________ _______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| |\ /| /\ |\ | | /\ \ / | || | \ v v / | __| | v |/ \| \| __| /__\ \/ |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| | |\ /| |/ |/ \/ | | \/ | |\_// /\ |\ /| | _ | / __ / __ | v | | | / \ . |\ | / \ / \ | | | | \__ | | \| | __ \__ 8 December 1997 | | | | \ | | | \__| \ .....................|..v_____/.|.|..|____|____/ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Rocket Man" Timothy N. Turner ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Tim Turner wanders into the IIWF interview area, as immaculate as ever, with the IIWF Cruiserweight title belt slung over his shoulder.] TT: On Saturday the IIWF Champion made his presence felt. No, I'm not talking about Brody Thunder...but I will. No, I'm not talking about the current Intercontinental Champion, Maurice McArthur, or the rightful champion, Duncan Macbeth...but I will. I am talking about the true champion of the IIWF...the Rocket Man...Timothy N. Turner. Richard Blue somehow thinks he deserves a shot at my title. He one a ridiculous ladder match and now thinks that he is invincible. I've already beaten him. In fact, I've beaten all three men who join me in the match on Wednesday. Of the three, only one gave me any difficulty, and that one will be my partner. This match will be easy. Almost too easy. Now, as for Brody Thunder, where has he hidden. The big man came out and offered me a match...and then went into hiding! He's a bad as Quigley, offering Duncan a match on television and then pleading with President Spreadbury to save his title. It didn't help Quigley, and it's not going to help Thunder. I _am_ the top man in the IIWF. Sign the contract Thunder...and I'll prove it! [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Damage Inc. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The scene opens in New Orleans' French Quarter during the day. A mass of people -- something like 400 -- are partying hard as hell, but none of the faces look too familiar. The time (and camera) moves on and the sky becomes cloudy and much darker, until it is night with gray clouds overhead. The camera moves on to a graveyard where a LARGE tombstone has been erected. The camera comes to it from the side, and as it moves to face the tombstone, the IIWF World Tag Team Title belts lie in front of it, shimmering with unbelievable color and light. Before we can read the tombstone, the camera switches to Jeandra, a tall black woman whose curly hair is obstructed by a hat and veil. She is wearing all black, and beneath her veil, one can see running mascara.] JE: You'd think...after Portland....we'd be celebrating...that we'd be partying and living it up. But no....no.....there is no joy in New Orleans tonight. There's no joy in Cajun country tonight. I don't know if I will ever laugh again.....I don't know if I'll ever smile again.....I don't know if I'll ever feel joy again because... [starts to whimper].....because......[shouts and a thunderclap is heard].... DAMAGE INCORPORATED IS DEAD!!!! [The camera goes back to the tombstone while Jeandra can still be heard crying. The tombstone reads: DAMAGE INC. "The Ace" Alex Porteaux "Maddog" Eddy Ramos Truly the Best of Our Time To Never Be Forgotten NCW, FWLI, NCWF, NEW, FoPEW, ICW, IFWF, WWW, AAPW, IIWF 1994-1997 The gold belts continue to gleam when they are picked up by two arms, covered in black shadow.] JE: [wailing] OOOOOOOOOOOH!! FOR WHAT IS TO COME!!!! [bawls] FOR WHAT IS TO COME!!!!!!!! [Camera fades.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Duncan Macbeth ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Duncan Macbeth staggers into the IIWF interview area, clutching his sides as he roars with peal after peal of uncontrollable laughter. Macbeth searches blindly for the camera, wiping tears out of his green eyes as he is rocked with another fit of mirth, nearly losing his balance and collapsing to the floor. Finally though, the Scot manages to locate the camera, and struggles to compose himself long enough to speak.] DM: Heh heh heh... don't ye just LOVE life's wee ironies? Quigley, ye've just proved yuirself t' be th' biggest fraud t' ever don that' Intercontinental title, tosser. Sae ye asked Spreadbury twice fer a rematch wi' me? BOLLOCKS! Ye had th' chance tonight t' have th' match ye SAID ye were sae desperate fer, but when t came down t' brass tacks, ye DUCKED me once ag'in, jus' like ye've been duckin' me e'er since Ring Wars. Ye proved tha' ye were unfit t' carry tha' strap when ye passed o'er th' number-one contender t' th' title t' defend against a jobber. No' exactly th' stuff tha' "legends" are made of, wha'? [Macbeth seems to have calmed down considerably since he began talking, and his former mirthfulness begins to give way to a darker, more serious expression.] 'An' 'ere's th' biggest joke of all. Ye pass me o'er t' fight 3M. Fine, everybody n th' IIWF expects tha' kind o' yellow-bellied, spineless cowardice from ye now, anyhow. Should hae been a cakewalk, righ'? Ye should hae tossed MacArthur aside "like a caber", righ'? Wrong. Ye had th' Intercontinental title stolen from ye, pulled from yuir grasp by th' actions o' a third party, just when it seemed ye had MacArthur beat. Th' title tha' should hae been yuirs tonigh' belongs t' another man, who needed someone's help t' help 'im beat ye fer tha' strap. Sound familiar? It should, tosser. Th' thought o' walkin' away from tha' match without th' Intercontinental title, a match ye clearly had won, must jus' make ye sick inside, does it no'? Believe ye me, Quigley, I ken tha' feelin' well. Sae tell me now, how long did it take ye after that' match t' run up t' Spreadbury's office t' beg an' plead fer th' rematch, Quigley? How much cryin', whinin', bitchin' an' complainin' did it take before Dictator Danny got tired o' yuir pathetic bawlin' an' booked ye a return match wi' 3M? I reckon ye must have a pretty deep set o' knee marks worn in t' th' carpet in front o' Spreadbury's desk by now, wha'. 'Tis especially funny tha' I got robbed o' th' Intercontinental Title at Ring Wars th' exact same way tha' YE were robbed o' th' title tonigh', but while ye spent th' weeks after Ring Wars avoidin' me like th' Black Death, MacArthur immediately granted YE a rematch. Tha' makes 3M a greater, more respected, an' more worthy Intercontinental Champion in ONE NIGHT than ye've been in yuir entirely too long reign as th' IIWF's paper champion. As fer th' so-called "legend", heh heh... well, let's jus' say tha' Quigley vs. Kauffman is nae longer yuir _only_ claim t' fame in th' IIWF anymore. Now, th' name o' Chris Quigley'll FOREVER make people remember th' man who lost th' Intercontinental Title t' a jobber. [Macbeth leans closer t' th' camera, his jade eyes burning with scorn.] If ye'd lost t' ME tonight, at least ye could hae walked out o' th' ring wi' yuir dignity. Now, ye've got nothin'. Now, "legend"... ye ARE nothin'. [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Scott "the Fop" Rogers and Richard "Moxy" Blue ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: The frozen food department in an apparently huge supermarket. Scott "The Fop" Rogers, with a plaster on his nose, and Richard "Moxy" Blue, are looking at the produce. Rogers sees some turkeys on offer and tosses five of them into the already over-flowing trolley. He pushes the trolley up the aisle and notices some steaks, also on offer, so tosses a few of those into the trolley as well. Moxy, who's been looking at the healthy eating section, catches Rogers up with his arms full of tofu. He drops it into the trolley and silently removes the turkeys and steaks. Rogers turns round and catches Mox at work.] SR: Rick! What the hell're you doing? RMB: Scotty, if we want to get you down under 290, you're going to have to cut down on this stuff. Tofu -- that's what you want! You'll have the weight off in no time! Just look at me! I can't get enough of it! [Rogers grimaces.] SR: Rick, I told ya before, I ain't eating _cardboard_! RMB: It's _not_ cardboard! SR: Maybe not, Rick, but I didn't get this body by eating that kinda crap! I mean, I don't expect _you_ to understand, but turkeys are part of my life! [Rogers puts some of the turkeys back in the trolley and unloads the tofu onto the floor.] RMB: Now you're acting like a spoiled child, Scott! [Blue puts the tofu back in and removes the turkeys again.] SR: Rick, don't push me buddy. I got you the win on Saturday. Remember that. RMB: I do, and I'm ever grateful oh big guy! SR: You really piss me off, Mox. [Blue takes control of the trolley and pushes it to get up some speed, then leaps into it.] RMB: Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeee. [He goes careering into the fruit display and ends up with a pineapple on his head. Rogers is laughing heartily.] SR: Okay, Okay, Rick. You win. We'll take the cardboard... [Fade out as Scott lifts Moxy out of the trolley and "dusts him down."] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Derek Mota ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Derek Mota stands alone in the IIWF Interview Area, a look of disapointment on his face. A television monitor is in front of him, and he is watching the IC Title match.] DM: Get him! Get him! [Mota shrugs off the almost irresistable urge to throw the monitor to the ground when seeing Manning interfere one more time, and tries to compose himself.] Moxy ... It's pretty obvious what you're trying to do, freak boy. Trying to use the former Cruiserweight Champ as a stepping stone to the current champ. Well, hate to take this dream away from you, Mox, but things ain't gonna go the way you want, boy. We all know who's pulling the strings right now, Moxy. We got the Fop in the back, tellin' ya ta "get Mota", to go for Mota. Somethin' he never was quite capable of doin' with Genesis, so now he's recruitin' you to do it for him. You wanna continue bein' Rogers' puppet, Blue? Then stick with the program. But you damn well know ... I ... killed ... Genesis. And I'm willin' ta do the same for you too. And Turner ... Rocket Boy ... so you beat me for my title. Or your title, maybe I should say. I'm gonna tell you this right now ... I don't like ya. But I'm gonna work with ya. And we're gonna make the best team ever on Wednesday. Cause I know that when you put aside your prissy attitude, that there's a great wrestler underneath. And you know that your win against me was considered an upset ... that you managed to pull off a quick pin at the last second. We're two of the best wrestlers on the planet if we can get ourselves together on Wednesday. I got me a little respect for ya, Turner. Don't screw it up. [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: Backstage at IIWF Saturday Night, mere moments after the show has gone off the air. Yelling and cursing can be heard from behind the curtain, as a sweaty, enraged Chris Quigley storms into the scene, blood dripping from his forehead as a result of Steve Manning's picture being smashed over his head. Several IIWF executives and security officers trail Quigley, trying to calm him down, as he attempts to apparently find the esteemed President of the IIWF. They aren't having much luck slowing him down. Several of Quigley's comments are audible as he walks, dragging officials on each arm.] CQ: This is bull! How the [BLEEP] wasn't that a disqualification?! And what the [BLEEP] was with the mother[BLEEP]in' fast count?!! Where is Spreadbury?! Where is that son of a bitch?! [Quigley, getting sick of the trail of IIWF officials weighing him down, spins around, and proceeds to unload a half dozen hard right hands to a half dozen different people. Quigley grabs a petrified teenage kid who looks to be merely a fan with a backstage pass. Unfortunatly for this teenager, he's clutching a "Duncan Macbeth: Real Champion!" homemade sign. Quigley lifts the kid up by the collar...] CQ: [screaming] WHERE IS SPREADBURY?!!! [The youngster babbles something about "only being a fan!", as Quigley tosses him into a pile of cardboard boxes laying over to the right. Quigley proceeds forward, looking around almost wildly, until Steve Manning rushes from behind the same curtain Quigley came from a few moments ago. Manning grabs Quigley's shoulders from behind...] SM: Calm down! Calm down! We'll get this fixed, ol' pal! Don'tcha worry about a thing! I've got it all under contro.... [Manning becomes the recipient of a vicious right hook from the seemingly ex-champion, which sends the caught off guard Manning to the floor. Quigley quickly grabs Manning's legs and wraps him into a Quickstriker, right there on the concrete floor!] CQ: You wanna be crippled for real?! I'LL CRIPPLE YA, YOU LOUSY PIECEA [BLEEP]! [Several security guards rush the scene, grabbing Quigley and desperatly trying to remove him from Manning, who's face has gone contorted, with saliva spraying everywhere, though, inexplicably, he breaks into a smile for a few seconds, before Quigley applies yet more pressure, and he yells out in pain again. Finally, Quigley releases the hold, shoves down a security guard, kicks another one in the stomach, and charges past the third, out of the camera's view, apparently determined to find President Spreadbury. Steve Manning is helped to his feet by the one security guard Quigley left standing, and as he does, Manning quickly lifts him up and executes his "Brainshock" squaredriver down onto the concrete floor. The guard is left twitching on the ground as Manning looks over into the camera, and attempts to convince the cameraman, or maybe himself, that Quigley won't hold a grudge.] SM: Quigs has got a lil' temper problem. He'll get over it. Don't worry. He'll get over it! [With that, Manning decides to slug the cameraman as well, cutting the disturbing scene to static.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Awesome T ------------------------------------------------------------------------ (Once again, in front of the generic IIWF backdrop is Awesome T. Clad in his baggy jeans and a "Phillips - 21" Miami Dolphins jersey, T just smiles and shakes his head in disbelief) AT: See, I don't know where to even start. I got two big ol' bugs up my butt, and I can't figure out which to address first. Well, what the hell, if we go in alphabetical order, we begin with the new IIWF World Tag Team Champions, Damage Inc. You're welcome. For what, you ask? Let's look at this in perspective, shall we? Damage Inc., team with tremendous rep, floundering in mediocrity, wrestles and somehow manages to defeat -- albeit by questionable means -- the Down Boys. I make comments, piss off Eddy Ramos, and you use the anger to put out a long-ass interview trying your best not to expose yourself for what you are, reminding us all of how good you were two years ago, and it leads you to winning the IIWF World Tag Team Championships. All this, thanks to me. Y'all brought it up a step, didn't you? You _had_ to prove to me, Adam, and Danny boy that "hey, we are as good as we think we are." And I have to admit, I was impressed. Not as impressed as I am when I watch the Down Boys wrestle, but impressed nonetheless. Using the Fab Ones to pull your asses out of the fire once _again_ was a work of art. You're the champions, joy to you, but remember, you still have to face the DB's. Which leads me to my second subject...Marty Warnett. Marty, the thought of you turning against Billy Shakespeare and turning your back to the fans makes me ill. Not only that, but I can't even begin to describe what it's done to the Down Boys. When they came into the IIWF, they looked at you and saw you as someone who wasn't much different than them and successful in the IIWF, and with that, they felt like they too could make it to the top here. But you turned your back like so many other wrestlers in an effort to get over. Good for you, Marty. You thought Shakes was your only friend, well, you were wrong. We were there for you to, and you had the thousands of fans. But that wasn't good enough, and now you have Bradley Reed, who's going to use you until he's accomplished what he has to do and you're gonna get dumped by the wayside. You're a bitter man, Marty Warnett. You tasted success once and couldn't do it again, so you'll do whatever it takes, such as taking out someone who is successful _instead_ of you, just to satisfy your bitterness. Is it going to help you win any matches? On the contrary. I believe it's setting yourself for just a longer line of ass kickings... and the "Superstud" and "Dazzling" Dan are on that line. [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Fabulous Ones ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Looking out of a window of a speeding train. The city of Nagoya, Japan flashes by. The camera spins around to show the inside of he train. The train is packed with oriental people, mostly women, as the camera focuses on “The Universal Heartthrob” Agito Nakajima and “Sweet” Sho Satsuma: The FABULOUS ONES. Both men are wearing black jeans, white shirts, and black leather jackets.] AN: Ohayo gozaimasu, to all our many fans in Japan and in the States. I needed to say a few words, and with Sho and myself’s busy schedule, I thought this would be the perfect place to hold this interview. We’re on a bullet train in Nagoya, Japan. In the time it takes to conduct this interview we will have crossed the entire city. This train, can hold up to a thousand people, and cruise at speeds in excess of a hundred and thirty miles an hour. Enough of the small talk, lets get to brass tactics. [Agito’s face goes from happy to intense.] AN: DAMAGE, INC, congratulations on your win over the COLD SPELL, and regaining those IIWF world tag straps. Your “little reputation” got you through another victory. I guess you can now wrestle the most fabulous team in wrestling today...The Fabulous Ones! [The people on the train applaud loudly.] AN: We’re ready anytime you get brave enough to lace up your boots. However, remember one thing...Your “little reputation” wont work on us. We’re the best and that’s the final word on that! [The people applaud again.] AN: Now, as for the MACHINES. Paul Wong, don’t you get it? We came out Saturday night to give you two moral support, and instead you attacked us costing yourselves yet another match. SS: And, Simon, take a look at this. [Sho waves the camera around to the seat behind them. Sitting there is Ms. Miki and Lovely Bertha.] LB: Simon, you know what your missing, and it’s all because of your own stupidity. It’s about time you got what’s coming to you. You know what they say, when you get a taste of exotic food you never go back to leftovers. [Bertha winks in Sho’s direction. As the camera closes in on Ms. Miki.] MM: What can I say...[Miki pauses] Simon, you say that I want you. You wear shirts saying I want you. Well, the truth of the matter is.... [Ms. Miki is abruptly cut off as the train comes to a somewhat noisy stop. Agito can be heard saying “This is our stop.” The camera cuts off. The camera turns back on outside of the train. Agito and Sho are standing there.] AN: LICENSED FOR DEVASTATION, you’ve been in the IIWF for sometime now, and Sho and myself can understand you wanting to jump on the fabulous express to the championship belts, but we’re not going to let you. [The bullet train speeds off. The speed of the train is evident, as the draft blows through Agito and Sho’s long black hair.] SS: You see, we’ve got licenses to destroy you. [Sho pulls out two licenses, with both of the LFD on them. Then, he pulls out a lighter and lights them on fire, and drops them. The camera follows the flaming, wallet size, pictures to the ground. Sho stomps on them, putting the fire out.] AN: It’s blatantly obvious, that all the teams in the IIWF are eatin’ up with jealousy! They’re eatin’ up with envy! Each and ever one of them know they can’t do it like we can! They can’t walk or talk like we can! They can’t dress like we can! They certainly can’t get the women like we can! [The women at the station huddle around the Fabulous Ones and cheer.] AN: Face the facts, we’re everything a man wants to be, and everything a woman wants to be with! Sayonara! [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Backstage. The EMT crew quickly rushes through the cameras view. The push a gurney, hustling about the figure on it, another starting a re-hydrating drip into the arm of the downed wrestler. The crack camera staff shaoves the camera into the huddle revealing a conscious, but incoherant, Billy Shakespeare..a whisper escaping his lips.] BS: ...why...why...why... [The gurney is quickly pushed off camera and through an aisle towards the waiting ambulance. Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Machines ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Paul Wong and Simon O'Neal stand in front of the IIWF interview area.] SO: Once again, we had a match and once again, the Fabulous Ones came down. Only this time we were prepared. PW: Yeah... but we can't win. Either they come down, and cost us the match... and we lose. SO: Or else they come down, we show them exactly how a good tag team operates... and we lose because while we are defending ourselves, the referee counts us out. PW: Predators, we were having a good match, and it's unfortunate that they showed up. Next time, we'll finish the match. SO: And meanwhile... very smart move by the clowns. When we're ready to face them, they ignore us and pray that we disappear. But when we're up to our eyeballs in opponents, THEN they come sauntering down to "answer" our challenge. PW: Well, assuming that the Fabulous Ones allow us to actually have a match, we'll be glad to back up our challenge. [They head off. After a moment, Simon leaps back onto the IIWF interview area.] SO: And Miki... stop calling me after midnight. I need my beauty rest. [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Natural Predators ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Scene opens in the training room, after the Natural Predators match, Grey Phoenix pacing back and forth, Bear working over a heavy bag, sweat dripping from both their bodies. Kuyler Greyson is sitting behind his desk, on the telephone. He sounds irritated as he rewinds and watches the match from Saturday night over and over on a tv/vcr one piece television sitting in front of him. The roars of Bear as he pounds on the bag echo through the dimly lit gym] KG: No, dammit, I will not wait on hold...Don't you DARE put me on... [Slams the phone down in disgust, rewinding the video. The voice echoes through the gym, Melody appearing and berating the Machines in the ring, concluding with her parting shot:] HM: ...you two will agree to take on the Harlequins right here next week! Though your masculinity is seriously in doubt there.  Well, I gotta go! [On the screen, Melody turns to leave to a huge pop.] KG: I don't believe this.... [He rewinds, it plays again, once more halting after Melody turns tail and leaves ringside:] HM: ...you two will agree to take on the Harlequins right here next week! Though your masculinity is seriously in doubt there.  Well, I gotta go! [On the screen, Melody turns to leave to a huge pop.] KG: I really cannot believe this. [Grey Phoenix walks up to Kuyler, shaking his head] GP: Bad enough we can't finish a damn match this week without some outside hassle. How you feeling, by the way? KG: A little sore. But Licensed for Devestation hasn't done anything to me that has not been done before by better and tougher men. [Bear, in full rage, continues to lay into the heavy bag with fierce rights and lefts.] GP: What now? KG: Well, since it seems the Harlequins have cotton in their ears, we have to improvise as best we can. You face High Plains Drifters again this week. GP: Not again.... [Kuyler is up with a start, pointing at Grey Phoenix] KG: Yes, again! You know damn well that there isn't anything that makes a team stronger or weaker because they've won one match against the others. I taught you better than that, Michael Wolcott, when your career was nearly over. Whether you're the Wolf, or the Grey Phoenix, or whatever name you choose, you are no different than you were when you were languishing in the Prelims when I found you. [Grey Phoenix looks at him coldly, nodding. Kuyler's tone becomes less angry as he looks at him. The silence only broken by the rattling of the chain and strong hits on the punching bag.] KG: Look, Phoenix, Wolf, Michael...Last week was a big week for the Natural Predators. We're back to a .500 mark. We've beaten the number three contenders and had LFD dead to rights. All that matters is that we are on the upswing...and it will not be long before we get the title shot we deserve. But right now, we have a more immediate concern. The High Plains Drifters were tag team champions twice in the IIWF, and you pulled off a tremendous victory over them long ago. I would just as soon you keep yourself set for this match and leave the wheeling and dealing to me. You beat the Drifters, I promise you the matches you want. We'll be in the spotlight soon enough, I promise. [Grey Phoenix looks at him, lowering his head, nodding] GP: All right. And don't worry about the High Plains Drifters. KG: I have to worry. That's what we managers do. [They clasp wrists, nodding at each other] GP: Neyho neyehe hiyo. KG: You will triumph. Now get Daniel ready for Wednesday. I'll try President Spreadbury's office again. [Grey Phoenix goes to Bear, calming him and taking him to discuss strategy. Kuyler picks up the phone, waiting for a moment as he rewinds the clip again. Yet again, the voice echoes through the gym, Melody appearing and berating the Machines in the ring, concluding with her parting shot:] HM: ...you two will agree to take on the Harlequins right here next week! Though your masculinity is seriously in doubt there.  Well, I gotta go! [On the screen, Melody turns to leave to a huge pop.] KG: Hmmm.... [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Cold Spell ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: The IIWF Interview Set. Icehawk brushes past the cameras, looking like he is near tears, but Edmund Fitzgerald stops and looks into the lens, still looking a bit groggy.] EF: No excuses. We got our butts kicked by a better team - at least for tonight. So congratulations to Damage, Incorporated, and we will be back for those belts. [Suddenly, Fitz's eyes clear, switching from dazed to angry.] EF: But, Scott Rogers, you are in trouble. The deal was that we stayed away from you, and you stayed away from us. You broke that. You _will_ regret it. [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Meatman ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The setting is an industrial meat cooler which is as large as a warehouse. Attendants clean slicing machinery and hose down the floors. Jimmy (The Meat) Steele appears. His mammoth bulk is stark naked, except for the gracious presence of a blue censorship dot which hovers about his groin. The Meatman inspects a slab of beef flank, then addresses the camera.] MM: Each day of the working man's week, I start the same. I wake up, tear off a piece of the meat, hop in the meat truck, then head out to the meat packin' plant. Then, I strip naked and I head into this cooler where I punch... [He begins to assault the hanging animal flesh which lines the walls] ...pummel, and chop every haunch and rib until they aint nothin but boneless blobs of hook danglin' jelly!! When I debuted here, in the I.I.W.F; these torsos had a human shape! A human face! A human scream coming from their cracked and bloody lips! They was Kowalski, Deathbringer, and Musashi. Otherwise known to me and all my little cutlets as "fresh meat for the Meatman!" That's right, pigf---s! The meat truck has arrived! Meat, meat, meat, meat, meat, meat, meat... [Picks up a nearby cow femur and descends on camera. Cut to static.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Steve "The Fury" Kowalski ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [With a bandaged head, Kowalski sits on a folding chair. He’s looking at the horseshoe in his left hand. He humorously taps it against his skull, commenting...] SK: These things’re pretty hard. Ha ha. Really funny, though. I saw that dented chair after I woke up Brody. What’d ya hit me, ten eleven times? And a horseshoe...woohoo! Ya must really be [BLEEP]in’ in yer drawers. Breakin’ out the heavy artillery, so soon. How come ya didn’t wait fer me to wake up? [Spitting a bit of blood, Kowalski wipes off the red liquid from his chin.] SK: Now, cowpoker, ya got to be wonderin’... what the hell does it take to put this muther[BLEEP]er down? A good man can’t blame his tools... [Drops the horseshoe and looks deeply into the camera.] SK: It must be ya. Beat me, smash me, run a goddamn steam roller over me... I jus’ keep on truckin’. Ya can’t get it done. Maybe yer used to havin’ the other deadweight roll over after a beatin'. I’m a different animal. I am a son of a [BLEEP] ya can’t tame. So polish yer belt, throw me a few lumps, and dream a little dream... punk! As sure as [BLEEP] stinks, I’m gonna be havin’ a drink at yer funeral. [Adjusting the wrapping on his head, the Fury tilts back and lounges, remembering there was something else on his mind.] SK: Epitome of Enemas... Anus... buddy. Ha ha ha! If it takes rufflin’ yer hair and bangin’ yer head ‘round... I’ll do it. Yer almost a man now... almost! The rites of manhood run thru Jersey, Piss Pirate. Are ya up to the task... is this the match ya been waitin’ fer... God, I hope so. ‘Cause, junior, it jus’ doesn’t get any bigger than the next big thing. [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Deathbringer ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: The IIWF interview area. The Blind Guardian is standing in front of the camera while Deathbringer is no where to be seen] BG: Saturday Night, a night of confusion. Why did the Dark Destroyer himself step into the way of one Otto Verhoeven? Why did he stop him from running after Byron? An interesting question. An obvious answer. You remember that casket match, Otto? You remember that match where you stole the belt from the Reaper with the help of J.W.? Deathbringer does. And he'll make sure that you'll never forgot that match for your entire life as well. They say that revenge is sweet. They say it's only fair. But I can guarantee you that Deathbringer won't be nice and that he won't be fair to you, Otto! No, your worst nightmare is back in the IIWF. He'll make you pay your bill to him. And he'll make sure that you'll be removed from the number one spot in the "Most-Hated-Top-Ten". At least I guess that no one will hate you for lying in hospital or in a grave for that matter. But whatsoever, you'll regret that day when you stepped into the ring against Deathbringer in that casket match. Although as soon as you'll regret it, it'll be too late. But hey... That's life! [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Enigma" Takezo Musashi ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: Backstage at the Colisseum, the generic interview area with the huge IIWF banner in the background. The "Enigma" Takezo Musashi walks into the shot, his face paint slightly smudged and beads of sweat running down his chest, but otherwise unscathed. The wild and intense expression Musashi had in his eyes during his match is still evident.] TM: Ronnie Paris, don't believe for one second what went down tonight settled anything between us. Your craven cowardice has offended me more than all of your asinine words put togethor. When I kicked you in the head, smashed you into the cold steel, split your skull open with a chair... that was just a breath of cool air compared to the hurricane of fury I will wreak on your body at the conclusion of our dance. You ran from the fight like a timid woman, and that is something the "Enigma" has never done... and I never will. Even when I was getting the crap kicked out of me by the entire Syndicate, I stood and took it, because I am a warrior and to fight is my calling. When you look into my eyes Ronnie Paris [Musashi points to his firey eyes for emphasis] you see not the lazy "jewel in the booker's eye" of your accusations; you see the soul of a man who's been through hell and back... and dragged his enemies through with him without a shred of fear or remorse. Ronnie Paris, it is time I spoke to you the tale of destruction, and believe me when I tell you, I'll relish every minute of it. [Musashi turns to work away, then suddenly pauses as if he has just remembered something.] And Christopher Stonebreaker, don't take our little skirmish personally. You simply payed the price for your fatal error. To offer mercy on the battlefield is folly; to destroy your opponent in relentless fury - that would do you an honour. Tonight, as it will be until my days are etched in stone, it was the Enigma's time to shine. Perhaps one day, the time will be yours. I look forward to the day when our souls meet on the eternal fields of war. [Musashi nods once to the camera, and then walks off the set. Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Epitome of Evil" Serge Annis ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The scene is Serge Annis' dressing room. Annis is still wearing his street clothes, and sports a huge grin on his scarred face.] SA: To be breif and blunt, Steve Kowalski, I told you that you are not allowed to be the Intercontintenal champion, and I meant it. Heh heh... I'm glad that you listened to me. I don't quite care if Brody Thunder knocked you out... I would have done it five minutes later. The fact is, you aren't the champion. And I've been told that we have a match this Saturday? Well, congratulations to the corporate lugs who woke up and saw the potential. Kowalski, it's going to be you and me, but this time it'll be legal... it will be a match. I'm not promising victory. Why? Because, with what I have planned for you... it just might get me disqualified. Heh heh. So you can saw all the four letter words you want Fury, but after our match on Saturday, the only word you will know is _DEFEAT_. [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Christopher Stonebreaker ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Chris stands on the IIWF stage, with a mixed look on his face. The sneer on his face is one of utter rage, the look from his eyes sheer disappointment. The trademark sledgehammer is in one hand, the head of it down on the floor.] CS: Hell, maybe it was a mistake. Figuring that Enigma was the one man of the match that I could trust! Enigma, if you had taken me out without going to the well of dirty tricks..... [Chris stops for a second as he realizes his voice is starting to get a bit loud for himself.] The fact that you sent Paris packing off to the back, that was fine. If he had stayed there, that match would have been the Musashi-Paris show, and the Cajun would have been on the outside looking in. But it turned into a one on one battle. With a man that I thought stood for something in the way of what this sport represented. [Chris picks up the sledgehammer, and stares right over the top of the head of it.] I can hear all the talk now. "All's fair in love and war" or perhaps "Anything goes in this sport". Enigma, I should be irate at you. Hell, I should be so mad that I can't keep my composure. [Chris turns his attention directly back to the camera and the "thud" of the sledgehammer hitting the stage floor echoes. A huge smile then crosses the cajun's face.] But, I'm not. In fact, I'm grateful. You see, gentlemen, what Enigma has done has opened up a whole new world for me. You boys want to play this game without any rules? You want to play this sport where anything goes? That's fine by me. Because starting today, gentlemen, you're about to find out why the nickname of the "Rajun Cajun" is so true. And Enigma, they have you to thank for it.... [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Savage" Shadoe Rage ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Fade in: Shadoe Rage glares into the camera through one eye, the other bruised and bandaged. He runs a hand through his long hair, pushing it back off his face. The expression on Rage's face isn't the least bit pleasant. In fact, it's down right murderous. He strips off the straps of his wrestling togs, exposing his powerful chest.] SR: [jabbing his finger into the camera] Scott "the Fop" [wicked chuckle] -- I almost forgot about you. Yeah, the most insignificant piece of the FWLI trash to make the migration. I forgot about you entirely. Well, you're looking for a piece of the Angel of Death? I'll play the game for a minute. But you better realise that this isn't one of your precious little FWLI games. I'm not part of the fraternity. No, I intend to bring it down from the inside. The blight that you've brought to the IIWF will have to be removed. And frankly, you want to be the first of the rejects to be eliminated. Well, that's just fine. [The camera tightens the shot on Shadoe's eyes. They blaze a bright hazel.] SR: Look into my eyes, Mr. Rogers. You got several questions to ask yourself. Can you match the intensity that you see here? Can you match the anger? Can you match the desire to do damage and ruin people? I don't think you can. I don't think you ever will. And that's perfectly all right with me. But when all your precious red blood is spilled all over the ground ... when your body is broken and bent ... ask yourself one question. Why did I remind him I existed. Why did I bring the Rage down upon me? Why did I let the Angel of Death destroy me? [The camera pulls away.] SR: It is because the Fop is a fool. [Rage drags his thumb across his throat, making a gurgling-hissing noise. Fade out.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Charles Scheffield ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Fade to shot of Scheffield standing in a locker room. Interestingly enough, he looks quite content though he had suffered his first loss.] CS: Whatever it takes to win... I guess _that_ is the rule around here. No matter. I am Charles Scheffield. I shall _never_ need to resort to thug tactics to win my matches such as you must, Mr. Blue. I happen to have far more intelligence than most other wrestlers in this federation... yet I had to lose my first match to a far lesser foe. I can live with that. But ask yourself _this_ question... could you, Richard "Moxy" Blue? [Scheffield begins laughing in a snobby, yet intimidating way which leaves an uneasy feeling in one's mind. Fade out.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "To Excess" Rick Williams ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Scene opens to the IIWF interview area, where "To Excess" Rick Williams stands, awaiting his oppurtunity to speak. Still dressed in his wrestling attire, Williams chews a stick of gum, and wears an arrogant grin as he begins to speak.] RW: Who was it that invented the art of escapology? Was it Houdini? Not sure, but I know for a _fact_ who _perfected_ it. Subway Psycho, you can run as far as you want for as long as you want, and you can ask your little buddies to save your precious little carcass as often as you want, but I'm telling you this -- Escapology only lasts for so long... Eventually, it stops working... Eventually, you have to face your demise. Unfortunately, the inevitable can't be delayed on a permanent basis. [Williams spits the stick of gum against the camera lens, before it falls to te ground.] Why, even the great Houdini, himself, came to a tragic demise, when he pushed the boat out once too often. Psycho, sooner or later, the escape acts will stop working. Sooner or later, you'll _have_ to face the future face-to-face, one-on-one. Tonight, you hit the jackpot... Next time, I'm scooping the prize... of your carcass. [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "The Brat" Bradley Reed ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Scene:  The camera opens up on the IIWF interview area with both "The Brat" Bradley Reed and "Stephanie" Summer laughing hysterically meanwhile Stone stays his usual calm self while silently standing in the background, his arms crossed.] BR: Brat-a-Mania once again proved it is the strongest force in the universe.  As the Reedster goes one step forward to Immortality.  Then again when you are the Superstar Champion [points to the title on his waist] it is practically being a GOD.  And the Brat Pack is the new hot religion.  But who can blame all the fans swarmimg to get my merchandise and tune in to hear my every word.  I am the man that has made immaturity the "in" thing.  Being a brat is hip.  All my fans are hear to find out how they all can be true blue Bratamaniacs. Heck, on Saturday night I found out that there is yet another Bratamanaic.  The very man I knocked out of the sport.  Marty Warnett. Warnett, I still think you're the biggest punk in the world and I hate you with every bone in my body.  I despise all you stand for.  But there is one man I despise more and that is the same man you want to see stretchered out. Taking out Shakespeare would be as much a Christams gift for me as you would be for you.  So Warnett, I'm willing to take you under my wing.  I'm willing to be your hired assassin.  But let me warn you almighty Welsh wonder -- if you turn on me in any way, if you attack me -- if you even look at me funny then there will be hell to pay.  Here is the deal -- I'll take Shakes out of the sport on 17 January if you promise me that if you turn on me in any way, I will push your crippled ass into the ring and you have to face me and the big guy in a handicap match on the next Saturday Night. Deal?  Good. Now what do you all feel about the newest Brat Pack member?  Is she something or what?! Her ass is as almost godly as my own.  Steph. ["Stephanie" giggles as he turns around and bends over to reveal he is truly wearing women's panties.  Reed lets out a big laugh as the camera fades to black.] +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+