you know who you are, don't give me the respect that all you people [points out into the crowd] do. I lost my Intercontinental Title to a skilled wrestler, and never got a sniff of a shot.  I was overlooked for a bout on the Birthday Bash PPV because none of these 'New Gen' people wanted to face Party Mania... Not just Genesis, everybody. Instead, my title ended up around the waist of a 'roid based freak. Somebody who obviously takes vitamins based upon the way he takes a pounding every three weeks, yet makes a miraculous recovery to get back into the ring. [mixed crowd reaction] Excuse me if I feel just a touch embittered.  Even Quigley's been ducking me. [again, a very mixed pop occurs] [Marty hands the mic back to Dross.] TD: Well, that'll put the cat amongst the pigeons, no doubt.  There's no way Quigley would duck anybody, and Creed is a talent. MW: To deal with it in some kinda order, let me just say this, Tim. Everybody backstage preferred it when Creed just kept his mouth shut. Since when did he turn into Peter Ustinov? As for Quigley, it's crazy.  Everywhere I go, people ask me why, if I'm one of the best new talents, I can't beat Chris.  It's frustrating, but you tell me, Dross, why the bookermen have been so reluctant to match us together?  This is the thing that's driving me, Dross, the reason I haven't left the fed and wrestled elsewhere.  I _LOVE_ this fed, I _LOVE_ the fans, but I need to pin Quigley -- one, two, three -- to get the respect from the suits.     We are two of the best technical wrestlers in this fed, yet it's either the suits wanting some crazy exploding turnbuckle type bout, or dragging other people in, like Shakespeare or Lebec.  Lebec is basically old news, the has-been that never was.  He's as cheap as a demented budgerigar, and only exists to prevent me from getting my belt back. The only reason I set up this bout was to end it all, once and for all.  Let Simian fight all the drunken bums he wants to, I want to get back to the high quality dudes I'm capable of beating, for I want my belt back. [Video wall comes on, showing "The Showstopper" Simon Lebec sitting in his locker room. Big heel pop as Lebec's voice booms out over the PA, cutting Warnett off. Marty turns and faces the screen, his hands on his hips, and he shakes his head as Lebec squares up to the camera and speaks:] SL: Whine!  Whine!  Whine!  You know, Warnett... for someone who says that he hates Quigley, you sure as Hell do a great impression of him!  But you're right Marty, we'll settle this next week... me and you... you and I!  One cage... two men!  You know, you talk about you having to beat Quigley one, two, three in order to get some respect?  Well, I have to beat you to regain my sanity!  I'm better than you, Warnett.  And you have a win over me... probably the most embarrassing defeat of my career! That pisses me off!  But next week... the score will be settled! And yeah... I'm really fighting drunken bums!  HA!  That's laughable! I have a Cruiserweight shot at the Madness!  What will you be doing, Jobberman? Selling Genesis posters to pimply little twerps!  You're not even on the card!  Why?  Because maybe you're the has-been... or should I say... the never-will-be!  HA! You're a joke!  I listen to you blab about how you're gonna regain your title... about how you're gonna make the comeback!  Well, I got news for ya, Marty!  It's hard to make a comeback when you haven't been anywhere! [Marty looks around as Lebec falls silent.  The crowd also fall silent as a huge smile breaks on the young Welshman's face.  He again takes the mic from Dross.] MW: Way-hey!  Simon speaks, and yeah, verily, it is gospel.  You want to regain your sanity?  I mean, what kinda baseline have you got for that little statement?  Making films, living in a fantasy world all of your own?  Everytime you appear, I keep expecting to see that damned dwarf for your side, "Hey Boss..." I have _a_ win over you?  Surely you forget my _multiple_ pins on you? Party Mania will run wild at the Madness, Lebec.  Because, from this day on, what I really want, what I really, really want, is you in that cage, followed by Quigley at the Madness. And as for never having been anywhere; you're right, I have never turned my tail and fled to Brazil.  But I have held the Intercontinental belt, and I will hold it again. SL: You can have me in the cage, in the alley out back, or during the two for one special at the Sizzler!  But I can see one thing... and that's the fact that you're still a rookie at heart!  If you're looking past me at Quigley, old bean, then you're in for the shock of your life. Kid, I asked for this match, and I'll back up my words with a victory this Saturday night!  Take it to the bank! [Video screen fades. Tim Dross steps back towards Marty, a questioning look on his face.] TD: Marty, bad blood between the two of you ... MW: Hell, yes, Dross.  Lebec, if you believe you will walk out of that cage victorious, congratulations on your optimism.  Dross, this interview is over. Let the suits push untalented New Gen.  Let them make money out of my image on merchandising.  Just let me get on with proving myself and getting my belt back. [Big pop from the fans as "Cold Gin" kicks in once more. Warnett takes to the turnbuckles, saluting the fans from each corner in turn, as a volley of fireworks erupts overhead, as Dross leaves the ring and heads back to the broadcast table. Warnett chucks a thumb towards the rafters and gives a shrug at the pyrotechnics going on above him, before climbing down from the turnbuckles and heading back up the aisle, hi-fiving the fans as he goes. Cut back to the ringside broadcast table, where Tim Dross is adjusting his headset and leafing through the sheaf of notes on the table in front of him, while Steve Roberts simply shakes his head and points to a sign he has grabbed from a front row fan: "Marty Blows -- Quigley Sucks."] SR: Always count on the L'il Soundbiters to speak the truth, Dross. TD: Put that down, Steve Roberts. Be that as it may, it's going to be a tremendous match next week, right here on the special fiftieth edition of IIWF Saturday Night, as Marty Warnett battles the "Showstopper" Simon Lebec inside a sealed steel cage -- it's going to be pinfall or submission only, and there will be a winner. SR: And it's sure as hell not going to be Warnett, Dross. TD: What we are about to see, Steve Roberts, is in a lot of ways a chance for Otto Verhoeven to prove himself. Twice he's fought Duncan Macbeth and been unable to win, so if he can't do it now, people may     question if he ever can. Also, we can't forget Requiem, who will     defend his World Title against the Butcher, at Midsummer Madness.     Requiem is seated right in the front row, in the midst of his fans,     and he seems to have brought along a notebook to scout the action.  SR: Do you _ever_ shut up, Dross? Sure, Requiem is here, and he's with     the Genesis Generation, he's wearing black, yadda yadda. The important thing is that the Butcher's gonna crush that idiot Macbean, and Requiem will have the pleasure of a front row seat for a glimpse into his future. He can take all the notes he wants, but you can't replace a lack of talent with preparation. TD: That is, of course, yet to be seen. Well, despite our efforts to sell this match, it does so for itself, so let's go to Sparkplug Lee with the introductions! =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Otto Verhoeven vs. Duncan Macbeth =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: JdW [Sparky gets up from his seat and walks past the Genesis Generation members, all decked out in usual black with new t-shirts reading "The Genesis Epoch: Day 28 & Counting". Lee then makes it to the ring, and starts.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall with a 20 minute time limit. Introducing first, hailing from Essen, Germany, at a weight of 340 pounds, accompanied to the ring by his valet Nurse Heidi, here is Otto "The Butcher" Verhoeven! [A heel pop as expected picks up with John Carpenter's "Hallowe'en", but so far there is no sign of the Butcher. The crowd reaction builds equally with the tension towards the electrifying entrance that... doesn't happen. Finally, Sparky gives up and decides to move on.] SL: Let's try this again. Introducing first, from Glenfinnan, Scotland,     at a weight of 270 pounds, Duncan Macbeth! ["Scotland the Brave" queues up, and this time things seem to be proceeding on schedule, as Macbeth appears almost instantly. Even for a man as intense-looking as Macbeth, you can tell he's primed for this one by the look of pure focus he's shooting as he makes his way to the ring.] TD: Duncan Macbeth is on his way to the ring to await the Butcher... the     million dollar question, though, is why hasn't Verhoeven already     appeared? SR: Why should he have to? He's the next World Heavyweight champion, and     as such you need to cut him some slack. TD: I cut some slack once. But I was in college at the time, it was just     a phase. [Meanwhile, back in the ring, Sparky is valiantly giving it another go.] SL: Ahem. His opponent, hailing from Essen, Germany, at a weight of 340     pounds, accompanied to the ring by Nurse Heidi, here is the former     World's champion, Otto Verhoeven! ["Hallowe'en" kicks in again, and again there is no immediate response. The crowd is starting to grow restless over the no-show, while Requiem seems to be taking it in stride, almost amused that his challenger couldn't be bothered to show up tonight. Suddenly, however, the video wall springs to life and shows a close-up of Otto Verhoeven's face, grinning like a boy but his eyes glaring with barely contained rage.] OV: Ah, Macbeth, there you are. I've been looking for your sorry hide in     the whole Coliseum but I heard that you wanted to high-tail it out     of here before I can get my hands on you and rip your wimpy arms out     of their sockets for your continous insulting of my verlobte, du     dreckiger kleiner Hundesohn! [Huge heel pop as the audience suspects some kind of trick by the Butcher. Macbeth is still standing in the ring, watching the video wall carefully. His shout of "Com 'ere, cow'rd! Bring it on!" can be heard throughout the arena even without a mic.] OV: Now that I see that you managed to draw enough on your courage to     enter the ring I just have to make sure that you won't be able to     run away from me THIS week like you did in the past. [Macbeth laughs at these words but as the shot of the video wall begins to zoom out and show the surroundings the big Scotsman visibly pales. Verhoeven, clad in street clothes, is standing in the Coliseum parking lot besides a brand-new looking, dark blue BMW cruiser. Verhoeven's grin gets even broader.] OV: What a beautiful bike... it almost pains me to do what I have to do     to stop your flight... SR: [over headset] Don't do it, Otto! TD: [over headset, in amazement] Is this compassion you're showing, Steve? SR: [over headset] Of course. I'd hate to see a bike that beautiful damaged. [He bows down to pick up a massive sledge-hammer. Macbeth shouts "NOOO!", the crowd watches on in shock and the Furies start a hardcore pop as the Butcher raises it slowly, almost in slow motion. One moment the big German just stands there, wielding the hammer over his head land teasing the unevitable for two seconds, for five... then sends it crashing down with all the force he can muster, making a HUGE dent in the chassis of the bike, knocking it over with a huge crash. Immediately, Macbeth jumps OVER the ropes, his face red with rage, and darts up the aisle while on the video wall Verhoeven continues to batter the luxurious car. As Duncan reaches the entrance and the windshield is turned into splinters a massive man storms out behind the curtain and nails the utterly surprised Scot with a devastating lariat.  It is Otto Verhoeven, wearing his usual ring attire!  He looks at his taped image on the video wall for a moment while the crowd gives out an enormous heel pop as they realize the full extent of the German Juggernaut's plot. He then drags the barely conscious Macbeth towards the ring, shouting into the camera: "The inbred imbecile wouldn't smell an ambush if it hit him in the head!"] SR: Have I ever told you how much I _love_ this guy! They make 'em double tough and double smart in Germany. TD: What about the beer, Steve? SR: The beer? It tastes like butter. TD: Be that as it may, Verhoeven is certainly in fine form tonight -- that's the second time we've seen him pull a stunt like this. First it was Genesis -- and now Macbeth. [Verhoeven exploits his early advantage ruthlessly, stopping halfway to the ring to level a series of body shots at Macbeth. He just grabs the Scot by the neck and keeps on dragging him to the ring afterwards, but he stops as he gets right in front of the ring, and gets a devious look on his face. He points right at Requiem, who's looking on more with interest than fear, and then slams Macbeth's head hard into the side of the ring apron. He rolls the wounded Celt into the ring, and turns around to see Nurse Heidi sauntering up the aisle, gloating all the way. Heidi is oblivious as Timothy N. Turner runs towards her, seemingly from out of nowhere. In a flash, he brandishes a pair of steel handcuffs, and with adroitness that's almost scary, he slaps one cuff on Heidi's wrist and the other on the security railing in one fluid motion. TNT looks as if he might want to mug for the camera, but Verhoeven had seen the whole thing and was not at all amused. When a former German boxing champion is running at you with hate in his eyes, you don't stick around long, and TNT is no exception as he takes off as fast as he can. Verhoeven gives up the pursuit when he comes to Heidi, and instead works in vain on trying to loosen the handcuffs.] TD: We had an inkling that Macbeth and Turner were plotting _something_,     but this is almost inhumane! Are we actually going to have a match, or just a series of setups? SR: Wait a minute, here. Nurse Heidi is in handcuffs? Oh man, I've been     dreaming about this for months. I, uh, have to go get a soda. TD: You'll do no such thing, Mr. Roberts! SR: Please, Drossy! The Soundbite got needs! I gotta... hold on, those     cuffs look familiar. Aren't those Becky's? [Verhoeven continues his work, half trying to free his valet and half trying to console her. Meanwhile, this is giving Macbeth much needed recouperative time, and after a spell he's able to get up and ask for a mic.] DM: Aww, isn't tha' a bleedin' shame?  Th' Teutonic Toddler's got no one     t' hold 'is hand now!  Tell me, Verhoeven, what're ye goin' t' do,     now tha' yuir wee valet can't come t' th' ring t' interefere wi'     yuir opponent an' distract th' referee for ye?  Have ye got a     problem wi' tha', fightin' a man one on one, with nobody standin'     outside th' ring t' save ye?  I said ye'd have t' prove yuirself     tonigh', an' I meant every last word!  Prove t' everyone watchin'     'ere tonight NOW tha' ye can win without yuir precious Heidi, or is     she more important t' yuir success than even YE realise?  We're     waitin', tosser!  Cut th' apron strings an' get in th' ring - or     will ye just stay there in th' aisle an' bore us all t' death with     yuir bawlin'?                                                    [Verhoeven during this whole speech just grows angrier and angrier, but something, we presume love, holds him in his spot. Finally, as Macbeth seems to be finished for the moment, Verhoeven stands up to consider his options... and finds Earl Alfonso counting him out! The German has no choice but to sprint back to the ring in a race with the count, rolling in just at nine and being jumped by the canny Macbeth with kicks to the exposed ribs and side. Requiem, for one, really seems to be enjoying this for some reason, enough so that when a security official asks him to leave, he just calmly whips out a front-row ticket in a gesture similar to that stupid "Talk to the hand" thing. Back in the ring, Macbeth is still going to work on a prone Butcher, before hauling him back to his feet andd sending him to the ropes. Verhoeven, despite the weight advantage, has momentum working against him and is caught with a very fluid released belly-to-belly suplex.] TD: This match is now finally underway, and Duncan Macbeth has weathered     the storm of one setup to spring his own and take a very strong     advantage. SR: And I've just recieved word that the loser of this match will have to wrestle in one of Troy's dresses next week on Saturday Night. TD: That's not true at all! [Macbeth knew coming in he'd have to keep Verhoeven down when he can, so he jumps right in before Otto can start to get up, and grabs his leg behind the knee, twisting him over into a half-Boston crab the ironicly gives him a great vantage point of security running out with bolt cutters to try and free Heidi. Seeing the results of Macbeth's treachery seems to power the German, enabling him to start pushing up as he uses the incredible strength of his arms to force a break. Macbeth is stunned, which gives Otto the time he needs to poke his nemesis in the eye and turn the momentum. Verhoeven wastes no time, hoisting Duncan into a piledriver, which has Duncan's head bouncing hard off the mat. The challenger again points to Requiem, trying to impress/intimidate the champ, but Req just keeps taking notes. Verhoeven goes back to his opponent, dropping an elbow into the Scot's sternum to break up his breathing.] SR: Once Otto weathers the first storm from a guy like MacBean or     Requiem, he does what he's doing right now, and that's methodically     taking someone apart. That could be Requiem in there, Dross. TD: No, if it were Requiem in there, five guys would be running in to     save him. SR: We're catty tonight, aren't we, Timmy? [The Butcher picks up Duncan, who's having some trouble breathing as planned, and whips him back first into a corner, following soon after. Macbeth is ready, though, and drops his shoulder to backdrop Verhoeven right over the top turnbuckle, sending him towards a crash landing in the aisle. Verhoeven lands right at the front of the aisle, and contemplates heading up as Heidi is almost in tears at the indignity she's going through, but he's interrupted when Macbeth leaps off the ring apron with a double axhandle. The brawny Scot is showing brains, too, continuing to pummel the bigger man from behind with fists. Finally, Otto gets turned around, and levels Duncan with a knife-edge chop, capitalizing on the breathing problem he'd caused before. He follows up, whipping Macbeth towards the railing right in front of (surprise!) the Genesis Generation section. The railing shakes, but stays up as Macbeth hits it. Verhoeven then runs in to compound the damage, but Macbeth rolls to the side by instinct, and Otto almost topples the railing himself. It wobbles enough to disturb Requiem a bit, so the champ gets up from his seat and stares right into the eyes of the Teutonic Terror. Verhoeven, who admittedly doesn't back down much, just stares right back. As the two men attempt to stare each other down, the crowd begins to yell encouragement to Verhoeven, imploring him to plant Requiem. However, suddenly, from under the ring -- comes "Sychosys" Joe Petrow!] TD: Oh my! It's Petrow! Petrow just came out from under the ring! SR: This is about to get crazy, Dross! [Petrow immediately positions himself between Verhoeven and Requiem as a human barrier. Verhoeven yells something in German at Petrow, who looks diminutive sandwiched between two three hundred pounds plus monsters, and the self-proclaimed "franchise" of the IIWF simply says: "This is what the fans want.  This is my duty to them." Before Verhoeven has time to argue, Macbeth starts sneaking up behind his foe, and when he gets there rings his bell, well, head, smashing it into the railing.] TD: Ouch, that has to hurt! Both of these men will stoop to anything to     win, but they'd better stoop back into the ring to beat Earl Alfonso's count! SR: This match has had more fire in it than a Serge Annis birthday party, but I still don't see why MacBean had to be part of it. Why not Butcher versus Kowalski? Now _there_ is a match I'd pay to see. TD: Uh, Steve, this is free TV. SR: Sure it is, Dross. And I bet you think those black helicopters are     just innocent civilian vehicles, right? TD: I have _no_ idea what you're talking about, Steve. [Requiem smirks as Petrow turns to face him, and seems to offer Petrow his congratulations. Petrow simply shakes his head grimly and points for Requiem to sit down. The expression on the World Champion's face immediately darkens, but Requiem eventually sits down, Petrow moving to the foot of the aisle, and apparently watching out for any outside interference.] TD: Joe Petrow stamping his authority on this match here, Steve Roberts. SR: Who does this guy think he is? The referee?! [Macbeth is indeed aware of the count, so he rolls the Butcher in to break it, then just sneaks in himself before 10. He seems to still be in some respiratory distress, so he sends Verhoeven to the ropes with hopes of finishing it. Macbeth leaps into the air for the Claymore, drawing a huge expectant pop that... is shattered, much like Macbeth's spine, when Otto improvises with a power bomb variant.] SR: He's had it! Fahgeddaboudit! TD: I'm not even going to try and repeat that... [Otto, instead of capitalizing right away, heads right to the top rope, drawing a thumb across his throat to work the Portland fans into a marked out frenzy. He glares one more time at Requiem, who isn't showing any fear if he feels it. He turns back around, staring right at the still downed Macbeth, and gets a sick look on his face before starting to balance himself. The crowd started chanting for Macbeth to move as Otto set up slowly, and finally jumps off with a splash, hanging not-so gracefully in the air only to hit Macbeth's knees! Otto stays on his feet upon landing, clutching at his chest, while Macbeth powers up to his feet as well, taking a moment to regain his composure. Finally, Otto starts to move, but Macbeth moves at about the same time, and when the two meet it's Macbeth that connects with a clothesline, taking the monster off his feet.] TD: Duncan Macbeth has weathered the storm, the sneak attack, the     overwhelming power of Verhoeven, and he's still fighting! SR: More importantly, Heidi is still chained to that railing! She would     have been a few years younger, of course, but I think I remember seeing her in "Autobahn Bondage Babes". Damn, that was a fine movie! This is bringing back some memories, Dross. TD: I don't think anybody wanted to know that. [Macbeth sees his opponent down for a change, so he moves quickly, driving an elbow into the small of the Butcher's back, keeping him down. He sees it worked well, so he tries again, driving a second then a third elbow to keep Otto from getting up. Duncan knows he can't keep doing this forever, though, so he spins the Butcher onto his back and tries finally for the first pin of the match, covering for: 1...2... Otto gets a shoulder up! Macbeth isn't sure what to do, so he smashes Otto with a shot to the face, and covers a little more roughly this time. He tries to pin again, and Alfonso goes down to count for: 1 - 2 - again, Otto kicks out!] SR: I don't think anyone will disagree when I say that you can't put Otto Verhoeven away that easily. TD: And that's why he's the number one contender. [Macbeth is no slouch either, though, and he's not out of offense yet. The Scotsman decides to try going to the air, so he drags Verhoeven over to the corner, and tries to hoist him up to the top turnbuckle. He's having some understandable difficulty, but he does manage to push Otto to the second turnbuckle. Otto fires back at this point when Macbeth tries to follow up, kicking him in a tender region. Using the time he's gained from stunning Macbeth, he grabs him around the throat and delivers...] SR: The Meathook! You can write this one in the record books, Dross, it's a "W" for the Butcher! [The Soundbite certainly seemed to be right, as Verhoeven stopped only to point at Requiem and say "You're next!" before covering the motionless Macbeth for: 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] SL: Here is your winner, by virtue of a pinfall, the "Butcher", Otto Verhoeven! [Verhoeven immediately looks up the aisle upon hearing Sparky's pronouncement, and sees that Heidi has just been freed from the handcuffs mere seconds ago. Knowing his love is safe, he quickly moves over towards the Genesis Generation.] TD: Oh no, if we thought we had a confrontation before, things could     really blow up now. SR: I certainly hope so. [Verhoeven gets right where he was a few minutes before, in front of the railing and in Requiem's face. Once more, Joe Petrow approaches the pair, but this time keeps his distance. Requiem stands up to his challenger, returning the stare in one of those intense staredown thingies that always happen when two big guys are booked for a World title match. The staredown seems like it's lasting an eternity, but it's really more like a few tense moments before Verhoeven turns away in victory to find his valet, who doubtless has some pretty sore wrists. The members of the Genesis Generaton try to get something going, throwing trash and the like at Otto, but he just ignores it without flinching on his way backstage. Petrow nods with satisfaction and walks around the ring to the side where his Sychopaths are congregated, and hops over the barriers into their midst.] TD: It looks like we'll have to wait until Midsummer Madness to see Verhoeven and Requiem get it on -- certainly if Joe Petrow has his way. SR: Doesn't surprise me. The skinflints that run this organization never     show the good stuff when it's free. TD: I beg to differ -- in just a few moments, we'll see a tremendous match between the "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder and Ronnie Paris -- and these two Texans are sure to put on one hell of a show. But before that, we're scheduled to hear from the new Intercontinental Champion -- Mad Dog Watkins. If you'll excuse me, Steve, I have an interview to conduct. SR: Whatever. [Tim Dross ups and leaves the broadcast table and heads to the ring, a microphone in his hand.] TD: Ladies and gentlemen, my guest at this time is the man who just last week perpetrated one of the most shocking, most callous betrayals in the history of the IIWF. He is the man who just last week defeated the red-gloved rookie Creed to become the IIWF Intercontinental Champion. Will you please welcome... Mad... Dog... Watkins! [Big heel pop as "Paint it Black" kicks in over the PA and scenes from last week's show roll on the video wall. Watkins steps out, wearing a "Be Afraid. Be Very Afraid." t-shirt, the Intercontinental Championship belt glittering around his waist. The black man turns and looks up at the video wall, and gives a smirk as the image of Creed's shock at Watkins' betrayal flashes past. Ignoring the jeers of the crowd, Watkins heads down the aisle towards the ring. Climbing the ringsteps and stepping between the ropes, he approaches Dross, who waits for the jeers to die down before speaking. Watkins seems disinterested in the veteran announcer, instead preferring to look around with disdain at the ringside fans.] TD: Mad Dog Watkins, thank you for joining us. [Watkins simply casts a dismissive glance at Dross, and shakes his head slightly as he stands towering above the slightly rotund announcer.] TD: Five months, you said -- five months of playing along with Creed, just to get revenge for the defeat handed to you by the rookie at Ring Wars III back in March. Just to avenge that loss, you came to Creed's rescue and saved him from having his career ended by the European Alliance, when his competitive spirit would not let him walk away -- and now, of course, we know that you merely saved him in order that you could be the one to destroy him. You befriended him, Mad Dog, you were like a brother -- maybe even a father -- to him. You befriended young Ike Sampson, forming what has been euphemistically termed the "Black Pack" -- apparently just to lend credibility to your role as Creed's mentor. [Mad Dog simply smirks, and makes no effort to cut in. Dross looks at the Intercontinental Champion, and continues.] You trained with Creed and Sampson, apparently in the name of honing their skills. But now, of course, we know that you were simply learning from them, learning their styles, finding their weaknesses. How cold, how callous can you be, Mad Dog Watkins? [Watkins still makes no move to speak, and simply stands, disaffected, at the side of the announcer.] SR: [over the headset] Dross had better not push the Dog -- his bite is a whole lot worse than his bark. TD: And then came the betrayal. You tell Creed that he cannot be a true champion unless he exorcises an old loss -- a loss to his friend, and fellow student in your tutelage, Ike Sampson. But Sampson is attacked by a masked man -- wearing the very same t-shirt that you now wear -- and had to be taken to hospital, having sustained a number of cracked ribs. Who was that masked man, Mr. Watkins? Who was that assailant? [Watkins smirks once more, and again shakes his head slightly. Dross is becoming more agitated as he continues:] TD: You have Ike Sampson taken out of commission, you encourage Creed to lay down an open challenge for a title shot. And then it comes. Right in the middle of this ring, you turn on Creed. You betray him. You break his spirit, and you try to shatter his body. You take his title -- and leave him with nothing. No title. No family. Nothing, Mad Dog. How cold can you be? How callous could you possibly be? [Watkins still makes no move to take the microphone from Dross. The crowd is unsettled, sensing some kind of eruption. But it comes not from Watkins, but from Dross -- who is red-faced as he almost dares Watkins to speak:] TD: Come on, Mad Dog -- you told the world you had something to say. Come on and say it! [Watkins looks at Dross -- and then grabs him by the lapels of his blazer! Huge heel pop!] SR: [over the headset] Aw well, nice knowin' ya, Dross. [Watkins almost lifts Dross clear off his feet -- and then shoves him halfway across the ring, grabbing the microphone as he goes. Dross collides with the turnbuckles, and is more shocked than injured as he straightens himself out. Watkins yells into the microphone as he approaches Dross, unfastening the Intercontinental Championship belt from his waist with his free hand as he goes.] MDW: You want to know how cold I can be, Dross? How callous I can be? More than enough to leave you lyin' out here _cold_ in the ring, little man -- so you shut your face! I've heard enough of your bleeding-heart bullshit! [Big heel pop!] MDW: And all you idiots can shut up too! I've said it before, and I'll say it again: they say you can't teach an old dog new tricks, and I guess that's just the way it is. Those two rookies might have thought that they knew me, that they knew what made me tick -- but they're too easily blinded by emotion, too easily led. And didn't I lead them a merry dance? [Big heel pop -- but suddenly, the arena light drop, and a bank of red spotlights illuminate the ring. Huge, huge pop! Watkins turns, momentarily surprised, and watches the video wall, on which flash the crimson words: "Anyone. Anywhere. Anytime." The crowd is on its feet as they await the arrival of Creed. The lights go on -- but no Creed.] SR: [over the headset] Ha! He's yellow! [Watkins also gives a smirk, tosses the microphone at Dross, yells something about the interview being over, and heads out of the ring and up the aisle amidst a huge chorus of "boo"s from the disappointed crowd. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside, where Tim Dross is adjusting his headset and finding the right page in the sheaf of notes on the table in front of him.] TD: Well, no appearance from Creed -- and Mad Dog Watkins didn't seem too bothered in any case. SR: Why should he be, Dross? The Dog's got the rookie's number. No question. TD: Be that as it may, we must move on. Up next we have what could be one heck of a match as two tough Texans match up... SR: Who? Do I have the wrong card? I thought Wonnie Paris was next. TD: He certainly is, Steve Roberts. He's taking on the Lone Wolf, Brody Thunder! SR: I feel... I feel... the "Fury" is coming! Can you feel it, Dross? TD: It is true that Thunder and Steve Kowalski have been having a difference of opinions... SR: That's an understatement, Dross! Kowalski is going to take the cow punk apart! TD: That remains to be seen. Now let's get up to the ring. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder vs. Ronnie Paris -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: RP [Sparkplug Lee is in the ring, looking a little tired as the night goes on, and more than a little rumpled. He straightens out his cue cards and starts in on the introductions.] SL: The next match is for one fall. Introducing first, hailing from El Paso, Texas and weighing in at 210 pounds, Ronniiiiiie Pariiiiis! ["We Are The Champions" comes over the loudspeaker as Paris heads down the aisle. He looks to be in good shape and is even a little more amiable looking than we are used to.] TD: Ronnie Paris is looking fairly content following his recent marriage and honeymoon. His new wife Maggie, isn't here tonight but she is watching from their home in El Paso. SR: He's probably happy to get out of the house, Dross. I can see it now... Ronnie take out the garbage... Ronnie paint the garage... Ronnie mow the lawn... Ronnie walk the dog. TD: That doesn't sound like Maggie at all! She's one of the nicest people I've ever met! SR: Even nice people push around Paris. There's just something about him. There's nothing you can do about it. [Paris heads into the ring and looks around at the crowd, giving the fans an appreciative round of applause himself. A volley of fireworks erupt above his head in time with the majestic beat of his entrance music. Paris finally takes up position in one corner and begins his pre-match ritual of testing the tension of the ropes, rolling his head to loosen up his neck, and bouncing gently to test the flexibility of the canvas. His music fades, and a red thunderbolt appears on the video wall at the top of the aisle with a suitable crash over the PA, before the lights drop to red.] SL: Introducing his opponent, hailing from the town too tough to die, Tombstone, Arizona, and weighing in at 267 pounds, "Lone Wolf" Brodyyyyy Thunderrrrrrrr! [Queen is replaced by the theme from "High Plains Drifter" and Thunder comes out from behind the curtain, looking very ornery. Minus his cowboy hat, he is simply dressed in his black trunks and pads, with his leather vest worn open across his otherwise bare chest. He heads straight to the ring without looking to either side.] SR: Thunder looks like he's lost a little weight there, Drossy! TD: I assume you are speaking about his hat, which was stolen by Steve Kowalski. This is a matter of great pride for Brody Thunder. No one touches a cowboy's hat! SR: Unless you're the Fury. He can do any damn thing he wants to and there's nothing some stupid Texan can do about it! TD: The referee is calling for the bell! [Paris and Thunder lock-up and Paris is shoved backwards to the ropes. Paris is Irish whipped and Thunder follows in with a clothesline. Just before it connects, however, Paris ducks and heads back across the ring.] TD: Thunder isn't quite fast enough for Paris! SR: Thunder isn't quite fast enough to dodge a Stephen Hawking legsweep! [Paris come off the ropes again but this time he goes right into the clutches of Thunder, who snaps him over with a vertical suplex. He oicks Paris back up and follows with a Fisherman's Suplex.] TD: Thunder taking quick advantage of the smaller man... SR: Let's just get this over with so I can see Kowalski take out Kick-me. [Thunder slaps on the Texas Cloverleaf but Paris is too close to the ropes and the ref forces a break. Both men are on thier feet and Paris kicks Thunder in the mid-section! And again! After the second, Thunder is in position for the Northen Lights Suplex -- and that's just what Paris does!] TD: A turn around by Ronnie Paris! You can never underestimate the fight in this man! [Paris outs his own Texas Cloverleaf on but this time it is Thunder who reaches the ropes. Brody grabs Ronnie and pulls him over in a belly-to-belly suplex. He then follows with a series of elbows dropped onto Paris.] SR: So Thunder can beat up widdle Wonnie, what does that prove? Sparkplug Lee could beat up widdle Wonnie! TD: Don't count Paris out yet, he... oh my! He rolled out of the way of that last elbow and he is up to his feet before Brody Thunder! [Thunder gets up only to go right back down with Paris' German Suplex. He is pulled right back to his feet before getting sent right back down by a Russian Legsweep.] TD: I hate to call down such a valiant effort by Ronnie Paris but it looks like he is just making the "Lone Wolf" madder! [In fact, when Paris pulls Thunder back up again he is rewarded by a stiff gutshot. Thunder then grabs Paris and throws him down in an intense bodyslam. Thunder bounces off the ropes just as Paris gets to his feet and sends him down with a stiff clothesline!] TD: Paris has awoken the sleeping giant! Thunder is taking him apart! SR: I hope he doesn't think that the Fury will be this easy! Kowalski is tougher than all of Texas put together! [Thunder drops Paris in painful looking neckbreaker. He then drops a few more elbows onto Paris' chest and then picks him up for another neckbreaker!] SR: Finally! A real man is coming down to the ring! TD: What are you...oh no! [The pro-Thunder fans begin to start booing and screamin as the self proclaimed Jersey Cowboy, aka Steve "the Fury" Kowalski, makes his entrance. Wearing a leather vest, cowboy boots, jeans with riding chaps and Brody Thunder's hat, he struts down to the announcers' table.] TD: Steve Kowalski. What business do you have down here? SK: Yippee-ki-ay, muther [BLEEP]er! Yer talkin' to the Garden State Kid, now! My trusty horse, "Rusty Trike", is gettin' a refill. Where's them injuns at? SR: Nightwing changed his M.O., Steve. He's a ninja now. But shoot his ass just the same and make the world a better place. SK: Heh, got ya, partner. [Kowalski wanders away from the broadcast table and towards the apron. Brody Thunder, catching sight of Kowalski at ringside for the first time, leaves the prone Ronnie Paris and lunges at his hat, just mssing as Kowalski moves a little farther from the ropes, before laughing riotously and heading back to the third chair at the broadcast table.] SK: [smiling] Ya can't ride the pony yet, little boy. Wait yer turn! TD: Provoking Brody Thunder will only escalate into a ...argh! [Kowalski slaps Dross on the back of the neck and waves to the jeering crowd. Steve Roberts, so giddy with enjoyment just yells...] SR: YES! Now we have two rednecks in the arena tonight! SK: Gotta go, kids. Got me cattle to rustle. [Kowalski moves over to the ring where he pulls his infamous tricycle from under the apron. Meanwhile, Thunder has slapped a punishing full nelson on Paris, who refuses to quit. Kowalski hops up onto the apron and distracts Thunder. He pulls a length of rope that was around the trike and heads into the ring.] SK: I'm fixin' to hog tie this doggie! [He sweeps the legs out from under Thunder and attempts to do just that. Thunder quickly wriggles free and grabs the rope out of Kowalski's hands.] TD: I think the Fury is going to learn what it means to cross Brody Thunder! SR: Whip his cowboy butt, Fury! [Thunder swings the rope and knocks his hat off of Kowalski's head. He leans over to pick it up and Kowalski swings the trike at the big Texan.] SK: Here's the Pony Ride! [His yell came a moment too soon as Thunder releases the hold and dives out of the way. The tricycle smashes intoParis' head instead and he goes limp to the mat. Kowalski rolls quickly out of the ring and Thunder drops to pin Paris.] SR: That's the beauty of this match! No matter who you wallop... they deserve it! [The ref counts: 1 - 2...] TD: Paris kicked out! Ronnie Paris kicked out! He takes the Pony Ride right in the head and Brody Thunder is still unable to put him away! [Kowalski heads back down the aisle, having retrieved Thunder's hat and acting as if he was riding an imaginary horse and shooting imaginary guns at the crowd.] TD: The crowd is going absolutely berserk! Despite Kowalski's blatant interference, the match is continuing! SR: We've got a ref here who knows what people want to see! Widdle Wonnie Paris getting his teeth knocked down his throat! [Thunder hits Paris with a thunderous clothesline, picks him back up and snaps him over with a Fisherman's Suplex. His pin attempt is stopped by Paris putting his foot on the ropes at two.] SR: Doesn't this little maggot know when he is beaten? TD: Ronnie Paris doesn't know the meaning of the word quit! SR: Don't bring the man's learning disability up now, Dross! [Thunder drops a series of elbows onto Paris' knee before slapping on the figure four leglock.] SR: Give up! Give up! [Thunder pours on the pressure and Paris nearly has his shoulder sdown for a full three count before starting to inch his way to the ropes. Finally he manages to extend his arm far enough to grab the bottom strand and the ref calls for the break.] TD: It looks like Brody Thunder is getting a little frustrated here. SR: Just quit! Let's get on to the Kowalski match! TD: This has got to be it! Thunder has hoisted Paris onto his shoulders and is grinding away on the torture rack. Here come the Thunderbolt! [Thunder drops Paris from his shoulders into a shoulder breaker on his knee and Paris slumbs to the mat. Thunder goes for the routine cover and the ref counts: 1 - 2...] TD: Paris kicked out again! What will it take to bin Ronnie Paris? SR: A stern word from Maggie Collins? [Brody Thunder, clearly annoyed, motions that he has had enough and picks Paaris up again. He sanps on another neckbreaker before hoisting him up again. This time he lays Paris out with the Cattlebuster DDT.] SR: Even a dud like Thunder can win with that move. TD: Don't assume that Paris can't kick out again! He's an unbeleivable wrestler! [The ref counts: 1 - 2 - Paris attempts a kick out but no longer has the strength - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: Brody Thunder finally found what can stop Ronnie Paris and... what's Thunder doing now? SR: He's looking for his hat, which I might add looks a helluva lot better on Kowalski... a real tough hombre. TD: No... he's after a microphone. He's got the mic now... [Thunder stands in the center of the ring, his eyes intently focused on the curtains at the top of the aisle where Kowalski just disappeared. He raises the mic:] BT: Hey... Kowalski... I ain't askin' ya, Hoss... I'm tellin' ya. Either you get your thievin' hide back dwon here in this ring right now an' face me like a man... or I'm comin' back down there ta kick it like it ain't never been kicked before, ace. Ya got ten seconds... nine... eight... TD: Incredible! Brody Thunder has issued a challenge to Steve Kowalski! SR: That's just plain stupidity, Dross. Thunder ought to just thank his lucky stars that Kowalski left when he did and didn't put his lights out. [Thunder continues counting as the crowd picks up the count with him.] BT: ...six... five... four... TD: Where's Kowalski? He isn't coming out! I think he's... SR: Dross... how stupid do you think the Fury is?! He ain't getting paid to pummel Thunder here tonight. Why should he come back out? [Thunder leans on the ropes almost screaming out the countdown.] BT: ...three... two... [Suddenly "Don't Fear The Reaper" blares over the P.A. system. The crowd seems to rise to their feet in unison. A spotlight hits the curtain and suddenly Kowalski pops his head through, still wearing Thunder's black hat. He smiles a devilish grin as he bursts through the curtains to a thunderous pop! A handheld camera catches his eye as he mugs for it saying, "Didja miss me?!" He slowly walks down the aisle to the ring, taunting Thunder who is just chomping at the bit to get his hands on the Garden State icon.] TD: Kowalski's answering Thunder's call! SR: You mean calling Thunder's bluff, is more like it! He's coming to kick some cowboy ass! Go, Fury, go! TD: He's entering the ring! These two are gonna go at it right here tonight, fans! [Kowalski steps throught the ropes and again the two men go nose to nose. They jaw back and forth and Thunder takes a swipe for his hat but Kowalski catches him with a knee to the midsection and the fight is on!] TD: Oh my! The Fury is scheduled up next to face Chris Quigley -- but I don't think we're going to see that match now... this is getting ugly! [The crowd roars its delight as the Fury and Thunder set about one another in a flurry of rights and lefts, each man vying for superiority -- and immediately, security dash down to the ringside area to try and separate the two men. After much struggling, Thunder and Kowalski are herded, large groups of security men between them, up the aisle and into the locker room area. As the crowd begins to settle, cut back to Tim Dross and "Soundbite" Steve Roberts at the broadcast table.] TD: I think we've got some order restored now, Brody Thunder has apparently been escorted from the arena and you know the Fury is champing at the bit to get out here and go head up for our big main event. SR: Champing?  Christ, Dross, that "word of the day" toilet paper really was a good birthday present, wasn't it? But I sure as hell wouldn't say order is being restored... in fact, if there's ever been a more wild, chaotic day in IIWF history, I must have been in a hot dog and Wild Turkey induced haze at the time, 'cause I've sure forgotten it. TD: Well, be that as it may, we've got a big match waiting on tap for our big main event. SR: A real psychobelly freak out! TD: Yes, a real... I don't have any idea what you're talking about, Steve Roberts. SR: I'm just trying to have some fun, you need to loosen up, Dross, hey... maybe you need to incorporate some of that new vocabulary in tonight's match... you know what phrase you never use? TD: I shudder to think. SR: Knockin' da' boots.  Knockin' da boots, Dross.  Peep this, G, the brutha's all be up in my crib, sayin' I better recognize it be time for Phat Timmy D to be preachin' the word about knockin' da boots. TD: You are insane. SR: I've been called worse, Dross.  Recently.  But it okay, baby.  It all about you and me.  It all about the dynamic duo of dichotomy.  Butch and Sundance.  Starsky and Hutch.  I'm the Captain and you're Tenielle. I'm a street pimp in a pink cadillac and you my high-class ho', LaWanda. I'm an Egyptian art forger and you're my third croissant of the morning. Gotta get back on the slim fast, baby dolls.  It's a 187 and I'm... ready to ride! TD: Let's get to the ring. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Steve "the Fury" Kowalski vs. "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: JJ [Sparkplug Lee casts a withering glance at the bearded IIWF executive who appears to be updating his resume as he takes the mic.] SL: The following contest is your _MAIN EVENT_ of the evening! Introducing first, at a weight of 238 pounds... from Corner Brook, Newfoundland in Canada... he is one of the most heralded superstars in all of wrestling... "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley! ["For those About To Rock" kicks in to a tremendous crowd pop as Quigley begins a walk down the aisle, the trademark jacket and sunglasses coming off even before he reaches ringside as the "Quickstrike" offers a look of fierce competitiveness as he awaits the arrival of his opponent.] TD: Chris Quigley is here, I'll tell you, Steve Roberts, there is a new fire inside this man... you know as well as anyone that this sport is one of momentum, of ebbs and flows, and right now... you get the sense... you get the sense that Chris Quigley has grasped this moment in time as a defining one.  SR: You want a definition for Chris Quigley:  Lover of all things plastic.  The guy will boff your slipcovers if you ain't looking. Here's the deal on Quigley, he just isn't tough enough.  Mentally tough, sure he can go a little bit... and he's won his minor league belts... but I'm here to tell you right now that he doesn't have what it takes to get in done here any more... forget about Dan Kauffman -- he's in the ring with the Fury, Dross.  And he's about to find out why Steve Kowalski is the "next big thing". [The Furies are standing as one, awaiting the arrival of their hero with the chant, "Do - your - job! Do - your - job! Do - your - job!"] SL: And his opponent... weighs 268 pounds and resides in Newark, New Jersey.  He is the former IIWF Intercontinental Champion of the World... he is... Steve "The Fury" Kowalski! [Huge pop as the Fury quickly moves up the aisle, the earlier altercation with Brody Thunder clearly has him seeing red... and he dumps his Harley Davidson jacket in the aisle -- and without his usual aplomb enters the ring to the -- Ding! Ding! Ding! And the fight is on! Quigley dives at the Fury with a double leg pickup and begins to smash his face with some quick right hands! ... taking one in return but then hopping to his feet and backing away.  The Fury stands, smirking at the Canadian and the two men lock up sharply. Kowalski is the first to grab a standing side headlock, wrenching at the neck of Quigley... but Quickstrike quickly moves behind into a hammerlock -- standing switch -- Quigley reverses, grabs a wristlock and an armwring that has the Fury grimacing.] TD: Sharply technical start to this encounter... very much a Quigley pace early on as he tries to feel out the former IC Champion.  Quigley working the left arm of the Fury... moving from a wristlock to a hammerlock and now into a bit of a knucklelock as each man looks for the clear advantage. SR: This is the part of the match that I love, Dross. TD: Because of the technical gamesmanship? SR: No, because I can catch up on my Tyra Banks fantasy.  See, Tyra has been paralyzed from the waist down in a horrible poultry accident... [Quigley keeps just a fraction of a step ahead of the Fury - and now has a top wristlock which is broken by a sharp Fury boot to the midsection. Pop!  Kowalski grabs as if for a swinging neckbreaker... but Quigley stops the momentum with a snag of the ropes that leaves the Fury with nothing but air... and then nothing but mat as he's driven sharply down with a side russian leg sweep.  Pop! Quigley hops to the back, pressing down and then lifting Kowalski's left leg in a half crab from which official Sanders can barely ask for a submission before the Fury scrambles to the ropes.  Quigley backs away... but only momentarily as he immediately levels a thrust kick to the inside of the Fury's right knee, a European uppercut... and an Irish whip that results in a Quigley knee lift that drops the Fury hard to the mat! Big, Quickstrike Pop!] TD: Chris Quigley all over the Fury early, Steve Roberts... it looks to me like perhaps Steve Kowalski did not do quite as much homework as one normally expects from him. SR: Homework?  Homework is for pimply-faced sixteen year old girls who don't get invited to the junior prom.  This is wrestling, Dross, and this is a sport about kickin' da ass and eatin' da biscuits -- and if there's anyone who knows what I'm talking about, it's Steve Kowalski. TD: I remember that t-shirt.  I liked that one. SR: Wanna buy a couple dozen?  They're real cheap. [Quigley grapevines the leg of the Fury... but Kowalski announces that "playtime is over" with a thumb to the eye, a blow to the gut, and a contemptuous scoopslam -- Quigley rises -- and Kowalski slams him again... and again... and again... the Fury sending Chris Quigley down with four lightning quick slams as his fans begin to roar until the next Quigley rise is followed by a standing dropkick from the Quickstrike that knocks the Fury over the top rope... and out to the floor!  Big Selling Pop!] TD: Chris Quigley shows some tremendous heart there, Steve Roberts... taking four big slams from the Fury... but then connecting with a picture perfect dropkick that takes him clear to the floor!  SR: Hey, do I look worried?  This is Chrissie "The Lonely Mandrell Sister" Quigley, Dross.  Fury gonna kick his ass O.G. style. [Kowalski attempts to rise... and Quigley knocks him back to the retaining barrier with a baseball slide!  Pop!  Quigely comes outside firing, landing two right hands and then whipping Kowalski hard -- reverse -- and it is Quigley who goes hard into the steel steps, his shoulder crunching hard into the bottom step!  Big Pop!] TD: Oh, that was a bad shot taken by Quigley... and the Fury looks to capitalize. [Kowalski advances slowly, almost warily on the fallen Quigley... picking him up by the back of his long hair and ramming his face twice into the retaining barrier.  Kowalski maintains his hold on the Quickstrike, jamming his throat over the railing... then keeping him prone with his boot as he begins a loud conversation with a ringside fan wearing a "Brody Wuz Robbed" t-shirt.] TD: See, that's where Steve Kowalski is so dangerous... on the outside. Even if Chris Quigley can match up with him move for move... he is just fighting an uphill battle once this thing turns into a brawl. SR: Hey, Kowalski's really putting the bad mouth on the guy at ringside, Dross.  Hey, Fury... Hey, Fury... take a poke at the fat bastard... treat him like you own him... call him your woman... spit in his face... TD: That's a little severe, Steve Roberts. SR: So?  My Uncle Frank has it comin'... wearing that Brody Thunder t-shirt.  Kick my mother's brother's ass, Fury! [Kowalski drags Quigley away from the barrier, Quickstrike coughing violently, his hands moving to his neck as Kowalski leads him to the ringpost and slams -- blocked -- and Quigley slams Kowalski's head into the ringpost!  Again!  And again!  And again!  Quigley then tossing the Fury back into the ring to a huge pop from the crowd!] TD: Chris Quigley won't back down, Steve Roberts!  The Quickstrike, I am telling you, the Quickstrike needs this match... and I have a feeling he is gonna get it! SR: I have a feeling he is gonna get Skullpumped back to the paleolithic era, Dross.  The guy's a jobber with jobber skills and jobber maneuvers and jobber tendencies! TD: Jobber tendencies? SR: Don't make me cut you, LaWanda. [Quigley stomps with a few measured boots to the head and neck as each man is back int the ring, then picks Kowalski to his feet and whips him farside, Quigley ducking his head a hair too quickly and then taking a big rocker dropper from the Fury that brings a roar from the crowd! Quigley is now kicked repeatedly, full out shots to the face by the Fury who picks him up into a running power slam...] TD: Quigley goes out the back!  Quigley out the back side... and with a waistlock... Oh my! [Quigley hits a textbook german suplex and bridges for a 1 - 2 - NO! Kickout by Kowalski, who angrily moves tohis feet, wildly swinging a clothesline that Quigley ducks, grabbing on with a crucifix and... and... and taking Kowalski to the mat with another: 1 - 2 - NO!  The Fury is clearly confused... sending a haymaker right hand which Quigley ducks... Quigley grabbing for a side salto that sends the Fury crashing to the mat... 1 -- 2 -- NO!  Kickout by Steve Kowalski!] TD: I don't recall the Fury ever being quite so out-maneuvered, Steve Roberts... I have to think his encounter with Brody Thunder has gotten the better of him.  Those two men have really been in each others' faces the past couple of weeks and maybe Steve Kowalski's focus is not what it needs to be. SR: The only thing that's out of focus here are your glasses, Dross. Kowalski's in control.  The Fury's gonna be just fine and then we're going to the Arm Bar to beat the hell out of the regulars.  And the weirdos.  And maybe a seeing eye dog or two.  Whatever gets in our way, Dross. [Kowalski moves more slowly to his feet now... rubbing his jaw as he circles Chris Quigley.  The Fury eyes his opponent carefully, as if trying to determine from where the next assault will come.  The two men lock up... and it's Quigley with another hammerlock -- standing switch -- and the Fury moves from the hammer up into a three-quarter nelson! Kowalski wrenching away with a three-quarter nelson and then driving Quigley over the top with a modified dragon suplex, his fans rising... but then shocked as Quigley stays on his feet! Quigley lunges back at the stunned Fury... who just has time to reach up... catching the full brunt of the Canadian's weight...] TD: And falling back into a hotshot!  The Fury hotshots Chris Quigley! How about that? SR: You've gotta love the guy, Dross.  Hits the suplex and then follows up with a hotshot.  That's what I call combination wrestling, Dross. Like when you hit the stripbar for a European friction dance... then head on over to watch the Catholic girls lacrosse tournament.  It's fun _on top_ of fun. TD: Again... I apologize. SR: Yeah, you'll be apologizin' in a couple of weeks when you're doing cards for some one show a month promotion in Israel. [Kowalski's trademark smirk returns as he mimics Quigley by grabbing his throat as if he were choking while simultaneously dropping a big leg on the Quickstrike and covering... 1 -- 2 -- NO! Kowalski, as if irritated, picks Quigley to his feet and backs him to the corner with knife edge chops.  Kowalski beats Quickstrike back... then sends him cross-corner where Quigley bounces hard into the buckle and staggers hard into an atomic drop by Kowalski!  Pop as Quigley's head bounces hard off the top buckle and Quigley returns again to the middle of the rring where he is kicked to the midsection and the fans... the fans roar as one...] TD: Steve Kowalski underhooks the arms!  He's got him set up! SR: Warm up the car, Uncle Frank, were going to St. Mary's! [Big Pop as Kowalski looks out to his fans... his supreme confidence changing to shock as Quigley kicks him sharply to the "lower midsection" and then reverses into a backslide for a count of... 1 -- 2 -- NO!  Kowalski is up and whipped by Quigley -- Quigley leapfrog -- they pass and Quigley springboards... into the arms of the Fury!  Kowalski maneuvers for a piledriver... but Quigley goes out the back... grabbing a waistlock... Kowalski runs to the ropes... Quigley maintaining hold of the waist, and ducks an elbow... allowing the Fury to break the hold and turn around to face the crouching Quigley... Big Quickstrike Pop!] TD: Quigley caught him with that jawbreaker, Steve Roberts!  That stunning jawbreaker and Kowalski is laid out!  This match is over, Steve Roberts!  This match is over! [Quigley drops for a cover... 1 -- 2 -- ] TD: Three! Three! SR: Foot on the ropes, Dross.  Only two... damn, you're gonna scare the people with that kind of crazy talk. [Big pop as the Fury is just able to beat the count with a last ditch lift of his foot to the bottom rope.  Quigley smacks the mat hard, clearly questioning the speed of the count, as he picks the Fury to his feet... rocking him backward with sharp right hands and then an irish whip... into a lift for a vertical suplex! Huge Quigley pop as he shakily lifts the bigger Fury above his head... Quigley wobbling as the Fury attempts to escape the hold... Kowalski still in the air... although now facing Chris Quigley... the Fury just about nose to nose with Chris Quigley as Quigley drops him...] TD: Over the top rope!  Over the top rope!  Chris Quigley just dumped Steve Kowalski over the top rope and all the way to the outside with that vertical suplex!  What a show of strength by Chris Quigley! SR: I don't know what the hell's going on here, Dross.  I don't like it... I don't like it one bit, and I ain't gonna stand for it much longer. [Quigley readies himself, then to a big pop slingshots himself over the top rope... catching the Fury hard with a sharp elbow leveling Kowalski as the fans roar their approval! Quigley gets to his feet, brushing the hair from his eyes, that look of complete focus... of desire... of drive... of need not having left his face for a moment during the bout as he moves to climb to the apron... Huge Huge Huge POP!] TD: It's Kowalski!  It's Kowalski!  He's got Quigley by the hair! He's got him by the back of the head!  OH MY! [The Furies explode as Kowalski drives Chris Quigley from the steps to the floor with a vicious inverted DDT!  Quigley's head bangs sharply and the Quickstrike writhes in pain as Kowalski stands over him, a wicked smile crossing his face, "I ain't got a slop bucket, bitch, so this'll have to do," the Fury says as he spits down on the face of the fallen Quigley.] SR: I love it!  This is the greatest day in the history of the IIWF, Dross!  [Kowalski wearily moves back into the ring, seemingly content with a countout win as Sanders begins to put the number on Quigley... who gets to his feet and slowly begins to climb back into the ring! Kowalski meets him as he he reaches the apron, grabbing Quigley's head in a facelock through the ropes and jamming a furious series of right hands to his face.  Quigley grabs at the Fury's chest, bringing him to the ropes... and then slams him with a shoulderblock... once, twice, three times with a shoulder block!  Kowalski staggers as Quigley gets to his feet, coming over the top rope with a sunset flip!  1 -- 2 -- NO! Kowalski kicks out... but Quigley seems to gain an ounce of new life... sharply dropping a leg and then going for a cover... 1 -- 2 -- NO! Kowalski kicks out... Quigley bringing him to his feet and whipping him farside -- reverse -- and Quigley comes off the ropes into a high backdrop by Kowalski...] TD: Quigley stays on his feet!  Quigley stays on his feet and grabs Kowalski! [Quigley so crisply executes a butterfly suplex with a bridge that brings another count of: 1 -- 2 -- NO!  Kowalski rolls away... rolls to his feet... and fires a huge right hand that catches Quigley flush on the jaw! Quigley staggers back as the Fury sends another enormous right hand. Big Pop as Kowalski has Quigley backed into the corner... Kowalski firing away with right hands... But then Quigley starts firing back!  Quigley unloading with right hands of his own... every one of the 20,000 in attendance on his feet as Chris Quigley and Steve Kowalski fire at each other with every thing they have!!  Big Big Pop!] TD: They are going at it, Steve Roberts!  They are at war!  This is IIWF Saturday Night and Steve Kowalski and Chris Quigley are really knocking da' boots! SR: Hah! Hah!  You're my favorite Dross, Dross! [Kowalski with the Irish whip, sending Quigley hard to the ropes and up into a vertical suplex... no, no, down into a square driver that smashes Quickstrike's head into the canvas!  Big, Furious Pop! Kowalski points to the top rope, his fans now chanting, "Moonsault! Moonsault! Moonsault!" as the Fury makes his way to the top buckle!  Steve Kowalski climbs... readies himself high above as Chris Quigley's attempt to stand draws the attention of the official...] TD: Oh my! Oh my! It's Brody Thunder!  It's Brody Thunder!  Thunder hits Steve Kowalski over the back with a steel chair!  Brody Thunder hits Steve Kowalski with a steel chair! SR: No!  No!  What the hell is going on around here, Dross? [Thunder slips in, nailing Kowalski as he stood backward on the top buckle... then diving out of the ring as the official disengaged from Quigley. Huge Pop as Kowalski drops like a stone from the shot... the "next big thing" falling as if shot to the canvas...] TD: Quigley's going to the top rope!  Quigley's going to the top rope! SR: Get up, Fury! For the love of Catholic high school girls get your ass up! [Quigley moves to the top rope, spreading his arms wide and dropping a big flying elbow... ...and connecting!  Quigley covers the fallen Fury, hooking a leg for a: 1 -- 2 -- 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] SL: Your winner... as a result of a pinfall... CHRIS "QUICKSTRIKE" QUIGLEY! ["For Those About To Rock" begins as Quigley's arm is upraised by Chuck Sanders.  The Quigley fans, rush the barrier... young and old... almost disbelieving the result...] TD: Chris Quigley is back, Steve Roberts!  Chris Quigley is all the way back... and he has just defeated Steve Kowalski!  Unbelievavble! [The Soundbite buries his head in his hands... Kowalski, rolling from the ring, and upon realizing what has happened, screams for Thunder and sprints to the dressing room... clearly a man possessed.  Quigley allows himself a brief smile as he exits the ring, pointing at the announce table and yelling, "Hey Stevie, I just kicked your boy's ass!", before leaving the arena to a raucous pop from his fans.] TD: This match, and this night, are over, Steve Roberts.  We have seen some remarkable displays... an apparent alliance between Violence Unlimited and Otto Verhoeven made as the Butcher looks oh-so-strong heading for Midusmmer Madness -- and with his actions tonight... Brody Thunder may have made an enemy for life in Steve Kowalski. SR: Brody Thunder made an enemy for life in me, Dross.  I can't believe the crap I have to put up with!  I am the all-powerful Soundbite... damn, damn, damn. TD: So, for my tag team colleague Steve "Soundbite" Roberts... SR: Damn...Damn...Damn... TD: I am Tim Dross saying... good night, everybody! [Steve Roberts rips away his headset, storming from the broadcast position as the fans file from the building, Dross calmly shuffles his papers and signs a quick autograph for a ringside fan as the shot fades.] +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+