[A late night abandoned street corner, the lone neglected street light
flickering in the background, only the sound of the cold January wind
pierces the silence...

Suddenly, as two men dressed in black enter the scene, music inspired
by John Barry's breakthrough soundtrack from the 1959 British girl
chase movie "Beat Girl" blares out.

(for your listening pleasure, this music can be downloaded in
RealAudio format from http://www2.gol.com/joepet/tmp/beat.ra)

Despite the sunglasses, one figure identifiable as "Mr. Majestyk" 
Maurice McArthur, holds a large cooler in one hand, and struggles to
keep up with the stealth movements of "Sychosys" Joe Petrow.

They move to a nearby car and duck down.  Giving a big pantomine wave,
Petrow calls to McArthur, who nods as they continue on their quest.

Near a seemingly anonymous building, Team Sychosys press their backs
against the wall, Petrow quickly looking from side to side, then calling
to his partner to move on.

They arrive at a closed door in a back alley.  Next to the door is a
small computer-like device which is presumably the security alarm.
McArthur is about to smash it with the cooler, but Petrow holds his arm
out, shakes his finger, "no, no," and produces a bobby pin.  McArthur
takes his free hand and holds it his cheek, his mouth agape with
overacted surprise.  Petrow goes to work on the alarm, and fiddles for
about ten seconds.  Then, he puts his arms on his hips.  Finally, he
takes the cooler out of McArthur's hands, and smashes it against the
alarm.  Sparks fly out, then the device goes dead.  Petrow hands the
cooler back to McArthur, as he tests the door, and finds that it opens!
With that, Petrow and McArthur enter the building.

Cut to the inside of a darkened room.  Petrow opens the door and turns
on the light.  We see that this is a television studio that has been
neglected for months, as there are cobwebs over the controls and a sign
over in the corner.  As the music builds to a cresendo, McArthur begins
to dust off the controls, while Petrow goes to the sign, waving off the
cobwebs to reveal the sign "IIWF Thursday Classics Studio"  Petrow
reaches into his jacket, pulls out his own sign, and slaps it over the
word, "Classics"  The camera pulls to a closeup of the newly defaced
sign, as the music draws to a close...]

[Abrupt cut to a wide angle face shot from above of Petrow and McArthur,
sunglasses removed, revealing a blackened right eye on Petrow, but
otherwise clad as before, sitting at the control panel, the only camera
angle available to them.  A pulsing guitar chord plays over a psychadelic
"Thursday Sycho" logo, as Petrow is ostensibly manning the controls, while
McArthur is jamming with an air guitar.  As Team Sychosys yells, the
glowing red sign in the background informs is that we are ON THE AIR.]

TS: THURS-DAY!  SY-CHO!  WRESTLE-TIME!  EXCEL-LENT!  AARN AARN AAAARNNN!

[McArthur finishes his "playing", while Petrow slides some controls,
which cease the music and clears the logo from the viewer's screen.

JP: Yeah, alright!  Welcome everyone, to the hottest flashback show this
    side of Wichita!  Welcome every, to IIWF Thursday Sycho!  I'm Joe, and
    with me as always is my tag-team partner, "Mr. Majestyk" Maurice
    McArthur.

4M: Man, Spreadbury's gonna _kill_ us for this!

JP: Wrestle on Mac!  And don't worry about Spreadbury, _Jividen_ is
    gonna freak when he finds out about this!  Poor guy's got high blood
    pressure already, hell, we may force him into an early retirement,
    if not an early grave.  Now, some of you may be wondering, exactly
    what the holy hula we're doing on your TV screen at 2am!  Let me
    provide that explanation, if I may.

4M: <sigh> You may.

JP: Thank you!  You see, a little under a year back, the IIWF bought a
    block of local broadcasting airtime to dedicate to reliving the
    great matches of the IIWF's past, which was called "IIWF Classics"
    Unfortunately, this venture failed for two reasons: a disinterested
    host, and the fact that they didn't have enough of my matches on
    hand to keep people interested.  So they produced maybe 5 or 6
    shows and stopped altogether.  Problem was, the IIWF purchased this
    time slot for a full _year_!  So for the past six months or so, you
    all have become accustomed to that great 37-part Australian
    documentary "Fun With Friction"  Now, we certainly hate to infringe
    upon...hey, 4M, you had any fun with friction lately?

4M: Hey, the night I beat Quigley I had some fun with friction for the
    first time in a long time!  Cute little thing, about...

JP: Man, I can't believe it, back in my heyday I was having friction fun
    with eight or nine women in....an hour.  Now, they won't even give
    me the time of day!  I mean, sure, [Petrow touches the burn scars
    on his face] the old kisser ain't quite what it used to be, but I
    still don't see why...

[While Petrow rambles, McArthur finds a button on the control panel and
presses it:

A montage of footage appears on the screen, including Petrow's plancha
dive onto Medusa Rage, smashing Harlequin Melody over the head with a
boombox, and dropping Blaze Taylor on her head with a Bullet Train To
Hell.]

[Cut back to the studio, and a widely grinning McArthur, and
momentarily stunned Petrow.]

JP: What the hell was that?

4M: [laugh] I was just trying to explain your friction problems Joe!

JP: Oh, you think that's funny, huh?  Well what about if I did this!

[Petrow pushes a different button:

A bound, gagged, and very, very frightened Majestic Maurice McArthur, 
stripped virtually naked, his arms and legs strapped down, his head
constrained with a ball gag which keeps him from communicating in any
fashion save the abject fear shooting through his eyes, is frantically
carried away from the ring by the Jobber Justice Squad, the haunting
look in his eyes piercing the camera as it follows him into the aisle.]

[Cut back to the studio, to a smiling Petrow, and a shocked and
humiliated McArthur.]

4M: Wha...whi...why did you have to show that for!?

JP: I'll be more than happy to play footage wars with you, but I
    suggest that you not abuse your button pressing privleges in the
    future!

4M: [mumbling] why can't _you_ take a joke once in a while...

JP: Anyway, as I was saying, since there are many new Sychopaths out
    there that may not be aware of the rich history of Team Sychosys
    in the IIWF, we decided that it was in our best interests to
    postpone friction programming for a week and take advantage of
    all that the IIWF Vault in the next room over has to offer!

    Furthermore, as this is non-IIWF sanctioned takeover, and I could
    get booted right out of the league for doing this, and since we
    are doing this LIVE and in living color while most of the suits are
    asleep, we are completely and totally UNCENSORED!  I'm gonna DO
    anything, and I'm gonna SAY any damned thing I want!

4M: So you're gonna tell 'em that Damon Walker was really you?

[Petrow shoots McArthur a steely gaze]

JP: JEEEEEEEZZ!  I wasn't gonna tell them _that_!  You trying to get
    me killed or something!?

4M: Hey, it's not like I gave out your sources!

JP: I didn't _have_ any sources, that's why it only lasted a week!
    Anyway, [Petrow reaches back to the cooler behind him, and pulls
    off the top] what I will do is this!

[The cooler is revealed to contain many cans of Mooselips beer.
Petrow reaches back and grabs a can.]

JP: I am gonna drink Mooselips beer straight through the entire
    broadcast!  Many of you may be aware that in the Unites States,
    it is against broadcast regulations to drink on the air.  You
    pour it, hold it, sniff it, stand around 14 half naked Swedish
    swimsuit models with shot glasses stuffed in their ample breasts
    teasing you to taste it, but you cannot actually drink the beer.
    [Petrow pops open the top]  To those people, I say, [Petrow
    holds up the can about four inches over his mouth, and pours the
    majority of the contents in.  Petrow fights hard to swallow,
    then grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut] oooooh, that's
    nasty stuff!

    But, if the FCC is watching, [Petrow turns his head from side to
    side, then whispers] just between you and me, it's really just
    colored water. [Petrow winks at the camera]  And for all you
    mothers and mother....mothers out there...see, I can police
    myself...Mr. McArthur over here is my designated operator, who
    will be operating all heavy machinery from this point on.  Hey
    Maurice, [Petrow reaches down to the cooler] you want a beer?

4M: Um, I don't think I should.

JP: Really?  Well, your loss. [Petrow pops open another top]  With
    that, let's introduce the first match of the night, and it's a
    doozy!  "Sychosys" Joe Petrow, facing off against the IIWF
    WORLD'S HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION, Steve "The Fury" Kowalski, in
    what at the time was for Kowalski's _Cruiserweight_ title!

4M: Um, Joe, Brody Thunder is the champ again.

JP: So let's pick up this match from Birthday Bash in progress,
    and show the fans a sneak preview of what a Kowalski/Petrow
    World title match _would_ be like.  Hit it!

[McArthur press a button, and the match is joined in progress.]

TD: Here comes Kowalski! Kowalski is not done yet!

[Kowalski is able to muster enough energy, push beyond the pain in his
neck and make on last bull rush on Petrow, who whirls around... grabbing
a facelock, hooks Kowalski up...]

TD: Bullet Train To Hell! Petrow laid him out with the Bullet Train To
    Hell!

SR: Toot, toot, baby dolls.

[Petrow sends Kowalski's neck again snapping to the mat with his
modified DDT, before covering Kowalski for a 1 -- 2 -- NO! The Fury is
just able to get a shoulder up. Petrow then slowly rises, and draws a
thumb across his throat, leading his Sychopaths to begin a raucous, wild
cheer...

"Skull - pump! Skull - pump! Skull - pump!"

Petrow picks up Kowalski, hooking his right arm...]

TD: Joe Petrow used his finisher as a set-up, Steve Roberts! He's going
    to try to put Kowalski away with the man's own move!

SR: Hell, you gotta admire a man with this much style. Hey, Becks...
    are you still out here? Climb out from underneath that table! Or
    better yet... don't.

[Petrow hooks Kowalski's other arm, letting out a primal scream, and
lifts...]

TD: Backdrop! Kowalski's taking him over... NO!

[Kowalski backdrops Petrow over... but Sychosys is able to roll with it
and now has Kowalski hooked... he's got Kowalski cradled and a handful
of tights... 1 -- 2 -- ]

TD: Reverse! Kowalski reverses! He's got ahold of the rope! The
    official doesn't see it!

[Kowalski has Petrow rolled up for the quick count... 1 -- 2 -- ]

TD: NO! PETROW HIT HIM WITH A CHAIR!

SR: It's a highchair, Dross! It's a baby's highchair with Steve
    Summer's picture on it!

[Petrow is able to whack Kowalski over the back of the head with the
highchair, and now, with what for all the world seems like his very last
gasp of breath, grabs at Kowalski's legs... and thrusts one of the
Fury's arms through the chair...]

TD: That's a figure five leglock! Petrow's got that leglock through the
    highchair! Kowalski's done! He's gone!

[Kowalski is almost too tired to writhe in pain, the toll of the match
clearly evident on a man who is starting to...]

TD: He's gonna fade, Steve Roberts! He's going unconscious! The loss
    of blood, the blows to the head... poor Maurice... it's just... he's
    gone!  He's gone! Ring the bell! Ring the bell!

[The official makes a check of Kowalski, Petrow almost disbelieving that
it is finally over, moves to a seated position as the official makes one
last check of the Fury...]

TD: OH MY! 

[Kowalski smashes a large round object into Petrow's head as he sits up.
An enormous pop as Petrow drops like the stock market in 1929!]

TD: What the hell is that?! Is that a bowling ball? It's got finger
    holes! Is it a...? Good grief.

SR: HAH! That's a head, Dross! That's an honest to goodness human
    head!

[Kowalski frees himself from the highchair and begins to batter Petrow
senseless with the long-since decayed remains of what was once a human
being's head. Kowalski gives it everything he has left, putting every
ounce of energy in these blows, wailing away at Petrow, beating down
this man who wants to take his Cruiserweight title. The Furies begin
their familiar chant: "Skull - pump! Skull - pump! Skull - pump!"]

TD: It is a Skullpump, Steve Roberts! Steve Kowalski is Skullpumping
    Joe Petrow... a Skullpump for real!

SR: Hey, I wonder whose it is... you don't suppose President Dan took a
    turn for the worse, do you? 

[Kowalski is on his feet, yelling at Petrow, "Yer just another, bitch,
Sychosys." He then tosses the skull to the side and drags Petrow to his
feet.

"Skull - pump! Skull - pump! Skull - pump!"]

TD: He's got him hooked up...

["Skull - pump! Skull - pump! Skull - pump!"]

TD: Petrow is hooked up... Steve Kowalski is about to finish...

["Skull - pump! Skull - pump! Skull - pump!"]

TD: OH MY!

[As the Fury sets for the Skullpump, he is dropped to his knees from a
blow to the back of the neck! Big Sycho POP!]

TD: What the heck was that?! It's some sort of bag, some type of black
    IIWF bag!

[Petrow drags his bloody, beaten carcass off the mat, now drenched with
whiskey, broken glass, and the blood of these two warriors. Petrow
grabs the bag, opening it up... and finds a metal-bound, 1100-page copy
of the IIWF Rulebook!]

TD: I've seen that bag before... I have seen that bag before... Oh my!

[The Sychopaths begin a loud chant of "Pou - tine! Pou - tine! Pou -
tine!", many mispronouncing the name of the current second in command,
but that hardly matters to Janois... as his seat is now empty.]

SR: Hah! I love it, Dross! Frenchy hit Kowalski with the IIWF
    rulebook! Revenge of Janois! Everybody wants to be in the game,
    Dross!

[Petrow thwacks Kowalski across the face with the IIWF rulebook, and
then stops, obviously looking for a way to finish off the Fury,
searching his brain, needing the moment to be complete, to be right --
one final finish that would forever cement his place in the IIWF
pantheon...]

TD: Good grief.

SR: Unbelievable!

[And there it was, majestically plopped down by the Sychopaths in the
corner of the ring... taped up... glued together... but still quite
recongizable as...]

TD: IT'S THE BULLDOG BROWN TABLE!

[Straight from Ring Wars 3, the folding table on which the scowling
visage of the late Bulldog Brown is displayed, destroyed with the double
flying plancha bulldog at Ring Wars 3, but somehow... someway... here in
the IIWF Coliseum. Here for Joe Petrow.

Sychosys deliberately moves, placing the huge IIWF rulebook right next
to the picture of Bulldog, just off the center of the table... Petrow
then picks up Kowalski... lifting him above his shoulders... and into
the air, readying the Fury for the inverted crucifix slam...]

TD: Take a look at this, Steve Roberts... Petrow's got the Fury in the
    Knightmare!

SR: Yeah, but he's wobbling, Dross! He's setting up by the table... but
    he's wobbling!

[Petrow staggers, trying to support the weight of Kowalski so high in
the air, and then he sets himself... and then he tips... and then he
tips some more and then he...]

TD: He drives Steve Kowalski through the table! OH MY!

[A huge crowd pop as Kowalski crashes through Bulldog Brown's table...
Petrow dropping to his knees and covering... 1 -- 2 -- 3! Ding! Ding! 
Ding!]

SL: Your winner, as the result of a pinfall... and _NEW_ IIWF
    CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPION OF THE WORLD... "SYCHOSYS" JOE PETROW!

[Huge crowd pop for Joe Petrow!  The Furies begin to quickly file out of
the building, Kowalski picking himself up, shrugging away all attempts
to help him from the ring, and disappears into the back. The official
hands the IIWF Cruiserweight Championship belt to a kneeling Petrow, who
cradles it to his breast as were it a lost child. The Sychopaths are
now barely contained, security out in force keeping them from crashing
the ring and carrying Petrow away. Petrow requests, and Sparkplug Lee
delivers, a microphone.]

JP: Hey... let me tell you people something. I've spent my whole career
kicking ass on my own, my way, no help from no one. But tonight...
each and every one of my fans in this building, was a part of this
victory. So that makes this moment JUST A LITTLE MORE SPECIAL THAN
ANY OTHER MOMENT IN MY CAREER!

[Pauses to let the pop die down.]

JP: I'm kinda tired right now, so I only have one more thing to say...

[Petrow drops the belt into his hand, and looks at it for a few seconds,
before looking at the crowd again.]

JP: GIVE IT BACK WHEN YOU'RE DONE!

[At those words, Petrow tosses the belt to a section of his Sychopaths!
"We Are The Champions" by Queen plays, as the fans pass the belt around
like the Stanley Cup. Petrow stands in the ring watching the spectacle
for a while, then goes out and climbs into the stands to celebrate with
the people. Eventually, Petrow gets his belt back and climbs back into
the aisle. He gives one more "Triple M" sign to the crowd, before
disappearing into the back.]

[Cut back to the studio.  Petrow and McArthur sit at the control panels,
the only change to the scenery being the three crumbled cans of Mooselips
in the background, and a fourth in Petrow's hand.  McArthur doesn't
appear to be aware that they are back on the air]

4M: ...see, I always thought you were talking about a bird!  So when you
    mentioned the kiwi, I figured... 

JP: There you have it, a blockbuster victory for the pecan, the pistachio,
    but most of all, the ICON of the IIWF, "Sychosys" Joe Petrow!  Of
    course, we don't need to relive the events that took place right
    afterwards, where I was stripped of the title because Kowalski had
    a weight problem.  And they call me crazy.  Anyway, I've taken your
    world's champion down once, and if I ever get the opportunity, I'll
    do it again!

4M: Joe, I told you, Brody Thunder got the belt back!

JP: Broooooody Thunder!  Big tough man!  Big strooong, lean, mighty, manly
    man man!  You think he's the champ, Mac?  You think that crashing cars
    and wallowing in garbage suddenly makes him the champion?  C'mon...you
    *know* what he was supposed to be doing that night.  Hey [Petrow turns
    to look at the camera] you guys wanna know what Brody Thunder was
    supposed to be doing Saturday Night?  You wanna know?  Well...[Petrow
    takes a chug from his can of Mooselips], I guess I'm not quite drunk
    enough yet to be that vindictive.  But, on a completely unrelated note,
    I want to take you back to the beginnings of Sychosys.  The very first
    appearance.  Hit it!  [Petrow smashes a button with his can]

[SCENE: Joe Petrow is walking down a deserted street in the middle of the
night.  He is dressed in a simple leather jacket and blue jeans, but what
stands out more is the unkempt hair, ragged facial hair, and the small
brace on his right leg.]

JP: My mother used to tell me not to go out by myself at night, because
    you never know what kind of weirdos might be out there.  But it's my
    first night out of the hospital in over two months, and besides... I
    _am_ one of those weirdos now!  So I guess I've got nothing to fear
    anymore.

    You can be sure I've got some scores to settle with the people that
    made me this way.  But there's another issue that's even more
    important.  Two years ago, I was the king of the e-wrestling world.
    Then the politicking of others and the grandstanding of myself put me
    on the outside looking in, and the e-wrestling world has kind of
    passed me by ever since.  But that time in my career is over.  It's a
    new year, a new look, a new outlook, but in the end, it's gonna be the
    way it used to be, with Joe Petrow being the man that EVERYONE wants a
    shot at.  Lots of federations can say they are the best. But the IIWF
    has EARNED that honor.  If they are the best, then that is where I am
    going to go to prove that _I_ am the best.  And mark my words... I
    WILL become IIWF World Heavyweight Champion.

    But there's another reason I'm coming to the IIWF.  I guess it's best
    to speak metaphorically about that.  I used to have a friend -- a
    friend with whom I walked side by side down the road of life.  Then
    one day that friend deserted me, and from that point on I walked
    alone.  It became a long, hard walk, and I wasn't sure how much
    further I could go.

    Then I saw a pair of footprints that I hadn't noticed there before.
    That meant someone had been here before.  And I saw the footprints
    were going where I wanted to go.  So I picked up pace, trying to catch
    up to whoever was making them.  And then the other day, I caught a
    glimpse of the man far off in the distance.  It took me a while to
    make him out, but then I remembered a man I had seen a lot on the
    television when I was on the shelf.  A man by the name of Brody
    Thunder.  And I realized:  that's the guy!  That's the guy who knows
    where I've been, and knows where I'm going.  And I thought;  a guy
    like that could be my biggest asset.  Then I thought of my former
    friend, and realized he could be my worst enemy.  Brody Thunder, it's
    only a matter of time until I finally catch up to you.  And when that
    day comes, I'll have already decided whether I'm gonna shake your
    hand... or your throat.

    For the rest of you:  Joe Petrow's in town.  The new guys know nothing
    about me;  the oldtimers know even less.  But you can be sure that
    none of you are gonna keep from where I wanna go anymore.

[Back to the studio, where Petrow has #5 in hand.]

JP: January 3rd, 1997.  My first words in the IIWF, and my open challenge
    to Brody...<BELCH!>...Thunder is made!  And now some...[Petrow looks
    at his bare wrist]...370 days later, my challenge to him has yet to
    be answered.  370 days later, he's the CHAMP!  He's the MAN!  And he's
    got....[Petrow suddenly gets very quiet]...he's got, a beautiful
    little infant son. [A slight smile fails to hide a tremendous sadness
    in his eyes]   Things ain't changed much, pal.  We're still very
    different, we're still very much the same...

[McArthur looks with concern towards Petrow, which causes him to shake his
head and snap back to attention.]

JP: BUT HEY!  This night is not just about me!  It's about the enigma...
    no, not that enigma, get your mind out of the gutter!  The enigma
    that is Team Sychosys!  And the other half of that team is the man,
    the man that...well, the man!  The worldest most dangerous force to
    himself AND to others, "Mr. Majestyk" Maurice "Mooselips" McArthur!

[Petrow makes a grand show of clapping, while...5M?...sits in
embarassment, thinking of what he can say to avoid encouraging or
angering Petrow further]

4M: Uhh...thank you.

[Unfortunately, Petrow forgot to put down his open beer before clapping,
and his given himself a slight Mooselips shower in the process.]

JP: Now y'all have seen Maurice here kicking lots of Intercontinental ass
    over the past few weeks, but let's go back to the first time he did
    it!  February 26th, 1997, back when he was only a three-star general,
    Maurice McArthur versus Marty Warnett!

[Petrow slaps a button]

TD: Team Sychosys shocked the world on Saturday night when they defeated
    accomplished tag team G.W.R. to advance into the quarterfinals of
    the US Tag Title tourney. It's no secret that "Sychosys" Joe Petrow
    is a few sandwiches short of a picnic, but he seems to be playing a
    few mind games with his own tag team partner, prelim wrestler
    Majestic Maurice McArthur, and apparently has him believing that he
    can contend for the Intercontinental Championship here in the IIWF.
    Needless to say, when his request to have Championship rules
    stipulated for tonight's match between Triple M and Warnett was
    turned down by the booking committee, he wasn't a happy man: 

[Cut to footage subtitled, "Earlier Tonight." Backstage at the IIWF
Coliseum. Majestic Maurice McArthur is in the background, wearing
sunglasses and folding his arms in a stiff pose. "Sychosys" Joe Petrow
takes centre stage in front of the camera.]

JP: Well NOW we see the corruption running rampant here in the IIWF!
    They've taken the franchise of Team Sychosys, the hottest wrestler
    in the IIWF today, and saddled him with a NON-TITLE match with
    Marty Warnett!  Well Marty, Spreadbury may be able to protect your
    title, but not even the HAND OF GOD HIMSELF can save you from the
    beating you're gonna get tonight!  Triple M is gonna kick your ass,
    and that's a promise!

[Triple M is turning different colors, as it becomes apparent that he 
hasn't taken a breath for the whole interview.  Cut back to the studio.]

TD: And so it came to the match. Intercontinental Champion Marty Warnett
    has learned not to underestimate any opponent in the past few weeks,
    and particularly so when that opponent is accompanied to the ring by
    Joe Petrow. Nonetheless, Petrow seemed content to stay away from the
    ring and let Warnett wrestle McArthur fair and square -- which
    simply led to McArthur getting beaten up pretty badly, pretty
    quickly. Warnett was letting off steam after his frustrating loss to
    Creed on Saturday night -- a man he considers to be a
    "one-dimensional brawler" -- and he really let rip on McArthur in
    the ring.
    
    However, just before Warnett was able to finish McArthur off, Petrow
    grabbed the IC belt, jumped into the ring and waffled Marty with the
    strap, granting him a victory by disqualification. While Marty was
    groggy from the blow, Petrow then held him in place for McArthur to
    kick him in the backside, before Team Sychosys left ringside, Petrow
    pumping up Triple M's ego all the while.
    
    Warnett won't have time to ponder his minor embarrassment at
    Petrow's antics, however, since he's going to be facing the Sandman
    in a title match on Saturday Night. Team Sychosys, on the other
    hand, is going into a quarterfinal US Tag Title tourney match
    against the impressive Harlequins. But more on that later.

[WINNER: Marty Warnett by disqualification in 5:21.]

[Crumpled Mooselips cans now number a half dozen strong, as an
increasingly rowdy Sychosys leads a one-man dog call in appreciation of
McArthur's efforts in the previous match!]

JP: WOOF!  WOOF!  WOOF!  Boy, if you ain't da most ASS-KICKIST S.O.B. in
    the IIWF today!  No wonder why I chose this guy as my partner, eh!?
    And speaking of partnerships, that leads is to the result of the
    joining of two of the most mega-powerful athletes in wrestling:
    Team Sychosys!  [Petrow gives a "3NN" sign to the camera, while
    McArthur groans]  A team so feared in the IIWF that the board refuses
    to get us a match!  WHY...you may ask!  Perhaps, an exportation by
    way of subvisualization is made to order!

[Petrow tries to stand, and slips back into his chair.  He pushes off from
the control panel to make his second attempt successful.]

JP: Several months back, The Prostates of Rage were recognized as the most
    awesome and feared tag team in the sport, perhaps of all time!  They
    were 11-1, and held both the IIWF United States and World Tag Team
    Championships.  Everything was GOING their way...until that FAITHFUL
    NIGHT in Mexico, when they met Team Sychosys for the very first time!
    The fact that the match itself was non-title showed that they were
    cowards;  the match itself POOFED it!  Let's relive that magic moment
    right now!  [Petrow slams a button]

[Extreeeeemely slow motion footage, complete with speed-distorted sound,
of Mad Dog Watkins, hitting a superbomb from the top rope to the ground on
Creed.  A low growling, "RRRRrrrrrrr" is heard from Watkins, as they fall
down...down...down....impact signaled by a drawn out *splat*, followed by
a sickening, "Uuuuuhhhhh" escaping from Creed's lips.  At this speed, one
can actually see Creed's eyeballs roll back into his head, as his body is
laid down in a crumpled heap.]

[Cut back to the studio, an increasingly concerned McArthur looking over a
hysterical Petrow, doubled over with laughter, trying his best to contain
himself.]

JP: mmphh...Sorry for..pppphahhahaaa!  Sorry for that folks, I guess I
    pushed the wrong button.  You know how I love pushing people's
    buttonssshahahaaaaaa!  OK, sorry about that, here we go!   [Push]

[The ring announcer picks up the microphone, sending a huge blast of
feedback through the speaker system. Loud whistles start to come from
the audience, as many people grab their ears in pain.]

RA: Ahem... excuse me. This next match will be scheduled for one fall,
    and is a non-title tag team event. Introducing first, "Majestic"
    Maurice McArthur and "Sychosys" Joe Petrow... TEAM SYCHOSYS!

[McArthur and Petrow stand up from their seats in the second row,
flanked by about two dozen Sychositos, and slap hands with a good deal
of them. One of their fans, a rather tubby man in a sombrero and a
T-shirt reading "Viva el Smooth!", hoists a boombox onto his shoulders
and presses the play button, filling the air with the melodic chords of
Genesis' "Illegal Alien" as the two grapplers jump over the guardrail
and into the ring.]

RA: And their opponents... at a total combined weight of 573 pounds, and
    hailing from Halifax, Nova Scotia... the IIWF World Tag Team
    Champions... Derek and Shadoe Rage... the PROPHETS OF RAGE!

[All eyes turn towards the entrance aisle... where nobody appears.
Suddenly there is another loud blast of feedback, and more whistles
erupt as Sparkplug Lee is pelted with various bits of trash. He looks
up, confused, with an "I didn't do it" appearance on his face. Over the
speaker system, the voice of Derek Rage can be heard.]

DR: Petrow, isn't it about time for you to quit this federation and
    sulk? You say you're not IIWF. You aren't even a man no more the
    way I hear it. Grown ass man runnin' around half-dressed in the
    woods with a bunch of boys. Yeah, that's a real man's man.

[A microphone flies into the ring from the side where Petrow and
McArthur both entered, and before anyone can react, Derek and Shadoe
Rage are wading through the crowd of Sychositos, bashing heads, kicking,
occasionally chokeslamming, and just generally laying waste to the group
of Petrow's followers. The referee looks on in confusion and shock as
Petrow sprints across the ring, leaps onto the top turnbuckle, and dives
onto both Prophets, bringing the three of them and about four more
Sychopaths crashing to the ground in a tangle of chairs, people, and
spilled crappy beer.]

TD: Oh my! The match hasn't even officially started yet, and ALREADY
    it's out of hand!

SR: [laughing] Great ploy by the Prophets, making Petrow come to them. 
    They got 'im right where they want him.

[Petrow and the Prophets are back on their feet, and Sychosys is trying
valiantly to brawl with both men... and beginning to fail. McArthur,
still dazed, recovers his senses enough to shout to the referee, who
signals for the bell beginning the match to start, and begins to count. 
Meanwhile, Shadoe has busted a bottle of Mooselips over Petrow's head,
causing him to drop to a knee long enough for Derek to grab the boombox
from the Sychopath and club Petrow with it.]

REF: ONE!

CROWD: UNO!

TD: This is sickening.

SR: This is wonderful.

[Shadoe grabs Petrow by the hair and holds him up, while Derek grabs a
folding chair and slams it down on top of his opponent's head, causing a
thin trickle of blood to course its way down Petrow's face. The
Sychositos are trying their best to get to the Prophets, but are being
held at bay by the flailing chair.]

REF: TWO!

CROWD: DOS!

[Petrow, still being held by Shadoe, looks up groggily as Derek brings
the chair down again, and throws all his weight down into a sitting
position, dragging Shadoe directly into the path of the weapon. It
bounces off Shadow's back, causing him to lose his grip on Petrow.
Derek keeps swinging at Sychosys, who ducks and weaves out of the way,
raising a shout of "Ole!" from his fans each time.]

REF: THREE!

CROWD: TRES!

SYCHOS: OLE!

SR: He can't duck forever.

[Indeed, Roberts' prophecy rings true as Petrow is clipped in the
forehead by the chair, sending him sprawling into the arms of his fans. 
Shadoe manages to get back to his feet, throwing off a rather small
Sychopath who was trying to hold him down and stuff peanuts into his
mouth. Petrow, his face now pretty much covered in blood, lunges
forward at Shadoe, executing the Sycho Kick to him and knocking him
back into Derek, who pretty much doesn't move.]

REF: FOUR!

CROWD: CUATRO!

[Derek Rage takes this opportunity to stomp on Petrow, grab him by the
hair, and execute the Hammer of God on him, smashing him down into a
crowd of Sychopaths. Petrow lies there, bleeding. The Sychopaths lie
there under Petrow, hurting. Derek stands there over Petrow, laughing.]

TD: We're gonna need paramedics down here. Petrow looks hurt.

SR: Hell, we're gonna need a vacuum cleaner to pick up Petrow after
    this match.

REF: FIVE!

CROWD: CINCO!

[Shadoe Rage, back on his feet now, looks down on Petrow with disdain,
then up at his partner. He steps on a seat, then on the shoulder of an
unsuspecting Sychosito, then ultimately stands on the shoulders of the
giant Derek... from which he leaps off in an attempt of the Angel of
Death Drop. Petrow, barely conscious, manages to pull a steel chair
over, causing Shadoe land on that instead and knock the wind out of
himself, but not doing much for Petrow, who was under it.]

TD: A valiant last ditch effort there by Petrow, but one has to wonder
    if he'll make it out of here in one piece.

SR: Doubt it.

REF: SIX!

CROWD: SEIS!

[Shadoe pulls himself to the side, where he is mercilessly pelted by
fans throwing junk at him. Derek, however, takes this opportunity to do
a cannonball-esque maneuver onto the chair, further flattening Sychosys
under it. Derek stands up, kicks the chair off, and pulls Petrow up
again.]

SR: Hurt him!

TD: You're not stable, you know that?

REF: SEVEN!

CROWD: SIETE!

[The crowd pops suddenly as two more figures come barreling down through
the crowd... Chaos and Tragedy of the Harlequins. Both level Derek rage
with a double shoulder tackle, then break off as Chaos stays with Derek
Rage and Tragedy hunts down Shadoe Rage. Petrow slowly pulls himself to
his knees, clutching his side, and seems to chuckle at the sight of the
newcomers.]

SR: Hey! They have no right being here!

TD: Looks like they're trying to soften up their competition for next
    week, Steve! They have the title shot against the Prophets!

SR: If memory serves, they still have some beef with Petrow too.

TD: Yes, they do, but we'll just have to see how that irons out here.

REF: EIGHT!

CROWD: OCHO!

SR: Hey, where's McArthur?

[Petrow staggers to his feet and heads over towards where Tragedy and
Shadoe are duking it out. Petrow slams a chair over Shadoe's head, then
drops it on the ground. He looks up at Tragedy, grins, licks some of
the blood off his face, then grabs Shadoe in the set up for the Bullet
Train to Hell. The crowd goes wild as Tragedy, leaps straight up, lands
on a seat, then dives onto Petrow with a cross body as he lifts Shadoe,
essentially spike-Training him onto the chair. Tragedy then stands up
and runs over to where Chaos and Derek are brawling.]

TD: Looks like both Petrow _and_ Shadoe are out cold after that.

SR: [shouting] Unfair! Ref! Stop the count!

REF: [not hearing him over the crowd] NINE!

CROWD: NUEVE!

[Derek meanwhile has knocked Tragedy flat with a forearm as he ran
towards him, but Chaos jumps right back onto him again, and the two end
up brawling into the crowd, with Tragedy trailing along after he gets
back up. Petrow and Shadoe are both stirring slightly, and a bunch of
Sychositos are over there trying to get Petrow back up and pour some
beer down his throat.]

REF: [shouting and signalling for the bell] TEN!

[Ding! Ding! Ding!]

CROWD: [popping madly] DIEZ!

SR: What?!

[The referee, now oblivious to all the happenings outside the ring,
walks over to McArthur, who has been sitting in the corner the entire
time. He shrugs, grabs McArthur's wrist, and raises it in victory.]

RA: The winners of ths match, by a result of a count-out... TEAM
    SYCHOSYS!

[Huge confused pop from the crowd! Security pour down the aisle and into
the stands, attempting to separate the Prophets, the Harlequins and
Petrow, who is still dazed.]

TD: Complete chaos here in the Olympic Stadium... and Maurice McArthur
    has secured victory in this match without even so much as laying a
    hand on anybody!

SR: I can't believe it, Dross! What the hell is going on out here?!

[The Jobber Justice Squad, augmented by other IIWF security officials,
succeed in dragging the Harlequins away from the Prophets of Rage, while
Petrow, along with many of his Sychositos, is forced towards an exit
further up in the stands. He yells something at some of his followers, a
couple of whom manage to break past security and make it to the ring,
where they grab McArthur, dragging him back over the barriers and into
the crowd, patting him on the back and congratulating him on the
victory. Finally, order is restored, and ring staff work on cordoning
off the carnage in the stands, and clearing up the mess.]

[Near cans lay on the floor, as it is clear that Petrow has completed
his journey to Never Never Land]

JP: YA SEE WHAT WE ARE!?  We...are the FREAKING LOOKING GLASS of the
    IIWF!  SychoTeam can clear look past any fashhad pressed in front
    of us, and find the truth!  You wanna see the truth again!?  Here
    we go!

[Screen cuts back to footage of the Prophets of Rage's entry to the
ring, specificly focusing on Shadoe Rage chokeslamming a fat old
Mexican woman.  Cut back to a raving Petrow]

JP: THIS is your unholy instruments of terror!? Beating up fans because
    they're afraid to get in the ring with mmm...us!  Next thing you
    know, the big bad Prostates lose the belts, that they shoulda lost
    to us, embraced mediocrity, and sspit up!  Saddest of all is Dodge
    Shadow boy.  Still thinks he's a big bad man.  Intelligent too!  He
    knows four letters of the alphabet!  Someday, he'll even figure out
    how to put them in order!

    Then, he thinks he's so intelligent, he's so cool, he's so fine he
    blow my mind, gets one of my biggest fans and throws him in a river
    [Joe laughs!] I guess his hardcore, aka "brain of stone" fans think
    that was impressive.  But for the more intelligent, discerning fans
    that ARE Sychopaths, they think it was even more impressive!  Cause
    they KNOW that you can't just make a person appear out of thin air,
    and do what you will with him.  In order for Leon to be there, he
    had to want to be there.  And for the money you paid, hell, I would
    have done it too!  But you can't have him next week, he's already
    in Hawaii celebrating ahead of us.  HEY LEON, shakka bruddah!
    [Petrow makes a fist, then extends his thumb and pinky, and shakes
    his hand], luau's on you my man!

[Petrow picks himself up and stumbles over to Maurice, who is looking
more and more like a guard in the asylum]

JP: So we prove that Team Sycho can go, every precious chance we get!
    So when they announce the tag team battle royale for the shot at
    the belts, and we say we're gonna be there, what happens!  [Joe
    puts his arm around Maurice]  They call us a joke.  Who's they...
    screw that, you know who they are.  They call us a joke, they say
    this is for "teams who work really hard", and that there's "no
    way we can win" [Joe stands up and walks towards the cooler] Hell,
    we're working our ASSES OFF just to get a match!  You've already
    had to strip titles from both of us, now you want to make sure
    we don't even get the CHANCE to get screwed!  I'll tell you what.
    This ain't no ego trip.  We already got matches at Snow Brawl, we
    don't need any more aggrevation.  We're going to the battle royal
    because we don't have a choice.  The IIWF brass stuck their big
    feet in their big mouths, and gave us one tiny little opening at
    the World Tag Team Titles.  [Petrow reaches down and grabs the
    cooler lid]  So on top of everything else, we are going to the
    battle royal, we are winning the battle royal, and because it's
    the last thing "they" want to see happen, Boyz, we are coming to
    take you [Petrow heaves the top against the wall] OUT!  <CRASH!>

[Petrow drops to a knee, seeming to decide whether to crash, spew, or
talk some more...]

JP: You see the kind of hoops we gotta jump through for anything?
    We gotta wade through a sea of men for a title shot, we gotta
    bust into a television studio to say what we want...[Petrow gets
    to his feet, heads to the cooler, and grabs a can of Mooselips]
    And then you got guys like Chris Quigley.  Guys that didn't have
    to prove themselves here, because they're already a big stud
    somewhere else!  Guys who mail in main events and still bitch
    about every single thing that goes wrong.  Guys with a black
    heart trying to wear an undersized white hat, telling everyone
    that's kosher.  Used to have a lot of people like that.  One by
    one they dropped out, exposed by drugs, steroids, prostitution,
    suicide, whatever.  Another "hero" who wasn't real, another kick
    in the gut.  Oh, you guys were riots in the 80's.  But this is
    1998, Quigley.  We don't buy it anymore.  We resent you, and all
    you pushed upon us.

    But I did it again.  I got through the lies.  And I've shown the
    world the real Chris Quigley.  The liar, the scum, the Dorian
    Grey of the IIWF, I've shown it all to the world!  And yet, I'm
    not satisfied, because I haven't proven to you the one personal
    lie that you still cling to.

    Chris Quigley, you are not a victim.  When I stand by my partners
    side when you try to make him a cripple, you are not a victim.
    When you go home and beat poor Stephanie, Steve, and the rest of
    your psychotic adopted family, you are not a victim.  When you
    abandoned your real family, you were not a victim.  You think you
    know suffering, Chris?  You think because you walked out on
    people who care about you to go pump iron in a desolate gym that
    you know what pain is about?  You think you've suffered Chris?
    You think you know about pain?

[Petrow turns around and hurls the beer can against the way, sending
a large spray as it punctures.  Joe Petrow has gone berserk, and
Maurice McArthur is very scared]

JP: WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU KNOW ABOUT PAIN THAT YOU DIDN'T INFLICT ON
    YOURSELF!?  WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU EVER LOSE IN LIFE THAT YOU
    DIDN'T THROW AWAY YOURSELF!?  You want to talk pain?  How about
    waking up from a coma, with a broken neck, broken ribs, broken
    leg, being told all sorts of great stories:  

[Tears stream down Petrow's face, as he slumps to his knees]

JP: "We brought her here in shock"  "There were complications"  "We
    couldn't help her", "He only weighed 15 ounces"  "I never saw
    anyone fight like he did" "We gave him a name and a good burial"
    "We're so sorry!"  They're so...I'm so...I....I.....

[Petrow buries his face in his hands, his body heaving to the
rhythm of his sobs.  McArthur finally makes a move to Petrow, but
first turns back to press a button on the control panel.]

TD: Well, there'll surely be fallout on this turn of events, folks. Be
    sure to call the hotline tomorrow night for an update on all of this
    as it develops. Right now, we must continue with more tournament
    action -- and what a match this promises to be, as Billy Shakespeare
    takes on Joe Petrow. These two men may not have a whole lot of
    history, but Shakespeare's alter ego, Spur, certainly gave Petrow a
    bit of a headache way back in March at Ring Wars III.

SR: Great. Two schizoid nutbars in the same ring. This could be fun.

TD: According to an "anonymous tip-off" -- which later turned out to be
    Spur -- a wrestler was suspected of smuggling controlled medication
    across the border from the States into Canada, and a full cavity
    body search was carried out on the suspect -- who was totally
    exonerated, and who turned out to be one "Sychosys" Joe Petrow.
    Petrow never got his hands on Spur, but he'll have the next best
    thing in the ring tonight when he goes up against Billy Shakespeare.
    What a match this promises to be.

SR: Unless one of them doesn't turn up.

TD: Let's get up to the ring.

[Sparkplug Lee stands in the centre of the centre of the ring, grasping
the ring microphone in his hand. He nervously clears his throat and then
begins to speak...]

SL: This match is scheduled for one fall, with no time limit, and is
    part of Group B of the IIWF Heavyweight Championship Tournament!
    Making his way to ringside, and weighing in at 230lbs, here is
    "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare!

[The crowd emits a big pop as "Little Willie" begins to play and Billy
Shakespeare makes his way to ringside.]

TD: Billy Shakespeare certainly seems focused tonight, Steve Roberts.
    He's showing none of his usual extrovert behaviour as he makes his
    way down to the ring. He's down at ringside and -- wait a minute,
    why is he heading toward the Sychopaths?

SR: Who knows why that kook does anything, Dross? Maybe he wants to
    give them a literacy lesson. Maybe "I come to praise Petrow, not
    bury him"?

TD: Wait a minute, what is that Shakespeare is holding? Can we get a
    close-up on that?

SR: It's Spur's mask! What's that loon playing at?

[Billy Shakespeare grasps the Spur mask and hurls it casually at 3M, who
catches it and, with a puzzled expression on his face, shows it to Joe
Petrow. Petrow simply smiles knowingly, the black and white V-shaped
facepaint casting the expression in a strangely sinister light]

TD: Well, obviously there's some sort of symbolism at work here as Billy
    Shakespeare seemingly presenting Majestic Maurice McArthur with the
    "Spur" mask.

SR: Maybe, but who cares? Can we just start this match so I can watch
    Petrow kick Pukespeare's butt?

SL: And his opponent...

[The crowd shushes, awaiting word from Sparkplug Lee...]

SL: Weighing in at 227lbs and making his residence in Tokyo, Japan...
    here is "Sychosys" Joe Petrow!!

[Petrow stands suddenly, the many buckles and straps on his huge grey
trenchcoat jingling. A few Sychopaths take the cover off the huge
cooler, revealing a large chunk of dry ice. As Shakespeare and the
referee look on puzzledly, more Sychopaths pour their mooselips beer
into the ice, creating a huge plume of dense white fog. As the Sychopath
with a boombox plays Frankie Goes To Hollywood's "Relax," Petrow steps
into the fog, becoming instantly obscured.]

SR: Well, this is fun... Can't Petrow hurry up a bit? I wanna see Pukey
    suffer, and I have this problem with my attention span...

[Petrow steps out of the fog, the huge trenchcoat gone, and walks
arrogantly to ringside. McArthur accompanies him to ringside dressed in
an outfit straight out of the "Godfather".]

SR: [In false mobster accent] 'Ey, Pukespeare. You don' no show respect
    to Mr. Petrow, you're gonna sleep with da fishes, capice?

TD: Has this match got underway yet?

[Petrow steps into the ring, a smile upon his face, as 3M takes up
position by Petrow's corner, the lights glinting off his sunglasses. The
bell rings and the match gets underway...]

TD: Petrow offering Shakespeare a collar-and-elbow, however Petrow ducks
    under and grabs Petrow in a waistlock. He's going for a
    belly-to-belly but Petrow blocks it! Petrow frees himself by
    hammering a big elbow into Billy's face, and now he's off and
    running!

[As Shakespeare shakes his head to clear the pain Joe Petrow comes
rebounding off the ring ropes, levelling Billy Shakespeare with a big
knee lift.Shakespeare drops like a stone as Petrow rebounds off the
opposing ropes and drops a leg across Shakespeare's throat... But
Shakespeare is not there! Shakespeare rolls out of the way, and is
quickly up! Big crowd pop! Petrow is quickly back on his feet, just in
time for Shakespeare to drop him again with a standing dropkick. Big pop
from the crowd, apart from the Sychopaths who are not at all happy]

SR: Good move from Shakespeare. Wait... wait, what did I just say? Oh my
    god, No! Tell me I didn't... I can't believe I said that...

[Petrow slides out of the ring, and goes over to converse with 3M.
Maurice listens carefully, nodding in agreement]

TD: I wonder what deviant plans Joe Petrow is up to this week, Steve
    Roberts?

SR: I don't really care as long as it hurts Shakespear- Dross, why is
    McArthur staring at me like that?

[3M has turned his attention away from the ring to stare fixedly at
Steve Roberts, lowering his sunglasses to stare over the rim at Roberts]

TD: I have no idea, Steve. Meanwhile, back in the ring Shakespeare is -
    Oh My Goodness! Shakespeare catapults himself over the ringropes to
    land solidly on Joe Petrow, knocking him to the floor!

[Outside the ring Shakespeare pummels Petrow with a series of lightning
quick fists. Petrow grabs Shakespeare, and starts punching back. A brawl
ensues on the outside, both men rolling around and throwing blows.]

SR: Why is he staring like that? Dross, McArthur is staring at me...

TD: Steve, if you could pull your attention back to the match... Petrow
    is back to his feet, and he's got Petrow in a underarm headlock!

JP: Friends, Romans, Shakespeare... Lend me your ears!

TD: Joe Petrow is biting Shakespeare!

SR: Hey, it's a "Tyson"! He's "tysoning" him!

[Petrow tries to bite Shakespeare's ear, but Shakespeare manages to
twist, avoiding an ear and headbutting Petrow! Big Pop! The referee was
applying a count on the inside, but seeing Petrow's "Tyson" attempt
quickly dives outside to try and split the two!

JP: Aw, c'mon! I came to bury Shakespeare, not to graze him!

SR: Hey! I did that joke!

TD: Yes, but Joe Petrow did it so much better, Steve Roberts.

[As Petrow is protesting with the referee Billy Shakespeare reaches up,
and pushes Petrow into the ringpost! The referee barely gets out of the
way as Petrow rushes headfirst into the steel post, rebounding off with
a sickening "thwack"! Big pop!]

TD: Joe Petrow being introduced to the ringpost at an early stage of the
    match, Steve Roberts!

[Billy Shakespeare is able to easily roll Petrow into the ring, where he
covers for the pin. The official counts one, Petrow easily kicking out
just before the two count. Shakespeare quickly grabs an arm and applies
an armbar, causing Petrow to roar with pain!]

SR: Looks like Petrow's in trouble, Dross. I can't believe Punkspeare is
    givin' Petrow so much trouble.

TD: Are you serious, Steve Roberts? Billy Shakespeare is one of the most
    gifted technical wrestlers in the IIWF, if not the world, today!

SR: Maybe, but he's still a punk.

[Petrow shifts over and grabs the ropes, forcing Billy Shakespeare to
break the hold. Petrow is up instantly, though rubbing his arm to get
the circulation back. Billy Shakespeare is on him in an instant,
grabbing Petrow and setting him in position..]

TD: Billy Shakespeare sets up to suplex Joe Petrow over the top rope,
    but Petrow blocks - No, Petrow reverses it! Joe Petrow sends Billy
    Shakespeare over the top rope to the mat outside! Shakespeare looks
    hurt, Steve Roberts!

SR: 'Bout time, Dross. I thought Petrow was losing his touch.

[In the ring Joe Petrow drops to one knee, whilst outside Billy
Shakespeare seems dazed, clutching his shoulder.]

TD: Oh, this is bad Steve Roberts. If Billy Shakespeare has damaged his
    shoulder he could be practically defenceless against Joe Petrow.

SR: Tell it to someone who cares, Dross.

[Both men are now back on their feet, Billy Shakespeare grabbing Joe
Petrow's boots and yanking him under to the bottom rope to the ring
outside. Big surprised pop!]

SR: Well, that sure as hell's different for Pukespeare... Dross,
    McArthur's looking at me. I don't like it. What's he up to? This is
    Petrow's doing...

TD: Don't worry about it, Steve Roberts. Concentrate on providing the
    play-by-play on this match.

[Billy Shakespeare grabs Petrow and drives him head first into the ring
steps. Petrow rebounds off and drops to the protective mats, stunned.
Shakespeare grabs Petrow and pulls him further back from the ringsteps,
before climbing first into the ring, then to the top turnbuckle...]

TD: Oh, no! A flying fist all the way from the top rope to the ringside
    from Billy Shakespeare! Petrow is out! Petrow must be knocked out
    after a blow like that!

[In the ring, the referee begins to lay on a ten count, which reaches
five before Shakespeare is able to drag Petrow back into the ring.]

SR: Hey, what's this punk doing coming down to ringside?

[To the cheers of the crowd, Marty Warnett slowly walks down to
ringside, taking a position by the aisle.]

TD: I'm sure he's here to offer moral support to Billy Shakespeare,
    Steve.

SR: Yeah, sure. Whatever. You know, a friend of mine offered me some
    "moral" support once...

TD: [sigh] All right, Steve, let's get it over with...

SR: Best weekend of my life.

TD: You just keep getting stranger and stranger, don't you? I expect
    you'll be claiming to be the King of Persia next.

SR: Nah, that's Lebec.

[Shakespeare, who is on his feet, reaches down to pull Petrow off the
mat, but Petrow rolls him up! Petrow yells "Now, Triple M!" and McArthur
hurls something into the air to land beside Petrow. The official doesn't
see it, as he's currently busy with a three count]

SR: Hey, nice throwing. Shame it didn't land on Punkspeare's head, but
    I'd give it a 5.9.

[Petrow grabs the object, and targets Shakespeare's head...]

SR: Yeah! Smack him with it, Petrow!

TD: He's not hitting him with it, Steve Roberts, he's putting it on him!

SR: WHAT?!

[The official's hand almost hits the mat a third time, but,
inexplicably, Petrow releases Shakespeare! BIG puzzled pop from the
crowd!]

SR: What the hell is Petrow doing?

[Shakespeare rolls on the mat, clasping his head between his hands,
completely obscuring his face.]

TD: Goodness, what on Earth has Petrow done to Shakespeare? What
    diabolical plan has Petrow come up with? No! It's --

SR: The Spur mask! Petrow has put the Spur mask on Shakespeare!

[Shakespeare stands, revealing that he is now wearing the Spur mask.
Petrow grins evilly, and advances with a shout, the camera picking up
his words:]

JP: I've waited four months for this, Spur!

TD: What on earth is going on? Surely Joe Petrow cannot possibly believe
    he's now facing Spur in the ring?

SR: Who's to say he isn't! Hey, that was an asspump! That had to hurt
    Spur, Dross! Oh, hey -- another one! Petrow's really aiming to
    neutralise one body part, Dross, and that's good wrestling!

[In the ring Shakespeare clutches his rear end, as Petrow suddenly drops
to all fours on the mat and appears to be...]

TD: Good grief! Petrow is biting his... his...

SR: His ass?

[Shakespeare writhes as Petrow latches on like a bulldog, but that grip
is soon broken as Shakespeare stomps on Petrow's hands. Petrow releases
the hold and Shakespeare slams a big fist into Petrow's neck. Petrow
drops, but lashes out, knocking Shakespeare's feet from under him.
Shakespeare lands badly, his head impacting the mat.]

TD: Petrow has a stunned Billy Shakespeare on the mat, and has rolled
    him onto his front... what is Petrow planning?

SR: You mean Petrow has _Spur_ on the mat, Dross.

TD: No, Steve Roberts! I mean Petrow has _Shakespeare_ on the mat and...
    Oh my goodness!

[In the ring, Petrow has suddenly pulled a latex glove from his
wrestling apparel, and has an evil grin on his face as he begins to pull
it on]

JP: You wanna know what a full body cavity search feels like, punk?!

TD: He wouldn't!

SR: Yes! Oh, yes! Shoot, Petrow, Shoot! Search that guy for concealed
    biscuits!

[In the ring the referee is arguing with Joe Petrow, applying a ten
count. Joe stands to get in the referee's face, arguing heatedly,
Petrow's words clearly discernible on the ring mic:]

JP: Why the hell not?! There's nothing in the rulebook against it!

TD: This is beyond bizarre... this is... this is...

SR: Pretty damn funny. Too bad the ref won't let Joe get away with it.

[Unbeknownst to Petrow, as he has been arguing with the referee
Shakespeare has been slowly getting to his feet behind him. Suddenly he
lightly taps Petrow on the back, and as Petrow turns, applies an
authoritative low blow with the aid of the knee. Big puzzled pop!]

SR: Hey, Dross. Just out of interest, what's Spur's beef with Lebec?

TD: None, Steve. It's Billy Shakespeare who has the problems with Sim...
    I can't believe this! You've got me doing it now. But why do you
    ask?

SR: Because here comes Simon Lebec now...

[The crowd booes loudly as Simon Lebec saunters idly down to ringside, a
grim smile upon his face. Lebec blows a kiss to Shakespeare as he
reaches the ring, "Spotlight" responding with a snapmare into a reverse
chinlock of Petrow. Lebec snarls at the apron -- and is then dropped
with a thundering cross-body by Warnett who begins ripping away at the
head and shoulders of "the Showstopper". Warnett firing away to the
roar of his fans with a ferocity that the Welshman rarely displays.]

TD: The game has just picked up, Steve Roberts -- Marty Warnett is
    looking for a little "street justice" via the cranium of Simon
    Lebec... and look at him go!

[Shakespeare has flung away the Spur mask, the odd piece of IIWF lore
sent into the crowd where it is immediately descended upon by ravenous
New Yorkers, who rip, tear and otherwise desecrate the now long-gone
mask.

Warnett and Lebec are on their feet, Warnett still pounding away at the
host of the "Final Cut"... Warnett sends him hard with a whip to the
retaining barrier -- and begins choking him out with his boot! Big pop
for Warnett as in the ring, Petrow has broken the hold and taken
Shakespeare off his feet with a go-behind and an elevated hammerlock.
Spotlight attempts a roll-through but Petrow moves too quickly --
releasing the hold -- bounding off the backropes and catching the
unaware Shakespeare with a snapping back suplex into a bridge: 1 - 2 -
NO! Kickout by Billy!]

TD: Petrow has done his damage on the lower hindquarters, Steve Roberts,
    and now he's looking to put Shakespeare in a pinning predicament. 
    There he is again with another sharp snap suplex... and another
    nearfall. Say what you want about Joe Petrow...

SR: Nuttier than a sperm bank on double deposit day.

TD: ...I didn't mean you could actually say anything you want, Steve
    Roberts. People will start to take offense at your more, shall we
    say, "colorful" comments.

SR: Oh. I never looked at it that way before. You're really turning me
    around here, Dross. I'm gonna become a new Soundbite -- a better
    Soundbite -- a kinder, gentler, well, I'll say it, a more feminine
    Soundbite. And I'll start now by throwing quarters at McArthur. 
    Hey, Petrow -- call someone who cares!

[Roberts begins tossing change at the face of 3M, who continues to stare
directly at him but is clearly unhappy as quarter after quarter bounces
from his temple. On the outside, Warnett's frenzy has not abated. Lebec
is finally able to break free, scampering up the aisle -- but Warnett
chases after him, first grabbing the ringbell from the timekeeper's
table -- and literally "shotputting" it in the direction of Lebec --
Lebec dodges the blow and the two men disappear over the retaining
barrier and into the crowd!

Petrow backs Shakespeare to the corner with reverse knife edge chops,
the "Sycopaths" now counting out their approval as Petrow stands on a
midbuckle and drives right hands to the face of the former
Intercontinental Champion: "1... 2... 3... 4... 5... 32... 793...
3.14159"]

TD: Petrow's fans have maybe an overly unique take on the Arabic numeric
    system.

SR: Should I make my geometry joke now, Dross -- or wait until one of
    those suck ass Luke Steele matches at the bottom of the card?

[Petrow leaps out to the apron... looking to climb to the top rope...
and Shakespeare meets him! Shakespeare meets Petrow at the top rope, the
two men battling for supremacy, battling to see which man will go on to
his chance at the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship... the crowd pops
wildly!]

TD: And it's Shakespeare! It's Billy Shakespeare with the superplex!
    He's got the cover...

[Shakespeare hooks a leg as the crowd roars its approval: 1 - 2 - NO!
Petrow kicks out!

Shakespeare hops away, leaping off the backrope into a flying, driving
fist! Pop and a cover: 1 - 2 - NO! Petrow again with a kickout! 

Shakespeare does not lament the failure, instead moving away, moving to
the top rope... Shakespeare setting himself... taking a deep breath...
leaping down... Huge face pop!]

TD: Shakespeare with a frog splash! Petrow is not moving at all!
    Billy's... Billy has got the cover!!

[Shakespeare hooks a leg dramatically and the official counts: 1 - 2 - ]

TD: NO! Petrow kicks out again!

[Now Shakespeare, for the first time in this matchup, Billy Shakespeare
looks a little discouraged; he slaps the mat in frustration as he
stands, picking Petrow with him and driving him back with consecutive
European uppercuts. Shakespeare whips -- reverse -- Petrow waits as
Shakespeare comes off the ropes, "Sychosys" dropping his head a split
second too quickly... Shakespeare drops to his knees, looking for the
chop to the throat..

But Petrow isn't there! Petrow leaps over the kneeling Shakespeare's
head, bouncing off the hooking Billy with his legs and bending him
backward -- into a pinfall attempt! 1 - 2 - NO! Shakespeare is able to
kick out! Billy scrambles toward Petrow... who backdrops him over the
top rope! Big Pop... but Shakespeare remains on his feet, landing on
the apron and hopping to the top rope... and onto Petrow's shoulders for
a hurricarana!  NO! NO!]

TD: It's Petrow with a powerbomb! Petrow counters Shakespeare with a
    powerbomb! And now it's Petrow who's climbing to the top rope... I
    think, I think he's going for the starsault press, Steve Roberts!

[Petrow's mocking tone is completely unapparent as he readies himself to
leap toward the prone Shakespeare... the aisleside crowd pops as Warnett
and Lebec reappear, spilling their brawl into the ring... and in front
of Shakespeare! Petrow's going to leap... but he realizes the commotion
and pauses, maintaining control of the top rope as the official attempts
to gain his own control of the situation...

Warnett delivers a right hand that knocks Lebec over top of Shakespeare,
Lebec falling onto, and then rolling over "Spotlight" as the official
hops into the face of Warnett; Petrow, seizing the opportunity, leaps
with a flat but powerul version of the starsault press -- Shakespeare
easily spots it coming... but is kept from moving out of the way by
Lebec! Lebec holds Shakespeare in place -- and he takes the brunt of
the blow!

Lebec dives out of the ring... the official turns and sees the
cover... 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!]

SL: Your winner, as a result of a pinfall... "Sychosys" Joe Petrow!

[Sychopop from the crowd as Petrow rasies his hand in victory and
gathers Maurice from the onslaught of small change with which he has
been peppered by Roberts and the "L'il Soundbiters"]

[Back to the studio.  Petrow sits with McArthur, as if nothing had
happened earlier, though a couple more beer cans litter the floor,
and Petrow seems much more subdued]

JP: there it is...the starsault press...my signature move, the most
    devastating move in all of wrestling.  except, of course, for the
    "quiggiequiggie"  now before i call it a night, i want to share
    with you one of the crowning moments in my iiwf career.  february
    8th, and my one match with mr. saturday night interview himself,
    chris quigley.  not only did this match have chris's stipulation
    of a mere "one count" for victory, but it also decided who would
    go on to face dan kauffman in the main event at ring wars iii.
    petrow vs quigley in a quickstrike match.  who's the better man?
    use this match to judge for yourself.

[Petrow stares at the camera blankly...finally, Maurice decides to
reach over and press the button to activate the match footage.]

TD: Anyway, up next is our special "Quickstrike Challenge" match. Let's
    get some pre-taped comments from one of the combatants, Chris
    Quigley:

[Camera closes in on "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley, leaning on a red brick
wall, vandalized with black spraypaint reading, "The Best". He's wearing
an unzipped black leather jacket over an otherwise naked upper body,
displaying a nice set of abs and a gold ring in his bellybotton. He's
also wearing faded blue jeans torn at the knee, and his wire rimmed
shades. He has a mark over his eye, presumably a result of the Kurt
Manning attack.]

CQ: The time has come, Petrow. After months of aggravation, it's time 
    for me to shut you up for good. In the "Quickstrike Match", one
    second can determine our fate for the next month or so. In all
    honesty, I don't know if I would recover if I lost this match. I've
    blown chance after chance so far, and it's usually due to outside
    interference. There's a price one must pay for being the best, and
    it's the price on my head, and it'll never change. I'm wanted by
    nearly everyone in the IIWF. Whether they want to shut me up,
    whether they want to prove themselves, or whatever. But this match
    will be different, Petrow. You're looking at a man who at fifty
    percent, could STILL beat you. But the man you're looking at isn't
    fifty percent... he's one hundred percent, and that's _very_ bad
    news for you, "Sychosys"!

[Quigley starts walking to his right, down a bit further, as the word
"RESPECT" appears on the wall, in black paint.]

CQ: Kauffman wants to talk about respect? I know the word well. As far 
    as I'm concerned, Kauffman didn't _give_ me anything, like some IIWF
    superstars might think. I've done more to earn what would have been
    a title shot than anyone else. But it doesn't matter if the belt is
    up for grabs or not. If some people think I need to earn the right
    to retire Dan Kauffman, than that's what I'll do. The "Quickstrike
    Match" is the most challenging match ever devised. You have _one
    second_ to recover your senses and kick out after a brutal move.
    Hell, it'll be 10% preperation, and 90% instinct once the bell
    rings. It all comes down to who's better, Petrow, and I think we
    both know the answer to that one. Then, once I pin Petrow's
    shoulders to the mat for that second that'll feel like a lifetime,
    it's Deathbringer. Yes, I want Deathbringer one on one before Ring
    Wars III.  It's time to kill all the demons.  Dan Kauffman will be
    going at a break-neck pace leading up to Ring Wars III, and I'm not
    one to be outdone. [smiles] Then, after I bury Deathbringer, I
    believe Otto Verhoeven and I have a small score to settle. Then who
    knows?  But rest assured, by the time Ring Wars III arrives, Chris
    Quigley will be undeniably and undisputably _the best_!  That is
    except for one last challenge.  _The_ challenge.  Dan Kauffman vs.
    Chris Quigley.  A match that the world of pro wrestling has waited
    for a long, long time. The plan is set out, and eliminating Joe
    Petrow from the picture is the first step.  I will _not_ trip up!

[Quigley walks out of the picture, as the camera starts following him,
but stops upon a "Quickstrike Symbol" spray painted on the wall.  The
camera focuses into one of the eyes on the skull, then fades to black.
Cut back to ringside.]

TD: Remember, Steve, the winner of this match will face Dan Kauffman at 
    Ring Wars III.

SR: Why the hell would anyone want to face Kauffman now? He's not even 
    the champ!

[Casey "Blackheart" James steps through the ropes with the microphone.
The crowd jeers him as he raises his hands to the sky. He nods in
approval and laughs.]

CJ: So this next match is something called a "Quickstrike match." Leave
    Quigley to take an idea from someone else and put his name on it.
    The rules are simple. The match is just like any other except that a
    wrestler need only pin his opponent for a one-count. The winner of
    this match wins the chance to meet Kauffman at Ring Wars III. Yay. 
    This next guy is known less for his ability and more for his mouth.
    He  claims to be better than your humble champ here, which is no
    surprise, since he thinks he's better than everyone in the world.
    Here's a hint on thr truth, though, greatness never comes from a
    place with a name like Cornerbrook, Newfoundland. Washington D.C,
    yes, but Cornerbrook, no. Well, here is the man who did _not_ win
    the Lethal lottery at Snow Brawl, a man who has _never_ pinned me,
    even though I've had the honour of putting his shoulders to the mat
    _twice_, a man that has _never_ held this beautiful belt that sits
    around my waist, here is "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley.

[Quigley's music, "For Those About to Rock" plays. Fireworks erupt above
the ring and there are several incandescent explosions erupt in the
aisle as Quigley makes his way down to the ring. He absently slaps the
hands of the cheering fans on either side of the aisle, his gaze fixed
on the tuxedo-sporting ring announcer.]

TD: Quigley is certainly determined, Steve Roberts. And he doesn't look
    too pleased with Casey James, either.

SR: Like he's in a position to do anything about it, Dross.

[Quigley enters the ring and removes his jacket and shades, keeping his
eyes fixed on the smug looking Casey James the entire time.]
    
CJ: And introducing next, a guy who's no big buddy of Dan Kauffman, and 
    even less of a fan of Quigley, which makes him okay in my book,
    "Sychosys" Joe Petrow!

["Lithium" starts up over the PA system. Petrow enters the area, wearing
blue jeans and an IIWF t-shirt. The crowd give a big heel pop, save for
a small group of devotees at ringside. Petrow, however, ignores them and
walks straight to the ring, and picks up a microphone with his left
hand. His right is clenched in a fist.]

TD: What's the deal here? He's not in any gear to wrestle in...

SR: Who cares, any match with Quigley is boring.

[Petrow swings at Quigley, forcing him to step back.]

[Abrupt cut to completely different footage.  Quigley and Petrow are
wearing entirely different outfits.]

[Big pop! Petrow kips up and the two men begin a wild brawl that carries
them from the middle of the ring all the way into the corner. Quigley
rams Petrow's head into the buckle and then hops up to the mid buckle
and starts raining blows down to Petrow's forehead... Petrow now climbs
up as well -- the two men working their ways to the top buckle...]

TD: They're fighting on the top! They're fighting on the top!  

[Petrow hooks Quigley... Quigley blocks... the two men pivot
together... and superplex out to the floor!]

[Another abrupt cut]

[Like a thought balloon over the head of a cartoon character, everyone
in the IIWF Coliseum seems to recognise together the situation... Joe
Petrow is on the floor. But his feet are on Dirt Dog Unique Allah.
Petrow measures himself and leaps... 

...and can't make it to the apron...one leg falling to the floor...but
one leg remaining up in the air!] 

TD: Unbelievable... Petrow's hopping on one foot... Petrow's hopping
    around the ring... the Prophets of Rage are diving at him!  

[The official is on the ground -- looking at Petrow's feet -- waiting to
signify that the second foot has fallen to the floor. Petrow grits his
teeth and hops... having to keep moving around the ring to avoid the
dives of all of the Rages -- who now are trying to knock him off
his... foot. 

Dirt Dog is now up... and stands between Petrow and the ring... there's 
no way out for Petrow... he can't get to the ring...] 

TD: PETROW GRABS A CHAIR... HE WAFFLES DIRT DOG WITH A CHAIR... AND
    LEAPS...

SR: HE DID IT, DROSS. HE'S BACK ON THE APRON!

[Cataclysmic pop as Petrow finally makes his way back into the ring.
And finds himself face to face... with Quickstrike Chris Quigley.] 

TD: This has been a war. An absolute war. Right here on free TV --
    right here on IIWF Saturday Night!

[Petrow nods -- and drops to the mat... asking Quigley for a lockup...
Quigley hesitates...]

TD: It's just like with Dan Kauffman! Joe Petrow is looking for a 
    lockup with Chris Quigley!

[Quigley moves to lockup.... and Petrow hits him with a forearm thrust 
to the groin... then rolls him up into a small package... Petrow smacks 
his hand on the mat and the Sychopaths shout out... "One!" Ding! Ding!
Ding!]

[One more cut]

[Petrow is indeed hoisted up on the shoulders of his Sychopaths, who
shove security aside as they make their haphazard way towards an exit,
the Sychopath with the boombox playing "Supper's Ready: As Sure As Eggs
Is Eggs (Aching Feet)" at full volume as they depart.  In the
background, Sparkplug Lee announces, "The winner of the match...
"SYCHOSYS" JOE PETROW!  Fade back to the studio]

[At the studio, the emptied beer cans have been cleaned up, and
Sychosys sits at the table with McArthur, looking nearly as composed
as before he started his Mooselips binge.]

JP: And there you have it, Joe Petrow, fighting off all the Prostates
    of Rage yet again, getting the one count on Chris Quigley, to
    advance to the Ring Wars III main event, which, due to more
    politicking, became Petrow vs a drunk guy flopping through a
    bunch of tables.  Quality, quality stuff.

    Well, _I_ certainly enjoyed this stroll down Team Sychosys memory
    lane tonight!

[McArthur shakes his head in wonder]

4M: It's certainly been memorable...

JP: I just want to say that, being a late night show temporarily
    stepping in for a friction docuadvertainment, we might not have
    had the coverage that most IIWF broadcasts have.  So I hope you
    all had your VCRs going, and are willing to loan this to your
    friends, or put it on cable access television or whatnot.  I'm
    sure nobody wants to miss the chance to relive all those
    classic Sycho moments one more time.

JP: And just like we did it in Quigley's stip match a year ago, we're
    gonna do it again in _my_ stip match at Snow Brawl!  But this
    time, for the first time in your life Chris, there will be no
    excuses.  I've covered all the bases, ain't no one coming to the
    ring, and no other way to lose but to bow to the superior man.  I
    don't want to give you the ref as an excuse.  I've never been
    anything but fair in any match I've officiated in the IIWF, yet
    you come down on me with these baseless character attacks, saying
    I somehow screwed you out of a submission to Macbeth.  This time,
    all I want the ref to do is stick a microphone in your face, so
    that 50000 people at once can hear you throw away all the lies you
    stand for once and for all.

    And as far as saying I have nothing to lose, I'll join the
    Soundbite in the cause and do him one better.  You make me give
    up, I'll sit in a little chair in the ring, and you can take a
    rusty pair of scissors and hack my head anyway you like!  Hell,
    you can even try to take the other eye out while you're at it!

    You don't even have to worry about me going hardcore on your ass
    at Snow Brawl.  Too badly.  The Majestyk One and I intend to get
    all our vituperative anger out this Saturday.  We WILL have an eye
    for an eye on Saturday Night, I promise you that!

    And then, Snow Brawl is for me.  For all the chair shots, for all
    the Christmas trees, for all the hardcore antics I have to put up
    with for one reason or another, it seems like I only get one
    chance a year, to do what I truely love.  Wrestle.  And even then
    it never works.  1996 was ruined by politics.  1997 was ruined by
    a drunkard repelling from the ceiling.  Chris Quigley, if you're
    one tenth the man you want us to believe you to be, you'll leave
    the umbrellas, the Christmas trees, the three foot dildoes, leave
    them all at home. and come to the ring with nothing but your
    boots and your trunks.  And lets settle this once and for all.

    Oh, and one mor...

[Petrow falls face first onto the control panel, his head smacking a
button which somehow causes Peter Gabriel's "Biko" to play in the
background.

"Sychosys" Joe Petrow is out cold.

"Mr. Majestyk" Maurice McArthur has the spotlight all to himself.

He walks up to Petrow, and taps him on the shoulder]

4M: Joe?

JP: SKNZXXZZZ...

[After confirming Petrow is asleep and not dead, McArthur picks
Petrow's head up, folds Petrow's arms in front of him, and places
his head back on his arms.  McArthur surveys what's left to be done
to make their getaway, then turns to look at the camera.]

4M: Uh...Mr. Spreadbury, I just want to say I didn't have anything
    to...well, none of this was my idea!

[McArthur takes another look back at Joe]

4M: But you know...I wish I had.  I wish I had the kind of ability
    and the will that this guy has.  Or at least, I'd like to help
    him figure out what to do with his.  Everyone knows that Joe's
    his own worst enemy.  It's hard to know whether to curse or
    bless his demons, because they are fueling him and killing him
    at the same time.  I'm only just beginning to understand him
    myself, but I know one thing.  Deep down, he's a good man.
    He stood by me when he said he would;  to me, nothing else
    matters.  So I'm gonna return the favor.  I can't control much
    else in the world, but I'll be damned if I let him destroy
    himself.

[McArthur is apparently done talking, but is struggling to find a
smooth segue with which to end the broadcast.]

4M: Um, goodbye.

[McArthur presses the big red button, and the screen goes to black]