________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| |\ /| /\ |\ | | /\ \ / | || | \ v v / | __| | v |/ \| \| __| /__\ \/ |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| | |\ /| |/ |/ \/ | | \/ | |\_// /\ |\ /| | _ | / __ / __ | v | | | / \ . |\ | / \ / \ | | | | \__ | | \| | __ \__ 29 December 1997 | | | | \ | | | \__| \ .....................|..v_____/.|.|..|____|____/ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Steve "The Fury" Kowalski ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The streets. The dark streets of Bayonne, New Jersey. They are usually littered with trash, refuse and decay, but tonight they have one more thing. A champion. The new IIWF Heavyweight Champion Steve “The Fury” Kowalski roams the streets tonight. Numerous bandages are patched about his head, not that he would notice. Same old blue jeans and same old biker jacket, now with a championship belt slung over his shoulder. In his right hand hangs a bottle of whiskey. Every few seconds the New Jersey Nightmare takes a swig and smiles. Whether he just came up with something funny or the short remembrance of his recent triumph.] VO: Same old Kowalski. You can take the man out of the streets, but you can’t take the streets out of the man. Steve decided not to do a musing spot this week, but he’s earned the day off, so Spreadbury didn’t mind. The next big thing _finally_ did happen. Love him or leave him, he’s your champion now. He’s not making any excuses and he’s not turning anyone away. Thunder gets his shot on January 17th. And after that... who knows. [Kowalski stops to sit on a bus bench and ganders at the shiny new belt he has just acquired. A quick sip from the bottle and a slight burp brings another smile to his face. Holding the object of every wrestlers desire above his face.] VO: He doesn’t duck and he doesn’t dodge. He’ll be the fighting champion we all expect. He’s a man’s man... [With a sideways smirk, you can barely hear him whisper...] SK: It is kinda shiney... VO: But tonight, he’s a boy at play. [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The IIWF Interview room. The door bursts open and in staggers a very wobbly and bloodied Brody Thunder. He slams hard up against the wall leaving splattered blood drops on the paint-chipped concrete. The sound of Thunder inhaling heavily is picked up by the camera's mic. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and stares at the blood smeared upon it, still oblivious to the camera's presence. He stumbles through a set of folding chairs and slams again into the wall, hard. He turns his back to the wall. He is now facing the camera, pinching the blood off the end of his nose. He spits a crimson stream to the floor in disgust. He braces himself on the wall as if to stand up when he notices the camera.] Heh... ... heh... heh... Ya got yer win... "Fury"... enjoy it... 'cuz mark my words... [He spits again on the floor,all the while staring into the camera.] ...it _ain't_ gonna happen _again_. Believe it, ace. [He wipes his mouth,eyeing the camera hard. Thunder then staggers to the back of the room and disappears through the lockerroom entrance door.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Epitome of Evil" Serge Annis ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Fade in to the IIWF backdrop. The "Epitome of Evil" Serge Annis stands in front of it, a bloody wreck as always -- after Saturday Night, at any rate. Annis has a black eye, and some bandages over cuts. Annis does not grin, smile or show any form of friendliness, or happiness. Annis stares into the camera with a look of hatred and intense anger.] SA: In tonight's main event, I came that close to winning it all. The IIWF World championship. Respect. The whole nine yards. Thunder was beat. And I got robbed. Mad Dog Watkins, just who the hell do you think you are messing with my affairs? Kowalski, you needed help to get you the title. Is that how you want to play it? Huh? Is that really how you want it to go down? Heh heh. Fine with me. You're off the hook, because now I know we are playing with a whole new set of rules. And whenever you bring a new rule into play, you can expect me to stretch it to new limits, if not break it in two. Kind of like that table I put you through Saturday Kowalski. That was simple revenge. But Mad Dog Watkins, you are nowhere near being off the hook. See Mad Dog, I don't take kindly to losing. And I certainly do not take kindly to losing, because of [bleep]'holes like you. This is a classic example of the 'Old Gen' not knowing their place anymore. Once more, a 'Old Gen' feels his importance is ranked above everyone elses... and makes a comeback to once again be thrust right into the spotlight. But Watkins, cross my path again, and I will knock you out of that spotlight and through a table. The next time I see you Watkins, you'd best cover up and run... because you are the only reason I am not wearing the IIWF World Championship right now! And for that, you must pay. Kowalski, you lucked out. Soon, you're luck's gonna run out, when you meet The Epitome once more. [Fade to black.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Rocket Man" Timothy N. Turner ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Tim Turner wanders into the IIWF interview area with the Cruiserweight belt slung over his shoulder and a somewhat unhappy look on his face.] TNT: Despite another easy victory, I'm still not happy about what happened on Saturday Night. Duncan and Derek got pounded. Thunder lost. Icehawk thinks he's a wrestler. Brody Thunder had offered me a shot but was so scared to face the Rocket Man that he dropped the belt. What a coward. Speaking of cowards...Quigley and Manning. Don't think that you will get away with this again. Come next week the real Intercontinental Champion will be going home with the belt. Period. And Ice Hockey. Go back to the tag ranks. You were safe there. [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Icehawk ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: The IIWF interview set. Icehawk walks in front of the camera, looking disgusted.] IH: Boy, that's a really great Cruiserweight champion we've got there, isn't it? I'm making my singles debut, and you don't even have enough guts to face me without help. I saw you whining Friday night about how Fitz was going to help me out. Did you see him? No. It was the veteran, the _champion_ who needed someone to bail his worthless butt out when he got in trouble. [Icehawk takes a step closer to the camera, and stares directly into the lens.] IH: This wasn't a one-time thing, TNT. I'm a singles wrestler now, and I'm going to take that belt away from you. Because not only do _I_ know that you can't beat me .... _you_ know you can't beat me. [Fade] ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Derek Mota ----------------------------------------------------------------------- [The IIWF Interview Area is in chaos as Duncan Macbeth and Derek Mota are both being helped out of the arena. Mota's cast has been crushed, his leg hanging limp as two attendants help him walk. His eyes look as though they were glazed over with a thick film, the pain obviously carrying him to the point of near-unconsciousness. As he walks by, totally ignoring the set and his interview for the night, the cameraman manages to catch a few parting words ...] DM: Yeah... beat a gimp, huh Quigley? You must... feel good about that, huh? Both of ya... cowards... hidin' behind that wheelchair, you guys'd never have the guts I did tonight... Somebody's gonna take you out one of these days, and I'll be there ta put Manning back in that wheelchair... got a long list of enemies... I'll be waitin'... [With that, Mota accidentally puts his bad foot on the ground and screams in pain. The attendants bring him into a dressing room and close the door... and the screams are only muffled.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Duncan Macbeth ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Fade up on the IIWF interview area where, out of view of the camera, the sound of a raucous commtion can be heard advancing down the hallway towards the studio. Garbage cans can be heard being kicked over, outraged bystanders protest as they are shoved out of the way, and above it all, an almost animal-like bellowing in a decidedly non-English language growes louder and more ominous as, after a few moments, a bloody, wild-eyed Duncan Macbeth storms into the studio. Macbeth is still bleeding profusely from a deep cut over the bridge of his nose, his hair is a wild tangle, and the studio technicians give the Scot a wide berth as he paces back and forth in front of the camera, all the while cursing away a blue streak in his breathy native Gaelic. Then, suddenly, the cursing ceases, and Macbeth turns to the camera, his emerald eyes glittering in the television lights, wipes away the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand... ...and smiles. Macbeth's teeth are stained red from the blood, giving his chilling grin an even more unsettling appearance, and the Scot stares long into the camera before finally speaking.] DM: Good lad, Quigley. Good lad. Ye knew tha' punkin' Mota would bring me out, did ye no'? Ye knew tha' I would no' stand by an' watch yuir wee lapdog mess about wi' Derek sae tha' ye could get another easy title defense, didn't ye? Ye're a great champion, t' be sure, Quigley. Couldn't even beat a man wi' a broken ankle without Manning's help, wha'. If ye were afraid t' fight Derek, e'en when 'e's injured, ye must surely be pissin' in yuir pants at th' thought o' fightin' Duncan Macbeth, who's 100% healthy an' countin' th' seconds until 'e gets 'is hands on ye again this Saturday. Sae ye set me up, tried t' take me out, sae tha' maybe ye'd have an easy time of it on Saturday? Or were ye maybe jus' tryin' t' intimidate me a wee bit? [Macbeth laughs at the thought, then his countenance turns stony.] Ye're goin' t' have t' do a lot better than THA', boy. Ye really think tha' a couple o' chair shots, yuir poncy Quickstriker, an' a wee bit o' blood are goin' t' intimidate Duncan Macbeth? Don't ye realise YET who ye're dealin' with 'ere? Let me tell ye somethin', Quigley, I've been doin' this fer a lang, lang while, an' I've bled meself dry sae many times, I get frequent flyer points from th' Red Cross. Don't think tha' this wee scratch is goin' t' give me th' cold sweats about fightin' ye on Saturday. [Macbeth wipes another trickle of blood from his cheek, and the grin begins to spread across his face once again.] Ye're startin' t' feel it now, aren't ye? Ye're startin' t' realise tha' th' end o' yuir pathetic title reign is jus' one week away, an' tha' ye're goin' t' lose th' one thing tha' gives yuir presence in th' IIWF any meaning. Ye're runnin' scared, Quigley. But ye can't run far. Y'know, when I first came t' th' IIWF, th' name Chris Quigley meant somethin'. Ye were a masterful wrestler, an' a fair one too, an' ye didn't need anyone's help t' win a match, 'cause ye were sae damn good. A title should hae enhanced tha' reputation. Instead, it's jus' shattered it t' pieces. Th' Chris Quigley tha' th' wrestlin' world knew, admired, an' yes, respected, is gone. All tha's left now is a frightened, pathetic, miserable, whining wee fool, who needs 'is precious title sae badly tha' 'is flunky has t' help 'im win 'is matches, instead o' using th' God-given talent tha' won 'im th' strap in th' first place. Ye're ill, Quigley. But take heart, 'cause it'll be all over in one week. [Macbeth leans into the camera, his jade eyes afire, trickles of drying blood streaming from the cut resembling a warrior's facepaint.] This Saturday, I'm comin' t' put ye out o' yuir misery. An' take th' title tha's rightfully MINE. [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Edmund Fitzgerald ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: Backstage during the Saturday Night show. Edmund Fitzgerald is being escorted out of the arena by two burly IIWF security guards.] EF: [pleading] You can't do this! You can't make me leave! Guard: Sir, President Spreadbury has ordered you to leave the arena because of your actions during the match between Harlequin Tragedy and Shadoe Rage. You are to vacate the premises immediately. EF: [almost in tears] Just give me 20 minutes! Icehawk is about to wrestle TNT, and I can't leave him without backup! Duncan might trust that egomaniac, but I know better! He's going to pull something, and I have to be here to stop it! I can't let the kid down! G: I have my orders, sir. You must leave now. [The two guards push Fitz out of the door. Before it closes, though, he turns to face the camera. The pleading look is gone from his face, replaced by an insane glare.] EF: I will leave. But know this. If someone gets involved in that match, and I'm not here to stop it ... well, let's just say that after the next time, people are going to think Comedy got off easy. That's a promise. [Fitz slams the metal door. Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Savage" Shadoe Rage ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Shadoe Rage stands flanked by the beautiful 6'5 Marissa Monet. She stares down into the camera with a hard look. Shadoe is all smiles.] SR: Tragedy, I'm sorry you didn't hang on too well there in the match. We were both blindsided, but I guess only one of us had the presence of mind, the focus to get the job done. And that was me. You think your funky little Indian death lock was even going to damage these legs? They're steel bands. You don't have what it takes to keep up with me. You don't have what it takes to keep up with the Angel of Death. And that's merely the truth of the matter. There is nothing you can do. There is nothing any of your pathetic little band of clowns can do to match me. And now that I have my inspiration at my side there is nothing that any one can do to stop me. MM: I wouldn't even bother trying. There's a dangerous woman at Shadoe Rage's side now because I for one am sick of seeing my man take a backseat to the jackasses and goofballs that populate this federation. I mean, I for one, don't understand exactly what the big pop around Crazy Joe Petrow is. He's about as exciting as taped reruns of Monday Night wrestling. That last little video entry just wasn't at all interesting. I think the kiwi business was a little cooler, but I shouldn't be saying anything like that just yet, should I because I don't want to upset him enough that he quits. SR: That'll happen when he doesn't get what he wants. Petrow, there's being a team player, there's being a loose cannon and there's being a proper self-absorbed ass. Face it, you're just in this for your own twisted glory. You pop in and out, you cut your original "rip-off" interviews and tapes and you figure by taking the emphasis away from wrestling that you'll be the one showstopper around here. Well, you aren't. A victory over Mark Destructo doesn't mean anything not because three years ago you guys were hot, but because this federation was built on wrestlers who struggled and worked rather than let their monumental egos and political manoeuvring do their talking for them. You are not the centres of attention any more. That's a truth that will have to be self-evident. And your little pal Chris Quigley, the crybaby. You want to bawl that you want a piece of me? Believe me, brother. I'm taking you up on that offer. Do you really want your run to end so quickly before it started? I have hated all the egos that once infected the FWLI since the days I first took a look around and saw what that federation was all about. I promise you all, the true shining jewel of the FWLI, the greatest wrestler ever to come out of there will show the world exactly what it is that hard work and dedication will do. MM: I have a feeling there's going to be a lot of blood out there. [Fade out] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Sychosys" Joe Petrow ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ["Sychosys" Joe Petrow and "Mr. Majestyk" Maurice McArthur kick back in the locker room after the action on Saturday Night. Playing in the background is one of Petrow's current peculiar infatuations, the "Elmer Fudd's Greatest Progressive Rock Covers" CD. Despite the relatively positive turn of events, Petrow seems upset, while 4M looks lost in thought] JP: Another night of taking out the trash, coming back to the locker room wondering how the suits are gonna screw Team Sychosys yet again. And then I see that, instead of going out partying on New Year's Eve, I gotta worry about my injured partner getting in the ring with that psychopath Chris Quigley! They _know_ my main squash is injured, and they're trying to take us out for the count! Quadruple M, there's no way in hell I should even let you wrestle that match. [Mr. Majestyk snaps to attention] 4M: No way, Petrow. No way you're gonna stop me from this. This is my match, and my battle. 4M at 40% is still twice the man that coward is. Joe, I don't even want you in the building for this match, cause I have a score to settle with this guy who took my title, my pride, my porkchops.....my porkchops... [Mr Majestyk drifts back into never-neverland.] JP: And you're also three times the syllables. Fine, you want the match, you got it, and I'll take the night off. But if anything happens to him, I know two suits and two lunatics who are gonna have sychostrophic hell to pay! [Petrow takes 4M in tow, walking off the set, the music coming into focus, as the screen fades to wed.] # Wed Wain / Coming down Wed Wain is pouwing down Wed Wain is fawwing down aw owber me I'm begging you / Wed Wain coming down Wed Wain is pouwing down.. Oh, Me / Owber me... Wed Wain # ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Meatman ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The Meatman faces the camera. He is in the Emeryville plant. He wears a Meatman Industries shop apron. His face is bruised. A mouse lies under his right eye. Dozens of workers encircle him. They wear the gear and carry the tools of packers and processors. They pump their fists in the air and chant, "Meat, meat, meat, meat, meat..." Frozen cattle carcasses hang behind the Meatman. Behind the carcasses, one can glimpse a long conveyor belt, currently inactive. A MEAT INSPECTOR stands near the Meatman, his shoulders against the crowd. He is a white male, 36, bespectacled. He wears a white shop apron over a suit and tie. He does not seem to appreciate the festivities.] MEATMAN: Meat, meat, meat, meat, meat, meat, meat! WORKERS: Meat, meat, meat, meat, meat, meat, meat... INSPECTOR: Mr. Steele? MEATMAN: [raises hand, worker's chant trails off] Look at Jumbo Jimmy the Meat! Ranked in the top 5! Look at me! Top 10 most popular! The meat truck is on a roll! WORKERS: Meat, Meat, Meat! INSPECTOR: Mr. Steele? MEATMAN: Death-taker? Under-bringer? Whatever your name is... WORKER IN CROWD: Dead Meat! MEATMAN: Dead Meat Bringer? I've wrestled you two times now, and you ain't beat the Meat! I done stick a fork in you, you're done! INSPECTOR: Mr. Steele! Excuse me, I'm Inspector Sperry with the Commerce Dept. Can you do this -- whatever it is -- another time? We have business. MEATMAN: You ain't been chantin' "Meat!" INSPECTOR: No. I'm here to discuss several issues... MEATMAN: [to camera] Byron, you're next! You boast about yer' enzuigiris and yer suplexes. My hands been workin' with muscle and bone longer than you been livin', boy... INSPECTOR: Mr. Steele, one of your head of cattle appears to be ill. MEATMAN: That ain't livestock, Sperry, that's my trainin' partner. You ever try to milk a heifer with mad cow disease? Hell of a work out! [The inspector throws his arms up in disgust!] MEATMAN: Now, I got a challenge to make. Spreadbury! You find me a superstar and send him down to Steele Family Farms. Do it in a couple weeks, do it at Snow Brawl, I don't care. Your superstar against the Meat. Three tests. A test of speed, a test of strength, and... I ain't decided what the other one is yet. Anyhow, it ain't about wrasslin', it's about bein' a man. We're talkin' about the Hero's Journey. You know about the Hero's Journey, Sperry? INSPECTOR: Yes. Homer. MEATMAN: No. Stanislavkos. All you can eat Gyros. INSPECTOR: There, you have me. MEATMAN: [to camera] Steele Family Farms First Annual Meatman Challenge -- A Gyro's Journey. INSPECTOR: That brings me to the board, Mr. Steele. The beef commerce department objects to you using the word "Meat" in these televised shenanigans, you must hereby cease... MEATMAN: Look, Sperry, when I'm done, you and I will go up to the farm, we'll throw down a couple medallions of veal and talk about it. INSPECTOR: No, thank you. I'm vegetarian. MEATMAN: [to camera] All proceedin's go to charity. So... [slowly turns toward the inspector] What? INSPECTOR: I didn't say that! No! [Meatman picks up the Inspector and shoves him into torso of hanging cattle carcass. He's wedged in tight.] INSPECTOR: Ooooooph! MEATMAN: [to camera] The charity of your choice. Let's get it goin'. You want to beat the Meat? You gotta meet the Meat! [The production line starts up behind the Meatman and the torsos begin to move around to the conveyor -- Inspector and all.] INSPECTOR: Mr. Steele? Mr. Meatman! HELP! [The sound of a circular saw starts in the background.] INSPECTOR: [off camera] HEEEEELP!!! [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Fabulous Ones ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Golds Gym by the beach in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. “The Universal Heartthrob” Agito Nakajima is sitting on a weight bench. A few beautifully tanned women are standing around him.] AN: I’ve got three things to talk about, and I’m going to make it as quick as possible. I need to get back to my workout. [The ladies have smiles on their faces.] AN: Damage... I mean Lost Boyz, sure Sho and myself have money, hell, we have so much money we could buy the IIWF and boot your ass out. As it is, we wouldn’t want to defeat you that way. [Sho steps into view.] SS: Especially after how easy it was to kill Damage, Inc... with words... sheesh! [Sho steps out of view.] AN: We don’t pay our millions of female fans to be with us. They choose to be with us, and us with them. Can we help it if we’re everything a woman wants to be with? [Sho once again steps into view.] SS: That kind of comment coming from them is pure jealousy. The same jealousy that killed them once already. Lost Boyz, stop trying to compare yourselves with us. Look at us. [Agito stands up next to Sho and they both strike a pose. The ladies go wild and start cheering.] SS: Now look at yourselves. You two guys could swim Loch Ness to give the monster a vacation. [Sho disappears off screen laughing as Agito sits back down.] AN: With that said, onto another topic... Down Boys, or should I say Damage Inc wanna-bes? [Sho steps into view, and as quick as he’s their he steps out.] SS: Does it matter, they suck with either name! AN: We haven’t forgotten about Mr. Batman your manager. What’s his name? [Sho steps back in view and back out.] SS: Awesome T. I think the T stands for Tiger...Tony the Tiger! AN: Saturday night, get ready for yet another lesson in tag team expertise. Onto my third and final topic, the Machines. You two can’t seem to get anything right. Simon, way to go body, with a partner like you who needs enemies. [Sho steps back into view and this time he stays.] SS: I think Bertha was saying that same thing a while back. What, what, what... [A look of intense thought falls across Sho’s face.] Never mind, she was talking about your prowess in the sack. Ooops, sorry, didn’t mean to spill the beans. [Sho slinks off in a fury of laughter.] AN: With all that said, it’s time to get back to working out. Until next time.... [Sho steps back into view.] SS: You’ll just have to dream about us! [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Natural Predators ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Scene opens on the Portland Coliseum, with Kuyler Greyson and the Natural Predators standing outside. All are dressed according to the climate, with a camera crew, somewhat awkwardly following behind ] KG: This will do. Ready? 3,2....Oh, you've been rolling. Top of the line crew, this....Right. I guess after this weekend, we know who did NOT deserve that title shot...I mean honestly, if you wanted to give the Damaged goods....or Lost Boyz, whatever...a match to win to break the second match letdowns of the past, well, few tag team champions, you could have just sent in the Rotundos. Or a handicapped match against the Smooth. Ramos, as the second strongest man in the IIWF, could have held his own. Maybe. GP: And this week,the Harlequins DEIGN to offer us... B: [interrupting] "deign?" GP: ...the match they should have signed after we made the challenge long ago. Cold Spell snapped in two, Harlequins three, Rages three each with their own li'l rasslin cupie doll at their sides. KG: And the Predators still number one contenders. Harlequins, this week, we get a measure of payback for that loss before Ring Wars. LFD, you say we cost you the match. We just watched and had ourselves a great time watching you try your damndest to win instead of just hurt...and fall flat on your face. B: Miserable failures. KG: Icehawk, Edmund...you two have guts, I'll give you that. Here's one in your honor. B: Please tell me we're not going to become Cold Spell II... KG: No, Daniel. Natural Predators is who you are. And who you stay. B: Good. But what we were talking about.... GP: Can wait until Wednesday. We have a little surprise in store... KG: The future is today, boys. Predators will triumph. [Camera fades] +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= I * I * W * F =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-+ | President: Daniel Spreadbury | Vice-President: Jim Jividen | | univ0322@sable.ox.ac.uk | brokeback@webtv.net | | iiwf@sisko.demon.co.uk | | +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- http://www.sisko.demon.co.uk -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+