________ _______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| |\ /| /\ |\ | | /\ \ / | || | \ v v / | __| | v |/ \| \| __| /__\ \/ |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| | |\ /| |/ |/ \/ | | \/ | |\_// /\ |\ /| | _ | / __ / __ | v | | | / \ . |\ | / \ / \ | | | | \__ | | \| | __ \__ 1 December 1997 | | | | \ | | | \__| \ .....................|..v_____/.|.|..|____|____/ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The camera opens on an empty IIWF interview area. A loud ruckus can be heard and the camera swings over to the door just as it busts off its hinges to the floor courtesy of a size twelve boot belonging to Brody Thunder. The camera starts to jiggle and turns away when the unmistakable voice of the big Arizona native is heard.] BT: Don't you dare run off,ya lil runt. Get yer ass back here an' put that camera on me..._now_. Get over...! [The fleeting form of Thunder is seen darting in front of the camera, which is tilting sideways now. Suddenly the camera shot rights itself and Thunder steps back in front where the camera is focused on his reddish-purple bruised chest, the IIWF world belt obviously slung over his shoulder.] Stand up straight, kid, an' put that thing on me! [The camera quickly snaps out to a a waist up shot of Brody Thunder. Blood is splattered over the top of his head,streaking down the left side of his face. The wild look in his eye befits the adrenaline- induced power-pacing he's doing, all the while staring into the lens.] This what ya want, Kowalski? [Thunder points to the bloodied lacerated area on his head.] _This_ what ya really want, pal? 'Cuz lemme tell ya somethin'... [Thunder kicks over a bench,sending it crashing out of sight.] ...spillin' blood's been a hobby o'mine fer ten years now, runt. I've had more stitches than you've had days on this earth. Hell, I been put on a gurney by the best. An' fer each time I took a chair ta my squash, my friend... [Thunder grabs a metal folding chair and slams it against the floor.] ...my opponent took two. Fer every time I took a stitch... my opponent took two. An' fer every drop o' blood I spilled... that's right, runt... [Thunder hoists the chair up onto his shoulder and smiles that devilish grin.] ...they spilled _two_. [Thunder wipes some blood from his brow and slings it to the floor with disgust.] I heard ya out there earlier. Flappin' yer chops 'bout how the IIWF had gone soft. I had ta agree. Then I heard ya say the IIWF had a hard time gettin' talent when they could get crippled here. An'... I had ta agree. Then I heard ya say that a _new_ champ was needed... an' that that "new champeen" was _you_. An' y'know what? I had ta laugh. Yeah... the IIWF _has_ gotten soft. 'Specially when they recruit rubes like you ta do their dirty work fer 'em. Helluva champeen you'd make, ace. I took _you_ out without a hitch an' planted yer sorry hide in a hospital bed. Ya never saw it comin', pal, an' ya wanna know why? 'Cuz ya were so busy with that ego o' yers plannin' ta backstab _me_ that ya couldn't see the gameplan. Now ya wanna step back inta the spotlight an' take this strap from 'round my waist? Whaddaya think... I'm jus' gonna hand it over? Do ya think I'm jus' gonna turn tail an' run? If ya do then ya ain't been payin' attention, amigo. Brody Thunder ain't the runnin' kind. It jus' goes 'gainst my grain. Ya wanna take a run at me, boy? Be my guest. But lemme give ya some advice, hoss... Ain't no money in feedin' an' ego an' it's awful hard ta have a career from a hospital bed. Ya want a war, Kowalski? No problem. No problem at all. Yer blood'll stain that mat, as easily as mine. Yer head'll dent a chair as easily as mine. An' if ya think yer lil stint in a coma was tragic... if ya think _that_ was scary... well, heh heh... [Thunder slams the chair to the floor once more.] ...jus' wait'll the _next_ time I see ya, my friend. See, ya ain't never gonna make it ta the top -- an' ya wanna know why, Kowalski? [Thunder holds up the chair, pausing as if admiring it. He then looks back into ther camera and grins.] 'Cuz ya ain't gonna be around _long_ enough ta get there. Believe it, ace. [Thunder nods and with one hand, swings the chair at the camera, which abruptly goes to snow.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: Backstage at IIWF Saturday Night. The brawl between Chris Quigley, Steve Kowalski, and Brody Thunder has just been broken up. Officials shove Quigley through the curtain to the left of the scene. He pushes the officials away, and approaches the camera, more than a little ticked off.] CQ: There's times when I wonder what everybody wants from me. Time after time outside interference has cost me so much, yet the fans continue to love the guys who interfere, usually someone like a Marty Warnett or a Steve Kowalski. Then, when Steve Manning comes down a few times and helps me out, even though I had absolutely _nothing_ to do with it, they give me hell. I don't care. It's not like I thrive on the cheers of the people like some Saturday morning cartoon superhero wrestler. [Shakes his head.] CQ: Timothy Turner, you little piece of trash. You're hardly worth the breath it takes to say your name. _You_ are the paper champion of the IIWF, not me. It was obvious who the best man in the ring was tonight, despite interference from Shadoe Rage, Derek Mota, and Steve Kowalski! [Points into the camera.] CQ: Brody Thunder, listen hard and listen good. You were _so_ beaten tonight. You were in the Quickstriker, and believe me when I tell you, it was _all_ over for you. [Quigley wipes some sweat from his face.] CQ: And "Savage" Shadoe or whatever you wanna call yourself, you committed the cardinal sin of the IIWF. You stuck your damn nose in my business. I'll wipe you out soon enough, but next week, Steve Kowalski, you can have anybody you want chanting out, "Skullpump!", but even your deadliest move ain't enough to keep me down. Don't think I'm worthy to wear a belt? Lemme change your mind. And Steve Manning, stay the hell out of it, if you know what's good for you. [Quigley stares into the camera for a moment before turning and walking out of the camera's range. Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Rocket Man" Timothy N. Turner ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Tim Turner wanders into the IIWF interview area with a big grin on his face. He is carrying the wreckage of his rocket pack.] TT: I have two things to address tonight. The first is the triangle match from Saturday Night. Show the clip! [The camera shows Brody Thunder trapped in Chris Quigley's Quickstriker] TT: As you see here, Quigley had Thunder in his finisher and couldn't put him away. Now look at this... [The shot switches to Turner throwing Thunder through the ropes and quickly cuts to D'Amato raising Turner's hand in victory.] TT: This is where I beat Thunder...without Quigley's help. This has proven, without a shadow of a doubt, that I am the true champion of the IIWF. From here on in I shall be known as the IIWF Champion, because no other wrestler is as half as good as I am. I've beaten Quigley and now I've beaten Thunder. Do you have the guts, Brody? Give me a shot at the belt which is second ins tature to my own! [Turner hoists his jet pack into view. His smile vanishes] TT: Now, Blue. You damaged my property and now you think you can try and take away my belt. Simply enough...you aren't in my league. WHy don't you get Rogers and I'll get Duncan and we'll have a tag match, because there is no way I'll defend my title against a nothing like you! [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Cold Spell ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: The IIWF interview set. The new (well, sort of new) tag team champions come onto the set. Icehawk is wearing the same tag belt that he wore into the arena as a member of the Cold Quins, while Edmund Fitzgerald has his new (well, not exactly new, just for the first time in a couple months) belt over his shoulder.] IH: WE'RE BAAAAACK!!! Did you miss us? [At this point, Edmund Fitzgerald realizes that he is not going to get a word in edgewise tonight, and just watches Icehawk with a slight smile. Icehawk is damn near vibrating with excitement.] IH: Let's go to a special interview with the only person capable of interviewing Cold Spell now that Stevie has been canned ... Icehawk! IH: So, Icehawk, how does it feel to be the first person in IIWF history to hold the tag team titles on three occasions? IH: It feels great!! And it is especially nice to have a useful partner by my side. I went through _hell_ having to carry the Cold Quins all by myself. You notice that Tragedy has never held the belts with Chaos, haven't you? I don't even think Chaos was really injured - well, other than the brain damage, obviously - I think that Tragedy was just desperate to finally win a tag-team title. After all, here in the IIWF, he kept losing to ... well, us. And in the NLWP tournament a while back, the Quins lost to ... umm ... that would have been us again! Poor guy. IH: So, Mr. Hawk, your first defense this time will be against Damage, Inc. Any thoughts? IH: Frankly, I'm terrified! IH: Because you think you might lose your belts to a team considered one of the top three in the world? IH: Heck, no. I'm not worried at all about losing. I'm frightened that Eddy Ramos might get hungry in the middle of the match and eat me! Have you seen the size of that guy? I haven't seen anything that big since I saw the pictures of Becky LaRue before the IIWF paid for her liposuction! [At this point, Fitz starts humming "City of New Orleans" for no apparent reason.] IH: Well, Icehawk, we are about out of time. Any last thoughts for our viewers? IH: Just three. All you people out there should have fun, remember that "Men in Black" is the greatest movie of our lifetimes, and don't _ever_ trust women with red hair. [Fitz leans over and whispers to Icehawk] IH: Okay. Except Gillian Anderson. And she's more a strawberry blonde than a real redhead, anyway. [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Harlequins ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Harlequin Tragedy stands in the interview area after the close of IIWF Saturday Night, his steel mask concealing his features.] HT: Well, Cold Spell, I guess congratulations are in order. You've regained the titles. I won't say that I'm entirely surprised. You've been worthy opponents and allies. If the Executive Committee had decided on different opponents maybe things would have been different. But if I have to choose between friends and family, I choose my family. Nothing personal. As for my family. My little brother has made me extremely proud as of late. It looks like you're ready for some extra responsibility, Chaos. You're going to get it. As for the rest of the IIWF, there are quite a few of you that I have unfinished business with. That will be taken care of shortly. [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Steve "The Fury" Kowalski ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Much to the protests of the cameraman, Steve “The Fury” Kowalski ‘pops’ open a fresh beer. After downing a quick one, the bottle is jettisoned to the floor. Kowalski burps heartily and delivers his message.] SK: Ya know, I may be drinkin’ too much, but I sure as hell thought Brody popped me in tha back of the skull last night. Brody, ya already played yer hand. I thought ya would have ‘nuff cool to wait a week or so. Crankin’ me upside my head told me all I need to know, target. Yer worryin’. But, Brody, there’s no quick fix to this situ’ation. No no no. I gave ya yer own...sorry, the move really belongs to Hardin... gave ya _Hardin’s_ own Cattlebuster. So put ice on that noggin, we’ll be hookin’ up again. [Kowalski turns, but turns back slowly to respond to some unheard question.] SK: Quigley, junior, don’t try an’ get between two men when they want to shake it up. Yer jus’ gonna get hurt. [BLEEP]strike, do yer self a favor an’ jus’ replay that Kauffman/Quigley match. Yer only claim to fame maybe’ll give ya some inspiration. [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Steve Manning ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: IIWF Monday Musings area. Steve Manning stands wearing shredded blue jeans and a black shirt reading "Sanguinary and proud -- LOOK IT UP!" Manning seems to be muttering something to himself, and chuckling every few moments, and then he looks up into the camera, dead serious.] SM: Maybe ya didn't hear me the first time. [Takes a deep breath.] SM: I said... _REVENGE!_ Revenge for every two-bit athlete here that attempted to harm me when I was stuck in my wheelchair. Now thanks to a lovely miracle from the "lord below", I can walk! Can ya hear me cousin Betty, I can _walk_!! [Manning lets loose a chilling laugh and then turns serious once more.] SM: Derek Mota. You tough little Canadian bastard. I knew a Canadian once. He was tough. He used to hang out at my house a lot. Then I locked him in a trunk and kicked him off a cliff. That man was... [Manning looks up, as if listening to a voice, then frowns.] SM: No... no... never mind. Mota, my esteemed colleague, you're about to become part of an experiment. An experiment that _will_ benefit all mankind. We get to find out just how much a Canadian can be injured at the hands of a sadistic son of a bitch from Arizona. I'm sure this experiment will be of interest to my good ol' buddy, "Quickstrike". [Manning smirks.] SM: Chris... Chris... Chris... can't we all just get along? Obviously, you need all the help you can get. I don't care if you parents don't love ya. I don't care if you're popping my sister. I wanna be your friend! You can be my bodyguard, and I can be your long lost pal! And I can call you Quigley, and Quigley when you call me you can call me Al! [Manning breaks into hysterical laughter, as he staggers forward, weak from the humour. Then, suddenly he goes straight-faced, and slugs the cameraman, knocking the scene to static. Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Richard "Moxy" Blue ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [An average medical centre waiting room, with nurses walking to and fro with stressful rapidity and many people waiting: one woman tries to quiet a crying child, while an elderly man falls into a fit of sneezes. Among the chaos, the camera pans along to people reading various waiting room magazines...and the camera also picks up a magazine flying past the camera's view. And another. And another. As the camera moves further we see Richard Blue, "Moxy" himself, perusing through a stack of magazines and finding discontent in each one and tossing it aside with gusto. He is dressed in his brand new denim jacket, his crescent moon sunglasses hanging from his pocket, an orange low collar shirt and neon green and black sweat pants. His hair is once again blue... and it looks like it's staying that way. A bookbag lies at his feet.] RMB: Damnit, all Modern Parent and Canadian Living! Don't they have anything classy? [Blue reaches into his bookbag and pulls out a magazine of his own...and admires the centerfold.] RMB: There we go! Now they'll have some good articles, like "the Night the Donkey Helped" and "Jello is My Friend." [Blue places the inappropriate material onto the remains of the magazine stack. A plump young nurse walks into the room.] N: [Calling out] Richard Blue. RMB: That's my name, don't wear me out. N: This way please. [The nurse leads Blue down a hall, the camera following in Kubrick-esque fashion. From the waiting room can be heard a young child saying "Mommy, what is she doing to that donkey?" He steps into the doctor's office.] N: Dr. Davidson will be with you in a minute. RMB: Thank you. [Blue sits down, staring at a poster of "The 9 Months of Pregnacy." The nurse leaves, and as soon as Blue is sure she is out of the room, he pulls a marker from his jacket pocket. He uses it to draw little party hats on all of the foetus illustrations. Suddenly, a man in a long white coat enters the room, and Blue sits back down as fast as his 185lbs frame will allow, placing the marker behind his ear. The doctor looks at his posters, then to Blue, then to his posters, and then to Blue again. Blue smiles and twiddles his fingers.] Dr.D: Well Richard, what seems to be the problem today, that you need a man of my specialization? RMB: No problem, Doctor, I just have a few questions I'd like to ask. Dr.D: All right then, shoot. [Blue puts his hands over his ears.] RMB: You said a dirty word. Anyway, I was wondering if you could take a look at these slides for me and give me your professional opinion. Dr.D: As long as it doesn't take too long, Richard... I may not be busy today, but I do have other patients. RMB: And patients can make or break a man. Dr.D: Yes. [pulling out his cellular] Judy, could you bring my slide projector up here? Thanks. So, how is the wrestling business going? RMB: Well, I have to face Derek Mota and some snobby guy this weekend. I sorta accidently hit Mota this weekend, so he sorta wants to kick the cheesy poofs outta me again. Dr.D: Well, do your best. Any title shots lately? RMB: I got one coming up soon...against the silly Turner boy. He has NO idea how to handle the spotlight, ya know? I'll be doing him a favour. And I sorta broke his toy. Accidently of course. Dr.D: [apathetic] That's good, Richard. Still seeing that same girl? RMB: Yep. Dr.D: And how is Miss Harcourtte these days? RMB: Okay I guess. We see each other more often now, so that makes us both happy. [The same nurse wheels in an over head projector. Blue goes over to his bookbag and removes two slides and places them in. The doctor goes towards the machine...] RMB:[slapping his hands away] I CAN RUN IT! [RMB turns the machine on, and projects on the wall a very large -- and almost hideous -- human behind.] Dr.D: Oh my. [RMB switches slides, and the next one shows the rear end of Michealangelos "David". He switches back the the previous slide.] RMB: Rio's. [RMB switches to "David".] RMB: Mine. From a proctologist's perspective, who would have the better ass? Dr.D: Yours by far. I think the other one has some sort of ugly disease. RMB: Can I get that in writing? Dr.D: Certainly. [Fade to black as Blue rapidly switches between slides, screaming "Rio's! Mine! Rio's! Mine!"] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Damage Inc. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The scene seems to be back stage in Portland, Oregon after the IIWF Saturday Night show. Jeandra is seen wearing a Portland TrailBlazers t-shirt while Porteaux and Ramos are still in their wrestling gear] JE: Cold Spell. You just don't get it. You just can't understand it. We come to you, after your match....after your....[shakes head]....victory......and lay the belts right in front of you. We stand right in front of you...and what do you do? AP: [Porteaux rises and jumps right into the camera's face] YOU START CALLING OUT THE PROPHETS!!! IIWF mistake number _ONE_!! JE: [from behind Porteaux] And then, during this FARCE of a tag match....Paul O'Neil....you hit Eddy Ramos with a steel chair..... AP: IIWF....mistake....number _TWO_!!! JE: And now, the IIWF finally gets it right....one on one with the World Tag Team Champions...the way it should be. But be REAL careful....not just Cold Spell, but to you...Fabulous Ones.....because I would really, REALLY hate for you two to commit.... DI: IIWF...mistake....number......_THREE_!! AP: Because we WILL kill somebody...... [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Machines ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The Machines stand in front of the IIWF interview area after the Saturday Night Show. Simon O'Neal looks into the camera and begins...] SO: Well, once again we got screwed... [CRASH! The camera turns, and sees Paul Wong slamming a chair on the ground. He wipes the sweat from his forehead, and starts hollering.] PW: Damn it! I'm sick of this. If these so-called Fabulous Ones want to stick their damn noses in our business, I'll be glad to rip them in half. SO: Paul, calm down now... PW: And it's your fault we've got them here! Maybe if you'd keep both your mouth and your pants zipped up, we wouldn't have them here to cost us this match. [Paul paces back and forth, pounding his fist into his other hand.] PW: Okay, you guys want a war? You've got one. [He storms off the set. Simon sighs and shakes his head. He starts to say something, stops himself, and walks off the set. Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Fabulous Ones ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Ms. Miki, valet of the Fabulous Ones stands in front of a huge IIWF banner.] MM: I want to let the two most fabulous wrestlers in all the wrestling world say a few words.  So, here are "The Universal Heartthrob" Agito Nakajima and "Sweet" Sho Satuma, the FABULOUS ONES! [Ms. Miki steps back as Agito wearing a black, button down, silk shirt, and Sho wearing a black shirt with a black sports coat, step into view.] AN: Well, well, well... The double eye, as everybody calls it, has finally been graced with the finest tag team ever to step in the squared circle... SS: That would be us. [Sho points to both of them as Ms. Miki smiles in approval.] AN: This past Saturday we made our debut.  Simon O'Neal, I think you know that very well. [Sho starts laughing.] AN: What were you thinking?!  I gave you that chair with plenty of time to use it.  But, what did you do? SS: You stood there like a lump and waited to get yourself disqualified. You must have a hole in your head, and if you don't Agito and myself will put one there! AN: The bottom line, as it were, is that a friend of ours was hurt by you and we're going to hurt you back.  We're going to play mind games with you, and poor little Paul Wong is caught in the middle. SS: I'll beat him into oblivion as well. [Sho walks off camera, laughing.] AN: Machines, we have muscles of steel and sex-a-peel, so deal with it! ["Kiss of Death" by Dokken plays as Sho steps back in camera view without a shirt and starts to pose.  Agito rips off his shirt and joins in.  After a few seconds it fades out.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Natural Predators ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Tribal Chants echo through the background as the camera comes up on BEAR and GREY PHOENIX, kneeling before a fire. It is a clear night, the sound of drums and rattles, a rainmaker's prayers in the background. Both men are in their wrestling gear, and Kuyler Greyson, dressed in a single breasted black suit steps into view. He is smiling widely] KG: So. We have finally found ourselves champions. Cold Spell regains the belts. Hard to look at them and say "They earned it". Hard to say the best team won. Genesis in the past for them...the future? Who can tell? The name of "fan favorite" in this league seems to be synonymous with "transient". Which is why the Predators are needed now more than ever in this league. [He lowers his head, smiles a little, as the camera shows a closeup of both Predators] KG: The won-loss record doesn't show it. What they do. Why they are. Who they are. This is what makes them the true champions of the IIWF. [He looks up, stoically:] KG: We face the most violent team in the IIWF on Wednesday. Licensed for Devestation. You two chumps managed to steal a win from us back in Leavenworth. No DQ, that's how the matches go. You cost us a win against the Harlequins and Cold Spell when you walked out on us. And we still fought them. Now, it isn't all bad. We got some payback at Ring Wars. You two shackled to the corner and ropes while the Machines, Down Boys, and these two Native Warriors exacted a pound of flesh apiece from you. That was a fine moment. But that only balanced the scales slightly. [It slowly starts to drizzle. Kuyler pops an umbrella open, smiling] Wednesday night, you and these two will face each other in the battle of all battles. And my boys have a big matchup on Saturday against the Machines. Way I see it, you two are going to get the lesson you so richly deserve. [The rain falls heavier and heavier until the fire begins to flicker out] Like healing, nourishing rain to bring life back to the scorched land, the Predators and I will stand for what is RIGHT. And prove that we are indeed, the best of the best. [Grey Phoenix kippups to his feet, Bear rocking back onto his heels and standing. Bear tilts his head back, and growls as the rain, now a full fledged storm, cracks a lightning bolt behind him, the thunder joining his roar as primal as the storm. Grey Phoenix looks toward the camera, a slight wind rustling his wet strands of hair along his face.] GP: Neyho neyehe hiyo. We shall Triumph. [Camera fades to black.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Licensed For Devastation ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The camera opens to Licensed for Devastation, Reggie Starr and Jonathan Chaos, in front of a blue IIWF backdrop. They are buck naked... no, they're wearing jeans and white t-shirts.] JC: Yeah, it's been a while since ya' seen us... ya' see... I... kinda' snapped back at Ring Wars. I didn't appreciate getting the [BLEEP] kicked outta' me by six guys while I was handcuffed to a guardrail. It wasn't da' most fun thing that I've eva' done. RS: Yeah, it wasn't a bed of roses for me either. JC: I figured... hell, they didn't send _any_ security out there to help us... they _wanted_ us to get ou' asses kicked. RS: Yes, indeed... the damn head honcho's of the IIWF _wanted_ to see the LFD get our teeth kicked down our throats. They were enjoying it in the locker room... hell we _all_ know they get off on this kind of thing. JC: Word. We were gonna quit the IIWF, folks... we didn't enjoy getting ou' asses punked night afta' night without retribution... RS: Big word. JC: Thanks. But now, we' gonna get ou' payback... you saw me snap... ya think it won't happen again?! I've been quiet fo' too long... it's time for da' double loose cannon. RS: IIWF tag teams... let it be known... _every_ time one of you is even _seen_ by us... you're gonna get attacked. This place will be the home of the screwjob when we're done; and you can blame it on the IIWF's front office. The double loose cannon is about to show the IIWF what we were when we got here... and what we always were. JC: Da' best. Da' worst. It don't matta... you a team, you get an ass whoopin'. RS: That's how it's gonna be from now on. We aren't quitting. We know that's what _they_ want. IIWF... the time for regularity is about to end. Stay tuned for the unbelievable. [Fade to black.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Down Boys ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Shot of the super-generic IIWF backdrop as Awesome T, manager of the Down Boys, stands in front of it. The Down Boys are nowhere to be found. T, as usual, doesn't seem overly happy. He looks into the camera and holds up three fingers.] AT: Three. Larry Walker of the Colorado Rockies, the National League MVP of 1997, has an obsession with the number three. He's not alone. I too, have this obsession. [T puts the fingers down and smirks to the camera] AT: Damage Inc. The highly regarded team...the 13th ranked team in the RSPW-F Tag Team rankings...I guess that was you, all you generic tag teams begin to blend in after awhile. Anyway, I knew, going into this tag team elimination match, that the Down Boys were in for a challange. Hell, they were outweighed by every team in the match. But that's beside the point. The Down Boys, although they aren't exactly the most up-to-date dressers in the world, are damn talented at what they do. Despite their size, they've managed to defeat men who towered over them... men whom no one believed they could defeat. Such as Damage Inc. We all saw it. The clean tag. Fly to the Angels. The obvious pinfall. You could have counted to a hundred, and we still would have won the match. But alas...it was never meant to be. Obviously...a team that was ranked 13th in ALL of wrestling would get the benefit of the doubt against a team that no one had ever heard of outside of our arrivals here in the IIWF and in the SJPW. The Down Boys didn't come into the IIWF with a list of titles held from miniature federations all over the world to make us look impressive. The Down Boys didn't get all of our friends to vote for us when awards ballots came out. Hell, they weren't even nominated. The point is...when the Down Boys and myself were hired for the IIWF some three months ago, the powers that be had never seen us. We sent them one interview, and we were hired. Then the Down Boys came right out and beat every tag team that was thrown at us. First, they beat the other tag team Spreadbury spent his IIWF bucks on, the Natural Predators. They were bigger than the DB's too...but they fell to the Unskinny Bop. Nothing personal against the Natural Predators...they're a good team. We were just on a mission. The Down Boys then ended up facing the Machines. Damn fine team. But we beat them too. Why? We were on a mission. Beat them twice for that matter. I take nothing away from the Machines. We teamed with them, and they taught us a great deal. And Saturday Night...November 29th...as the US was eating leftover turkey and stuffing that final piece of sweet potato pie down their throat, the Down Boys got their three. Right in the center of the ring. Yet, come this Saturday, who gets the title shot to face the IIWF World Tag Team Champions? Damage Inc. Damn, it must be nice to have a rep. [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Real Deal" Luke Steele ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Fade up to the IIWF Interview area, a brick wall with a metal version of the IIWF logo adorned on the wall. Luke Steele walks into the area with a white taped bandage across his forehead, a pack of gauze between his eyes where Serge Annis earlier caught him with the shiv. He also has bandages on his arm and chest from the other slashes, and is still wearing his wrestling tights. Luke looks at the camera and flashes a grin, for the first time in a while it's a sincere grin instead of a painted on version created by bitterness.] LS: I'll keep this brief, since I'm sure you'll want to interview Annis and Verhoeven after their win tonight in the Tornado Match. [Luke stops, and slaps himself in the forehead as if remembering something.] LS: Oh wait, silly me. They didn't win the match -- I did. Eat your hearts out, LWC. Keep dreamin', NICW. And most importantly, Steve Roberts, too damn bad for those two lapdogs of yours, the German and the Canadian. Of the four men in there, nobody gave Luke Steele a chance -- except Luke Steele. For the second time in as many shows, Luke Steele gets the win over the favoured guys. First the Free For All at Ring Wars IV, and now a Tornado match over some of the toughest men in the Double Eye. I'll give them all credit, they beat the hell out of me. Highwayman, those clotheslines near the end just about did me in. Otto, piling on top was a stroke of genius, but I managed a kick out anyways. And then there's Annis, the man who just has to take violence up a notch every time. A shiv? Glad to see those referees are paid to ensure safety in a match. I know we'll probably have Otto and Serge complaining that they didn't really lose; you both knew the rules fellas, and you let yourselves get counted out because of your tempers. Jeezus, maybe now the suits will see the true ability of Luke Steele and will start giving him a break. I'm the hardest working man in the Double Eye, and Highwayman, you were just the first to feel the sting of potential thrown back in the IIWF's face. [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Serge Annis ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The scene is backstage of IIWF: Saturday Night. One of the IIWF medical crew are sitting at a table. Sitting next to him is the 'Epitome of Evil' Serge Annis. The medical man is stitching up the cut on Annis' shoulder from the barb-wire wraped steel chair. Annis doesn't even flinch as he is stitched. Annis looks to the camera and smiles.] SA: Ah... heh heh... hello. Come backstage to get a real story? Well, there's nothing here but ol' me. Medical Assitant: Cripes Serge, you're about fit for the Meatman! SA: Thank you. I have two points I want to touch up on. First. Luke Steele, you are a lucky lil' s.o.b. How you got the win is anyone's guess... then again, it was Highwayman. But value it kid, for that is the _ONLY_ victory over Serge Annis you shall ever have. [The medic pulls out a piece of the barb wire that was stuck in Annis' bloody wound.] M A: Holy cow! They don't pay you enough for this, Serge. SA: Shut the hell up and do your job. Second, Otto Verhoeven. Good show Butcher. If I didn't hate ya so damn much, I'd almost respect you. But if you think that one single thing has been settled, then you are seriously mistaken. Trust me on that one Butcher. So far, the score is still in the favor of Serge Annis. But trust me Juggernaut, I look forward for the third round... heh heh... M A: Okay Serge, I found another one... this is going to hurt. SA: Heh... yeah right. [The medical assistant pulls out another strand of wire from Annis' meaty wound. This time, Annis' face does twitch, but is soon replaced by a smile.] SA: Ahh.... it's so good to be home. [Fade to black.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Duncan Macbeth ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Fade up on Duncan Macbeth in the IIWF interview area moments after his narrow loss to "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare in the eight-man elimination match for a shot at the World title. The Scot is drenched in sweat, brushing back the stray locks of damp ginger hair from his face, and he does not seem all that troubled at being defeated, but the intense gleam in his jade eyes betrays an underlying preoccupation as he stares into the camera lens.] DM: I've a few things t' say before I get t' wha's really gnawin' on me righ' now. Billy Shakespeare... wha' can I say, ye caught me, lad. Guid on ye. I'll admit t' bein' a wee bit off me arse at how quick ye put me down, after all th' effort I made t' pin tha' tosser Rage, but ye pulled off a beauty o' a move, an' ye bested me fair an' square. _This time._ I look forward t' th' next time we tangle, guid Bard, an' no doubt 'twill be fer th' World title. Give th' cowboy hell, wha'. [Macbeth pauses, reflecting on some of the other action from the evening, and chuckles to himself before continuing.] Derek Mota... heh heh, ye malignant wee bastard, ye... I like yuir style, mate. Always have, e'en when we were tryin' t' murder each other back when we first broke in t' th' IIWF together. Ye've got yuir beef wi' Tim, an' righ' now I've got mine wi' th' Toom Tabard, th' "empty coat", th' paper champion. Tim an' me have been mates for a long time, an' one o' th' reasons tha' we're _still_ mates is tha' we'll no' mess about in each other's affairs when titles are on th' line. Tha' way, there's no excuses t' be made at th' end o' th' day - ye ken, like "'E's only th' champ 'cause 'is _friend_ had t' help 'im win". I'm sure we've all heard tha' one more than a few times lately, wha'. Tim kens wha' 'e's doin', an' 'e requires no assistance from me, so ye've naught t' worry about. Guid luck tryin' t' get a match with 'im, though - nobody can duck a man like Tim. But at least 'e's honest enough t' admit t' it. [Macbeth's demeanour visibly darkens, and he glowers into the lens, his voice dropping in pitch as his glittering eyes brighten in intensity.] Which brings me t' th' man who's raised fraud, delusions o' grandeur, an' bitchin' an' complainin' t' an art form in th' IIWF. Th' so-called "legend", who's only legendary fer 'is tendency t' cry an' whine about how nobody gives 'im th' respect 'e deserves, e'en while 'e's holdin' what _should_ be a prestigious title. Th' paper champion 'imself, Chris Quigley. It's such a laugh t' watch ye now, Quigley, tryin' sae desperately t' separate yuirself from yuir wee mate, as yuir fans desert ye, an' the cheers ye used t' hear grow fainter an' fainter by th' day. _Still_ tryin' t' puff yuirself up as th' "fightin' champion" o' th' IIWF, after all th' fight ye had at Ring Wars was beaten out o' ye, an' it took th' fight in another man carryin' a lead pipe t' save yuir belt. Tossed me aside like a caber, did ye? When exactly were ye afflicted wi' _tha'_ delusion, when ye were lyin' in yuir bed recoverin' from th' concussion, or when ye were sittin' in th' dentist's chair gettin' yuir bridgework rebuilt? Everybody an' every single wrestler in th' IIWF who saw tha' match, Quigley, kens tha' th' only tossin' ye did tha' night was in th' shower room in th' Memorial Coliseum, when ye _thought_ nobody was lookin'. From wha' I hear, ye're quite legendary fer tha', at least. An' now, ye have th' unbelieveable gall t' come out 'ere tonigh' an' say _I'm_ th' one who's low-down an' cheap, 'cause I was smart enough t' take yuir Quickstriker away from ye? YE asked fer th' no-disqualification stipulation, remember? YE wanted a match where anythin' an' everythin' was legal, did ye no'? Well, tha's wha' ye got, sae quit yuir pathetic bawlin' about th' knee brace. I came t' Ring Wars prepared, but I came _alone_, Quigley. An' tha's why, after all yuir boastin' an' posturin' an' callin' me out tonight, ye turned righ' around and signed a match wi' Steve Kowalski. Just like a real "fightin' champion". Are ye sure ye're from Corner Brook, Quigley? Seems t' me like ye're really from Dodge City, wha'. Maybe 'cause ye ken tha' Thunder wants 'im, an' if th' cowboy interferes in th' match, wha' happens? Pinfall or DQ victory fer th' legendary paper champion, tha's what. I must admit, I find this a wee bit confusing. Wha' changed yuir mind, Quigley? What kind o' champion, what kind o' "legend" issues a challenge, then takes it back in 'is very next breath? [Macbeth ponders this while, then smirks, as if he'd known the answer all along.] No legend at all, I'd say. I HAD ye at Ring Wars, Quigley. I ken it. Th' IIWF kens it. Th' fans - mine _and_ yuirs - ken it. An' now, paper champion, after tonigh'... [Macbeth leans in to the camera, fixing the lens with his corrosive green gaze as he grins triumphantly.] ...I ken tha' YE ken it. [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Billy Shakespeare stands backstage, tired, sweating...amazed.] BS: I didn't think I had it in me. I really didn't. I'd like to say I'm not worthy...but I'm not a fool either. In a federation full of assorted jerks, fools and rogues: Tony Starks, Shadoe Rage, and Bradley Reed to name a few, it's nice to see a good guy coming out on top. "This is the stuff as dreams are made of." And Reed, I made a vow, don't think that I won't stay to it. [Fade out] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "The Brat" Bradley Reed ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Camera opens up on the IIWF interview area. After a few seconds the large leather clad Stone comes into view. Stone stares a hole right into the camera or it seems since no one can really see where his eyes are since he is wearing shades as always. Suddenly, "The Brat" Bradley Reed stumbles into view. Reed looks like he has just comes out of the shower. This is evident since his hair is all wet and much more eveident is the fact he is just wearing a towel. Reed then turns to Stone.] BR: Wow, Stone, haven't things here in big IIWF been amazing or what. Me and you big guy have really been taking the I - I - W - F by storm. Myself, the Reedster, has been showing everyone what Brat-A-Mania is all about. Society has tried to hold me back and now I have just exploded right into their face. [Reed then addresses the camera.] Now it's rundown time. First I come into this league and play Warnett for a damn fool. Then he starts dismissing me as nothing more then a whiney punk. Warnett, it's true I blame society for what they did. But I'm not just sitting around and whining, I'm doing something about it and throwing all the crap I received right back at them. They created this monster. [pauses] Warnett, I do know how to have a wild time just like you. Hell, being a brat is the way to go. And at Ring Wars I proved to Warnett that I was more then a snot-nosed whiney punk when I punked him like the heroin shooting Welshmen he is. DAMN!! Did I sucker, Farty. I lead him right into a big Superstar Attack. By the one and only Superstar himself, Stud Stetson. And I have now done what many have tried and that is send Marty packing right on out of the IIWF. Seeya Warnett, I hope you don't overdose -- hell, overdose all you want, it would do the world a favour. Anyway, I proved my worth as the true Superstar Champion and Stetson baby has gone home satisfied that I will continue to reign in the IIWF as the true champion -- Superstar Champion. Stet, I hope you enjoy your time with Lace -- she is one hot honey. The other night I... um, never mind. [Reed blushes] Anway, from their I continue my hot streak when I roll right into the Golden Grapple Awards and make a clean sweep. My trophy case is finally full. I'm very pleased you all honored me as the Best Wrestler of the Century it was a real honor. That Humanitarian award was something else. But I have to tell you that the ICON award was a little too much. You can keep that one and give it over to some fairy that likes to wear hearts on his butt or some balding ape that likes to make blockbuster bombs more then wrestle or give it to some freak in a dress -- [mumbles to himself] hey, a freak in a dress now that is an idea. [ponders for a second] Now where did the Reed Express go next? Oh that's right -- this past Sauturday night were I proved my true dominance. In that big six man tag where I proved to all I am truly the greatest. I carried those two slackers, Ike the Tyke and Scott the Flop to victory over three rejects who I can't even remember their names now. You all saw me pull of some of the greatest moves ever and finally deliver the Attitude Adjustment to some horsefaced freak who wishes he was a basketball team. But Ikie baby I really have to say that was some great sportsmanship there. After I led our team to victory singlehandedly I really liked that gesture of friendship. [Reed smiles] I think I should pay back the gesture with my own show of friendship in the near future -- buuuuuut I have some more stressing matters to take care of right now. Now you have all heard the rundown of my dominance but I would now like to tell you all about something else I truly dominant in. Now this thing is even hotter then my current win streak here in the IIWF. It's even more of an outstanding achievement than my Superstar title. Ladies and gentlemen you've all heard Moxy and Rio go on and on about how great their asses are but now you're in for a real treat. Here is truly the GREATEST ASS ON THE FACE OF THE PLANET... [Reed turns around and drops his towel -- but the camera quickly cuts to black.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Ike Sampson ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Ike Sampson stands on an IIWF Soundstage, moments after walking out of the tag match Saturday night.] IKE: Well, it's all clear to me now. This ain't about me and Christiansen. It ain't even about me and Starks. This is all about The Man, keeping me down, keeping me out of the hunt for the gold. Week after week, match after match, stuck in some meaningless tag match with a bunch of losers. Anything in that match gonna help me climb the ladder to a title?!? Didn't think so. So I did what I did. Walked out. Sick and tired of wasting my time. Hell, I might as well be wrestling on Wednesday... So the Brat don't like it?!? Tough. You don't like it, Moneybags, you know where to find me. Be careful, though. You ain't looking for no "Party Maniac" this time. This here's a man. A _real_ man. And bring your big boyfriend, too, if you want. Two stepping stones for the price of one. Can't beat that. And that's the truth... [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Christopher Stonebreaker ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The IIWF interview stage is as usual, showing the signs of wear and tear from various commentary and actions of the IIWF superstars, and now on the stage stands Christopher Stonebreaker and he holds his sledgehammer in one hand and stares at it for a moment before turning his attention to the camera in front of him. ] CS: Gentlemen, how does it feel? To know that three men that you had never dealt with before in your life were able to walk out of the ring with a victory over the "established" stars? [Chris drops the sledgehammer down to his side.] CS: Enigma, it seems that for some "obvious" reason, you weren't exactly in the match at one hundred percent. It seems that you and Mr. Paris have something of an old score to settle among yourselves, and right now, I'm just hitching along for the ride. CS: This is a simple equation. Three men in the ring. Two of them are going to go after one another with everything they have. And that leaves... Well, I think even you guys can work the math out on that one. [Chris lowers his head for a second and remains there in silence for a full five seconds, before speaking again] CS: You know, I never liked settling my matches by picking up the pieces. If that's what it took... but I didn't like it. [he lifts his head up to the camera] And I won't settle for picking up the pieces in this match either. _Both_ of you will have to face me in the ring. And that means that _both_ of you are going to feel what it means when this southern boy gets a hold of you. And _both_ of you ... well, to put it bluntly... I won't be picking up the pieces, I will be leaving both of you in the ring, and... J'VAIS TE BRISER!! [Chris makes his way off the stage after a glance back at the stage. Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Ronnie Paris ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Ronnie Paris stands in front of the typical Monday Musings backdrop, a trickle of sweat running down the side of his face as he tries to regain his breath. It's obvious Paris has just finished fighting, and seems to be on a big adrenalin rush if his goofy grin and wide eyes are any indication. He tries to speak, but has to put his hand up as a signal to wait while he gasps in a mouthful of air, and then is able to talk.] RP: Sometimes I really enjoy being a wrestler... tonight was a great night. I got saddled... [pant]... saddled with a team of losers and I still won. I didn't even to bother watching that farce of a Cruiserweight ladder match, but I hear the little guy won and he deserves a lucky break. [Pause for another deep breath.] That's exactly what it was, too. Lucky. And, of course, there's the Enigma. Mr. "I don't have to earn an administrative push, I just get it by default." Well, Prodigal Son, I think I showed you the "sign of the times" as it were, and you couldn't handle seeing the truth. Then I had to beat you around a bit, which is sad because a man of my calibre hates wasting time with people who get all the breaks. It's like a blue collar worker trying to explain what a real day's work feels like to a stockbroker... just can't be done. You keep counting those stocks, running away and running back, but stay out of my way because, unlike you, when someone puts an obstacle in front of me I knock it down! You're the Holy Trinity, Mushashi. You're the Prodigal Son, the stockbroker, the obstacle... and I'm about to knock you into next Tuesday! [Fade out as a still slightly winded Paris begins to mime knocking over an imaginary roadblock, putting his shoulder down like a defensive lineman and driving forwards into the target. Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Subway Psycho ------------------------------------------------------------------------ SP: Last Saturday eight men stepped into a ring, all with one thing in mind...a shot at the World Heavyweight Title...or so I thought. Tony Starks this goes out directly to you...you and me are more alike than you may think. We're both from NY and we don't take no crap from anyone. That's why I couldn't tag you in last Saturday...because what you were doing was complete crap. You want to screw around and get yourself disqualified...fine, but don't do it on my time! I know what its like to have your mind so clouded with rage that common sense doesn't enter in...so I want to put this behind us. Your a fine wrestler Starks don't throw that away. Rick Williams...we were both counted out Saturday. That won't happen next Saturday. I'm onlt going to need a three count after I De-Rail you right in the center of the ring. [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "To Excess" Rick Williams ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Scene opens to the IIWF interview area. Immediately following his countout loss in the eight-man elimination match, "To Excess" Rick Williams awaits his oppurtunity to speak. Pushing his sweat-soaked hair from his face, Williams pauses momentarily to compose himself before he begins to speak.] RW: I'll give you credit... I'll give you a whole lot of credit. Subway Psycho, you're obviously a lot smarter than I gave you credit for. That was a pretty smart move. I mean, if you can't beat a guy, what better approach is there, than to ensure a double-countout. I'll give you credit, Psycho... You're one hell of a team-player. [A smug grin appears on Williams' face, as he contemplates his preceding comments. Pausing again, Williams wipes some sweat from his face, before calmly proceeding.] RW: And speaking of guys who hit their peak long before Elvis, how could I neglect to mention good ol' Billy Shakespeare? Well Bill, you're damn right "To Excess" wants the IIWF spotlight, and if you feel that means you, then I'm not hard to find. But this time, Bill, you're gonna have to help me to make the match. It won't be like tonight, where you lay on your back for twenty minutes, and then capatilized on everyone else's fatigue. This time, _you're_ gonna have to do some work too, Bill. I'm good... but even _I_ can't make a match on my own. [Williams begins to leave the interview area, when he appears to think better of it, and so, continues to speak.] RW: But as an IIWF newcomer, maybe I've got some lessons to learn. I mean, how could I _not_ respect Billy Shakespeare? The man's done it all. I hear he was _huge_ in the 60s... although, obviously, I'm not talking about the _19_ 60s. [Fade, as a chuckling Williams leaves the interview area.] +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+