T + H + E M + A + R + C + H T + O ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| | || | \ v v / | __| |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| ___ _________ ___ _______ ______ _______ ____ | \/ || || \/ __\| | | \/ || \/ | __\| _ \ | \ / || || \ \__ \| | | \ / || \ / | __\| / | |\/| || || / /__\ \ v | |\/| || |\/| | |__| \ \ |_| |_||_||__/\____/\_/|_| |_||_| |_|____\_|\_\ ___ ______ __ ___ ____ ___ ___ | \/ || \ | \ | \ | __\/ __\ / __\ | \ / || \ \ | \ \| \ \| __\\__ \ \__ \ | |\/| || |\ \| / /| | || |_____\ \___\ \ |_| |_||_| \_\__/ |_|_||____\____/\____/ ******************* WITH BRIAN LAU AND LARRY MORTON ******************** [The show opens with the Midsummer Madness control room, basically the same Countdown set, but with Midsummer Madness posters, merchandise, and other tidbits placed about. Larry Morton is dressed in a Hawaiian shirt, big straw hat, and neon coloured sunglasses. He's also got his nose painted with sunscreen. Brian Lau calmly sits beside him wearing his trademark suit, adding only a pair of Ray Bans to the ensemble.] LM: Welcome, everyone, to the March to Midsummer Madness! We're just 24 hours away from what promises to be an exciting IIWF event. As you can see, we're completely in the summer mode here... Well, at least I am. Brian, I thought the producers told you to dress... Summery? BL: Yes, they did. And I am. LM: You're telling me that you would go to the beach in a suit? BL: To be honest with you, Larry, I wouldn't even go to the beach. They're dirty, and there's too many people around. I don't like people. LM: Really? I'd have never guessed. BL: Well, now you know, Tropical Boy. LM: Folks, we saw a great deal of action last Saturday, and the entire world is talking about the Genesis situation heating up. Requiem was ganged up on in his match against Mad Dog Watkins, but was still able to make an impact. Brian, you had a hand in that one, didn't you? BL: What? Hey, I was walking around on assignment, and the soundbooth guy, he tells me, "Hey, buddy, I gotta feed the urinal cake, can you cover for me? Being the good Samaritan that I am, I obliged. Lo and behold, out comes Requiem, so I played the tape that was cued up. What's the big deal? LM: Well, first off, you've never gotten put on assignment since you started here. Second, I know the soundman doesn't talk like that, and third... Why do I bother? BL: I have no idea, Larry... LM: Anyway, after that, Verhoeven, James, Tiger Claw, and Kauffman stormed the ring to issue a beating on the champion. BL: Requiem felt first hand what a Slaughterslam feels like... And not for the last time, believe you me. He also felt the Golden Tiger Strike, and the Blackheart punch. He would have felt another if it weren't for that moron Kauffman stopping him. LM: Which leads to the main event, that big ten man tag, in which we saw Casey James blatantly attack Kauffman. BL: What? Come on, the guy was wearing a mask. I didn't know if it was James or not, so I doubt you could figure it out. LM: It was pretty obvious. Casey was wearing the mask earlier on... BL: Oh, sure, Larry. Listen, Casey James didn't hang around me and not learn how to mess with people's heads, okay? If James were going to attack someone while wearing an Outlaw mask, do you think he'd wear it in the ring earlier on in the night? LM: Well... BL: Come on, use your head! Not even the fans are stupid enough to buy that one... LM: I guess time will tell... The end of that match saw Dan Kauffman getting pinned by Serge Annis. BL: As much as I've put down Genesis in the past, I have to say it was nice to see Kauffman shut up by one of their members. LM: After a Cattle Buster... BL: So what? LM: One would think that this mysterious masked man helped Genesis win last week. BL: I guess he did. Hold on one moment. Let's just say that this "mysterious man" was actually J.W. Hardin... LM: He's retired! BL: Hold on, let me get to my point... Let's say it was... Hypothetically, of course. Hardin had beefs with Kauffman, right? Right. Now, let's say that someone who decided to go so far as to wear the very mask that the Outlaw wore started flexing his muscles. Who do you think he'd go after? Kauffman would be a prime target, I think. I honestly don't think that attack had anything to do with Genesis. LM: Well, be that as it may, whoever is imitating the Outlaw doesn't even look like him... The Outlaw was never so... Defined... BL: I see what you're getting at, Larry... It was Casey, right? LM: I never said that. But you have to admit that all the evidence points to... BL: Alright, Inspector Morton... Whatever you say. Listen, I know Casey personally, okay? I know that the guy in the mask wasn't him. I also know that Casey has problems with Genesis, and that even if it meant getting one last shot at Kauffman, he'd pass it up if it meant giving Genesis the win. LM: Well, it's done now, so let's move on. BL: Thank you. LM: In other news, we saw the return of the Subway Psycho! BL: Joy! LM: I never knew you started being a Psycho fan, Brian. BL: I didn't. It's called sarcasm, you nitwit. LM: The Psycho came in as Tony Starks' partner at the last minute, throwing Tim Turner and Duncan Macbeth for a loop! BL: The guy always was a spotlight hog. LM: Will you stop? BL: What? It's true! Sasha... She told me things. LM: And I'm assuming it was exactly what you wanted to hear. BL: Sure... Ahhh, those were the good old days... More money than I could count, and most of it was the Psycho's. He paid for my jet... Did you know that? LM: You'd better hope he doesn't come to try and take it back. BL: What the hell would he do with a jet? LM: [shakes head] We also saw Joe Petrow's debut as a referee... BL: What a freak... LM: But not exactly the type of ref you'd want to get upset, either. BL: Whatever... LM: And there was also that explosive tag team matchup with Kowalski, Thunder, Warnett, and Quigley. BL: That was just out of hand... I bet our ratings went through the roof. LM: Indeed they did. The fans like a good old fashioned brawl once in a while, you know what I mean? BL: I think so, Larry. LM: Well, with that, we should probably move on and take a look at this Pay Per View spectacular that will take place tomorrow night! BL: You're not going to do the "Call your cable companies _right_now!_" spiel, are you? LM: Well, I don't think I have to now... Let's take a look at the card match by match! ======================================================================== ------------------MIDSUMMER-MADNESS-MATCH-BY-MATCH---------------------- ======================================================================== HOUR ONE: --------- ---------------------------------------------------- IIWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP TRIPLE THREAT MATCH: Derek Mota [c] vs. "Showstopper" Simon Lebec vs. Dirt Dog Unique Allah ---------------------------------------------------- LM: Starting things off is this spectacular Cruiserweight title match with not one, but _two_ challengers! BL: Have you ever noticed that this belt always seems to be up for grabs in triangle and four corner matches? LM: And why aren't four corner matches called "square matches?" BL: Deep, Larry... Really deep. LM: Thank you. Remember, folks, this is a single fall triangle match, meaning that whoever scores a pinfall on any other man wins the belt. For example, Dirt Dog Unique Allah could pin Simon Lebec, and he'd become the new CW champ. Derek Mota may not even get in the ring! BL: Yeah, okay... The only way Allah is going to pin Lebec down is if he falls on Lebec, causing Lebec to twist his neck or something. LM: Come on, now... Dirt Dog was Cruiserweight champ for quite a while before Mota. BL: Lucky dog... LM: Speaking of Mota, though, we've got comments from him coming up... BL: And he's the only one we have comments from about this match... Both challengers couldn't even spare ten minutes to say two words about the match... LM: Well, I would think that they're spending all their time training... BL: I hear Allah's right bicep bottle curl is a real killer... Ever notice one of his arms is bigger than the other? LM: No I haven't... Anyway, folks, let's get some comments from Derek Mota... [The interview opens with Frank the Cameraman standing outside the IIWF Coliseum, along with a mass of wrestling fans, hoping to get a glimpse of their favorite wrestlers as they prepare for the PPV the following night. Several wrestlers have come in over the past hour, signing autographs on the way in. The crowd gets a little louder as a car begins pulling into the parking lot. The fans see this shiny stretch limo and instantly mob it, hoping to shake the hand of one of their favorites. The car parks, and the limo door opens as Steve Summer steps out. A loud disappointed groan is heard from the crowd. "How's everyone doing? New Generation all the way!", Summer manages to blurt out before the crowd thins out, looking for a real star. A loud pulse is heard, getting louder every second, as the fans start looking at each other, wondering what this sound is. A heavy breeze starts and we see an older man chasing after his toupee. The crowd starts looking up. First one person ... then another ... and then everyone is looking into the air, at a helicopter which is dropping down frighteningly close to them. Summer has emerged from the car, and is directly beneath the helicopter, as the fans start scattering, with some terrified sounds coming from the younger fans. Summer dives out of the way as the helicopter sets itself down in the middle of the parking lot, kicking dust all over the place. The entire crowd is affixed as the copter stops, and a man emerges ... the IIWF Cruiserweight Champion Derek Mota. Mota hops out of the helicopter, wearing a black leather jacket, and carrying a duffel bag over his shoulder. The fans immediately mob him, asking for his autograph, but he simply walks past them to the entrance. Steve Summer and Frank the Cameraman are waiting for him as he walks into the arena.] SS: Derek! Derek! Oh yes, I knew that coming here early was gonna help me out! DM: It's called workin', Summer, obviously after hangin' around at the Arm Bar all these weeks you forgot what it's all about. SS: Derek, what's been up with you, man? First, you get away from our New Gen thing, then you feud with Genesis, and you've been ignoring me for ages! What gives? DM: Summer, you wouldn't ... oh, [BLEEP] it. I won't even start with you, boy. Derek Mota ain't about the future no more. I ain't one of those punks who keeps sayin' I'm the future of the IIWF, while sittin' on my ass, not doin' a thing ta make sure it happens! I'm not one of those guys who claims to be Old Gen, clingin' to a career that shoulda been over after losin' a retirement match months ago. Derek Mota is about making things happen. He ain't the future. He ain't the past. Derek Mota IS the IIWF. I took the New Gen thing and gave it life. I was the man who put the spirit into the fight against Genesis. And now we see the "tough guy" syndrome, all these pretty boys wishin' they had the attitude that's takin' me to the top. Hate ta tell ya, boys, but it's already been done. [Mota continues his quick pace through the building, with Frank and Steve barely keeping up. Finally he reaches the IIWF Conference Room, and barges in.] Suit: We're so excited about tomorrow night's event featuring Genesis against the Old Gen of the IIWF, and in our big main event, Otto Verhoeven takes on the IIWF World Champion Requiem! [Mota just walks into the room, grabbing a roll of tape from the side of the makeshift Midsummer Madness set. He walks up to the suit, and simply unravels the tape around the suit's face, taping his mouth shut! Mota then shoves the stunned man off the stage and grabs the mic.] DM: Why dontcha keep your mouth shut for a sec, you idiot! [Mota pulls the Cruiserweight Title out of his duffel bag and carefully places it on the podium directly before him.] DM: This is the new standard of the IIWF, ya freaks! Guys like Shakespeare, you whine about how you're not getting any attention thanks to the New Generation, well come get it right here, boy! If you wrestle half as good as you cry, you might even have a chance! Ronnie Paris, you wanna show the world just how tough you really are? So you beat up Shakespeare after he already fought two matches. So you punched out a few guys in the big brawl last week. But just face it, Paris ... you're still soft inside. You wanna try ta lump yerself in with the Kowalskis and Thunders, but you're the newlywed who says "Yes honey, I'll take out the garbage right away" and "I swear I won't finish so fast next time, love!". And then you got my opponents tomorrow. The Dirt Dog. Weren't you the Cruiserweight Champ once? Sorry, I never noticed. Now THAT'S a man who was happy with what he had, dreamin' of a little booty, and a bottle of whisky at his side. Too bad that ain't enough to make it big in the IIWF, lap dog! And finally, we've got Lebec. Simon, Simon, Simon. You make it look like you gave me the title, that I didn't deserve it on my own. Well boy, you may have stolen somethin' and given it ta me, but it was somethin' I had just finished earnin' the hard way! You and me, we're really alike, you got the winnin' attitude, and so do I. But come the Friday Nights, you were gettin' laid in the backseat of yer car, nowhere ta be found, while I was trainin', makin' sure I was ready ta give it all for the win. I'm sure the Genesis boys wouldn't mind having ya as the new champ, Rogers sure put in some good words for ya, but it don't matter ta me. Put Lebec in the ring, put the Dog in the ring, and put all the damn Genesis punks in the ring, but I'm comin' outta there as the champ. Cause tomorrow, it ain't enough ta take me outta there on a stretcher. You wanna take my belt from me? You gonna have ta take me out in a body bag. Put it this way, tomorrow night's not gonna be the end of my reign. Let's just say that things are just startin' ta heat up ... [Derek grabs his title back, putting it around his waist, and shoves the podium over, letting it crash onto the floor, shattering into a million pieces. As we see Mota's feet stepping away from the wreckage and out of the room, the camera just keeps zooming into the shards of wood lying around. Cut back to the studio.] BL: Attitude... That's what brings the title home. LM: I would think that talent... BL: Oh, do shut up... Listen, Mota thinks he's number one, right? That's all a man needs. LM: What about "any man can lose on any night?" BL: Yeah, so? The best can be beaten, we all know that, but as long as someone like Mota thinks in his head that he's the best, then he's got nothing to worry about. I'll come right out and say it... He's damn good. That's why he's champ. He knows it, too. LM: Well, I guess I'll just have to take your word for it... BL: Better believe it, lackey... ---------------------------------------------------- MIDSUMMER MADNESS MATCH: Tonnage, The Harlequins, Pain Inc. vs. Deathbringer, The Equalizers, Team Sychosys ---------------------------------------------------- LM: Two big men, and four angry teams. BL: Come on, Tonnage can be referred to as two big men on his own. LM: You have a point... BL: And the teams... Pain Inc... I'd be angry if I sucked too... The Harlequins... Overlooked way too often. Team Sychosys... A joke that seems to have gotten out of hand. The Equalizers... Who's the gay guy again? LM: There's no... Oh, never mind. We only seem to have comments from members of one of the teams... First off, here's Team Sychosys. [On location, the crack of dawn, a beautiful early summer morning in a quaint Oregon town. Some voices are heard, as the camera begins a slow circular pan.] V1: Ah yes, it's good to be back in our town! V2: We had a lot of fun here, didn't we? V1: Yeah, but it ain't about fun. We've come back here to prepare... [the camera now catches the speakers, Team Sychosys members "Sychosys" Joe Petrow and "Majestic" Maurice McArthur, affixing something to a nearby sign] JP: ...for our chance in the spotlight. It's been a long time coming, and we aim to make the most of it. C'mon! [Petrow walks away, and Triple M follows. In their wake, a sign reads "Welcome to Quail Grove", with an orange and black label reading, "TRAINING GROUND OF TEAM SYCHOSYS"] [The strains of "All Along The Watchtower" by Jimi Hendrix blares though Main Street, as Triple M walks along side Petrow with an enormous boombox on his shoulder. But through some amazing microphone technology, Petrow and McArthur's words can clearly be heard.] JP: Yeah, when you got something big goin' down in your life, it's best to get back to your roots. And nothing is closer to the roots of Team Sychosys than doin' the Quail Groove in Quail Grove, sister of the mothahood, Sleepy Hollow! And nothing is bigger for Team Sychosys than the big elimination match at Midsummer Maddess. [As Petrow continues, Team Sychosys walk past two posters. One has a mug shot of Joe Petrow, with the caption, "$100,000 REWARD! WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE!", the other a shot of Triple M, with the caption, "$100 reward. Slightly wounded okay!" See, we don't have to mess with the facts, cause the facts speak for themselves. The facts are, that Team Sychosys, has the best winning percentage of ANY tag team in the IIWF! That Team Sychosys, ran G.W.R. clean out of the league! That Team Sychosys, took the once INVINCIBLE Prophets of Rage, and demoralized them to a speck of insignificance! That Team Sychosys left Violence Unlimited a couple of drooling vegetables in the mental institution! [an agitated Maurice McArthur speaks up!] 3M: And Team Sychosys, took the team, that took them, the team the Rotundos, and took them, took their... PORKCHOPS AWAY! [Petrow gives a quizzical look to his partner, as lights start to come on all over town, assumedly not from Hendrix fans. Quickly, Petrow gains control of the situation.] JP: Ask Quigley who the master of the Fujinama Arm Bar is now! But despite all of that, we can't get a break around here! The prez claims the teams in this league are "too embarrassed to fight us". Damn straight, they're embarrassed to lose! But Saturday Night, we'll give you the benefit of the doubt. We'll prove ourselves all over again, maverick style. First, look at our partners. The team with the best losing percentage in the league, looking to improve that further still! Then, you got Deathbringer, who will of course be no help, since dead men don't survive. So that leaves Team Sychosys 2 on 5, 2 on 7 if you separate Tonnage. And you know what? It still doesn't matter! Cause whether it's 5, 7 or, 57, you're all going down one at a time, at the hands of the most advanced tag team...in the world today. [Lots of activity in the background, as what appears to be a lynch mob is in the midst of forming. Fortunately, up ahead is a white Bronco, with the word "Sychomobile" printed on the sides] Harlequins, I hope we save you for last! If there's one team in the league that's had our number, it's you guys, and I don't think I have to elaborate on our history very much. That's why it'll be oh-so-sweet to finish you off once and for all! [Sychosys and Triple M reach the sports vehicle, and climb inside, the now well-organized, very pissed off crowd approaching. Sychosys rolls down the window for one final comment] And we'll be one step closer to hearing the words no one ever expected to hear. New IIWF World Tag Team Champions... Team Sychosys. [Petrow floors it, and the white Bronco roars away. The camera turns back to the mob, rocks in hand, until the cameraman realizes the mortal danger he is in. The shot returns to a jerky picture of the Sychomobile, deep panting sounds heard in the distance, as the camera fades out.] BL: Weirdo. LM: But effective. I bet you that Maurice McArthur is thrilled to be part of an IIWF Pay Per View match. BL: Good for him. I don't really care. LM: Next up folks, here's the Deathbringer... [SCENE: A white brick-built wall. Deathbringer is standing in front of this wall with his back facing the camera. He begins to speak in his low, growling, emotionless voice] DB: Am I becoming a heel again? Was it me who came out to the ring dressed like the Outlaw J.W. Hardin? Was it me who ruined the match for the Old Generation? No... you know, and I know, that I would never do anything that could harm the power of my generation, of my allies... But just why did I not show up during that matchup? [Deathbringer makes a motion as if to turn around, but he stops in his movement and turns back towards the wall again] DB: There are reasons... and maybe you could ask the officials why I did not show up... But that is of no importance anymore, because I have got a little surprise for tomorrow night... A surprise, which you will never forget in your whole life... A surprise, yes... [Deathbringer laughs in his diabolic way for a few seconds, then he continues to speak] DB: Tomorrow night, I will take you to my house of horror... this house of horror is my whole pride... many have come to this house, but few have gone, and those who did get out ... well, they never were the same again afterwards... Tomorrow night, I will start with annihilating Tonnage... Tonnage, you speak and speak and speak... You talk about all those other leagues you were in, about how I betrayed you in one of them, and about how glorious you were in the others... But Tonnage, let me tell you this: [Deathbringer shouts out the next two words and falls back in his usual monotone speech afterwards] DB: SHUT UP! You are the most overrated wrestler in the world today, Tonnage... And you want to show it to everyone out there... But do not even think for a second that anyone respects you here in this league, here in the _mighty_ IIWF, just because you beat two _jobbers_ in a handicap match... Tonnage, is that the best you can do? You mortal fool... this is the _mighty_ IIWF, this is the league which has seen the best of the best come in ... and leave again, as they saw that they could not overcome the competition... Tonnage, this league has seen better wrestlers than you are, this league has seen better champions, than you could ever become... but one thing is for sure... you are most certainly the ugliest wrestler anyone could ever think of... And currently I am thinking of the Marvelous Spam... [Deathbringer sounds like a maniac now, as he begins to laugh, speaking on, while he does so:] DB: Tomorrow night, I will kill you, Tonnage, I will bury you, I will take you six feet under... And I do not care whether that happens during the match... the fact is, that _you_ Tonnage, make me sick... yes... I will eradicate you... [Deathbringer stops laughing. His voice is barely heard as a whisper as he continues to speak:] DB: And I will eradicate you as well, Genesis... [Fade] LM: Could it have been him in the Outlaw mask? BL: He just said it wasn't. LM: But if it were, would he admit it? BL: You're starting to think you've got a lead on this whole thing, aren't you? LM: Well, yes, I... BL: Can it, Larry... You're not even close to being smart enough to figure out how to do up your pants. LM: That's not true. BL: If it were, would you admit it? LM: Leave me alone, okay? ---------------------------------------------------- MIDSUMMER MADNESS MATCH: Subway Psycho, Tony Starks, Ike Sampson & The Prophets of Rage vs. Timothy N. Turner, Duncan Macbeth Luke Steele & Licensed for Devastation ---------------------------------------------------- LM: This match will see the triumphant return of the Subway Psycho! BL: I thought he returned last week. LM: Well, this will be his first match since returning. BL: No, actually, he was in a match last week too. LM: Okay, his first _official_ match. BL: I heard the paperwork was all done beforehand... Last week's participation by the Psycho was official. LM: Okay, okay... The first time the Subway Psycho will be introduced as participating in a match since he came back. Happy? BL: Happy people smile, Morton. Am I smiling? LM: Ummm, no, you're not. BL: Case closed. LM: Good. Folks, let's go to some comments for this match. First up, we've got Tony Starks... [Scene: Under an overpass in New York, Starks stands in the path of some heavily overgrown railroad tracks. In the background you can hear the distinct echo of police sirens. The camera focuses in on Starks, whose face cant be seen because of the white towel. With his head down Starks speaks with in a cold tone:] TS: They said that no one wanted to team with me last week, that no one would, that kid "The Titanic" Ryan Howard, he goes and gets himself hurt, so I have to fight the Highlander and Superfly by myself, big deal. I been whippin' ass since I was a breast fed child runnin wild. And when no one would and my brothers couldn't here comes the Psycho. Me and you, we got some history. We both been around for a while, we from New York, both had it hard in life, both fight back from some sick ass injuries and we both want to cause some damage. I got a lot of respect for you Psycho, the words you echoed about Kauffman, I cant do anything but agree. Now they threw Braveheart off the team and put you on, that's good. TNT, you and the pied piper want to run your mouth about us? You better be _real_ careful before you invoke my name, I'll throw your ass in the Pacer and drive you straight to hell. Remember it. You want to talk about how you are the next Byron, well, you better be focused on not being the next victim of Tony Starks. I am not all about black and white, that aint what I I'm all about, don't let them announcers fool you with that. All I care about is if you are real, look at my team, The Prophets: my brothers in war, for life; The Psycho: I mean, rugged to the core, he knows what the street life is all about; and then you got Ike. Ike, you had some harsh words for me, now look here: you damn sure need a family and I really hope you make the right choice this time, for your sake. I would hate for you to put your life and career in the hands of the fans, they ain't gonna watch you back, they can't whip ass like we can, think about it. For real. You cats that we are fightin' against: "Bow Legged" Timmy Turner, you better get your gig back at A Christmas Carol, Braveheart, better get ready for a funeral, Ready to Get Devastated, just pay that insurance up and whoever that other loser is, I forget his name, who is it? Hell if I know. I will light a candle for all you suckers later. Right now, it is time for Hell to walk down the aisle Saturday night, five deep. Get ready... [Starks looks up and his ice gaze catches the camera shot, he stares into the camera with a 1000 yard stare.] LM: Starks is intense... I can't wait to see him in action tomorrow... BL: You just like how he looks in tights. LM: I do not... BL: Oh, doesn't turn your crank, huh? LM: Turn my crank? What the...? BL: I'm going to tell Starks that you think he's ugly... LM: No, I never said... BL: So you think he's a pretty guy, huh? You're such a slut, Morton. LM: Stop doing this to me! BL: It's just so much fun, though, Larry... LM: Not from this side of the fence... BL: Or on that side of the closet door, right? LM: You... You'd better... Hrmph... Folks, let's move on to comments from Ike Sampson... [SCENE: Nighttime. Underneath a streetlight, Ike Sampson sits on the hood of his car in the wrestlers' lot behind the IIWF Coliseum. He is dressed in his street clothes, wearing a t-shirt bearing the word ONE. Despite the streetlight, Ike's face is obscured in the darkness.] IS: Tomorrow night's a big night. And the Big Dog loves big nights. And on this particular big night, I'm in a real big match. A big match involving a lot of the big players in this sport--including me. And on the eve of this big match--I don't have a clue where any of these men stand. One of the first lessons I ever learned in this sport was that you never trust your opponent, friend or foe. So you can rule those boys out. But tomorrow night, I can't even trust my teammates. You never know if Starks is gonna jump in there with a chair, cleaning house, losing the match for me. You wanna talk family?!? If this is your idea, count me out!! Stay the hell outta my business, boy!! I don't want no part of you _or_ your family!!! The Prophets?!? Hell, Saturday night showed me how much I can trust them. They just sat there and watched while I got beat to a bloody pulp -- by my other teammate! Psycho -- a bonafide legend makes a return. A real champion of the people. Says he's looking out for number one... and the fans. Well, Pyscho, that makes you all right in my book. A few more people like you is what this sport needs. Stick with the fans -- _They'll_ never stab you in the back. I got your back, Pyscho. If you can't trust anybody else in this match, rest assured you can count on the Big Dog. [Ike looks up, and the streetlight illuminates the scrapes, scratches, stitches, and all other sorts of injuries as a result of the vicious beating at the hands of Duncan MacBeth and Timothy Turner this past Saturday Night. He stares into the camera for just a moment, and then lowers his face into the darkness again.] MacBean -- you and me have crossed paths before. And after what you and Richie Rich did Saturday night, you can be damned sure we will again! I got something for the both of ya! You may have picked me out as your target to get back together on the same team -- BIG mistake. It's a good thing you got each other to watch your backs. You damn sure gonna need it. Who can I trust?!? Nobody, really... 'cept my fans. They'll be there for me. Just like they were Saturday Night. I took your best shot, MacBean, and you _still_ couldn't put me down. Let's see if you can take _mine_. Bet ya can't... and that's the truth. [Ike slides off the hood, climbs inside the car, and drives off slowly. Fade.] BL: What do you think of Ike Sampson in tights, Larry? LM: I'm not saying a word... BL: For fear that you might betray the love you feel for Mr. Sampson? That's noble, Morton... It gets me right here, you know? [points to his heart.] LM: You are an evil little man. BL: No, I'm a really, really _cool_ little man. Get it right. LM: With that said, let's move on. Next up, we've got some comments from a member of the other team in this match, Timothy N. Turner... [Timothy N. Turner is sitting in his lavish penthouse apartment looking at photos of all ten men in the Midsummer Madness Elimination match that he is to participate in on Saturday.] TNT: You're not fooling me, Spreadbury! You try to act like you're a fair guy by transferring Duncan Macbeth on to my team. Sure its good to have the second best wrestler in the business on my side of the ring... but let's look at why you did it! Subway Psycho! This guy interferes in our match against Starks and you reward him for it! He should have to earn the right to face me in the ring, seeing how I am the yardstick with which others measure success! I hope you were comfortable in your hospital bed, Psycho, because its a short trip back at the hands of Timothy N. Turner and Duncan Macbeth! [Turner tosses the picture of the Subway Psycho aside and picks up the one of Ike Sampson.] TNT: Sampson. Apparently you didn't get the message last week and pull out of the match like that pathetic little Ryan Howard! It's your loss Ike. Personally, I don't give a damn about you so why don't you just lie flat on your back and little Luke Steele pin you again. [He moves on to a shot of the Prophets of Rage.] TNT: What kind of name is Shadoe? Regardless, you Prophets are probably shaking in your boots since Duncan referred to us as a team. You know that if we entered the tag ranks, you would lose all chance at the titles. You aren't even worth our attention. Starr and Chaos will put you losers down. [Turner picks up the photo of Tony Starks.] TNT: Who does that leave me? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! [Fade.] BL: Hey, Turner... If you're going after Starks, go for the knee... Or the back... Or the head... All three are soft... LM: I wouldn't say that... Starks' head is as hard as... Oh dear, I've walked into another one, haven't I? BL: Yes, sir, you have... Hard as what, Larry? LM: Never mind... BL: Oh, one of those things you can't say on television, right? Here's one for you, Larry... What's long and hard on Tony Starks? LM: I don't think talk of such things on air is... BL: The third grade! I hear he never actually passed the big 3... Hey, Starks... It's a good thing that wrestling doesn't involve multiplication, isn't it? LM: You're going to get it... BL: But not from you... I refuse to even touch you... I don't know where you've been... ------------------------------------------------------- FALLS COUNT ANYWHERE: Steve "the Fury" Kowalski vs. "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder ------------------------------------------------------- LM: Steve Kowalski in a falls count anywhere match? One need only think about Kowalski vs. The Sandman to figure out how this one can turn out. Throw Brody Thunder into the mix, and it could get downright ugly. BL: It's just too bad there's no CN Tower in Portland. LM: Actually, that might just be a good thing. BL: Well, the CN Tower is a bit ugly, so I'll give you that. This match has the potential to get completely unreal. Kowalski has proven that he excels in matches like this. Thunder's chances look good as well. Maybe he'll hit an official over the head with a chair again. LM: Well, let's hope not. Folks, let's get comments from The Fury himself, Steve Kowalski, taped at a recent house show... ['Don't Fear the Reaper' eases in as, as the screen pans the crowd. The music builds as something falls from the rafters of the arena. Slowly, but surely, object becomes larger as the camers focus in on it. The tattered and beaten cowboy hat of Brody Thunder drops. The fans hit a fevered pitch, tossing garbage and drinks at the solo hat. After ten seconds, he makes his way out. Steve "The Fury" Kowalski appears at the head of the aisle. The guard rails are shaking with his maniacal fans. Taking his time to walk over to the stained hat, he reaches out and scoops it up. Usually, he makes some smart remark and puts the hat on his head. Not today. He tears the hat in half. RIP!] SK: [Yelling over the crowd] I'm done with playin' with yer head, Jackass! Come Saturday, ya better have a deposit on a pine box! Not only am I gonna end yer life... I'm gonna visit yer lo' last at yer wake! No one is safe from yers truly! NO ONE! I'll serve ya meal! PAIN is on the menu! VI'LENCE is on the menu! TORTURE made it to the list! I hope yer hungry, 'cause yer gonna have a full plate! [At that moment the guard rails give way, fans spilling into the aisle with the New Jersey Nightmare. It seems like an ocean of lunatics howling behind the menacing presence of Kowalski.] SK: [Even louder] It's 'bout time the IIWF found out who...WHO runs the joint! ME or YA! Its now or never, Brody! Ya been talkin' the talk, but ya gotta walk the walk! SAY YER GOODBYES TO THE LITTLE WOMAN, SIGN THE DOTTED LINE ON THE LIFE INSURANCE, MAKE YER LAST CONFESSION, THE SHOW IS OVER! [Kowalski is lost in the crowd, as the camera pans around. The chants of 'FUR-Y' polluting the air.] LM: Kowalski is violence personified. BL: I agree. Thunder's in for a long night of straight beatings tomorrow. I don't envy his position. LM: It promises to be a great match. All that in just the first hour, folks, and there's two more hours to this amazing event! HOUR TWO: --------- ---------------------------------------------------- MIDSUMMER MADNESS MATCH: Billy Shakespeare, Dexter St. Croix, Ronnie Paris & The Machines vs. Sebastian Jericho, The Phoenix, Kevin Christiansen & Hollywood Bloods ---------------------------------------------------- LM: What a volatile situation this is... Ronnie Paris on the team captained by Billy Shakespeare! These two guys don't even like each other... How are they going to work together on the same team? BL: A little thing called professionalism, Morton. Of course, I realize that it's a rare commodity these days... I wonder if a person can be eliminated by one of their own teammates... LM: I'm not too sure, but it would be an interesting situation, wouldn't it? Why don't we get comments from the team captain himself, Billy Shakespeare? [Billy Shakespeare sits in a directors chair. He thumbs furiously through his script. He thumbs through it a second time before addressing the camera.] BS: Just as I thought, there is nothing about Japan in this performance. There comes a time when fate surrounds a performer with a cast that is not of his liking. But if the great are truly great, they carry even the weakest link to greater glory. Now The Machines and Dexter St. Croix are all worthy battlers, men who I would trust with my back turned to them. Ronnie Paris, you're another matter. I thought that thou were a wrestler. I've got news Ronnie: You gotta be in the ring to wrestle. You can't wrestle walking away. And I don't know what Joe Petrow's agenda was, but it didn't save you then either. It is bad form to give away the ending to a show, so instead I'll reveal the story line. Ronnie Paris, I'm gonna work you like you've never worked before. You want to be recognized as having value? Here's your starring role, I won't be getting in your way. Unless. Unless. Unless you fail. Then Billy Shakespeare's going to show you how it's done. And why, why Ronnie Paris do I know that you're going to fail? As was lamented in King Lear, "I am tied to the stake, and I must stand the course." You've failed to impress the crowd with your abilities. You've failed to impress me. I'm not going to let you make it a perfect three. I am long winded today. A few words for my opponents. Christiansen, said Antony, "I will praise any man that will praise me." Indeed our match was a glorious time. Perhaps it will live again. And Phoenix: last time we stood face to face I hit you with a stuffed chicken. Sorry about that. [Abruptly he cuts off and goes back to his script. He holds it above his head and as the camera fades he can be heard saying, "Hello... Ronnie... are you in there?"] BL: Come on, bring back Spur! LM: Let's not make light of a serious condition that Billy Shakespeare seems to have overcome, okay? BL: Hey, if you can't make light of the afflicted, then who can you make light of? LM: The world according to Lau... Next up, folks, we've got comments from one of Shakespeare's teammates, Dexter St. Croix... [The scene is the IIWF locker room, where Dexter St. Croix sits alone on a bench in front of a row of lockers. He is dressed in a black nylon sweatpants, flip-flops on his feet, and a white Peter Tosh concert t-shirt. His head is hung low as the camera focuses in...] DSC: Derek Mota. Da IIWF Cruiserweight Champion. One of de elite in dis federation. A man wid no regard for 'is own well-being, a man willing to sacrifice everyt'ing to achieve victory. [Dexter raises his head to address the camera and his look is one of total focus] DSC: Maybe ya didn't t'ink it was dat big of a deal, mon. Maybe ya t'ought dat because ol' Dex is one o' de new kids in town, nobody would care dat you dumped 'im on 'is 'ead and caused 'im to lose 'im match, a match dat was very important in 'im quest for acceptance. Well, mon, _I_ care. An' wid one pull of a rope, you t'rew gasoline on me fire, mon. A fire dat's slowly but surely goin' ta engulf you, Mota. And when it does, you're goin' t' every bit o' your skill and dat so-called "fearlessness", mon. 'Cause when ol' Dex puts you in his sights... [Dexter hits his open palm with his fist, causing a sound not unlike gunfire to echo through the locker room] DSC: ...ya go down. [Cut back to the studio.] BL: Hello? Dexter? Yes, you're _not_ in a title match with Mota. LM: It appears that Mr. St. Croix has other things on his mind at the moment. Hopefully he can focus on this match before going on to challenge the Cruiserweight champion... Otherwise he may find himself eliminated. BL: That wouldn't be so bad, really. LM: I'm not surprised you feel that way. Let's move on to comments from Ronnie Paris... [The camera fades in to the lobby of a very posh hotel. Important looking and very well dressed business people scoot back and forth out of the shot, to the elevator, out the front door, swaggering into the lounge and staggering out. In the middle of this, sticking out like a pair of sore thumbs, are Ronnie Paris and Larry Morton. Paris is wearing a ratty t-shirt and jeans, while Morton wears a very official looking IIWF blazer. Both are looked upon with equal scorn by the passers-by.] LM: I'm here with the assignment a lot of people wanted... trying to find out exactly what is running through the head of Ronnie Paris. RP: I thought I laid that out pretty well on Saturday, but if you wanna ask some questions I'll do my best. Besides, I really love staying in these hotels at the IIWF's expense while I'm on the road. I just gave my room the "Who treatment". [A look of concern passes over Morton's face.] LM: Oh dear, there goes my raise. [Pause] Well, Ronnie, you seem to have addressed fairly well why you turned your back on the IIWF fans, but to be honest a lot of people get frustrated in the IIWF because the level of competition is so high. Don't you think you might just be a bit bitter because you haven't been getting the job done? RP: First of all, I've been "getting the job done" way too often around here! Secondly, I object to you saying I turned on the IIWF fans. Why call them fans, Morton? They're idiots, and when you've wrestled in Japan and seen the respect they give you, you know the IIWF crowds are poor substitutes. LM: If I may ask, what's with the sudden love of Japan? RP: Sudden? I lived there for five years, I graduated from a Japanese university, I made my name in Japan, I lost my virginity in Japan, I made truckloads of yen in Japan, my sister-in-law is Japanese... this isn't sudden, Morton. I've loved the country ever since I first laid eyes on it, just as much as I love El Paso. LM: Hmph. Well, I'd like to address your match at Midsummer Madness... RP: [interrupting] Let me talk about this team I'm with. We've got Dexter St. Croix, who I've scouted quite a bit. The guy has a lot of wrestling talent, although it isn't terribly refined yet, and he has a good heart. Sure, his hair looks stupid and he's damn near unintelligible, but he's one of the rare talents in the IIWF and I think I can tag well with him. The Machines? Well, Paulie tried to set up some kind of joint interview thing, but I wasn't biting. Still, those guys know they can trust each other, which helps, and they have some great continuity. I'll enjoy trying to work with them. LM: What about Billy Shakespeare? RP: Billy Who? LM: Alright, suppose we move onto your opponents... RP: [interrupting yet again] Suppose we don't. I want to answer a little question from Luke Steele. Luke, you asked me "What's up, baby dolls?" Well, I'll tell you what's up. I got smart. You're whining about being left out, well, you got left out because, plain and simple, you suck. Me, I've decided to do something about it. If nobody respects me when I play by the rules, I'm just gonna stop playing by the rules. And if you moron fans don't like that, well... who cares? Like an international superstar like me needs the support of a bunch of prepubescent punks to feel validated. [Paris turns his head a bit to see a bellboy walking past in a garish red uniform.] Nice jacket, loser! LM: Ronnie, that wasn't very nice! RP: Again, who the hell cares? Tell ya what, Morton. I'll let you have a few quotes. Soundbites, as it were. Here we go: "Billy Shakespeare better not get in my way!". That's from Act 1, scene 3 of my newest play, "Little Willie Gets his [BLEEP] Handed to him by Yours Truly". LM: My, you're in a foul mood today, Ronnie. Do you have any closing comments for our viewers? RP: No, because I don't give a damn about your viewers. I also don't give a damn about the fact that half the room jumped a minute ago when I said [BLEEP], but that won't stop me from saying [BLEEP] as much as I damn well want to. [BLEEP BLEEP]! [Fade back to the studio as two burly security guards advance on an unimpressed Paris and a terrified Morton.] BL: Nice form, Morton. LM: Thank you. BL: Why was "ass" bleeped out? LM: Ummm, that's not what he said. BL: No? What did he say? LM: I'd rather not repeat it... BL: Did he say [BLEEP]? LM: Ummm, No, can we... BL: Was it [BLEEP]? LM: No, it was worse... Let's just move... BL: Oh, it must have been [BLEEEEEEEEEP] then... LM: Yes, that was it. Happy now? BL: Marginally. ---------------------------------------------------- GRUDGE MATCH: "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley vs. Marty Warnett ---------------------------------------------------- LM: It's been pretty obvious that in the past couple of months, Quigley and Warnett have just not gotten along. BL: And why is that so hard to believe? Nobody gets along with Quigley. You know what? I heard that there was an idea floating around for this one to be a towel match... You know, like each guy would have a corner man who would throw in the towel for them. The thing is, though, the suits decided against it because nobody could think of a person who would be Quigley's corner man. LM: I don't think that's true. BL: Oh no? Okay, name a person you think doesn't dislike Quigley enough to take them out of the corner man position... LM: Okay... Umm... Well, there's... No, I guess... Hold on, what about... No, he wouldn't do either... Ummm, I... BL: You _can't!_ See? LM: Well, that really doesn't matter at the moment, because this one is just going to be a straightforward match. BL: And none too entertaining... An hour long with fifteen minute breaks for restholds. LM: I thought you appreciated the submission style, Brian. BL: I do. When I lock on a leglock, the person submits in about ten seconds or I let the hold go. I don't lay around for ten minutes rallying to the crowd. LM: It's ring psychology... BL: Like you even know what that is. LM: Well, I have a good idea... Folks, let's move along and get comments from Chris Quigley... [Scene: Tim Dross stands in front of the camera, doing the intro.] TD: I've been lucky enough to venture down to Phoenix, Arizona and pay a visit to the famous Manning household in the past, and it was just two days ago that I got the invite from Steve Manning, Sr. himself to come down once more. "The Living Hell" is exactly what it sounds like. "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley strongly believes Marty Warnett has never paid the dues that he himself has paid in a place like that, and fittingly, it's where Chris has spent the last few days in final preparation for the Midsummer Madness clash. Here is the footage from my visit with the Mannings. [Camera cuts to a shot of a fair sized white house. It's not a rich man's house by any means, but has a definite charm to it. The camera zooms in on Tim Dross on the front step, knocking on the door. Diane Manning, the eldest sister opens the door to greet him.] DM: Mr. Dross! How nice to see you again! Please, come in! TD: H'lo Diane. The pleasure is all mine. [Diane leads Tim Dross into the large living room of the house, done up with hardwood floors and pinkish walls. On the mantle are a few special wrestling trophies and awards, as well as a picture of Kurt Manning and Steve Manning, Jr. before the incident several months ago which resulted in Steve's paralysis. Steve Manning, Sr. and Elizabeth Manning, the parents, are seated together on a sofa. To the right, Steve Manning, Jr., formerly a great technical/high flying athlete, sits in his wheelchair, lost in thought, as he usually is. Diane gestures for Tim to sit, and then she sits herself. The Mannings all greet Dross.] TD: Folks, I'm glad to be here, that's for sure. May I inquire as to where Chris Quigley is? SMSr: Same place he's been since he got here. The basement. I tell ya, that man will end up killing himself down there one of these days. He's training for young Warnett like it was his last match ever. TD: This poses an interesting question. Chris has often stated that Marty Warnett hasn't paid the dues that he has. He says Warnett would never have made it here in "The Living Hell". What is _your_ opinion on Marty Warnett? SMSr: [pauses] I think the kid's a great athlete. Without a doubt. However, when Chris said that Warnett hasn't gone through everything that he has, he was correct. I'm not sure anyone in the IIWF can say they've overcome what Chris has, and in all my years of wrestling and of coaching, I've never once seen such dedication in a student. He always yearned to achieve excellence. I've worked with a lot of young wrestlers in that basement. Zack Malone, Mark Bagwell, Dan Kauffman, and my boys Kurt and Steve, yet I don't believe any of them ever lived, breathed, ate, and slept wrestling like Chris did. DM: It's a wonder Steph fell for him. He hardly paid attention to her at all! [laughs] TD: Steve, are you at all worried that Chris may be taking Marty Warnett too lightly? SMSr: [shakes his head] There's no damn way he's taking Warnett lightly. I'll be the first to admit, Chris has and has always had a touch of arrogance, but the difference between him and some of the pretty boys that prance around claiming to be great is that he works his ass off to live up to his word. His greatest nightmare is failing, and there's no doubt about it. Casey James got inside his head a while back, and you saw the terrible results. Fortunately, he's recovered from that, he's a little smarter. You _can_ teach an old dog new tricks. Chris, like I said, has been working himself to exhaustion here, studying Marty Warnett's tapes, using all his creativeness to uncover new attacks. Warnett's claim that Chris hasn't added anything to his arsenal did injure his pride. Chris works damn hard to keep his opponents guessing, and it's my estimation that he consistently has the widest selection of maneuvers in professional wrestling. You can claim I'm a biased old coach, but I know my wrestling better than anyone, and it's my own personal opinion that Marty Warnett will be taken apart by Chris. I don't think he has the heart or the guts, and when it's down to the wire, Chris will pull out that extra little bit to get the win. [Just then, footsteps can be heard, and the attractive, blonde-haired Stephanie enters the room.] DM: Is he _still_ down there? SM: [rolls her eyes] Where else would he be? I don't know what he's getting this worked up over. He's faced better men than Warnett before. To look at him down there, you'd swear it was Dan Kauffman all over again. EM: Sounds to me like losing is not an option for him... _again_. [Suddenly, Steve Manning, Jr. gets the wild look in his eyes that made him famous in his wrestling days, tragically cut short. He was always known as outspoken, outrageous, and intense.] SMJr: If everyone else is too blind to see it, maybe I can shed some light on this dark, dark subject! Marty Warnett makes Chris Quigley _sick to his stomach_ because Warnett is a smart-mouthed, dancing, pretty boy, homo-erotic, near-beer alcoholic who has done _nothing_ to get where he is, and considers himself to be better than Chris. And I'll letcha in on another secret. I don't like Mary... er... Marty Warnett either, because plain and simple, he's a snot nosed bitch. He's the offspring of a ten-cent hooker and a drunken John. If kinky masturbation techniques could be used in the wrestling ring, Marty Warnett would be a dangerous man! Unfortunately for the little "Party Maniac", despite how the prospect of touching other men excites him so, he's just not cut out for this whole wrestling thing. I'm thinkin' maybe he should take up pocket pool or cock-fighting. Something more his speed, if ya know what I mean! [Everyone in the room has their mouths wide open, staring at the "helpless" Steve Manning, Jr. in the wheelchair. Despite all that's happened, he's still his controversial self, even in front of his family. The youngest Manning merely looks out the window, silent once more.] TD: Er... do you suppose we could take a trip down to the basement? I'd like to get a quick word with Chris. SM: He may bite your head off, Mr. Dross, but you can try to get a word or two out of him. [Stephanie, Steve Sr, and Tim all get up and walk down the hall, the camera flashes and the scene shifts to "The Living Hell". Chris Quigley is staring intensely at a tape of the Warnett/Kowalski vs. Thunder/Quigley match from last Saturday Night. During one point where Warnett takes him down, Quigley curses quite loudly, causing Stephanie to flinch. Steve Sr. just shrugs, and Dross walks over to Quigley.] TD: [taps him on the shoulder] Chris? If you could give me... [Without blinking Quigley grabs Dross's arm, flicks him down quickly to the mat, and has him positioned for an armbar submission. Dross is pale as a ghost, yet still amazed at the quickness of the takedown. Stephanie and Steve Sr. look at each other and shake their heads, as Chris looks sort of apologetic and lets Dross up.] CQ: Sorry Dross. As the saying goes, I was in "The Zone". TD: Er... ah... yes, well. Chris, from the testaments I've heard upstairs, you've been living down here for the last few days, in final preparation for your match. In all you've said about how Marty Warnett can't touch you, and how he's nowhere near as good as you, you're still training like he was the greatest wrestler of all-time or something. Quite simply, why? CQ: [brushes the sweaty hair out of his eyes] Why? Because "quite simply", Marty Warnett is not going to just be beaten in this match, he's going to be able to comprehend a whole new level of pain. I'm gonna allow him to earn some respect in this match. He's gonna pay all those dues that he's missed out on in just one night. One match. When this things said and done, Marty Warnett will be a man, or at least, he'll be as close as he's gonna get. TD: And what if you don't defeat Marty Warnett? CQ: That's not going to happen. I'm not going to be pinned. I'm never going to submit. Was that catchy enough for you, Warnett? Do you think I could put, "I'm not going to be pinned. I'm never going to submit." on a t-shirt? You'll have lots of time to think about that, in the ambulance after the match. Now get outta here Dross, visiting hours are over. [Quigley turns his attention back to the TV set, as Steve Sr. and Tim Dross leave, discussing something, while Stephanie just watches. She knows him better than anyone has ever known him. He's allowed her to. But not even she dares interrupt him at this time. The scene fades out, with Quigley rewinding and playing... rewinding and playing...] BL: Chris beats Stephanie, you know. LM: He does not! BL: Sure he does... Did you see that? Did you see how she was afraid of him? He beats her. LM: That's disgusting! BL: I know... He's not even man enough to take a win over anyone here, so he goes home and takes it out on her... Pathetic. LM: You have no evidence... BL: But I'm still right. Deep down, you know it. LM: I'm not even going to justify that with a response. Speaking of responses, let's get one from Marty Warnett... How's that for a segue? BL: Speaking of segues, you suck, Larry. [SCENE: IIWF standard interview area. Marty Warnett stands alone, wearing an "Old Gen, Old Fart and proud of it..." T-Shirt, black jeans and trainers. His brow is amassed with sweat, and a towel is slung over his shoulder.] MW: You know, there comes a time in everybody's life, where they meet and face their greatest challenge ... for me, that's tomorrow night. Quigley, so far, you've had the wins, yet at each occasion, there has been others gatecrashing, uninvited guests. [Marty winces, and rubs his back.] MW: Thunder, you want the Fury, that's your business. Maybe your chair should have been aimed elsewhere, huh, Hoss? Chris, that shot struck the edge of the chair right on a disk, which has been badly bruised. There's no way I'm missing our bout, and no way I'll let it affect my performance. No excuses and no regrets. You say you're going to pound me, to teach me ... you ain't my daddy, and I ain't Ralphie Macchio - hey, maybe he's the porn star for Roberts. [Marty wipes his face with the towel.] MW: Saturday night. Midsummer Madness. Quigley, I promise all my little Party Maniacs out there, the Quickstrike _will_ be broken. I will pin you, 1-2-3, and the partying will begin and never end in the IIWF... [Camera shot cuts back to the studio.] BL: I, for one, hope I am not invited to that party. LM: I don't think you have anything to worry about, Brian. Am I to assume that you pick Warnett for this one? BL: I don't know... You've got two guys here who are the so called "technical wrestlers." What that means is that they know a few submission holds, and they can pull out a quick pin from absolutely nowhere. No punching, no stomping... Sure, these two guys hate each other. You know what I do when I hate a guy? I break a few things over his head... Or I hire a few guys to take care of it. I don't slap an inside cradle on the guy and slap the floor three times. Animosity is a great thing, but there's no excuse for putting it in a technical match. It's just... wrong. LM: You sound almost like Steve Roberts. BL: Hey, I can't help it if the guy knows a good fight when he sees one... This match will be my pee break. HOUR THREE: ----------- ---------------------------------------------------- DOUBLE MAIN EVENT: MIDSUMMER MADNESS MATCH: GENESIS: Highwayman, Annis, Rogers, Cold Spell vs. Mad Dog Watkins, The Syndicate & PARTNERS TO BE ANNOUNCED ---------------------------------------------------- LM: The first main event of our big double main event bill! The IIWF stands together against Genesis in this HUGE elimination ten man tag match! BL: Of course, at the moment, only three of the IIWF stars facing Genesis are actually known at this moment. LM: Well, someone must know who the mystery partners are. BL: You think so? Do you know what "mystery partner" means? It's a booking term for "We don't know who to put in here yet." LM: What about your mystery member last year? BL: That was different. LM: Okay, then. Let's hear comments from some of the Genesis athletes involved in this one... First up, let's hear from Serge Annis... [Steve Summer stands in front of the IIWF logo, which Scott Rogers 'kindly' spray-painted GENESIS over. Steve has a mic in hand to interview the man that towers over him, 'The Epitome of Evil' Serge Annis.] SS: Hello fans, Steve Summer here reporting from IIWF house show action, but here with an exclusive interview with Genesis' own Serge Annis. SA: Hold on Steve... what do you mean Genesis' own? You make it sound as if I am property of Genesis. SS: Huh? Well, that was not my point intended. Sorry. Serge, on Saturday you did what many mean dream about, pinning Dan Kauffman's shoulders to the mat. SA: That's right, Steve, I did it. Serge Annis did it. The Epitome of Evil defeated the man that ruled the IIWF for many months, Dan "Flash" Kauffman. Sure, I'll be one to admit that the Masked Outlaw had a hand in it, but fact is I won. SS: Don't you mean, Team Genesis won? SA: Not on Saturday. On Saturday I had a moral victory over the IIWF. It showed just where I belong: At the top of Genesis! I am the best thing going lately. Look at Scott Rogers. No offense to him, but he did awful on Saturday against the big name competition. He's not used to the main event. But Serge Annis is! And I'm used to winning them too... I defeated Otto "The Butcher" Verhoeven. How many men have the chance to say that? And then I pinned Dan Kauffman, winning the match on Saturday? Do you think Scott Rogers could do that? Or how about Highwayman. I don't think so... heh heh... [Steve Summer flashes Serge a look as if to say, 'what the hell are you talking about?'. After a few moments for Steve to regain composure, he speaks again.] SS: Those are some strong views. Do you think your fellow Genesis members will appreciate those comments, especially Genesis leader Requiem? SA: What are you talking about? Requiem does not lead Serge Annis. NO ONE leads Serge Annis. Serge Annis does what he wants. If it happens to coincide with what Requiem wants, then what can I do? SS: Well Serge, how about Saturday? It is rapidly approaching us! Genesis vs. Mad Dog, Syndicate and two mystery partners, in one half of the double main event. SA: See, there's that main event thing. Heh... I've already won my team a ten man tag match. However, this match is elimination. Even better... heh heh, that means that I get to sentence five souls to damnation in _my_ version of Hell, instead of just one. Over a week ago, Otto "The Butcher" Verhoeven asked for something... something that the IIWF doesn't want. Something that the IIWF has been trying to hide. The _real_ Serge Annis. What you see is what you get, but as of late you've been seeing a whole much more from me. Otto, you asked for the "old" Serge Annis. Well, you got him and it got you nothing but one massive head injury! Ask Dan Kauffman how my chokeslam felt? Who do you think set him up for the cattlebuster? Heh... moonsaults? Top rope clotheslines to the floor? I have bad news for you Steve Summer... the IIWF's worst nightmare has been released... the real Serge Annis! SS: No offense intended Serge, but I doubt that is what the IIWF board fears most. [Serge shoots Steve a very evil look, and flicks his previously unseen Zippo lighter in his hand. Steve gulps.] SS: But for now, I'll take your word for it! Well... any last comments before Saturday? SA: In the ten man elimination match, who can you expect to survive? Scott Rogers? No. That traitorous Icehawk? No way. It's either me, or Highwayman that are going to finish off the rest of this make shift team of dead beats. On Saturday, I will show everyone why I am the _hottest_ thing in Genesis, or IIWF... heh heh heh.... [As Annis says "hottest" he flicks the Zippo. Serge walks off the set, as he laughs a very evil laugh.] SS: Steve Summer, wrapping it up with an extremely confident Serge Annis. Now back to Brian Lau and Larry Morton. [Fade] LM: Sounds like Annis is a little pumped after pinning Dan Kauffman. BL: Dissention in the ranks? I guess we'll see... LM: Next up is an interview with Scott Rogers... [SCENE: Scott Rogers appears to be inside a restaurant -- well, more of a roadside diner in fact. Apart from him, the place is deserted, with the exception of one obese waitress wearing a revealing uniform. Rogers sits in a booth beside a window wearing a light green polo shirt and dark blue jeans. He is eating from one of five bowls of green salad. Steve Summer and the crew are outside.] SS: Looks like he _is_ here after all. Fans, in the window of this diner sits IIWF superstar Scott Rogers. Why is he here you may ask? I cannot answer that with total conviction but we believe he is here to 'get away from it all.' As you can see, he's eating healthily and......MAN! Look at the state of her! Geez. No wonder the place is deserted. One look at her and you're off food for life! Uh oh. She's seen us! [The waitress walks to the door of the diner, opens it then shouts out at Summer.] Waitress: Are you comin' in here sexy or what? SS: [voice trembling] Yes, we are.... Waitress: I ain't interested in your friends. I want _you_. SS: Oh my. Shall we make a run for it? [Mumbling from the camera crew can be heard. Evidently the cameras are switched off. Cut to Scott Rogers looking directly into the camera, smirking. Rogers points to behind the cameras. They turn round and only Summer's feet can be seen with the waitress almost molesting him. Muffled shouts of 'Argh' and 'Help me!' can be heard.] SR: See Bertha's holdin' Summer up now. She don't even bother wi' me. Knows she don't stand a chance. But what woman does? And, see, I don't like it when women try and maul me. Hey ladies, for future reference, don't call me, I'll call you. Don't like embarrassin' ya ya see. Like Heidi. She tries God knows what position when she jumped on me back and I had to show her I wasn't interested. I mean, even if I was, not even _mine_'s _that_ long! [The camera picks up some laughter from the crew. Rogers, seemingly building a good rapport with them, smirks. The camera again turns to see Summer whose yells are growing ever louder. Bertha keeps muffling them by showering him with kisses however.] SR: Heh. Looks like it's gonna hafta be a Quigley-esque monologue then, eh?! Nah, not even _I_ hate the fans _that_ much. [Summer then appears and clambers over Rogers and sits on the opposite side of him, protecting himself from Bertha. Bertha walks over to the table.] SR: 'sokay, Berth. Give it five minutes and ya can have him back! SS: Nooooo! [Bertha blows a kiss at Summer then walks back over to the till, where she sits and lights a cigarette.] SS: Scott, what in the heck are you doing in _here_? SR: Avoidin' you? [More laughter. Summer laughs nervously.] SS: Scott, seriously, is there a back entrance? Look, she's looking the other way....! SR: Hold it Summer. I just gotta call sayin' you were lookin' for me. You're stayin' 'til you're through... SS: But I am through... SR: No Summer, ya not. Not 'til I say so.... SS: [harried] Okay. Saturday Night. You and your Genesis stablemates meet a team headed by Mad Dog Watkins. Your thoughts? [Rogers grins, starts eating his salad, then speaks, slowly.] SR: Well, Summer, Saturday's the night. Thousands of people there, millions watchin' on TV. And guess who's in the main event... [Rogers pauses and looks at Summer, who's intently watching Bertha.] SR: Summer! Guess! SS: Guess what? Who's in the main event was it? Requiem, Otto Verhoeven.... SR: No... SS: You? SR: Yeah, me. Ya see in three short months, I've gone from bein' known by Dross as a confident young superstar to El Sucko Rogers by Steve Roberts. And that says somethin' Summer... SS: What? You've gotten worse? SR: No. It shows, Summer, that I'm recognized 'round here as one of the top dogs. The six of us that are Genesis are _all_ the top dogs. SS: Not if you listen to Serge Annis they're not. He thinks he's head honcho and you five are underneath him. SR: Listen, Summer, we ain't come here to talk about Annis. SS: Do I sense you're not too pleased with him at the moment? SR: Hey, listen, Summer, everythin's just fine. Alright? [Rogers stares menacingly at Summer.] SS: Fine, fine. So you don't see the fact he said to me earlier today that he did something you couldn't -- pin Dan Kauffman -- as a potential problem for Saturday? [Rogers pauses for a moment, subdued.] SR: No. SS: Of course you don't... SR: Summer, we proved to the world last weekend that we, like I said we were, are unbeatable. _But_ I will say this. If Ann...sorry, Serge, _is_ gettin' ideas above his station, they'll be sorted out by Saturday. SS: And if they aren't. SR: We'll still win. We beat what was described as a Dream Team last week. All of 'em former champs. Yeah, _former_ champs. 'Cause _we_ own all the gold that matters round here! SS: But with a potential rift.... SR: Okay, Summer. I'll compromise with ya. The only way we _can_ be defeated is for us to defeat ourselves. Okay? SS: Yeah. Well, that wraps everything up. She's looking the other way. Let's go go go! [Summer, out of character, leaps over Rogers and runs towards the door.] SR: Bertha! [Bertha turns round and Summer slows down. Bertha walks in front of him and locks him in a bearhug. Fade out.] LM: Definitely some problems in Genesis... BL: Or a ploy. LM: A what? BL: Don't worry about it... Let's see the next round of comments... LM: These are from Cold Spell... [SCENE: The gym at Cold Spell's training lodge in northern Michigan. Steve and Edmund Fitzgerald are both sitting on stools next to the ring, while Icehawk is sitting on the apron.] SS: So here we are again. For the fourth PPV in a row, Cold Spell will be involved in a tag title match... but this one is a lot different than the last three. EF: Right. This time, we won't be alone. The first time, we had the belts wrapped up, and Don McQueen whacked me with a chair to get his guys DQ'ed. The second time, we had the US belts won, and Violence Unlimited attacked the Prophets to get _us_ DQ'ed. Even last time, when we had the Prophets beat for the world titles, they managed to get a chair into the ring. Luckily for us, it didn't work that time. Saturday, there won't be outside interference, because everyone will already be in the ring. SS: On the other hand, you two will also have to rely on three extra partners. Are you concerned about that? EF: Not a bit. Serge, Scott and Highway were up here for some work earlier in the week, and we work together very well as a tag team. SS: They were all here at the same time? Then why have I been driving all over the country to interview... never mind. Obviously, there's more than a little dissension inside of Genesis, and that has to worry you. EF: Not really. Icehawk still has some differences with the way the guys do things, but I think he showed pretty clearly last weekend that he's a team player. IH: Damn right I am. Like I've been saying, I don't like how Genesis acts... but they are a damn sight better than those egomaniacal thugs that make up Team IIWF. And talk about dissension. At least we aren't giving our own teammates the Blackheart Punch. SS: That may be true, but I'm not sure Serge Annis thinks so. When I talked to him yesterday, he called Icehawk a traitor, basically called Scott Rogers a talentless stiff and said that he and Highwayman will have to wrestle the whole match by themselves. [Icehawk drops down off the apron of the ring and gets in Steve's face.] IH: A traitor?! What the hell is he talking about? Someone needs to remind Serge that *we* are the IIWF tag champions, and that *he* is a pyromaniac that's lucky if he can find a belt to hold his pants up. Maybe if he worried a little more about winning matches, and a little less about painting pretty pictures on himself and Deathbringer, he wouldn't need so damn much help from the rest of us. [Icehawk starts to say something else, then swears and storms off, slamming the door as he exits. Fitz and Steve watch him leave, then look at each other in silence. Finally, Fitz starts to speak softly.] EF: You know, Steve, you've got me wondering something about Serge's interview. SS: Yes? EF: Well, you said that he called 'Hawk a traitor, and disparaged Scott. Then he said that he and Highway would have to win the match by themselves. SS: [nods] Right. EF: So what did he say about me? SS: Oh! Ummm... I'd have to check the tape to be 100% certain, but I'm pretty sure he never mentioned you at all. [Fitz looks thoughtful for a second, then nods to Steve and quietly walks out the same door that Icehawk used.] SS: Well, I guess this interview is over. [Fade] LM: I think it's rather obvious that there's some problems there... BL: For a person like you, sure. LM: What does that mean? BL: You wouldn't understand. LM: Fine then, don't tell me. Let's move on to comments from the Highwayman... [Adam Smith 'The Highwayman' sits astride a large black and red Harley, the IC belt draped casually across his shoulder. he gently taps the belt before speaking:] HWM: Lost something OLD Dog? Turnabout is fair play here in the IIWF, you stole the belt from one of the few men I respected outside of Genesis. Yes, I saw you pin him OLD Dog, but we both know, you didn't beat him. [He takes the belt from his shoulder and places it across the black gas tank of the bike, and looks down at it for a long second before continuing] HWM: The crime is still 'Theft' OLD Dog, it's just the execution of the crime that's different. You went about things the long way, whereas we in Genesis are smart enough to find the short-cuts, ultimately the destinations are identical, but Genesis will always get there quicker and more effectively. [He brings the belt up to his face, breathes on it and begins to buff it with the sleeve of his shirt until is shines] That's your problem isn't it OLD Dog? You and the rest of the IIWF. Genesis discovered the short-cuts that lead us to the gold, where you idiots have had to trudge through all the crap, struggling your way to the top of the pile to 'earn' your title-shot. It has nothing to do with RESPECT, OLD Dog, I think it has everything to do with taking the most direct route to your aspirations and dreams. I know I won't lose sleep if you or Kauffman don't 'respect' me.. and I certainly won't lose matches due to a lack of respect! [A smirk crosses his face as he continues to stroke the belt affectionately] Respect gets the crowd cheering, it gets you a clap on the back from your peers, but you discovered for yourself, it doesn't get you the gold does it OLD Dog? You threw 'respect' out of the window when you stole the belt from Creed, so don't lecture me about 'Respect'! [Highwayman straps the belt around his waist] This belt is mine now, OLD Dog, you want it back? Come and get it, I have a 'Daylight Robbery' waiting for you... [With a final smile, he starts the engine and roars out of camera-shot. Fade] LM: Highwayman seems rather proud of the shortcuts he's taken. BL: Oh, I'm sorry, I never noticed... I just saw him take someone's belt without pinning them for it. Wait a second... Didn't Casey James do that to Dan Kauffman? Yes, I believe he did! LM: What are you getting at? BL: The Syndicate is considered "Old Gen" for some reason. Smith goes on like James and Claw never took a shortcut in their lives. LM: So you're admitting that they never really deserved their title shots? BL: Get real. Of course they deserved them. It's just that they didn't want to wait around for the suits to realize it. LM: Which is basically what Genesis are doing, if you think about it. BL: No... They don't deserve my dirty laundry, to be honest. LM: Well, speaking of the Syndicate, let's get their comments... These will be the only comments from team IIWF we'll get, since Watkins appears to be refusing to speak to any IIWF journalists lately. So without further ado, here's the Syndicate. [SCENE: Tim Dross stands in front of a door in the backstage area of the Coliseum marked "Syndicate." He turns to the camera to speak...] TD: Well, I'm about to say something that very few IIWF journalists can actually say with any amount of truth... For the second week in a row, I'm about to interview the Syndicate. Here we go, folks... [Dross opens the door to reveal Casey James and Tiger Claw dressed in street clothes preparing the room for the huge card tomorrow night.] TD: Casey? Claw? Are you guys ready to do that interview you promised? CJ: Yeah, sure, whatever... We were just getting things ready for tomorrow... TD: Ummm, why don't you just let the interns take care of that? TC: We have certain rituals we like to perform before matches, Dross. Besides, why would I want an amateur handling my stuff? TD: Rituals? What do you mean? CJ: You know, rituals... Lots of athletes do that kind of thing... Kind of a psyche up for the match, you know? TD: Care to explain? CJ: No... I'm not about to let you in on the secrets of the greatest tag team the IIWF has ever seen... TD: Okay, fair enough. There's one topic that seems to be flooding the IIWF right now, and that's the appearance of someone in an Outlaw mask last Saturday. Casey, what was the deal with that? CJ: How the hell should I know? Wasn't me, I can tell you that. TD: What? Come on, Casey... We all saw you in the mask at the Clash, and then again last week on Saturday Night. Are you trying to tell us that you weren't the one that attacked Dan Kauffman? CJ: Damn straight. Listen, I left that match because of Dan Kauffman. The kid pissed me off, alright? First he stops me from putting Requiem on the Joe Latta express, and then he refuses to tag in during that big match. How am I supposed to react? I guess the whole world expects me to belt him, right? Well, I would have liked to, but I didn't. You want to know why? The big picture. TD: The big picture? CJ: Yeah... This whole fight against Genesis. See, I decided that I couldn't work with that overrated freak. How can you work with a guy when you've kicked his ass as many times as I kicked Kauffman's ass? So I walked. I figured that the team could carry on with one less guy, but not with two guys getting taken out. As it turns out, I should have just flattened him anyway, because that's what happened in the end. TD: So you admit that you "flattened him." CJ: No, that's not what I said. I said he ended up getting flattened in the end, but I didn't do any of the flattening. I don't know who that guy was, okay? TD: You have to admit that it looks rather suspicious... CJ: Oh, yeah, I bet it does. Listen... Masks are a funny thing. Anyone can pose as a masked wrestler... Remember El Super Gecko? You saw Claw here lay a hurting on Shakespeare while he was wearing the Gecko mask, right? TD: Yes, but... CJ: But nothing. Yeah, I did the Outlaw thing at the Clash. I did it last week at the start of the show... At the end... That wasn't me. TD: Then who was it? CJ: How the hell should I know? Maybe it really _was_ the Outlaw. TD: You know as well as I do that the man wearing the mask last week was _not_ the Outlaw. Take a look at the tape... Look at the musculature... He was ripped. A lot like you. CJ: Okay, I guess I'm going to have to prove it to you somehow, then... TD: And how's that? CJ: I don't know, but I'll think of something. TD: Claw, how do you feel about all this? You're a smart guy... What do you feel about the possibility of your own partner causing your team to lose last week? TC: It wasn't him. Casey just told you it wasn't him. TD: But this wouldn't be the first time... TC: Listen to me very carefully, Dross. Casey is my partner. He told me it wasn't him. I believe him. Besides, what's the big deal? It's only Kauffman... TD: But the alliance of the Old Gen... TC: Means nothing compared to the alliance between my partner and I. We are a _team,_ you understand me? We hang out together, we train together, and we stand together. A little alliance with Dan Kauffman means nothing compared to that. Kauffman is an egomaniac that had a beating coming to him. Even if Casey came to me and said, "Claw, I put the mask on and flattened Dan Kauffman," I would still be on his side. He's the closest thing to family I've had for a very long time. I trust him with my life, so why would I not trust him about this? TD: Okay, I can see your point. We've seen you guys pull something like this before, though. CJ: Like what!? We're not pulling anything! That guy was _not_ me! TD: Alright, alright... I'll drop it. Sorry. What about the big elimination tag match tomorrow? You guys have two mystery partners... An advantage considering Genesis is in the dark about them. TC: Sure. Of course, we don't know who they are either, so it's not much of an advantage. For all we know, one of them could be the Subway Psycho. That wouldn't be good for us... Maybe it's Quigley... Oh, _that_ would really help us, wouldn't it? TD: Okay... Well, with that aside, what about the tag title stipulation? CJ: It's perfect. Tomorrow night, we're going to be the new tag champs. All we have to do is make sure that it's one of us that eliminates Icehawk or Fitzgerald. No big deal. Then we win the titles. We'll be the champs. Then we can change the face of IIWF tag team wrestling forever. TD: How is that? CJ: Well, _I'm_ not the gay guy... TC: And neither am _I._ CJ: So we don't have a gay guy... We're both just tough... It's something new for the IIWF... A tag team without a gay guy. TD: I don't think that you can really... CJ: Hey, just look around, man... A gay guy here, a gay guy there... Look, what's that on your shoulder, Tim? Wait... Don't move... Yup, it's a gay guy... Let me brush that off of you... You must be fag-netic or something. TD: Casey, come on, this is network television... We can't be... [flinches as Casey swats at his shoulder a few times] Hey! CJ: What!? The little buggers don't want to let go, you know? TD: Alright, I think we've just about covered everything we need to cover right here... CJ: Hold on, hold on... I got a few things to say to Requiem... Hey, Porky... How did it feel to have your heart stop for those couple of seconds, huh? And don't give me the dead guy crap... You know, I was real surprised to see you even get up from the Slaughterslam... Even more surprised to see you get up from the Golden Tiger Strike. But you went down to the Blackheart punch alright... You would have stayed down too if it weren't for that pansy Kauffman stepping in. For all the complaining you do about him, deadboy, you'd better thank him for saving your sorry ass to fight another day. I told you that you're a lesser man than me. Last week I proved it. TD: Is that all? CJ: One more thing, Dross... You call Steve Roberts your tag team partner, right? TD: Well, yeah, it's kind of a tagline thing, you know? CJ: Well, let me ask a question from one tag team member to another... Which one of you is the gay guy? TD: I... The... [James and Claw start laughing heartily.] CJ: Get the hell out of here, Rathead... And don't come back without a bag of donuts! [Tim Dross hurries out of the room as the shot fades.] BL: That Casey... He's a funny guy. LM: And once again Tiger Claw dazzles us with his tendency to say only what is necessary, and then not bother talking any more. BL: He's one of those strong silent types, Morton... LM: Hey... Who's the gay guy in our tag team? BL: First of all, Morton, I'd never make the mistake of calling you my partner. Second, if we _were_ a tag team, I think it would be rather obvious who the gay guy is. LM: Who? BL: While this shot would be so easy, I'm going to pass it up on principle. For the love of god, Larry, stop walking into these things. ---------------------------------------------------- DOUBLE MAIN EVENT: IIWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: Requiem [c] vs. Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven SPECIAL GUEST REFEREE: "Sychosys" Joe Petrow ---------------------------------------------------- LM: It all comes down to this... Can The Butcher dethrone the man who holds the world title? BL: Casey James? LM: No! Requiem! BL: Oh, the guy holding the _belt,_ you mean. LM: Enough of that. There's more to this match than titles, folks. Heidi was hospitalized thanks to Genesis acting under direction of Requiem. As much as Requiem denies being the leader of Genesis, I still can't believe him. BL: I agree. LM: You do? Why? BL: Because he gets so upset when we call him the leader of Genesis. LM: Really? BL: Yes... Try it, and he'll say something next week, I guarantee it. LM: Requiem is the leader of Genesis... I think... BL: You're hopeless, Morton... Get some attitude. LM: I'd rather not, thank you very much. Folks, let's get comments from the challenger in this match, Otto "The Butcher" Verhoeven. [SCENE: The hall of the Portland General Hospital. The night sky can be seen through windows and the utter silence in the building which is bursting with activity by day gives the scene an eerie atmosphere. The camera pans to the side to reveal the hulking form of Otto Verhoeven, sitting in an armchair. The Butcher is wearing a plain red t-shirt and jeans. He looks tired, a 5 o'clock shadow on his face. But his eyes still seem to gleam with intensity, with the fanatic determination that has been the German's motor since day one.] OV: So, tomorrow is what it all comes down to. Tomorrow, people will NOT see the Old Gen/New conflict. Tomorrow, people will NOT see the IIWF versus Genesis. Tomorrow, people will NOT even see Requiem fighting the Butcher. What the people WILL see tomorrow will be Otto Verhoeven, the man, battle whatever kind of coward hides behind the mask of Requiem. It is time for the masks to fall. It is time to take all of your mythical stuff away, strip you down to your true identity and show the world just who the leader of Genesis really is. A skilled wrestler who just choose to become a character because he fears John Doe just doesn't stand a chance in the IIWF, or just another out-of-his-mind freak who has to rely on spooky mumbo-jumbo and a whole group of flunkies to protect his pathetic career. You know, Requiem, I was already breaking necks and taking names in the IIWF when you were just an idea in the notebook of some low-level bookerman. Do you remember who I defeated to become World Champion the first time? Right I plowed through the Deathbringer, the "Master of Darkness" of that time. He had always pulled the same stunt you did last week...how do the "experts" call it...the zombie-situp. [He chuckles.] He took everything I threw at him and got right back up. You know the simple solution to this problem? Just hit him harder. Again. And again. And AGAIN! A man, ANY man can take just so much punishment. You survive a clothesline, fine, time to execute a lariat. You kick out of the Meathook, no problem, I can put you in your place with a Slaughterslam. You kick out of that...we start it all over again. And again. And AGAIN! Believe me, Requiem, I don't care if it takes 10 minutes or an hour to keep you down, it WILL happen. Many people think that I don't stand a chance against you. "He is supernatural", they whisper and I just laugh in their faces. "He has Genesis on his side" and I shake my head with frustration about how little these fools now about out sport. Even the smart kids on the internet sheets don't believe I can defeat you. Clueless idiots. Don't they feel the rage burning inside of me, don't they see all of the signs that point toward a title change? The only thing which can truly stop me is the one true enigma in the IIWF, Joe Petrow. I don't know why Herr Spreadbury chose him as a referee for this match and I don't know what Sychosis himself has planned for the evening, but if he dares to ruin that night when fate is supposed to deal me the trump card in all of wrestling again... I don't know what will happen to him then. But Requiem, before you mock the Old Gen one more time think about the words of a very wise man: There is no old generation or new generation there are just teachers [he points at himself] and students [he points at the camera]. Welcome to the slaughterhouse, student. Welcome indeed. [Fade to black.] BL: That man, right there, will be the first-two time IIWF World Champion. LM: Pretty confident about that, aren't you? BL: How can you deny it? Look at him. Not only is he superior to Requiem in every way... He's now upset, and has revenge on his mind. LM: Of course, there's the added factor of Joe Petrow officiating this match. BL: Oh, yes, I forgot... He'll probably bring up some old rule from 1940 barring Germans from the ring. LM: Well, I hope not... That could make the match a little slow. While it's impossible to predict Petrow, we can still hear his comments right here. Let's hear some words from Joe Petrow... ["Sychosys" Joe Petrow stands in front of a simple IIWF backdrop] JP: You know, this wasn't my original choice of venues for my little portion of time I'm allotted by the suits once in a while. I had a grand idea for some epic flash set in Paraguay that would go down in annals of history as the best wrestling interview ever done in Paraguay. But certain events over the past few days have dictated that a more official style is in order. A few days ago, I went on the Internet, and paid tribute to the passing of Diana, Princess of Wales. If this were a message from Tim Dross, it would a dignified, proper, and cold tribute, and nobody would have minded, because people would be expecting that. If it had been the Soundbite or the Showstopper, it would have been a crass, backhanded put-down kind of thing, but again, nobody would have minded, because people would be expecting that. But Joe Petrow spoke on the matter. I'm not going to repeat myself, you can find it for yourself if you really want to know. And for a lot of people, it wasn't immediately obvious to them how they were supposed to react. So they had to think. And as is the case for a lot of people, being forced to think made them angry. For reasons they themselves didn't know, they minded. And soon, hundreds and hundreds of messages flooded the internet, saying what a horrible thing I had done. Or was it? Soon more messages came, this time of the opposing viewpoint. It seemed like everyone in the world had their own interpretation of what I said. Hell, even Dan Kauffman got off his white horse long enough to ride the fence for a little while. But through the way of answering one comment, I'll answer them all. Someone said that she deserved "common decency and respect" That's where you are wrong. She doesn't deserve "common" respect at all. She was a woman who did to the ivory towers of Buckingham Palace what I've done to the ivory towers of the IIWF. A woman with the strength to defy all the powers that be in her life to stand for beliefs. As I have done. A woman who felt pain so great as to cause her to attempt to end her own life. As I have done. A woman who, in the end, fought the infinite battle that dooms us all to defeat right to the bitter end. As I will do. People born on July 1st are like that, I guess. In short, common courtesy, common decency, common respect. In this case, it ain't enough. Say what you will, think what you will, about my comments. If you still think I would put down one of my one, that's your call. But whatever you think, because of my words, millions of people pondered. And remembered. And passed their own thoughts to the cosmic channels to reach their proper destination. To sum up my comments in short, she was a Sychopath through and through. If that offends you, I don't care. And unfortunately, neither does she. But, to use a lame segue, one thing I do care about, is the IIWF World's Heavyweight Championship. I care that this belt I once coveted, once idolized...the single reason I dragged myself out of a hospital bed and my own personal hell...that belt, isn't even worth common courtesy anymore. Months of abuse from paper champions have reduced the symbolism to nothing more that of cold stamped sheet metal. I have tried to stand above it all. I have not joined in the self destructive Genesis vs Old Gen wars, because every blow landed to every competitor, every bloodthristy cheer from the unthinking vampires, every incomplete, unsatisfactory resolution, is a blow to the heart of the sport we have been chosen to honor. So I set an example. I send the message in a bottle. Believe in Joe Petrow, and all is well with the world. The message got through to some, but for the masses, it is still the same. The World's Championship, no matter who has it, no matter how they got it, is all that matters. Period. I can't be the World's Champion now. I want to, but I can't. Call it fate, call it politics, call it the cosmic alignment of Uranus, but right now, it ain't gonna happen. But I can still make a difference. I don't need to hold the belt to make it whole again. It is one way, but there is another. It's Requiem vs Verhoeven, but thanks to me, it will be the best Requiem vs Verhoeven that can ever be. Because I [_finally_ showing some emotion] am NOT gonna stand for the status quo anymore! I ain't gonna get no help in this match! I asked for a squad of armed guards to keep this match in line, but the suits just said it would cost too much money. Right! As if Becky LaRue is in dire need of a new Porsche! But it doesn't matter. Genesis, Old Gen, women of all flavors and sizes, you got something to get out of your system, you do it in the other main event. But Requiem vs Verhoeven is mine. And if you ain't one of those guys, and you don't like that, just try to do something about it. Just try. And then wish you hadn't. Requiem, get ready for Verhoeven. Verhoeven, get ready for Requiem. And remember, you ain't won the match, until *I* say you've won the match. And to win the match...you're gonna have to do it right. There will be no excuses. There will be no excuses. There will be no excuses. The winner will win. And the IIWF World's Heavyweight Championship belt, will take its first baby steps, towards becoming a belt, that's fit... to be worn... around... my... waist. [Petrow is finished, and stares vapidly into the camera. But "Majestic" Maurice McArthur wanders into the shot, and delivers a parting line] 3M: Requiem.... Verhoeven... Saturday night, you guys will wrestle. But Sychosys... will rule... the ring. [Fade out] BL: That McArthur is just so charismatic, isn't he? LM: I think it gives him a certain character... BL: Whatever. LM: Let's take this time now to hear from the champion, the man who will defend his title tomorrow night, the leader of Genesis, Requiem. [SCENE: A night-black Harley-Davidson deftly weaves throughout the traffic of a busy Portland street at midday, the sunlight blazing down on Requiem as he drives to the IIWF Coliseum. Over the busy traffic can vaguely be heard the stirring sounds of the "Ride Of The Valkyrie". The scene speeds up, the cars moving by as if at warp speed, only slowing down when Requiem turns into a side road leading to the IIWF Coliseum's underground carpark. Gliding serenely past a security guard at the entrance, Requiem enters and finds a place to park by the stairs. Removing his helmet reveals that Requiem has on a set of walkman headphones, which he duly removes. The "Angel Of Destruction", dressed entirely in black, switches off the streamlined black walkman and turns to face the camera] RQ: Ahh, the stirring grace of "The Ride Of The Valkyrie" - such an inspired tune! It speaks to me of the gracefulness of battle, the beauty of combat, the sinister majesty of wounding, of maiming, and of ... killing. [Requiem begins to walk toward the stairwell, looking over his shoulder as he does so] RQ: Tomorrow night I face possibly the hardest challenge of my career in the IIWF. True, my career has been a short one, but I like to think that nonetheless it has been an impressive one. The Hangman, and his Hangmen. Shinja Chow. Mad Dog Watkins. Deathbringer. Mr. Damage. Subway Psycho. Serge Annis. Scott Rogers. Derek Mota. Luke Steele. Ronnie Paris. Brody Thunder. Steve Kowalski. I've beaten them all, one way or another, by hook or by crook. You might not like the way I do things, but, like it or not, I'm very good at what I do. It may not be pretty, it may not be 'honourable', it may not be 'respectful'... But it's damned effective. Oh, and speaking of 'respectful'... Brian Lau, you little moron, be very glad that your status as an IIWF 'broadcast journalist' protects you from my wrath to an extent. You like cartoons, Brian? Were I to ever get my hands on you, rest assured, it would be "That's all folks" for you. Perhaps you are not afraid of me, Brian? Perhaps you think you are safe where you are? Perhaps you think the powers that be in the IIWF can protect you from my wrath? Do you live in the hope that Casey James can shield you from me? More the fool you. Nobody in the IIWF is safe from me, Brian... _nobody_. Were I to become angry with you, Brian Lau, the world would suddenly be a much darker and dangerous place for you, wherever you might turn. And what goes for Brian goes equally well for all the other presenters in the IIWF. Perhaps one day I shall have to demonstrate to Steve Roberts that he is not as safe as he might like to think... But I digress... Last week I faced Mad Dog Watkins, alone, in the ring. Everyone knew that Watkins would walk all over me. Without Genesis by my side, I would not stand a chance. Within moments of the bell ringing I would be a thin red smear on the mat... Everyone was wrong. I was "The Angel Of Destruction" long before I helped to form the most devastating force in the IIWF today, Genesis, and I was "The Angel Of Destruction" for a reason... Hiding behind a 'mystical image', Steve Roberts? Not I. Unlike Deathbringer, I have never claimed to be immortal. I have never hidden my face behind a mask. I have never claimed supernatural powers, save the ability to gaze into a man's soul, and we all possess that to one degree or another. I do not _hide_ behind anything, Steve. Not an 'image', not a match stipulation, not Genesis. Oh, and Steve? I am a 'big girls blouse' am I? Well then, my friend, you are undoubtedly an ardent Quigley supporter, for - unlike you - I get in the ring every week and let my actions speak for me. Unlike you, who continually threatens and blusters but never does a damn thing save run his mouth off... "Shoot, Soundbite, shoot!" What a joke. The only thing that Steve Roberts shoots is blanks. You want to doubt my toughness, my stamina, my ability, Steve? I tire of you. Get in the ring with me, and show the world just how 'weak' I am. Come, Steve, it should be no problem for you to finish me off, after all you are the undisputed master of the asai moonsault, are you not? Regardless of whether I walk out of the IIWF Coliseum as champion or not, Otto Verhoeven will _know_ he has been in a war unlike any other, Steve. He will know the true meaning of suffering. He will come to comprehend the upper echelons of pain as no other human being has ever done. He will reach the highest plateau of anguish, and still I will send him climbing ever higher... Am I doing this to get revenge on Otto? No. Am I doing this to belittle the "IIWF Old Gen"? No. Am I doing this because I revel in destruction and the infliction of pain, suffering, anguish and torment? Yes, of course! But only to an extent. The true reason? I am going to prove something to you, Steve Roberts. I am going to prove that, regardless of whether Genesis backs me up or not, regardless of whether I am the IIWF champion or not, I am the MOST destructive force in the IIWF today, bar none! Win, lose, or draw - I intend to leave Otto Verhoeven a battered and broken man Saturday night, and I will do it all for you, Steve Roberts! Consider yourself honoured - it is not everyday I dedicate a match as important as this to anyone. [Requiem, having negotiated the maze of passageways and corridors behind the scenes at the IIWF Coliseum, now steps out into the dimly lit coliseum and makes his way down the aisle, where the IIWF ring stands alone and empty amidst the thousands of desolate seats. Leaping up onto the ring apron, Requiem enters the ring and slowly turns around it, surveying the entire coliseum as he moves around, the dazzling lights bursting into full glare as he slowly looks around] RQ: The IIWF ring... scene of so many important battles, scene of so much glory, so much iniquity, so much joy and so much heartbreak. Perhaps most importantly of all, scene of so much bloodshed! Mad Dog Watkins, last week you fought an excellent match! You almost had me on many occasions, I freely confess. The operative word, however, being "almost", for I weathered the storm, and was on my way to almost certain victory when Otto Verhoeven interfered... When, for that matter, practically all of "The IIWF Old Gen", or as I like to think of them, "The Casey James Gang", interfered. I should be angry, I suppose. But I'm not. How can I grow angry at a group of men who use the very same tactics as myself? I can't. It's just a shame that you gentlemen could not finish the job, isn't it? I expect you're kicking yourselves over that one. Otto, you executed your vaunted "Slaughterslam" ... but that could not keep me down. Tiger Claw, your vaunted tiger knee strike could not keep me down. Casey James... the Blackheart punch... I'll give you credit... that hurt! But still, you drove me to my knees and no further. Would I have gotten up? We will never know, for Dan "Flash" Kauffman prevented you from trying. That's the problem with allying with 'fan favourites' like Kauffman, Casey... they know what's got to be done to get the job done, but they never do it. Me, I would never have stopped you. But, Casey, you will notice that your 'crippling finisher' did not cripple me so much that it prevented me from sliding out of the ring. Gentlemen, were you holding back? For your sake, I hope so, for I weathered all that you could throw at me and came away with barely a scratch. Mad Dog Watkins did more damage to me than all of you combined, and as you can see --- I'm feeling much better now! But the one question on everyone's lips is "Who is this masked superstar?" I don't care. My Genesis teammates have my full support. I will do what is needful, regardless of who the masked man is, regardless of who these mystery partners are. As always, Genesis will do what must be done! But, as for my match... [Requiem glances at his jet black rolex] RQ: Goodness, is that the time? I have been keeping you for far too long and so I shall make this brief... Petrow, play it straight down the middle, or there will be nowhere on the face of the planet that you will be able to hide from me. Otto, I respect your wrestling ability, even though I loathe the mere sight of you personally. For that reason, and that reason only, I want you to know that tomorrow is nothing personal - But I must provide Steve Roberts an object lesson! Otto, people have seen The Final Lament. People have seen The Retribution. People have seen the Redemption. But nobody has yet seen the HellHound. I'm afraid you will not see it, for it will be all too sudden for you when the HellHound strikes. However... You will feel its bite. When your suffering is at its zenith, I shall do all in my power to put _you_ out of _my_ misery with the bite of the HellHound! Tomorrow night, Otto, the Valkyrie will claim one of us. If I am successful, if I am able to execute the devastating HellHound... It _will_ be you who rides away to claim a place in Valhalla! Of course, perhaps I shall finish you off in some ignominious fashion, and deprive you of an ending fitting for a warrior. After all, I am not well known for my mercy. Yes, now I come to think of it... For you, I shall show... NO MERCY! [Fade] BL: Oh, should I be frightened? LM: I'd think you would be... BL: Let me tell you something, Morton... Requiem can't touch me. You know why? Because of that ruling that wrestlers cannot rough up journalists. Even if I were in his face, smacking him around like a cheap hooker, he couldn't lift a finger to harm me. You know what makes me so great? The fact that I know the rules, and exactly how to use them to my advantage. I can do whatever I want, and Requiem can't do a thing about it. Go ahead and quote your scriptures, Requiem, but Lau 3:16 says I just humiliated your ass! LM: Ummm, I think there's a guy somewhere that... BL: You be quiet! Requiem, you made a big mistake here. You threatened me. I am the most dangerous man in the IIWF! No, I may not be huge. I may not be the strongest, or the fastest, or even the most skilled athelete, but I am the smartest man you will ever have the pleasure of laying your eyes on. Requiem, you're imitating _me_ when you orchestrate a gang attack. You imitate me when you pull a double cross. You imitate me when you make plans to keep that belt. Go ahead and get rid of me, Requiem, and suddenly you'll be a whole lot less effective than you are now. LM: What are you implying? BL: Implying? I'm coming right out and saying it, Morton! I wrote Requiem's material! LM: I'm sure some would beg to differ, Brian. BL: And they would be stupid. Just like you, just like Genesis, and just like Requiem. LM: Alright, then... Well, need I ask who you think will win this match? BL: I'd like to say Verhoeven, but something tells me that this whole Genesis romp isn't over yet. I pick Requiem, albeit reluctantly. LM: There you have it, all in a nutshell! BL: Alright, shut up... It's time for my editorial... ======================================================================== -------------------------THE-ART-OF-CONTROVERSY------------------------- -----------------------------WITH-BRIAN-LAU----------------------------- ======================================================================== BL: Two words... Masked Outlaw. What the hell's going on? Well, let's see... We all know J.W. Hardin... The first IIWF World champ... He wore a mask at one time in his career, then later removed it to reveal the man we know and love today. The most talked about event involving Hardin would have to be that legendary "triple cross." We saw it recently on the monthly Classics show... Hardin, at that time still the Masked Outlaw, appeared to be at odds with his cronies, the Horsemen. As a result, he teamed up with the Man of Steel and Casey "Whitebread" James, two men that had sought to rid the IIWF of the Horsemen. Hardin turned on James and Steel, like we knew he would, but then also turned on the Horsemen, forming a new stable with Josey Wales named the Posse. It was at that moment that Casey "Blackheart" James was born. Most people don't realize this, since even James was reluctant to admit his feelings at the time, but when Hardin put the boots to him, James changed. His temper came through that corny surface everyone saw. Week by week, it became more apparent that James was having problems. Then, at last year's Midsummer Madness, James turned from flag waving moron to the most sadistic man in the IIWF. Why? Because he wanted to be like Hardin. Let me rephrase that. James wanted to _be_ Hardin. James looked at the triple cross, and realized that it was a thing of beauty. The planning, the conspiring, the grace of it all. I know this because I know Casey. James not only wanted to emulate the Outlaw, but he wanted to be the very man who pulled the triple cross. In the following months, we saw the results of this desire... The stalking of Dan Kauffman. The obliteration of the Subway Psycho with the help of friend Tiger Claw. The mind games played on Chris Quigley. It was great... Anyone will tell you that. But Casey James was still Casey James... Until the second annual Coronation Clash. James somehow found one of the original Outlaw masks. He donned it, and exercised his influence on several matches with ties to the original Clash. The Outlaw mask was removed, revealing James. Was he embarrassed? No. He was proud. He was proud to have furthered the legacy of the Outlaw, a man who has inspired him to be the man he is today. Is this to say that it was James that was wearing the mask last Saturday? Nobody knows for sure. We've heard James tell us flat out that he wasn't the man in the mask. We've also heard James say that he wishes he was, because Kauffman deserved what he got. It's hard to say. I know James almost as well as I know myself, and just as you never know what I'm up to, I can never know what he's up to. Is he just denying his actions to throw us off the trail? Is he speaking truthfully? Did he come to the ring wearing the mask at the beginning of the program to make a point, to almost give everyone a preview of what was to come? One can never tell. Let me tell you, if I can't figure it out, neither can you. What if it's not James? Who is it in the mask? Brody Thunder? Thunder has had ties with the Outlaw in the past. Of course, he's also had ties with me, and you don't see anyone running around with a Brian Lau mask... Could it be Deathbringer? I don't know. When a man wears a mask, you have to look at the body form of the man, and since the "Outlaw" was wearing a coat, nobody can be sure. Who can trust the "Outlaw?" It is obvious that whoever it was, he didn't exactly help out the Old Gen team. Perhaps it is someone just trying to cause problems? It is unclear what we should expect tomorrow night, but you can be sure that I will be watching closely to see what this person does under the guise of my friend. Even though this is not Hardin himself, it is exciting to see that Outlaw mask once again. LM: That's quite a segment. BL: Of course it is... I wrote it. LM: Well, there's one last thing we need to run through, and that's a video package from the mysterious B.G... Let's take a look... [SCENE: A black screen. White letters begin to fill the screen, reading] "He's no prosecutor --- but he will take you to court" [The sound of a ticking clock becomes audible, as the letters disappear from the screen and leave it black again. New letters appear at the screen, reading] "He's no judge --- but he will sentence you" [The sound of a gong becomes audible, as the letters disappear from the screen. They are instantly replaced by a set of other letters, reading] "He's no protector --- but you'll need one, if he comes after you" [Now a gothic choir becomes audible, as the letters are again replaced with new ones, which now read] "B.G. --- COMING SOON TO THE IIWF" [A bell tolls and the screen fades] BL: Oh no! He's going to make us flood! LM: Stop that... One thing concerns me... What member of the BeeGees is this? BL: Good one, Larry... LM: No, really. BL: You're serious, aren't you? LM: Yes... I remember the BeeGees, and none of them struck me as the wrestling type, to be honest. BL: I'm sorry folks, but I just can't top that gem. It's probably best if we bring this show to a close. Remember, the three hour Midsummer Madness comes your way tomorrow evening. If you haven't already ordered, well, you're stupid. Not that ordering would make you particularly bright, but not ordering pretty much dooms you to a life of a drooler. For my gay co-host, Larry Morton, this is Brian Lau saying "Get out of my face!" [Larry sits grinning for a few seconds, then realizes what Brian just said. Just as he turns to deliver a stinging barb of wit back to Brian, 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+